It was time to close up, although we both knew we’d want to get back soon.

But winters in upstate New York can be cruel. There can be a lot of snow and temperatures below zero are commonplace. With its oil-fired burner that can suck up oil like a like a kid drinking a chocolate cabinet, the family house was not built for winters.

Already, much of the house had been winterized. Toilets drained, pipes left uncapped so that any moisture might drip into buckets in the basement. The rooms that during summer months were filled with half unpacked suitcases, beds hastily made and curtains wide to let in the sunlight were startlingly neat. Things had been put away. Dresser tops were clean. Curtains partially drawn. Rugs were squared. The rooms looked frozen and surprisingly, seeing it was 45 degrees outside, it felt like a freezer.

That portion of the house still heated – the kitchen and a couple of rooms above it – was a toasty oasis. Carol had two space heaters to augment the cranky radiators that spit and clanked. We strung tree lights above the kitchen window and Carol placed a ring of red and gold sleigh bells over the door handle. All we needed was music and some hot chocolate and we would be in the Christmas spirit.

Outside the trees were bare, giving glimpse through the woods of neighbors’ homes you wouldn’t know are there in the midst of summer. The nearest was closed up for the winter, its drive not cleared of the oak and ash tree leaves that blanketed the forest floor. I stood silently looking into the woods and got that feeling, I was being watched.

I scanned the perimeter of the yard not sure what to expect. There was no wind. No sound of birds or the chattering of chipmunks. Still the feeling persisted. I focused on the nearest trees and found I was looking into a large pair of dark eyes. The rest of the form came quickly into focus. It was a large doe, standing perfectly still not farther than 70 feet away. Her ears were erect. Her coloring was a tawny brown, a perfect camouflage. We held each other’s gaze for a moment and then I moved. She turned and bolted through the woods, her white tail waving farewell.

Closing for the winter can be a sorrowful chore. It’s an admission that the summer has been stretched out as long as possible, made all the more pronounced by the jabber of Canada geese flying in V-shaped squadrons overhead.

Carol targeted the refrigerator and freezer. The fridge with a collection of salad dressings, jams, condiments and seltzers was manageable. She filled a cooler we would bring home. The freezer was another matter.

It had become the place to put food we hadn’t planned for or that we knew we would get to. Take, for example, hot dog and hamburger buns. How many times have you ended up with one pack too many? When that happens, the extra pack goes into the freezer. The same is true with that half loaf of bread that you know will grow mold if left for the week. Save it. Put it in the freezer with the leftover turkey. Then there was the ice cream, boxes and tubs of ice cream. I peeled back the lid to a Friendly’s half-gallon of chocolate. Inside were two scoops of frost-covered goop. I opened another, pistachio/almond. That is good stuff. I grabbed a spoon and carved some out. It resisted, finally pulling free in a sticky mass.

Carol knows of my passion for ice cream, so she was incredulous after the inspection of a half-dozen containers, I declared it all had to go.

“You know we can just leave it there,” she said, reminding me we planned to leave the freezer running.

That was an option, but I wasn’t looking to save anything from this year even the ice cream that went the way of the buns and a few mystery bags of leftovers.

The freezer had space to spare. That’s the way to close out 2020 – leave room for those fresh extra buns, although you’ll probably never eat them, and plenty of ice cream you know you’ll enjoy.