I should have known when the girl spotted a wealth of woolly bears, during the afore mentioned Indian Summer, that the big chill was short on the horizon. I should have heeded the stripes, battened the hatches, prepared the troops. I didn't, of course. Instead, La Stink and I debated the benefits of suction cup feet.
We decided, for those of you who may have contemplated this same topic, that while possessing this particular trait would be of some obvious advantage to, oh, window washers and cat burglars, it also has less pondered coups. Sports stars, like gymnasts, basket and football players would profit enormously from this modification; so too, she suggested, would the lesser-known but equally as fascinating occupation of superhero. I, myself, came up with a number of ways in which suction cup feet would benefit the SAHM - take a moment, if you could, right now, to contemplate the potential.
But I digress. The real issue at hand is winter preparedness. Those of you that grew up in the rural areas of our great nation may be aware of the well documented ability of these furry little moth larvae to predict the severity of the coming season. The idea, if you have never been enlightened, is that the black stripes on our fuzzy friends foretell the severe cold snaps due to mark the winter. This woolly bear (and indeed, ALL of the woolly bears that we found that fateful day) predicted a bitter beginning to the dark season, a temperate middle, and then, just when we think we can see the light at the end of the tunnel, a final wintry trial of bleak before spring. I share this folklore with the girl; we even research it a bit. Turns out, modern scientists have been able to poke holes in this theory (go figure). They say that if the colored stripes of the woolly one tell us anything at all, it is of the water conditions of the previous winter. "So", I say to our gal, "I guess we're on our own." "Yup." she replies with a shrug "guess so". Wanna know what we did this weekend?
If you do not live in an old farmhouse, you may not be familiar with the joys of deep windowsills. The beauty of frigid drafts that rush through closed panes as if they aren't even there. The "old house charm" of bitter air and subzero temperatures INSIDE your home no matter what other heat source blasts away diligently. We, here in Stinky's Country, call this character. We are just CHOCK FULL of character here.
This is precisely why some clever soul created seasonal window insulation. Basically, this process is fairly simple. Imagine, if you will, huge sheets of Saran Wrap. Now, take copious amounts of tape (both the included double stick - that doesn't stick and good ol' fashioned packing tape) and seal off every window in the house. Then,(and this is the really fun part) use a hairdryer to heat away the wrinkles. (The only equivalent that I can come up with is that of a giant Easter Basket that one lives in). Now we got character.
The only other thing to add, (and this, dear readers, is where the woolly bear comes into play), is that this labor is significantly easier when it is warm; when chilly air is not already making tents out of the wrapping, and fingers are not stiff from icy blasts.
We, having done our research, did not heed the woolly bear. We laughed in the face of the Farmer's Almanac, stood belligerent against the wisdom of our forefathers and put off this plastic undertaking.
And this weekend, as we set back our clocks, preparing for the winter ahead, we stood freezing in the black stripe of the woolly bear. November roared in on a bitter wind - (as I work, I imagine, happily wrapping every "modern scientist" in insulatory plastic - just to keep them warm - I'm thoughtful like that. ;)
