Chipmunk Wars: Part I

If you live where the iced tea has sugar you may not understand what is happening at Curmudgeon Compound. Up here, “the change” is coming. It will arrive with or without an invite and there’s nothing we can do to avoid it. The Mongol Horde called “winter” is camped on the plains just beyond the horizon. It is preparing to do us in. Soon it’ll charge into our region and the war will begin. Nobody will be spared. Cars will rust, batteries will freeze, and checking accounts will be depleted. Only the strong will survive.

All the signs are clear. Geese are flying south. Old people and RVs have preceded them. Tourists are a distant memory. Marketers are shoving Christmas stuff up our asses. Bass boats, which were the most coveted of possessions in August, are suddenly expensive and frivolous. Snowmobiles, which spent all summer collecting dust and getting gummed up carburetors, have become desirable. Lusting after ice shacks will begin shortly. Hunters are about to go into rut. Bucks are getting nervous. Somewhere a redneck is looking forward to driving his truck on the ice.

You never know exactly when the change will happen. Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes it arrives with fury. Only one thing is sure; when it comes you will know.

I was frittering away the afternoon tweaking my tractor’s back blade (one of my three snow moving implements… one needs backups!). I sniffed the air. Winter was coming. No! So soon? I felt it on the breeze too. There could be no doubt. Winter would wait no more. Shit just got real.