No fever in this cabin

The concept of cabin fever, like the appeal of Sarah Palin, baffles me. I know it's the norm at this time of year for folks to complain that they are feeling claustrophobic, on edge, stressed out and bored silly because it’s so hard to get out of the house during the winter months. But I just don't get it.

The other day, a Maine woman who used Facebook to organize a snowball fight in a park told a radio interviewer that her only alternative would have been to curl up in a fetal position at home, because reading a good book “only goes so far,” or words to that effect.

Really?

Here in central Maine, it was, for all intents and purposes, impossible to leave the house during Wednesday's snow storm, except for repeated shoveling forays into the yard and driveway and an abbreviated dog walk or two. The exceptions, of course, were those renegade pickup owners who believe sticking plows on their trucks gives them license to careen over hill and dale at life-threatening speeds.

The snow was falling so heavily that hunkering down by a crackling fire with a mug of hot chocolate and a good read was the only sensible thing to do. That strikes me as a much more pleasant prospect that being pelted by ice-studded snowballs in sub-freezing temperatures, and then staggering home in sodden clothing.

But hey, that’s just me. I like the cabin. It doesn’t make me feverish at all. And when I do get the occasional hankering for a change of scenery, the snowshoes are propped up against the wall out in the shed, ready to go. Because when it finally stops snowing and the sun shines yet again, the world is still out there in all its blindingly white glory, even if you can't smell the roses.