The best-laid schemes of mice and men

I saw something pitiful the other day. Don’t know why it was on my mind this morning, maybe because it started so cold.

We were pulling out the sandbags that skirted D&L’s fifth-wheel trailer, emptying them into the bucket of L’s tractor and bundling up the often tattered bags. And we got around the right side of the trailer where the wheels are. I was surprised to see that D, normally so meticulous, hadn’t removed the wheels when he lifted the trailer on its jackstands. And a rat had built itself a nest in the hollow of one of the wheels, right up against a sandbag. And it curled up to sleep away a freezing night, and just so it froze to death. And just so we found it, not long after.

I always assumed a rat’s snug little nest would always work out well, unless disturbed. Guess not.

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

I was lying in bed this morning, hoping the boys would let me snooze until full light before I had to go down and warm the cabin up. And I remembered that when I lived in cities, my life cushioned by grid power and thermostats, I could never understand why ancient people used to make such a big deal about the winter solstice. This is my eighth winter in the boonies, and I understand it now, boy. I do understand it now.