Potic: Full of Surprises

Here's Potic Cottage on sunnier, summer days. Ah, yes, I remember them well.
This Valentine's weekend started with the sad news of the demise of our pickup truck, Ol' Blue. Wolfie cited extensive frame rust, a sketchy transmission situation, and a dead water pump. We took it on the chin, but kept our heads up, knowing we would be one with Potic for the first time in three months.
Upon arrival, the mountains of ice-crusted snow glistened in the moonlight, all the way up to the front of the house. Carving a sliver of a parking spot, we then trekked all of our weekend gear up to the house by foot, a task made all the more challenging as James and I sank up to our knees with each step. But no matter, we would be toasty warm inside once we got the fire going, well after James defied death and climbed out onto the roof with a broom to clear the chimney cap.
It was as cold in the house as it was outside, so we waited til morning for the house to come up to temperature to turn on the water. Alas, it was not to be. The well pump, caput. Armed with every bucket and pot in the house, we melted enough snow to wash dishes and make coffee. It's amazing how little water you can get away with when you have to melt it first. And let me say standards of cleanliness become a little lower.
After three months away, we also had unforeseen new friends move in, leaving cobwebs, empty birdseed kernels and droppings in their wake. With rags and white vinegar, I got busy. Mold in the freezer, gone. Burst soda cans in the fridge, gone. Dust along the ceiling, gone. But it wasn't until I opened the oven that I had to call in reinforcements. Four mice, in different stages of decomposure, trapped themselves inside, their carcasses revealing a cannibal among them. I'll spare you the details, but yes, eventually thanks to James' mortuary services, they were gone too.
With the house returned to its clean, if waterless, state, we popped the cork on the champagne, and raised a glass or two. It was, after all, still Potic.