Then Malemute Kid arose, cup in hand, and glanced at the greased-paper window, where the frost stood full three inches thick. "A health to the man on trail this night; may his grub hold out; may his dogs keep their legs; may his matches never miss fire."
—from “To the Man on the Trail,” the first of Jack London’s Klondike stories
This entry seems apropos on days in the Summer for which the temperature for some interminable period has been consistently in the eighties or higher. An inch of frost would be sufficient, but since the days of the frost-free freezer have arrived I must wait for late November. - JH