The Icehouse (March 28)

“I had finally learned to cast my red and green bobber an impressive distance. Fishing from shore would be almost as pleasing as going by boat. I kept at it until … three good-sized perch and a brace of bluegills were on my stringer. [Then] I fell in beside Granny as she picked her way through the twilight back to the veranda.

“‘Tonight I’ll clean the fish myself,’ she declared. ‘It’s bedtime for you.’” She led the way to the bedroom.

“‘Sleep now, my boy. First thing tomorrow, we’ll go out to see how the gardens are doing. Then I’ll fry the fish. We’ll have what Grandpa’d call a breakfast fit for a king.’

“The song of the whip-poor-will lulled me to sleep. No doubt Granny heard it too as she trimmed and rinsed the fillets. Next, she would have stepped outside to the icehouse beneath the trees. If I know her at all, she continued listening as she parted the sawdust to choose a new block for the kitchen. Only with my catch chilling for the night would she have blown out her oil lamp and soundlessly joined Grandpa beside the hearth.”

(pp. 46-7)

That old icehouse had been constructed at the same time as Providence Point itself. In the days before electricity, a way to keep food cool was even more important than lights at night, and an old-fashioned icebox had its place in the kitchen years earlier than a modern refrigerator.

Nowadays, a few city people aspire to live ‘off the grid,’ if only at their cottage in summer. But while in no rush to criticize that goal, I still have my doubts. I’m not sure how many of them – if any at all! – understand the deep tranquility of genuinely living that way, rather than bringing every urban tension and frustration with them when they go north to play at engaging in a simpler life.

Am I too cynical? What do you think? And if perhaps you’ve had the privilege of experiencing such an escape, by all means describe it in a Comment.

(Illustration generated by AI)