(Howell Creek Radio address for Nov. 24, 2012 -- ) # Snap For awhile there, the weather was unusually warm in Robbinsdale: 60 F in November! -- warm enough that my optimistic parents made plans to have Thanksgiving dinner outside on the lawn. They even set up tables and chairs outside on Thursday morning, in deliberate despite of a wind advisory that was issued the day before -- all in vain. By the time we rang the dinner bell, Gwen was the only one stubborn enough to protest that she'd rather eat outside, despite the stiff gale blowing 40 knots out of the northwest. By the time the sun had set, the temperature was near the bottom of a 40-degree free-fall, and the snow was falling sideways. Everyone has those times in life that they remember, if they remember them at all, solely to celebrate the fact that those times have been left far behind. I can supply a couple examples of my own: the rained-out camping trips; the year we moved from the Superior National Forest into an inner city neighborhood of Minneapolis; a particular raking job I took on at age twelve which took me four full days, and for which I was paid five bucks and a hamburger. But there's something about that first temperature snap in early winter that recalls the worst times of all: the Michigan and Minnesota winters I spent working in construction, eight, nine, and ten years ago. * * * Here's what I wrote about it in January of 2004. Now, the manner of November in Minnesota is on this wise: you awake at five o’clock and in two hours you are at work. It is still dark out. You pull the vehicle up close to the jobsite and leave it running with the headlights on. This allows you to see the vapour of your breath as you attempt to set up tools and extension cords. You have five layers of clothing on, not counting your jacket. Your gloves render you utterly void of dextrous ability, yet somehow fail to prevent your fingers from getting numb. At ten-thirty, there is a break. It is still dark out. The lowest man on the totem pole is sent to the nearest gas station to get a snack for everyone. He is inevitably a fellow of extremely poor taste, and usually brings back a 12-pack of Mountain Dew and a box of cheap, white powdery donuts. We stand around and eat them in front of the headlights, watching our vapourous breath curl up and vanish away, robbing our bodies of precious heat. At eleven o’clock, the sun rises. There is a lot of mad dashing about, as everyone scrambles to make the best use of the limited sunlight. Measurements are called out. Power tools are fired up. Small tools, such as chalklines, pencils and screwdrivers, are scatted hither and yon all over the jobsite. Neatly stacked piles of lumber are reduced to discombobulated and clumsy piles, all lengths and sizes mixed together. Sawdust accumulates rapidly. At twelve thirty, a late lunch is taken. When everyone returns, they are full, lethargic, and not inclined to labour or quick action. But as the cold air works its magic, everyone is soon moving quickly again in order to stay warm. At two o’clock, the sun sets. Extension cords and air hoses lie in a great confused net that may wander through two stories and parts of the roof system. In the failing light, the carpenters struggle to maintain the illusion that they are making reasonable progress. At two thirty, the headlights are turned back on as dark sets in again. Punctually at three o’clock, a crisis occurs. It usually involves either a large mistake being discovered that requires immediate fixing in preparation for tomorrow’s work, an unexpected early delivery of either trusses or shingles (both of which require immediate placement while the boom truck is still on hand), or complications involving large amounts of freshly poured concrete. There is a lot of hollering while the crisis is in progress. The vehicles are running, the compressors and power tools are still going full tilt, and it’s hard to hear what anyone’s saying. And of course it’s hard to see in the dark, and four out of five men have lost their tape measures. A large amount of quick, spur-of-the-moment tool “borrowing” takes place. The crisis lasts until four-thirty or five, except twice a month when it may go as late as eight in the evening. But on normal days, the men stop at four-thirty, wind up the hoses and scare up whatever missing tools they can find. As the skill saws and compressors are turned off, the wind can be heard moaning through the trees as everything is packed up. We can now hear each other too, although usually everyone is quiet by this point. We head home for dinner. It has been a good day, unless it has rained or snowed, in which case our tools are ruined, and will require care & maintenance after dinner in the garage. * * * Thanks for listening to Howell Creek Radio; I'm Joel Dueck. The second part of this address is from a post titled _Dratted Days_, which I published in January 2004 on my personal website at JDueck.Net. Trixie and I have just finished a new design for that site and relaunched it under a new name: check out _The Local Yarn_ at . You can send your feeback, and listen to all past, present and future episodes of Howell Creek Radio at as well as find us on Twitter and Facebook. Synopsis: --------------- Radio address for Nov. 24, 2012. Every year at about this time I remember the winters I'm glad I've left far behind. The text of the second part of this address is from a post titled [_Dratted Days_][dd], which I published in January 2004 on my personal website at JDueck.Net. Trixie and I have just finished a new design for that site and relaunched it under a new name: [_The Local Yarn_](). Check it out! Music for this episode is [_Winning a Battle, Losing the War_][koc] by Kings of Convenience, an [_Wolf_][fak] by First Aid Kit. [dd]: http://jdueck.net/article/on-building-part-three-dratted-days [koc]: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000T1HLCK/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000T1HLCK&linkCode=as2&tag=joelsimprpers-20 [fak]: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008SDI1VQ/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B008SDI1VQ&linkCode=as2&tag=joelsimprpers-20