childhood memories - illinois dnr · w is cabin fever contagious? could a boy catch it by standing...
TRANSCRIPT
W Is cabin fever
contagious?
Could a boy
catch it by
standing outdoors
without a coat?
16 / OutdoorIllinois December 2006
When I was a boy I dreamedof catching cabin fever, forthe usual reasons. Beingsick meant skipping school,which meant, to reiterate,
not being in school.If cabin fever could be my ticket
home, I wanted to catch it.Although I later came to greatly value
education, I recall much of my studies inthe fourth grade were spent dreaming ofalternatives. Whatever cabin feverwas—and it wasn’t clear to me if cabinfever could legitimately be acquired in ahouse that wasn’t built of logs—I wasconvinced cabin fever would be theideal excused absence.Yet adults were vague about
specifics; so I had to eavesdrop.As far as I managed to piece together,
this thing called cabin fever was one ofthose medical conditions people acquired,then lost, between December and Febru-ary, apparently without lasting harm.I liked the idea of that.The best part, I assumed, was the
fact victims got to stay home fromschool for weeks at a time—weeks,mind you.
Reports of my condition would be alocal bombshell.“He’s got the cabin fever,” I imagined
concerned neighbors whispering as theycrunched past my house on snow-cov-ered sidewalks. “It’s that little McFarlandboy. They say he can’t go to school forweeks.”Inside, I would be reading comic
books, sipping sugary drinks throughone of those flexible straws. My class-mates would be memorizing regular andirregular verbs, reciting synonyms andantonyms under the glare of academicscrutiny.Once a week, a doctor would arrive at
the house, put his hand on my foreheadwhile also listening to my heart, then turnto my parents with a grave expression.
Story By Joe McFarland
I didn’t know much about this mysterious winter illness I’dheard adults describe—but it sure sounded promising.
In the marginsof my mathemat-ics assignmentsI calculated thehigh volume ofpresents andcards whichwould bebrought to myhouse. Thegood people ofmy community would sparenothing for the boy with cabin fever.I could spend the day opening cards,glancing at the encouraging and sup-portive words, then adding yet anothercrisp bill to the stack on my bed.There would be no homework. Ice
cream would be offered hourly. Expen-sive model trucks and bulldozers wouldfill my bedroom. For weeks, nothingrelated to effort would be expected ofthe boy with cabin fever.Total scholastic immunity would be
mine.So I began to dream of cabin fever in
early November, opening my collar at thebus stop as the chill of winter spreadacross Illinois. I kept company with runnynoses and unhealthy habits. My imagina-tion invented tragic scenes of theimpending neighborhood commotion.
ChildhoodMemoriesof CabinFever
ChildhoodMemoriesof CabinFever
(PhotocourtesytheScheuringfamily.)
couldn’t wait to catch this thing calledcabin fever. But I had a major problem:I had no idea how to catch cabin fever.The vulnerabilities were never specifiedby adults. Everybody always spoke ofthe illness in providential tones, as if thething were an inescapable doom, or anunlucky number that pops up randomlyin the darkest days of cold weatherand grips only chosen victims.Could I catch it myself? In Illi-
nois? I was determined.Maybe a dusting of snow down
the neck would do the trick. I madereckless snow angels in the deep-est drifts, buttons and zipperswildly unfastened. I was deter-mined to catch cabin fever. Myboldest theory was to remove the
plastic bags my mother would wraparound my socks before stuffing my feetinto winter boots. The bags, I suspect-ed, prevented the agents of cabin feverfrom permeating the socks and enteringthe bloodstream.My mother probably knew this, as did
all mothers everywhere. Cabin fever,like an invisible germ, probably attackswith stealth. I concluded it was a nation-al secret no child was ever told.Several winters passed and I was
unable to contract cabin fever.Along the way, I successfully
induced hundreds of runny nosesand I even threw up once withouttrying. I got something called themumps. But no cabin fever. Myclosest brush with extended relieffrom school was the day I woke upwith laryngitis—the real deal, justlike in the comic books. It wastremendous.One day later, it passed.“Here’s your lunch box,
kiddo,” my mother said on thethird day, two days after thelaryngitis came and went.My tragic childhood ended
eventually. I no longer dream
Long winter days are the perfect time to enjoy
the benefits of cabin fever.
In the end, cabin fever remains
a medical mystery best left to the imagination.
of cabin fever, having outgrown the per-fectly good desire to stay at home andread comic books every day. Yet I stillfeel cheated. The doctor with the auto-graphed football never showed up.Neighbors never sent cards. No money.I ended up, despite my best efforts,attending school and learning a greatdeal about prepositions, Dr. Jonas Salk,the Industrial Revolution and John Deere,the man who invented the self-cleaningsteel plow. I wrote a book report aboutthe life of Herbert Hoover.But cabin fever remains a medical
mystery. As each winter passes, I duti-fully head to work each day with my col-lar loosened and coat unbuttoned, evenin the coldest, most virulent wind. Delib-erately, I shun orange juice and thera-peutic lozenges—anything which mightdiscourage cabin fever infection.Yet I am luckless. Cabin fever still
eludes me.Therefore I’ve decided to advance to
my next medical hope, a different strainof seasonal illness known as springfever. I have been told by crediblesources it can be caught by merelywalking outdoors on a perfectly beauti-ful day in April, which is somethingI crave anyway, especially after a longwinter of sitting indoors, dreaming ofcabin fever.
“May I be frank with you?” the doctorwould ask before gathering the stetho-scope and pressing everything into hismedical bag. “It’ll be another 75 weeks.That is, if there’s going to be any chanceof recovery.“Rough water ahead. But he’ll make
it.”Then he’d pull my parents into the
corner of the bedroom.“It’s progressed into the follicles,” the
doctor would whisper to my parents,whose faces suddenly would turnashen. The doctor would offer my moth-er a sterile handkerchief.“Listen,” he would say suddenly, as if
the most critical point were ahead. “Donot let this boy go to school. Under anycircumstances.”My father would shake the doctor’s
hand bravely and reassure him therewould be no school.“That’s the most important thing
right now,” the doctor would say, thenstart to leave.“Oh.” He would stop himself at the
half-opened door. “I’ve got this auto-graphed football from the ChicagoBears. Mr. Halas wanted the boy tohave it. Everybody on the team wascrushed when they heard the news.”As winter progressed, I absolutely
(Photo
courtesytheH.J. and
Richard
Andrew
sfamily.)
December 2006 OutdoorIllinois / 17
(PhotocourtesytheB.H. Almstrum/LyliaAndrewsfamily.)