Mubis for Those Long Nights of Winter

Each year I’m reminded of Robert Service’s poem, The Cremation of Sam McGee. My feet never seem to be warm enough, no matter how many fur-lined boots I buy. The only boots that have ever worked were big gumboots lined with thick felt that I bought to go ice fishing once. Once was enough, as my fingers felt like they would break off after threading so many hooks. The rustic sauna is the one place I crave, and like Sam McGee I could sit on those hot coals throughout the depths of winter.