Lucas Weismann

Another Winter Gone – 17

Marcus woke up to a layer of winter snow 8 inches thick covering the land as far as the eye could see.  Some cold had gotten into the cabin, which he chased out by stirring the coals in his fire and adding some wood from the pile nearby.  He had a propane heater of course, but the company didn’t come by often enough to fill it for daily use and besides, he liked the exercise.

Seeing the pile had dwindled to the last two or three split pieces, he put on his coat and hat, his boots and mitts and went out to the wood pile.  The snow gave his footsteps a muffled quality that seemed to absorb sound rather than make it.

Marcus unfurled the canvas log carrier he’d made from an old Duluth Pack that had done it’s years of service and was now enjoying a mostly dry retirement by the fire.  He conscientiously knocked the snow off each one before before placing it into the sling.  It was this noise in the otherwise silent forest and the snow that muffled the approaching footsteps behind him.

Someone cleared their throat.  “Mr. Marcus?”

He turned around.  There in front of him was the girl who he’d rescued from the Snowmobile accident on his land at the beginning of the winter.  She was dressed in a red fur-lined down parka, snow pants and snow shoes and had a small green canvas back on her back. and “It’s-“

“Jessica, yes.”

“Even at my age I’m not likely to forget.”

“I suppose not.” she said.

“Well, what can I do for you?  I don’t see any downed snow mobiles, nor do I see any wolves chasing you.  To what do I owe this visit Ms. Jessica?”

“Well actually, I wanted to thank you for your help the other day.”

“No need for that.  I just did what anyone did.”  He hoped his voice wasn’t too gruff but wasn’t sure.  He attempted to put a twinkle in his eye under the stern expression.

It must’ve worked, because the tension broke with her smile and Jessica asked, “Can we go inside?”

Marcus nodded his assent and they headed back in muffled silence to the log cabin with the smoking chimney.

Once inside, they stamped off the snow from their boots and hung the coats on the back of the door.  Jessica pulled up a footstool by the stove and warmed her hands.  Marcus gave her time to get settled before either of them spoke.

“Thank you Mr. Marcus, I really don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come by.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.  He very kindly did not point out that they both knew what would have happened if he hadn’t happened by.

“Well, I know it’s not much, but I brought you this.”  From her pack she brought out a pie and a thermos.  The pie appeared to be still warm, having been wrapped in a box and a towel to keep out the cold.

Marcus raised an eyebrow in pleased surprise.  “Well this is a surprise.  Usually, isn’t it the grandmother who receives the goodies and is saved by the woodsman at the last minute?  Not that I’d mind being rescued by a grandmother, assuming she was a stout handsome woman.”  He held his grave expression before breaking into a grin.  “This is very kind, but unnecessary Jessica, you didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

“It was no trouble, I needed to use the last of the Rhubarb we froze this summer and there wasn’t enough to make preserves.  Besides, I heard it was your favorite.”

“From who?”

“From the waitress over at the Chocolate Moose.  She says you come in once a week when they have it and order a a coffee with cream and sugar and a slice of rhubarb pie, with a side of ice cream.”

“hmph.” he said and then immediately brightened as she brought out a small container of ice cream.  He got up and set to the task of setting the table, bringing out red and blue Fiestaware dishes, saucers and mugs.  The forks for the pie and spoons for the coffee were real silver, old, but serviceable.  Out of the drawer, he pulled a second place mat and cloth napkin and set it down opposite his own.

After they’d eaten, he wiped the last crumbs out of his beard and focused on the girl.

“That was the best pie I’ve had in a long time.” He said, “Do you know why?”

“Lard in the crust?” she asked.  He smiled.

“Good company.  But yeah, the lard in the crust helps too.”  He sat back quietly for a moment and thought a bit before getting up to stoke the fire.  “What is it you really want Jessica?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, it occurs to me that you’ve come some way out here with something on your mind and it’s more than just bringing an old man some pie.  So, what’s on your mind?”

“Well…  I’m not sure how to say this, but I’d like to be like you.”

“What do you mean?  Old?  Cantankerous?  Keen on pie?”

“No, it’s just that most people I know wouldn’t have known how to help me, or might not have noticed that any help was needed.  I feel like it makes sense that if I can learn how to be that person, I should be that person.”

This opened a wound in Marcus that he’d managed to ignore most days.  It was Jack’s words coming back to him from the mouth of this girl.

“Oh I don’t know about that.  Lot of meddling foolishness helping people.  I was just being neighborly.  I don’t go out of my way looking for trouble.” he said.

“I’m not so sure that’s true.  And even so, I want to learn the skills it takes to help people who are stuck in the woods, or need help somehow.  I’m not taking about becoming a cop or joining the army.”  Another pang.

“Hmph, that would put you in the role of young apprentice and me in the role of old hermit.  Not sure I relish becoming the old hermit.  Too many of them die before the hero is properly trained.”

“Then don’t die,” she said.  “I’m sure you had no plans to before I came by this morning.  I don’t see why you should change them just to give me drive to accomplish things on my own.”

“What’s your dad think of all this?”

“He hasn’t said anything against it.”

“Because he hasn’t heard anything about it, am I right?”  Jessica looked away a bit sheepishly.

“I did raise kids of my own, you know.  I’m older and meaner and craftier than you, so don’t think you can pull one over on my missy.”  he remembered to but the ‘kindly old man gleam’ in his eye at just the last minute.  “Normally, I believe that it’s customary to make a would-be apprentice wait outside in all weather for three days and nights to test their resolve, but as it’s winter in Minnesota and you’ve just brought me pie…”

“Yes!”

“… I’ll have to meet your dad and get his approval.  I’m not so sure most dads would like their daughter hanging out with some old guy they’ve never met.  If- and I mean if, you get his approval, you’ll start out helping me around the place and I’ll pay you for your work.  If you can handle the work, you might just learn what it is that makes me, me.  Do we have a deal?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good.  Now I have one more question for you,” he said gravely.

“What is it?”

“Would you like another slice of pie?”

Luke vs. Dexter Writing Contest – Round 1 – Pie, Hatchet, Dog

The following are the results of a short writing contest between me and my nephew Dexter.  The rules were that it had to use the words Pie, Hatchet, and Dog.

I was to write after he started and stop when he did.  Hope you enjoy! 


Dexter’s Entry – 

One nice pie was living in ancient Egypt. He had a pet dog named Hatchet. Unluckily, his dog loved to eat pie so he had to put him in his in his boat where the food storage was. One day he went fishing millions of miles away in the ocean carrying his boat the whole way. As every one knows pies have super strength and super speed. It only took him about 3 minutes. When he got there he saw a seal and said “OK.” Then got on his boat and saw his friend Roger and caught him with a fishing rod. “f*****uck” Rodger said as he was pulling the fishing hook out of himself. “Whoa man watch you language” Pie said. Suddenly Pie felt hungrier than ever before he felt an urge for cake the he reached down under his tarp. Suddenly Hatchet said “the cake is a lie” then Pie screamed and jumped into the ocean and that was the life of Pie.

Luke’s Entry – 

I remember looking at the dog as I picked up the hatchet.  The savory scent of fresh baking wafted out of the house and on down to the woodshed.  He looked back at me opened his mouth in a lolling doggy grin.  Our breath steamed in the winter air.

The sun was low on the horizon and the trees in their skeletal winter form make the cabin seem warmer and more inviting by comparison.  I put the hatchet back in its sheath on my belt and headed toward the house, warming my hands with my breath as I did so, before grabbing an armload of wood.

Snow crunched underfoot as I approached the house and the way I stamped my feet must have gotten her attention, because when I looked up, I saw Elsa there, framed in the doorway like a backlit angel.

She smiled to see me and I suddenly forgot the cold.  Okay, it was mostly the smile, but knowing that after dinner we would be having a freshly baked apple pie might have had some effect.

“God kväll Elsa,” I said.  Most of my ability to speak Swedish was limited to greetings, asking about the weather and giving basic directions.  Fortunately, she spoke English at least as well as most people I grew up with in these parts.

“God kväll Lucas,”  She pronounced it ‘Luu-kass’ and it was one of the few traces that remained of her accent when she spoke English.  Elsa kindly held the door for me and I entered, trying my best to kick off my shoes so that there would be minimal water in the rest of the house as I carried the wood into the living room.

The fire was already burning.  It had been since the power had gone out two days before.  I didn’t mind.  It just made the whole place more cozy.  There was camping gear lined around the living room and over the fire, there was a dutch oven, in which baked an apple pie.

“You know, I think we live better when the power is out, than when it’s on.” I said, “I certainly feel better at the end of the day.”

“That’s because you’re getting exercise for a change,” she said playfully.  “Your mood is always better after you’ve worked up a sweat.”

“And an appetite!” I agreed.  “I think I’m happier because being trapped here with the roads closed means there’s enough time for us to cook real food.  Eating out is never as good as the food you make at home.”  Elsa smiled awkwardly.  It was true, she was an excellent cook, but neither her Swedish heritage, nor my Midwestern upbringing would allow either of us to accept compliments well.

“It’s just a good thing we got all those barrels and that salt pork.”  She said.  “Oh and that your brother-in-law thought that I’d want 4 kilos of pickled herring.”  I liked that she used the metric system even after ten years living in the United States.  It made me do some mental arithmetic whenever it came up, but I liked it all the same.

 “That’s just Andy being Swedish.”

She wrinkled her nose.  “No Swedish eats that much pickled herring, except at christmas maybe.”

“Maybe not, but you’ve got it lucky.  You grew up there and so you get to be Swedish without doing anything.  Poor Andy has to do Swedish things to ‘connect to his past’ otherwise, he risks losing his heritage.”

“Well, his weird American version of being Swedish might save our lives.  He bought what must be twenty cases of Julmust at the ikea down in Minneapolis.  Between that, and that outhouse you put on the lake, we might have enough food to last until the snow melts and we can head down to somewhere less remote.”

“It’s an ice fishing shack,” I corrected her.  “it makes it less miserable to get us some fish.”

“Not so much less miserable.  I tried it last year.”  She crossed her arms and pretended to be mad.

“Well, we should have enough fuel for the next eight hours or so.  Then I’ll bring another load of wood.”

“Tack så mycket” she said with a polite nod.  “I’m afraid it won’t be very exciting, since we’re running low on real food and only have the pickled things, soda, alcohol, and whatever is in those military food things your brother left.”

“Well, we have a full spice kit and you’re a great cook, so I’m sure we’ll be fine.”  It was true that I was a bit concerned.  The last week or so had been terrible.  It snowed at least eight inches every night.  And the 20.3-ish it was in centimeters didn’t make it sound any easier.

The reality was that as kind as we were trying to be to each other, we needed food, heat, and electricity- and soon.  Right now, we were doing our best to keep fed and warm as the cold and hunger threatened outside the small protections we had- a cabin and a fire.  The depth of the snow made it just possible that we could live in a snow fort for awhile, okay… but really?  There just wasn’t a good solution.

We were about a mile out from the nearest road, and homes or cabins were fairly uncommon.  twenty miles from the nearest town or person likely to be in a position to help us made leaving more dangerous than staying.

No matter how you sliced it.  We were in trouble, or we would be soon.


 

Bonus – Shortest stories using the required words.

Sale:  Dog, Pie, and hatchet- used.

Sale:  Dog Pie, and used hatchet.

Sale: Dog, pie and hatchet used.

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