“I’ve lived in a good climate, and it bores the hell out of me. I like the weather rather than the climate. In Cuernavaca, Mexico, where I once lived, and where the climate is as near perfect as is conceivable, I have found that when people leave there, they usually go to Alaska.”
- John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley.
*****
So here it is: December - time to batten down the hatches. I am not bothered much, but Elsa has the young rabbit Misha living in the secondary suite under our backyard patio, and she keeps fretting.
Is Misha OK? Is the suite under the patio too drafty, perhaps? Is his fur thick enough? We have not seen him for a while, but rabbit food we put on his front step, has disappeared. Unless the wind blows it away, we hope he still lives there.
It is a conundrum, and it takes time to get used to it. We have not had pets for decades. Those we had were indoor pets. We always knew where they were, when they wanted attention, and when they needed privacy.
Misha, however, is a wild animal. He does not fear us and seems happy we live close by. He is probably from this year’s litter, and we wonder - what does Misha know about survival? Nobody is teaching him, but he seems wise about things and is guided by instincts. We wonder if Mother Nature equipped him with the knowledge to handle our cold winters. What will he eat when the snow covers everything green?
*****
There is a lot to be said in favour of four seasons, not only because of what Steinbeck wrote. Late fall and winter, for example, are times for hiding from the cold, lighting up fireplaces and philosophizing. It is the time to become indoorsy, read, watch TV, do hobbies and dream. Musing, Elsa calls it, and there is no doubt she considers such pursuits wasteful. But it does not deter me. Today I started wondering about what the most defining discoveries the unclad "hairless" or "naked" species of mammals - the hominids - made after they walked out of tropical Africa into the lands of four seasons.
Far back in the dawn of time, the humanoids could not explain or understand the events and environment around them, and, like animals, were guided by instincts. But they had bigger brains and were curious about what surrounded them. In the absence of science like physics, math, astronomy and others, they faltered. They wanted explanations for what was going on. To understand the unexplainable, people invented mythology that, in time, morphed into religions.
“The Greek myths were initially propagated in an oral-poetic tradition most likely by Minoan and Mycenaean singers starting in the 18th century BC.” (Wikipedia)
The mythology was presented in a way the common person could understand. Greek poets introduced a phalanx of gods, whom they pictured humanlike in appearance, and although they possessed extraordinary powers, they were also fallible, like people. The twelve Greek gods lived on Mt. Olympus, had extraordinary powers, and were each responsible for different things, like weather, land and agriculture, oceans, love, wars and seasons. Although Zeus was the chief, they ruled by what we today call an executive committee.
If there was a storm with lightning, Zeus was responsible (apparently when he was fighting with his wife, Hera); if the seas were dangerous, people had to appease Poseidon with sacrifices. When they were in love, it was Aphrodite’s department. She is known for her beauty and for her influence over the emotions of both gods and mortals, so she was an important one. And there was Dionysus, the god of wine, fertility and ecstasy.
More importantly, mythology reveals to us the "hairless" mammals, shivering from cold most of the time, who gave us the most important tool for maintaining life: fire.
It was Prometheus, a Titan known for his cleverness, foresight, and a champion of humanity, who stole fire from the gods to give to the people. He did it out of compassion and a belief in people’s inherent dignity, providing a vital tool for their survival, enabling them to cook food, stay warm, and forge tools and weapons.
Never mind that he did a shabby job of it. In Hephaestus’s workshop (the god of fire and craftsmen), Prometheus took a spark of fire and placed it inside a stalk of the giant fennel plant. He brought the fire back to humans, hidden within the stalk. It was not the most practical way, but it worked.
This act of defiance enraged Zeus, who punished Prometheus by having him chained to a rock in the Caucasus Mountains, where an eagle would eat his perpetually regenerating liver every day, a cycle of torture that lasted for centuries until Heracles freed him.
People gradually learned to make fire from scratch by scraping flint rock with steel to get a spark or by creating friction to make embers, then using tinder, kindling, and fuel. In 1826, John Walker, a chemist in Stockton-On-Tees, England, invented friction matches.
Fire was the next great invention after the first humanoid had picked up a sharp stick to dig out some roots. Other big inventions were the wheel and better transportation, and now computers which seem simultaneously beneficial and a curse, but that is a topic for another time.
We have made great progress since Prometheus’ time, but there are still situations where raw fire is the only way to get comfort.
It was Christmas 1985 when Elsa and I, in our mid-forties, went for an adventure tour of Egypt. A company called Guerba Expeditions from England provided a repurposed Bedford army truck, a driver, and a cook. We were joined by 22 other passengers hailing from Australia, New Zealand, England and Canada. Unlike Elsa and I, and two other older couples, the rest of the participants were in their early twenties, still wet behind their ears.
Africa Overland Tours Company, Guerba, organized adventure trips at rock bottom prices. We slept in tents, cooked our own meals from ingredients bought in local markets, on open fires made with foraged firewood. That principle worked fine in sub-Saharan Africa, where Guerba ran most of their trips, but since ours was just around Egypt, it puzzled us where the wood would be found in the desert. There was some in the truck, but not enough for a 3-week trip.
The picking amongst the dunes was slim indeed. The only available wood was a telephone line on the side of the dirt road. We cut down the telephone poles but tried to be considerate. We took every second one, cut it at the base and then right under the insulators. The wires did not sag enough to touch the ground, remaining serviceable.
True to rumours, nights under cloudless desert skies are very cold. Water left in a wash basin froze overnight. The young members of our group were from down under, unprepared for the cold! We, Canadians, coming in the middle of winter, were dressed warmer for the trip, so at least we had long trousers, sweaters and jackets.
On Christmas Eve, we made camp outside the walls of the St. Catharine monastery under Mount Sinai. At night, we made a big bonfire from the telephone poles, cooked dinner and sang Christmas carols sitting in a big circle around the fire pit. It was magical and comfortably warm.
Afterwards, I collected the bigger rocks outlining the fire pit and rolled them up on a piece of a 2x10 I found in the truck. We carefully moved the steaming hot rocks into our tent. Everyone stared at us. Bruno and Elsa must have gone mad! Then, after about half an hour, people noticed that the moving shadows inside our tent appeared unnaturally slim, half-naked.
Someone stuck his head inside through the tent flap and yelled out, “Bruno and Elsa have a heated tent, and they are lying on top of their sleeping bags in their shorts and shirts, reading!” Well, I thought, there is a lot to be said for a tent with central heating.
*****
Yesterday, I looked out into the back yard and Misha was sitting by the entrance to his suite as if it were not just 7°C, and below-zero temperatures overnight. He was fine and well, and looking just as cuddly as always. The happy family is still intact!
