When we moved south from Ely, Minn., Dad brought his tire chains. These were an actual, heavy web of Jacob Marley-like chain links that were wrapped around the drive wheels of an automobile to increase traction in the snow.
I remember Dad lying flat and gloveless on his back in a snowdrift, trying to snug up the chains, his fingers turning from white to the color of boiled lobster as he fumbled with the icy metal.
As always, he never complained nor took any countermeasures to make the job more tolerable
