6 I March 2020 PRIME
middle of winter approached. Each morning the partners would relight the wood stove, cook a breakfast made from diminishing supplies, then look forward to another day of playing cards and retelling increasingly embellished stories. By mid-February the partners had depleted their stores of tobacco, and salt, and bacon, and red eye, and patience. The small quarrels of December became divisive arguments by February. One partner would glance across the cabin at the other and the reaction would be a growling “Whatjawant?” By March the partnership would be in disarray. One partner would eventually attack the other with a shovel or ax simply to relieve boredom. Cabin fever of our forefathers was quite similar to curmudgeon fever today.
OLD GUY CURMUDGEON FEVER
By Jim Drummond
I
have been retired long enough to experience a few winters as an old guy. T his winter isn’t as harsh as last year, but it is still winter. Growing up in Bozeman I knew what to expect from the seasonal shor t days, the cold and the snow. I just wasn’t clear about what winter would be like for an old guy with no work demands.
At the old guy waterhole, someone mentioned that those of us who don’t “snowbird” south during the winter begin to catch curmudgeon fever in late February or early March. A curmudgeon is simply an old guy in a bad mood. Most of us know when our curmudgeonism is evolving. Early in the morning the spouse pleasantly comments, “Good morning.” In midwinter an old curmudgeon responds with a growl, “Whatjawant.” “Whatjawant” is pronounced as a single word. It’s not in the dictionary. Later in the day, when an old guy goes to the store for bananas and prune juice, the clerk comments, “It’s a nice day today.” In
mid-winter, an old curmudgeon responds, “The hell it is.” One of our old guy group members claims that after his dog died, he took over the responsibility of happily greeting his wife at the front door when she comes home from shopping. By late February he is so grumpy that he can’t bring himself to assume the role of departed Max any longer. He says that he will resume the greeting in May. Another group member asserts that this time of year he swears and makes an obscene gesture at the television screen when Eliquis commercials interrupt Jeopardy. A few of the group admitted that in mid-winter they angrily talk to themselves when no-one else is around. I surmise that curmudgeon fever is the result of being cooped up inside all day. An old guy can only watch so many television game shows or sports flashbacks. Activities such as bowling, or house repairs, or testing how long a person can hold one’s breath provide only fleeting relief from the drudgery
of winter indoors. Long ago miners and trappers who lived in this area also experienced curmudgeonism. Back then it was called cabin fever. Usually a couple of frontiersmen partnered to prospect for gold or trap beaver and assist each other in the endeavor. They would often build a small cabin in a lush meadow near a placid mountain stream. During the summer and fall, the early adventurers would coexist companionably without any argument or complaint. Then winter would arrive in the Rockies. The pleasant meadow would steadily evolve to snowdrifts. The stream would freeze over. The partners were forced inside their cabin, exiting only to cut firewood or break ice on the stream for drinking water. Dark winter days were spent playing cards or telling tall tales. As December transitioned into January, the walls of the partners’ cabin seemingly pressed further inward each day. The smoky yellow glow of kerosene lamps appeared dimmer as the
At the old guy waterhole, we don’t say much about curmudgeon fever, but we are all cognizant that we are grumpy old guys by March. It won’t be long, though, until we can look out the window and see small drops of water dripping from icicles formed on the eves. As March turns to April, the drops will become larger to dance and glisten as daylight hours increase and sunlight strengthens. Soon the icicles will vanish, evaporating into spring rains. Seen through the window of our water hole, the snow will recede, and fields begin to turn green, and buds emerge from trees and shrubs.
Barring any attacks on each other with sharp or heavy objects this winter, the old guys will transform back to amiable normalcy and place our curmudgeon caps high on a shelf until next year.
Jim Drummond is a new contributor to the Prime section. Look for more of his witty repartee in upcoming editions of Prime.
