Saturday, 22 November, 2014, 7:00 A.M.
Doghouse thermometer said 10.2° this morning last time I checked before I left for Big House to fix breakfast. A battery powered digital, it’s sensor is tacked up to a deck post beside Moore’s run. Same thermometer said 84° inside beside recliner with cedar fire popping eight feet away. Big House breezeway digital said 14.2°. That breezeway funnels natural air movement from upper flat ground where Big House sits to lower bottom land behind the house. Near constant, good air movement, it’s a first class place to measure outdoor temperature. Always shaded, away from precipitation, nothing to influence it’s measurements except it’s own construction. Six feet from that sensor, an old analog with four inch round dial on a post. It’s left over from the days when veterinary drug companies sent advertising material to Pap. I think this one came from Phizer. That old coiled bimetal read somewhere between 10° and 12°. It gets same breezes as the digital, but the post mount thposes it to more sun light. I glanced at the big twelve inch analog tacked to front of ice house/meat house/gourd house, across back yard from Big House kitchen door as I entered. Best I could see it read somewhere in the teens: Numbers are faded a bit and plastic cover is cloudy. I didn’t walk through heavily frosted grass to get a closer look. Kitchen table, “The Biggy”. A receiver for five digital sensor/transmitters scattered about Big House. #1, outside in that same breezeway, was blinking blank. Don’t know why. Have to fiddle with it a little. #2, office temperature was 45°. That’s important because I keep things in there I don’t want to freeze over winter. #3, 50.2°, the cellar under Big House kitchen. It stays pretty con- stant as long as the outside door stays shut. My water distribution system is down there. # 4, 58.6°, Dining room where I’m sitting to write this column. Not to worry, pellet stove in there, off overnight, will bring it up to working temperature by the time breakfast is cleaned up. At least I’ll be warm from the knees up. Crawl space under the floor is open to outside air and floor has been eternally cold for as long as I can remember. I’ll close that space and insulate between joists when I have new downstairs bathroom built. #5, 61.6°, Kitchen table where the thermometer receiver sits. Lowest setting on a propane wall heater has kept kitchen temperature within reach of comfort. A quick turn of the dial lights all three elements and the garden calendar pinned to the wall above begins to flap in rising heat. While I still had my coat on, thought I’d walk down to New Green Building and plug in tractor block heater. Get Kubota warmed up for use later in the day if I ambitious. On the wall, just inside shop door, right side, between wall studs, another heirloom. Royal Crown Cola, faded paint, maybe eighteen inches high, a big tube of red alcohol topped out at 16° more or less on its scale. After breakfast, before I began writing, I remembered to top off pellet stove with fresh fuel. Outside dining room back door, bent to pick up a bag, I looked up at my morning “oops”. Bright clear rays from the sun, just risen over North Mountain, were shining directly on another twelve inch analog thermometer matching the one mounted on gourd house. 20° in that first direct daylight. Folks have said uncomplimentary things about my temperature obsession, often mentioning unmentionable parts of my body in derision. I don’t mind. Biggest worry is that with all those thermometers in all those excellent locations, I still don’t really know what the temperature was Saturday morning. It was cold.
