"Warhaven is sure beautiful in the winter!" George Ansbach exclaimed. He sipped an espresso at the window table of Jane's Java. Across from him sat Gus Chapman, leaning against the ledge of the sill, who nodded. "Yep, but Bertie is pressuring me to consider snowbirding someday. And, George, a few years back I would have completely agreed with you. Except, you get a few years older and you'll see. The joints ache, the muscles either stiffen up or get flabby, depending on the chore. Yep. Winter's a young man's season."
George was thinking more of the Julebukking, the Norwegian tradition that took hold in town in the 1920s with its colorful masquerading, practical jokes, sumptuous food, all amidst snowfall in town. It was beautiful to him because it brought out the best in his neighbors, their selective lightness of spirit, their charity, their interest in town commonweal.
The conversation had begun watching the Smiths drive down the street in their motor home, headed to Arizona. Ted and Ellen Smith were the parents of the ex of Pete Petrovich, Jennifer. Ted had done well in insurance, and so this was his reward, to ride around on the Interstate system with his wife of 41 years. George just couldn't understand the snowbird way. As a farmer, he loved the winter; time to plan, time to repair equipment, time to tinker, carve, and dream. He saw the snow and deep freezes as partners in raising next year's crops.
Gus thought maybe he could convince Bertie to get a 15 seat van and convert it into a camper. Instead of sitting sedentary in some trailer park with codgers in Burmuda shorts and floral muumuus, he'd prefer road trips, maybe some spring training baseball, maybe Southwest archaeological sites, maybe even a drive down to Baja for some sports fishing and beach camping. But she would probably want more creature comforts than that. He'd have to think on it more.
Who were the Chapmans kidding? Gus wasn't ready to retire, even just seasonally. With all his business concerns and his spectrum of hobbies, Gus was a dynamo who was not noticeably slowing down. Bertie and Gus both knew the power of dreaming, keeping it in its place, always second fiddle to the present and its myriad demands.
It was a common dilemma for many a man in winter. Gus was too cheap with himself to vacation in Mexico and Hawaii or Arizona. He chuckled into his coffee...or just tough enough to handle what winter storms in the mountains dished up. Was he selfish to deflect the wishes of his woman, or just healthy and level-headed enough not to be swayed by the lure of TV and magazine ads?
Gus had reasoned recently that he couldn't do much travel as a councilman, but VanderKamp and Willowan both had been snowbirds -- and Bertie had reminded him of that. Gus would roll his eyes, thinking back to his father, Hank, who held VanderKamp in high contempt. Gus leaned the same way, especially as he was putting the screws to his life style all the way from the grave!
George took another sip of coffee. "I think our reward, Gus, is our summer. We work our tails off all year, but the summer gives us sun on the porch, long days, and the hopes of a great harvest. Could it get any better?"
Gus nodded. "Nope, I think you've got it. Although, some fine winter days, when I'm out cruising the hardwoods, I think you've got it backwards. Winter is our reward."
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