Degrees of Cold Holly Baker
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Inscape Volume 27 | Number 2 Article 15 10-2007 Degrees of Cold Holly Baker Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/inscape Recommended Citation Baker, Holly (2007) "Degrees of Cold," Inscape: Vol. 27 : No. 2 , Article 15. Available at: https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/inscape/vol27/iss2/15 This Essay is brought to you for free and open access by BYU ScholarsArchive. It has been accepted for inclusion in Inscape by an authorized editor of BYU ScholarsArchive. For more information, please contact [email protected], [email protected]. Holly Baker DEGREES OF Tou!!'s !es /Jassio11s 11 e soul {////rt c/1ost qw /rs dirers drgrl'S de la cl,a/nn cl de lajioidmr du sa11g. [All jJassions are 110/!ting dse titan di/]i-rl'nl degrl'l'S q/ !teal and co ld q/ !!tr /Jlood. 7 ~ La R oc/11fo11m11ld, Prem ier S11jJJJ/r111m!( l 11 I) I SIT o , a snowy bank, my lf'gs wf't up past tlw knef' and my ha nds ba re and red. Besid f' me, j f' n li es on her back, her soakf' d coat o n thf' ground bf'sicl e her and her boots a ft'w feet awav. As the seconds ti ck by, my cl oth es stiffen against my skin , ha rcl f" ning as water turns to ice in the fri gid air. I can see crys tals forming in J en's long braid a nd thin lashes. She is not shaking. Not ye t.Just brf'athing, clf'e pl y- long, rasping, stf'adying brf'alhs. Thf'n COLD shr coughs. H er hrrath escapes in ,isiblc puffs of air. The car rests ,it some distancr up thr hill , a distance that seems so much longer because of two-kct deep snow. I don't know if I can stand, but I kno\\' l c.m'L carry her there. It's too la1: 1 have LO wait until I can feel, until I ca n mo\·e. ,\boYe and surrounding us, the sky is g ra y and has 110 warmth The sun a di stant orb, paler than the moon. The lake looks like hardened fog, its surface dusted white a nd smooth hut fo r one break in the field of whitr: a jaggrcl hole that IT veals the thinness of th e icr so close Lo the shorr. That's \\'here she fell in. I ran scr it from where I sit , see th e trail cut th rough th e ice, broken as easi ly as glass. The water is dark and laps slo\\'ly aga in st the shards. Our gear still li es on one sid e- of' the hole: onr pole a nd a kit. A line st ill runs into tlw watn The other is lost. I kn ow I will not go back k)r a ny of it~ rwntua ll y, it will a ll be lost to the lake. I had ta ken off my gloves to fill thr sinkr 1: .tvl y fin gers wne alrrady stiff and cold br neath the glows, but I could not ma nipulate th r tiny rubbn plug through the thick fin ger paddin g. Sol had srt th em aside, kn elt by th r tiny hole ,vr had ca rved, and rdeasecl th e plu g. The shock of pure cold bi t through th e fl rsh of my hand a nd straight to the bone, stealing my breath away in a gzisp. The pain was real, but the pleasure also to feel something so potent, so unequivocall y genuine as pure, unal loved cold . Fi ve seconds. Ten seconds. The cold began to burn. [ screamed a nd laughed, watching th e air rise from in side thr sinker in tiny, !1uttering bubbles and knowin g I had to hold my hand there for seconds more, until th e last of the bubbles had escaped a nd burst. That's when I heard the omi nous sound of' splitting ice. A fri ghtened gasp. A frantic scramble. A scrram. In one, in conceivable instant, l watched J en's head di sappear beneath black wa te1: :\Tow J en moans. l see she is shiverin g vio lently, a nd at the same moment I begin to feel the battle of heal agziinst cold rnter mv fin gertips as .H I press them against my chest benC'a th my sweat shirt , uncln my coat. ~-Ly heart pumps \\·a rm blood to my l<' gs, my toes, a nd a ll is to rture. As the heal at last maniksts it self, I know the horror of cold. Softly, it begin s to snm\. Chi!dr!'II arr' bom /me scil'llfists. T!11y .1j 1011 fr111 e- 011s(y n /1 eri111 m / mid n jln i!'ll r:e and m'.\/H'rima again . T/11y SIi/i'ii. fas/I', bifr,, {I/Ir/ fo11d1 -festjor harr/11 css. srifiness, sj1 ri11g i111'ss, ro 11gh11 pss. s111o ot!111 l'ss. co ldness, ll'(lrl//1/l'SS. .. - Richard B11ck111i11stn fi11/ln " I remember that winter \\'ell. Oh, it ,,·as cold 1 Your shoes \\·oulcl freeze to the pa\'cmcnt if yo u stood in rnw pla re loo lo ng. /\ncl it \\·as irnpos siblc to get the Buick running before sunup. Tha t's ho,,· cold iL \\'aS. or course, \\'e couldn't get \'C'I')' fa r, what ,,·ith a ll the sto rms a nd snm,·. A typical \\'isconsin wintc1~ J suppose." I grin as my mother tells the story I ha\'C heard more th an twcnly timrs, once a year, a nd I know th a t the next line ,,·ill start, "Sixteen degrees below." "Sixteen cl rgrres below," she continues, shaking her head as if she still can't beli c, ·c the temperature could drop so low anywhere but the Antarcti c. "That's how cold it was when we brought you home on Christmas Eve. Such a woncl t' rful Christmas girt, o ur little Ho lly berry." On the nint' tet'nth of Dccembe1; 1983, J entered the frosty world a nd found my first home tu be the uppe r- lVIiclwestern town or O conomo woc. Tha t's probably when I developed my toler ance and love o f winte1; of snow and cold a nd ice. As a child in grade school , I looked fo rward to the summer vacation only because it meant no more sc hool- the heat or summer was never m,· fri end. The .\rlidwestern humidity le fr m e feeling sti cky and unclean, a nd I neve r liked the reel of sweat on my pa lms o r hot blood in my cheeks. On sultry cl ays [ so ught out shade or kept indoors. 01; if J had lo go outdoors, I sought out o ther ways to keep cool: running through sprinklers in the front yard, sucking popsicles bought for fifty cents l'rom the icc> cream truck, a nd racin g my bike cl own sleep hills just to feel a breeze on my la ce. But winter ,vas my have n season. As O cto bt' r approached, I would begin lo search the skies for the first snow cloucb~ I learnecl earl y lo iden tif)· them. And then, when the first fl a kes or the season bt'gan lo !a ll , I raced from the ,v zi. rm house lo catch th C' crys ta lli zed rain on my tongue, and ..,6 .1 once enough had landed on the lawn I ballC'd it into my fist to feel it harden and begin to melt al once, welting my palm with !'ri gid w,iter. I lik C'd it. The cold . Every time I touched it fell likC' tl w first time, and I w,is a scientist learning its properties and intensities. J\ snowba ll b c,ime the base of' a snowman. I crunched through six inches of' snow and called to .\leredith to bring the midsection. Our creation would st,ind no higher than three feet ta.II once we \\'ere fini shed, but for eight-year-old girls it was a n imprcssin• Sl<l tU C of Sn0\1'. It ,, asn't lo ng before the snow had seeped through my thin, blue knit gloves. I pulled my fl esh and blood fingers out of the knit ones a nd cu rl ed them against my palm, trying to w,irm the m again and make them mobile. Suddenly, from bchiml, a b,1 I] or ice struck the hack o f' my neck a nd slipped <lmrn my back as ii' I weren't wearing ;rny coat at all. I screamed, more in oITensc than in p,i in or di scomfort. As .\le rf'cl ith la ughed be hind me, I shmnl my fingers b,1ck into plac<" inside the gloves, stooped dmrn lo gather a handful o f' pcr ff'ct packing snow, and lo bbed one back. \ V<" pl,iyed for another half' a 11 ho ur, but my li.n gcrs onl y lost more and mo1T heat. Soon, I cou ld barely move them al all, a nd we callccl a quit .~-) I to our play. \Ve stomped our feet on tlw porch and slf' j)JJf' d into l'vkrcdith's warm house, shucking ofT our ha ts, coats, and scarves a nd lelling them dry in the entryway.