Winter reading

Winter and books go together particularly well. There's nothing better than sitting in a cozy chair, under a blanket, with a good book and a hot cup of tea. I thought it might be good to talk about some of the best family winter read alouds that deal with cold weather. They might make you appreciate the season more, or at least they will make you appreciate central heating.

The first is Winter Holiday by Arthur Ransome. This is part of the Swallows and Amazons series, thought it could also be read as a stand alone. I also think it is one of the very best in the series. It will make you want to go out and appreciate the weather. It is a great book for below freezing, but bearable weather. Certainly not for what the Midwest has experienced this week. For that you need something a little hardier.

Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder gets a little closer. Will you all stop reading my blog if I tell you that I was never quite smitten by the Little House books? I did love Farmer Boy, though. Probably because there were horses. The description of winter, though, makes you want to go and hug your furnace. It, too, is a great stand alone book.

For really extreme weather, though, you need to head to Alaska and the Yukon. For the past few days I kept thinking about the hardy souls who compete in the Iditarod sled dog race. Winterdance by Gary Paulson was one of our very favorite read alouds when we were studying Alaska. It is a book written for adults and every so often I needed to do a little editing on the fly while I read it, but it was hilarious and exciting and gave us all a great appreciation for the sport of sled dog racing. And now that we live with a husky, I can tell you, this breed loves nothing more than to run in the snow. In fact, Aster gets so excited by super cold and snowy weather that it is very difficult to hold her back. At one point when I had her out, I really thought I was going to become a human sled as she dragged me across the snowy field.

And thinking about our study of Alaska, made me remember the book, Jason's Gold by Will Hobbs. This is an excellent book about the Yukon gold rush. Reading about the men carrying a ton of supplies up the Chilkoot Pass in weather such as we have had seems hardly believable. They had to do it in turns, making repeated trips up the pass, ferrying their supplies, because the Canadian authorities would not let them across the border unless they could prove they had supplies for a full year.

It makes carrying water from the house to the barn pale in comparison.

And you cannot talk about the Yukon gold rush without thinking about the poet Robert W. Service and his poem:

The Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights but the strangest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.

Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.

He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;

Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.

Talk of you cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;

It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,

And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,

He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;

And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan;

"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.

Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;

So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;

And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;

And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror driven,

With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;

It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,

But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows - O God! how I loathed that thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;

And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;

The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;

And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;

It was jammed in ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;

Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;

Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;

the flames just soared, and the furnace roared - such a blaze you seldom see;

And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;

And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.

It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;

But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;

I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.

I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked,"... then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;

And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.

It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the snow and storm -

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange deeds done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest I ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.