At 11:00 PM I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to check the weather report to see if it would freeze during the night. So I put down my book in the middle of a riveting piece about fourteenth-century book production and sales at French universities (great bedtime reading), and dialed the National Weather Service. As the recorded voice droned on, I reminded myself that it had been 33 degrees here on the past two mornings.

And the recorded voice told me in no uncertain terms that we were done flirting with a frost; it was going to happen.
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This is an ongoing story with a nailbiting middle and an unknown end. The proper subtitle might instead be the good old days, the ugly, the bad, and bring us the new good already.

The beginning came when we moved into this house. It is heated with a fuel-oil boiler, which is common in Fairbanks. The house is over 3,000 square feet and includes a heated garage—which sounds like a luxury until you’ve had one for awhile and recognize its importance for vehicles and work during our long winters.
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