Today, while trying to get No. 1 to settle into yet another
Cold Winter’s Nap, I held forth on the alternate strategies of coping with
winter’s cold and dark: hibernation,
adaptation, and migration.
Baba was doing her best to coax and weedle the little lion into submitting
to a second nap of the day. Unlike His
Majesty’s usual languorous lie-ins during sleepovers, the day had started at 6 am, heralded by a yowling kitty that the best efforts of Grampa, rousted grumpily from his CPAP, checking
every nook and cranny, was unable to locate or quell. This of course kindled the early
morning ritual of Tap Dancing Rescue Dog as she Morse coded and barked her intention
to take the place down if someone didn’t get up and feed her. Buster, ignoring the pressing business of a
full bladder, joined the rumbling
stair traffic, pattering of little feet, stomping of big feet, and the cataclysm
of barking, yowling, and hollering that makes a border collie’s heart sing.
After a hearty Grampa breakfast of Blueberry Island
pancakes, during which Baba caught another 40 winks, the little bruiser
succumbed to the rigors of the early morning’s festivities and with an emphatic
I’M TIRED!!! agreed to be led back to Baba’s bed for a dramatic telling of
Goldilocks, and a possibly ill-advised recounting of Little Red Riding Hood where
no one gets eaten and the wolf is rehabilitated.
Far, far, far, too soon, the little tiger rose from his
slumbers, and advanced on the chocolate balls which Grampa insists on keeping
within plain sight to torment and torture small children. Having wetted his
appetite, a second chocolate was denied with cataclysmic results, warranting a
return trip to the Bed of Baba to finish said nap. And while the warm bottle of milk did its
magic, an interesting discussion of hibernation ensued, and, failing
hibernation, how adaptation and migration are reasonable alternatives to a
season of cold and dark.
I myself have given hibernation a concerted effort over the
last few years, clinging to the adage of 'This Too Shall Pass'. Assisted by the progressive breakdown of body
parts that beg for coddling on the couch, cocooning horizontally with a pile of
mediocre literature in front of the instant-on gas fire creates an easy to
imagine tableau of napping interrupted by the emergence of artisanal bread from
the oven, washed down with endless cups of comforting libations. A reasonable
response to sustained cold and dark except for the certainty that even in -30 C. weather, life is passing before one's eyes and pounds compounding on one's hips.
This Baba used to be a big fan of the second strategy for dealing
with winter: adaptation. It requires that one meet the challenge of a
23 degree tilt of the Earth’s axis with the zeal of a French Resistance fighter: head on, gearing-up like a cross-dressing polar bear, tackling the frozen
wastelands and running the icy gauntlet while accosting fellow skiers, runners,
ice fishers, tobogganers and skaters with cheery mitten shakes and icicle
whiskers. The reward for such stoicism consists of frostbite, cocoa with peppermint
schnapps, a lean wind-burned demeanor, and associated claims to superior being
status.
However, at this point in my life I have come to believe
that Resistance Is Likely Futile. A
misplaced step on wind-polished ice could land this chromium and cobalt-enhanced concussion-prone life form in a drifted snow bank, comforted only by the warmth that spreads
through the body minutes before the hypothermic meet their end.
Clearly, the third and only viable option for coping with
winter is migration: Get the Hell Out of
Dodge, Make Like the Birds and Flock Off, Make Like the Trees and Leaf. When I explained this option to the
little dragon, his reaction was nothing short of Duh! The more animals I provided as examples, the more I realized
that I, as a member of the most enlightened species of apes, was one of the last
animals to catch on. Whales, caribou,
salmon, birds of all types, butterflies….. what were we thinking? We have CARS, AIRPLANES! We can leave, we don’t have to use goose or salmon GPS, we can follow
the road!
