People that live in the Upper Peninsula are called Yoopers. We are a strange breed of people, that have interesting traits. We pride ourselves on being prepared, which means we carry in the trunk, a chain, jumper cables, a small shovel, MRE, blankets and Kitty Litter. Others carry other stuff that may compliment these items. When bad WX hits, we dont freak out, we know its coming, eventually, and their are ways that we adjust to our style of living. Snow tires, drive with your winter foot, keep a shovel by the door, the gas can full for the blower, at least one brush and ice scraper in the car/truck, and watch the weather, to make sure you are prepared. We dont necessarily avoid going out in it, especially if we are young, but as we age, we are more cautious. Forgetting any one of the items mentioned could get you in a bit of trouble.
With that said, the last three days, Munising has received 32 inches of snow, which is expected to stop falling on Friday afternoon. I usually spend 2 hours each morning when it snows, outside shoveling the stuff, today was an exception, I shoveled three times to keep up with the mess. As I write this, I'm at work, its 8 pm and I am doing one final round to make sure the heat is fine, doors are secured and accessible, and no big drifts to contend with in the morning. I will be the only one here on Friday, you see its the night before opening season, and it is a Yooper tradition to call off school the day before opening of deer season, so the guyz can head out to camp, and start brewing the chili, playing cards and hydrating for the first day of the season. I used to be at the head of that line, poster child of flannel and suspenders, 308 in hand, hunting knife on my side, and a cadre of stories to tell at camp, until I became active in Masonry. Now I only daydream of times long past, when chili, beer, pasties, cards, the outhouse, homemade stuff, listening to the AM radio and a nice sauna were the order for the week. We would even occasionally shoot our guns if we seen that 30 point buck. Now I tend to be found alone at work while the others are out enjoying this solemn holiday, I almost always get a chunk of venison given to us by a proud hunter, so the season still has is flair. Last year my Grandson Thomas shot his first one. Firsts during hunting season are always a celebration for the whole camp. There will be a first this year, not seen in over 20 years, as the sugarbeeters, trolls, fudgies and flatlanders attempt to drive into camp tomorrow, and they hit that WALL of 2 foot SNOW that is waiting to thwart their efforts to enjoy the masculine romance of living at camp for 2 weeks. Meanwhile, the county has the main roads plowed, and the widows of those hunters have a clear path to Green Bay, Marquette and all points retail, for their annual therapy sessions, and possible induction into the Visa Hall of Fame. Such is the nature of life, that some must of necessity Hunt, and others gather, for the inclemencies of life.
