A Modest Proposal for Preventing Six Months of Bad Moods and Cancellations of Which Winter in NH is Composed

One of the biggest problems we have here in New Hampshire is the cold weather which causes everyone to hibernate like muskrats for a good six months. The streets are generally deserted, stores have to put everything on sale and events are cancelled left and right because no one wants to go out in the cold. Really, after the December holidays, everything is downhill. The snow goes from being picturesque to oppressive, and people’s moods go from bad to worse. I’m here to tell you things aren’t hopeless in the face of this damn cold. I’m here to present a solution to this problem which is as old as the first settlement at Odiorne Point.

My solution is simple: let global warming happen. Let the basement furnaces blaze, pumping greenhouse gasses into our atmosphere. What could go wrong? The more greenhouse gasses we produce, the warmer our climate will be. We won’t have to worry about seasonal affective disorders among our population or the cancelling of schools due to snow and frigid temperatures. The only thing school might be cancelled for would be too much fun. I hear they have that in Florida. On especially nice days, everyone skips school or work for the beach, and according to Google searches, they all seem to be doing great.

An increase in global temperatures would have economic benefits too. We’d have a year-round growing season just like California. With some small improvements to our rocky soil, we could keep our economy local and, if we succeed at that, could broaden our markets to sell to other colder places like Canada and the arctic research facilities. They certainly need oranges and pineapples in places like that where citrus is rare.

I admit that if we go through with my plan, sea levels will rise due to the melting glaciers, so some of our seacoast will be uninhabitable. But we have so much undeveloped land in the White Mountain National Forest, that shouldn’t be an issue. There’s no reason why we couldn’t develop that land to adjust for the displaced population at the seacoast. Besides, we only have nine miles of coastline, so our issues will be small compared to our neighboring states Massachusetts and Maine. Come a 20 degree increase in temperatures, residents of those states will be flocking here.

Move South? No! Why would you uproot your family, your friendships, and your livelihood when there is an easy solution. The plan will be not be difficult to execute, but it requires action on everyone’s part. Turn up your thermostats pronto and forget your woodstoves. You can use your already chopped wood to make abstract art. Ignore all bids to increase public transportation and bike lanes. You probably have a car anyways so keep driving it as much as possible. Take that trip down to Boston. Make the haul up the auto road to the top of Mount Washington. In twenty years, it’ll be covered in condominiums if all goes well, so you’ve got to see it while it’s still public land. Buy a new iPhone every year, flush the toilet twice after every use, and last but not least, please leave all your lights on, even when you’re sleeping. They have eye masks for the sensitive sleepers among us. It’s the little things that count.

I implore you, dear people, if you want to live in the brightest and happiest state in the nation and get us out of this deplorable mess we call winter, take a stand and let off the fumes so we can warm New Hampshire up.


Must Have a Thing for Produce Guys

It all started when they built a new Hannaford in Gilford.

My sister and I drove there to buy beer

for our summer fires in the backyard.

We never remembered where they sold the beer,

and anyways, the produce shows up

first when you walk in the door,

so there’d be the guy lifting crates of apples,

and bananas shipped in

from faraway places

no one in the town had ever seen

beyond photos in our library series

that dated from the 1970s.

His forearms were to die for.

If it’d worked out between us,

I’d have never left town.


Then, there was the Target guy

buying food for the city of Minneapolis.

The store was right at the edge of the city between

the hipsters and the black neighborhood,

where one time after we became friends,

we passed each other in the parking lot,

me hauling lumber from Home Depot

in a big ass white truck,

and him wearing shades,

turning his silver commuter,

into the lot, dial turned to NPR.

All his shirts were collared cherry,

and neither of us could tell the difference

between a Monday shirt or a Saturday

night late shift.


Most recently, there’s the singer in a local band.

At a break in the set he hands me a card

with his cell number written on the back.

I’m having a party and I want

to fill up my house with sound this Saturday,

I feel like this band is the perfect one

for my living room.

I spend this morning

baking muffins with red sprinkles,

and berries inside

I turn over the card on the counter.

His name: Produce Manager.