Camping has much to recommend it ”“ the challenge of a new environment, a break from routine, an excuse to make s’mores. This assumes, of course, that one is camping by choice.
Sometimes, camping happens.
There we were, returning home from a trip, two days before Christmas. We unloaded the car, which included a cooler filled with food and drinks. Driving at night, one learns to carry whatever snacks may be needed for the ride.
We arrived home late, hungry, with a simple plan: Defrost a few pieces of chicken, bake some potatoes, throw together a salad. But when I reached into the freezer, I found that the chicken had beat me to it. Instead of a frozen block, it was a warm breeding ground ”“ trouble written all over it. Nearby veggies were limp, ice cream had turned to soup.
I shut the door and checked the clock on the stove. There were no flashing digits to signal a power outage, only the correct time. The fridge was broken. Which made for an unnaturally warm welcome home.
But this was hardly an emergency. If a refrigerator is doomed to fail, could there be a better time or place? It was, after all, late December in New England ”“ cold is our specialty.
It was in that spirit that we repurposed the cooler from the car and christened it our ad hoc refrigerator. Our “travel food” would become our “real food,” and all of it went out on the deck. Nature, at least, would provide proper cooling, even if technology wouldn’t.
The next day, Christmas Eve, we dumped the entire contents of the faulty fridge and scoured the insides. We went to the supermarket and stocked up on essentials ”“ milk and butter, cream cheese, eggs, and whatever else might fit in our makeshift ice chest. Having made some calls that morning, we knew there would be no quick fix for our ailing equipment, so we’d better settle into our new program.
It was a bit rustic, this camping-out in our own home, but we would make do. Whenever we made coffee, or toast, or pretty much anything, it required a trip outside to the deck, the biggest hardship being that brief encounter with winter.
Meanwhile, you don’t realize how many habits need to be revised for such arrangements to succeed. I would hate to count the number of times I grabbed the refrigerator door handle, in hopes of returning cold foods to their proper home. A gust of warm, motionless air would surprise me every time.
By Christmas morning, we had broadened our horizons, turning an unused room into an impromptu cooling station. Soda and juice, lettuce, tomatoes and broccoli all huddled next to open windows, sharing the chilly air. Ours was a patchwork system ”“ a deck here, a sill there ”“ that served us well under the circumstances.
Until the storm hit. A bone-chilling, wind-driven snow was about to hobble our little set-up. When we heard the forecast, we retrieved some deck furniture from the basement, and rigged up a pair of tables to shield our supplies. Soon we would be shoveling a path to the cooler, but our stash of food, at least, would be spared.
By Day Four, with a pile of snow on the ground, the novelty was wearing thin. In order to butter a piece of toast, one had to put on a pair of boots and gloves, go to the deck, reclaim the butter, spread it on the toast, return the butter to the cooler, come back inside, and remove one’s boots and gloves. This, while trying not to shed snow all over the wood floor.
Dry toast was sounding better by the minute.
And so was a working refrigerator ”“ the conventional kind, with a functioning motor, and all our cold foods in one place.
— Joan Silverman’s work has appeared in The Christian Science Monitor, Chicago Tribune, and Dallas Morning News. She lives in Kennebunk.
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