It’s said that the term “cabin fever” first appeared in 1838, and means the feeling one gets when closed up in a small place for an extended period of time. It’s really too early for cabin fever, but it seems that winter came early this year and many have felt the rumblings of this malady.

The TV weather reporters are not helping, with their ever-improving graphics showing the blue overlay of an arctic freeze covering all the state of Maine. So, after being in the house for a couple of days, cabin fever can sneak in. What to do? A better question is “What can’t we do?” It’s difficult to follow the wise doctor’s advice about getting exercise every day. Walking from room to room hardly counts and we’re not ready yet for chair exercise, unless sinking into that comfy spot counts. We’ve read every book in the house, except “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare,” and re-reading the magazines is not interesting.

Funny, but decades ago, the weather we’ve been having presented a wide variety of things to do. Once my siblings and I got bundled up with only our eyes uncovered, we’d slam the back door hard to make sure it was closed, and then shuffle along on ice-covered snow, across the field. All mother’s recently washed sheets and towels, frozen solid on the clothesline, waved goodbye as we left for the great beyond.

We traveled away from the house to the nearby woods, our favorite haunt, winter and summer. Mother had given us a little bag of crackers for a snack, as we’d be gone for several hours. Once we’d clambered over fallen down trees and ice-covered bushes, we’d come to our “cabin,” which was at the foot of a huge pine tree. Amazingly, we found deep piles of rusty pine needles, soft and not snow covered.

Out of sight of the house, we settled on those soft pine needles (our “chairs”) and pretended we were someone else, somewhere else. A child’s imagination is a wonderful thing. The crackers were shared, and we made believe they were a scrumptious dinner. We (in our roles as our cousins Ruthie, Louise and Helen) would have “grown up” conversations about neighbors and their doings, and our school activities. We’d dig into the pine needles and near the exposed tree roots we might find a leftover pine cone – tucked away by a squirrel or other wild critter. After eating a little snow (no bottles of water in those days), we’d cover up our little shelter with some branches and move on to see if we could find a few red berries or some other winter surprise. We’d count the birds we saw – and name them all. Squirrels chattered away, high up in the trees, as though they were talking.

Reluctantly, we’d head back home, taking the long way through the tall pines and prickly alders, bravely crossing a little stream – always sliding on the ice and hanging onto each other, as though we were crossing a big lake – until we got to the slippery banking and onto “safe” ground. Mother would greet us as though we were long lost travelers, extending our happy time, and we’d have some molasses cookies and milk and wait for our cheeks to thaw out.

No matter that the temperature was freezing, we children never caught Cabin Fever. If we even hinted at it, Mother was right there with a cure.

“Go outside and play,” or “You can always clean up your room,” and the ultimate cure, “Well, there’s big stack of dishes to wash.”

Kay Soldier welcomes reader ideas for column topics of interest to seniors. She can be reached by email at kso48@aol.com, or write to 114 Tandberg Trail, Windham, ME 04062.