During our long, chilly winters – when it’s so cold outside that you wish you had stored your brass monkey someplace warm – a guy has no excuses and no choice but to tackle those indoor chores that he’d put off last summer.

Numerous such chores present themselves. Chief among mine recently were replacing our bathroom and kitchen faucets. Both were still functioning, but both had, over the years, acquired unsightly surface deposits of whitish minerals. Professional plumbers call these deposits “hard water crud.”

I tried to remove the deposits with vinegar and with powerful chemicals purchased at the home improvement store. But the deposits unfailingly and annoyingly returned, like spam emails from a politician begging for donations.

It used to be that replacing a set of faucets required high levels of plumbing skills along with the tools required to cut, solder and flare copper piping. Things have been modernized so that almost anyone can handle this job as long as they are willing to lie on the floor with their head in a cabinet and a small flashlight in their mouth.

The first order of business for me was to clear out the space beneath the kitchen sink. That area had been used to store a plethora of cleaning products, some of which had been there since the Reagan Administration.

Did we really need this old bottle of Drano? Not at this moment, but we might in the future. Was the product it contained still good? I saw no expiration date, so it was saved for later.

Unfortunately, our critical plumbing components are located in tiny cabinets beneath the sinks. This meant that I had to lie on the floor in a most ungraceful fashion and contort my upper body in a manner often associated with Chinese acrobats.

Another problem involved cabinet spiders. Cabinet spiders are rarely seen but are often felt whenever a guy’s head trespasses into their realm. It’s a well-known fact that they take great pleasure from tormenting a guy by tickling his ears or his nose, feigning an orifice invasion.

I felt such a tickle while working on the kitchen faucet. Scrambling from my ungainly position on the kitchen floor, I rushed to my wife and said, “Do you see a cabinet spider in my ear? It sure feels like there’s one in there!”

Glancing at my auditory canal, she replied, “I don’t see any spiders. But when was the last time you trimmed your ears? You have more hair in there than a mature musk ox.”

Despite this and other struggles, I was able to replace both the bathroom and kitchen faucets in less than half a day and with only minor losses of knuckle skin. I’m paranoid about leaks and will randomly whip open the cabinet doors from time to time and exclaim, “Aha! Caught you trying to sneak a leak!” So far, these surprise inspections have all come up dry.

The next day I noticed that my right shoulder was uncommonly stiff and sore. I was about to chalk this up to the ravages of aging when I recalled how I had to contort myself — especially my right arm — the previous day. I took great comfort in the knowledge that the discomfort was likely temporary.

Another midwinter project I tackled involved culling the pile of reading materials that had accumulated on the end table next to my recliner. Will I ever get around to perusing this outdoor magazine that’s old enough to have been printed by Gutenberg? Probably not. Should I toss this superstore flyer that’s so out-of-date that it’s trumpeting a 32-inch plasma TV as being outstandingly huge? Into the trash bin it goes!

A more recent arrival was found at the top of the pile. It was a garden seed catalogue, complete with photos of tempting tomatoes, ravishing radishes and sumptuous sweet corn. Mesmerized, I plunked down in my recliner.

The mercury had plummeted well below zero that morning. Glancing out the window I saw a frozen, windswept, lifeless prairie. It was difficult to fathom that six months from now the temperature could be 120 degrees warmer, and that the prairie would be transformed into an emerald Eden.

I soon became lost in the pages of the garden seed catalogue. My hand somehow found a pen and began to circle the luscious goodies that I’m certain we cannot live without.

My wife peered over my shoulder and said, “Don’t get so carried away again. You always order way more seeds than you can ever use.”

She was right, of course. And I might have ordered more seeds if my shoulder hadn’t been so sore.

— Jerry’s book, “Dear County Agent Guy” can be found at www.workman.com