The Ice Habit

As an addendum to Thrasher and the Land of Cow Poo I would like to say that I think it is exceedingly odd that ice is a 'seasonal item' in Vermont. Not ice outside all frozen, glisteny, and hanging off of trees. (I am in favor of making that a 'seasonal item' whose season lasts, say, for the entire day of December 25th.) No, I'm talking about ice inside all cubey, clinky, and in my glass of coke. But in Vermont (ok, ok - perhaps it's not ALL of Vermont - just in the quaint little village in which my sister lives) you cannot go out and buy a bag of ice. They stop selling it at the market on Labor Day weekend. And you can't buy a fountain drink in her village at any time of the year! Tidget assures me that if you go to the movies (an hour's drive away) they sell fountain drinks but 1) I think that's actually in New Hampshire and b) she says you have to tell them you want extra, extra, extra ice or you only get two cubes. What are they, European?
I asked my sister how she could stand it. Her freezer is tiny! There's not nearly room enough for the number of trays required to keep up with our ice habit. She said it turns out it's just not as much of a problem as she thought it would be. After Labor Day, her entire (uninsulated) pantry starts staying cold enough to freeze trays and trays and trays of ice. Her biggest problem is keeping her new Vermonter friends out of her pantry when she has people over to visit. She says they just wouldn't understand.