First time I met him was in a Sears parking lot down in the cities. Was there to buy a saw but didn't know which one'd solve all my life's problems. At least as far as wood goes. The lot was nearly empty. Bein' a sunday morning most right thinking folks were still in church trying to get their foot in Heaven's door. As you can see I wasn't among the chosen. Had my reasons, the foremost of which was the six hour drive back up to my piece of paradise. Always figured the roof of a church got in the way of a fine view of Heaven. And seein' as how God's infinite you don't have to go far to find the Old Guy.
Nearly soiled my britches when I turned from the truck door and was forehead to nose with the man. All in black from sole to fedora. No jacket but he did sport a tie. Black on black one with a wood grain pattern. Nice tie. Was gonna ask the man where he got it but before I could open my mouth he clipped off in a voice that commanded respect, "I figure you'll get the most use out of a radial arm saw. Does pretty much everything except curves. For me that's been okay. I like most everything straight on anyhow. Even use it to trim my nails to a crisp point. By the by, best you get yourself a pair of quality blades to go with the saw. Cross cut and rip. That's what I'd do if I were you."
Tipped his hat and walked off like hadn't a care in this or any other world. Don't know where he came from. Don't know where he went. Don't much care as the saw turned out to be a fine piece of machinery.
'Course I gave the moment a turn or two on my way home. First I figured him to be the devil seein' as how it was a sunday and him bein' on the outside of all those holy walls. But a moment's thought and I remembered. Met him before and would no doubt meet him again. Each time his words carried a lot of weight with me even though he always appeared as a stranger. Almost a brother but a whole lot wiser and smarter. Never steered me wrong. Also wasn't bossy. Just suggestive in the sense of, 'this's what I'd do if I were you but I'm not, so do as you please'.
Yeah, I ran into him a half dozen or more times over the years. Couple of times in the war. Once when I was a kid runnin' hooch over the border to make a buck. Always looked liked he'd just walked out of the shower, donned freshly pressed clothes and dropped by for a minute to shoot the breeze. Then just as quick, was gone. Could be he doesn't like to dress up. Kind of like me in that way. Always takes a few hours before clean clothes fit like they should.
Don't know exactly who he is. One of these days I'll have to ask. Got my notions but that's about it. All I know for sure is to pay him heed. Never seems to guide me wrong. Guardian angel? Death? The man from down below? Or maybe just me on my good days? Probably doesn't matter.
Monday, November 30, 2015
Saturday, November 21, 2015
Cold Snap in the Arrowhead
A couple of years ago I noticed my pants were gettin' a little snug. Struck me as odd that the cotton in my Wranglers had shrunk that much. Needless to say I sat down right away and penned a letter. Wasn't to the Wrangler people. Wrote it to myself. Mailed it on the weekend when I was down in Grand Marais and picked it up in my box the following week. Went something like this:
Dear Wideload,
Time to get up and move it. You're more than a few degrees south of chubby. Keep it up and you'll be dead in a couple of years and they'll need a fork lift to carry the casket.
One who cares (and doesn't like what he sees in the mirror)
The idea bein' I'd accept criticism from an outsider. 'Specially someone I respect as much as I do myself. Also nice to get mail once in a while. Easy for me to write off my puffing when I hiked down to the stream as nothing more than old age creeping up on me. In fact a lively brain like mine could explain most everything and make reality exactly like I wanted it even if it wasn't. All was fine 'til I was struck out of the blue with a bolt of personal honesty. Hate that when it happens. No way to sneak around the truth so I decided it wasn't too late to get myself into shape before the undertaker carved and pumped me into a fine looking cadaver.
So, I took up walking (way more appealing than cutting down on my eating). Hiking when I want to feel more manly. Not sure what the difference is but I've been told there is one. Might have to do with packing a lunch. Yeah, some of my excursions call for a break or two. Walk an hour, sit for five minutes and move on. Maybe carry a book and binoculars. Bought me a small daypack and a couple of pairs of fancy white tennis shoes with blue stripes made by a company in Germany. Don't walk every day but some hikes push twenty miles.
Usually I stick to the roads. Here to McFarland and back's an up and downhill ten miler. One day when my oats were up I continued on down the Border Trail to East Pike. There I stood mid-shore on my favorite lake, no rod, no canoe. All dressed up for the picnic but forgot the basket. Just stood there a minute staring across a half mile of glassed out water, thought, "there it is," turned around and pounded back uphill towards home. Ate my lunch a mile back alongside John Lake. Never walked rod-less again. Bought a four piece spinning rod to stow in the daypack. Also packed a few spinners and snap swivels. Some lures small enough for trout, a couple for bass. Should I pass along a stream or lakeshore I'd be ready. Felt a whole lot better with an option. It's good to be able to say no once in a while when yes is just as likely.
Don't have many creative thoughts when I'm heading down the road. Seems like I need other people around me before the idiocy floats to the surface. Tried writing but nothing comes out worth reading. Even bores me. Could be that humor, which is the way I'd go if I could write, goes hand in hand with pain, misery and stupidity. Like the other day when I broke a personal record. In a quiet life like mine, personal bests are a big deal. Keeps me motivated. Gettin' better all the time (at least till I don't). Happened on the rise coming out of the valley just past my driveway. Farted on thirteen straight right foot strikes. Near as many as the sixteen left footers I did last fall. Like a one cylinder engine as I chugged my way up the rise. A good writer could make something of that. Maybe even the theme of an entire novel. A saga. But not me. But I did make note of it in my journal. Right after a comment about noticing a wind knot in my fly line leader and maybe should put on a new one when I'm feelin' up to it.
Reflecting water. Those words kept coming back to me on my return from East Pike. Outside of an occasional tiny zephyr the water was truly glassed out. Near upside-down, right side-up confusion of the far shore. Seen it before and never gave it much thought beyond, "That's pretty neat. Maybe I should try a handstand to see if it looks the same?" Never before caught the connection between the reflection of the water and the reflection I get lost in while out on a walk. Also, the dreams I used to have when I was younger. Don't have them as much anymore. Spent most of my dream time from my years in the war 'til I retired either back in the war or out on the water. The water dreams ran the gamut from being iced out to catching large fish. Yeah, I sure liked to catch those dream fish but it seemed I didn't have much control over what was on the end of my line. 'Til I gave it some thought. Reflected on it. Seems those dreams were trying to tell me something. And it wasn't the figuring it out that mattered near as much as changing what needed changing in my life. Reflection's fine but a man's gotta go deeper than the surface. Put those thoughts into action. Did some things right. Some I screwed up big time. Long story short, guess I'm a little slow on the uptake in more ways than you can shake a stick at.
Had thoughts lately of headin' up McFarland way, catch the Border Trail and wander on over to Ely. Can't be more than a hundred-forty miles or thereabouts. A week with close to fifty pounds on my back. What's that to a sixty-three year old man besides maybe death and being eaten by feral hamsters? Once there I'd take a short shopping, eating and sleeping break then head back. See the other side of the trees I'd passed. Or maybe catch a bus back to Hovland.
Anyhow, what I'm getting around to is a walk I took after shoveling out the driveway the other day. Should've known better. Worked up a sweat in the hour and a quarter it took me to clear the snow but felt pretty good. Stuffed my shovel in a snow bank and set off south down the McFarland Road. Probably was above zero but not by much. Half hour out. A little more on the return. A smart man would've started out north. Wasn't much of a wind in the beginning but slowly built on the outbound. When it was at my back I payed the breeze no mind. Sure did on the way back. Near to froze my nose but more important, my privates. My pecker pain got my attention when it started to thaw. Guess that's one of those good-bad things. Bad that it hurt like the devil. Good that the pain said it was still attached. Might not do that again.
Dear Wideload,
Time to get up and move it. You're more than a few degrees south of chubby. Keep it up and you'll be dead in a couple of years and they'll need a fork lift to carry the casket.
One who cares (and doesn't like what he sees in the mirror)
The idea bein' I'd accept criticism from an outsider. 'Specially someone I respect as much as I do myself. Also nice to get mail once in a while. Easy for me to write off my puffing when I hiked down to the stream as nothing more than old age creeping up on me. In fact a lively brain like mine could explain most everything and make reality exactly like I wanted it even if it wasn't. All was fine 'til I was struck out of the blue with a bolt of personal honesty. Hate that when it happens. No way to sneak around the truth so I decided it wasn't too late to get myself into shape before the undertaker carved and pumped me into a fine looking cadaver.
So, I took up walking (way more appealing than cutting down on my eating). Hiking when I want to feel more manly. Not sure what the difference is but I've been told there is one. Might have to do with packing a lunch. Yeah, some of my excursions call for a break or two. Walk an hour, sit for five minutes and move on. Maybe carry a book and binoculars. Bought me a small daypack and a couple of pairs of fancy white tennis shoes with blue stripes made by a company in Germany. Don't walk every day but some hikes push twenty miles.
Usually I stick to the roads. Here to McFarland and back's an up and downhill ten miler. One day when my oats were up I continued on down the Border Trail to East Pike. There I stood mid-shore on my favorite lake, no rod, no canoe. All dressed up for the picnic but forgot the basket. Just stood there a minute staring across a half mile of glassed out water, thought, "there it is," turned around and pounded back uphill towards home. Ate my lunch a mile back alongside John Lake. Never walked rod-less again. Bought a four piece spinning rod to stow in the daypack. Also packed a few spinners and snap swivels. Some lures small enough for trout, a couple for bass. Should I pass along a stream or lakeshore I'd be ready. Felt a whole lot better with an option. It's good to be able to say no once in a while when yes is just as likely.
Don't have many creative thoughts when I'm heading down the road. Seems like I need other people around me before the idiocy floats to the surface. Tried writing but nothing comes out worth reading. Even bores me. Could be that humor, which is the way I'd go if I could write, goes hand in hand with pain, misery and stupidity. Like the other day when I broke a personal record. In a quiet life like mine, personal bests are a big deal. Keeps me motivated. Gettin' better all the time (at least till I don't). Happened on the rise coming out of the valley just past my driveway. Farted on thirteen straight right foot strikes. Near as many as the sixteen left footers I did last fall. Like a one cylinder engine as I chugged my way up the rise. A good writer could make something of that. Maybe even the theme of an entire novel. A saga. But not me. But I did make note of it in my journal. Right after a comment about noticing a wind knot in my fly line leader and maybe should put on a new one when I'm feelin' up to it.
Reflecting water. Those words kept coming back to me on my return from East Pike. Outside of an occasional tiny zephyr the water was truly glassed out. Near upside-down, right side-up confusion of the far shore. Seen it before and never gave it much thought beyond, "That's pretty neat. Maybe I should try a handstand to see if it looks the same?" Never before caught the connection between the reflection of the water and the reflection I get lost in while out on a walk. Also, the dreams I used to have when I was younger. Don't have them as much anymore. Spent most of my dream time from my years in the war 'til I retired either back in the war or out on the water. The water dreams ran the gamut from being iced out to catching large fish. Yeah, I sure liked to catch those dream fish but it seemed I didn't have much control over what was on the end of my line. 'Til I gave it some thought. Reflected on it. Seems those dreams were trying to tell me something. And it wasn't the figuring it out that mattered near as much as changing what needed changing in my life. Reflection's fine but a man's gotta go deeper than the surface. Put those thoughts into action. Did some things right. Some I screwed up big time. Long story short, guess I'm a little slow on the uptake in more ways than you can shake a stick at.
Had thoughts lately of headin' up McFarland way, catch the Border Trail and wander on over to Ely. Can't be more than a hundred-forty miles or thereabouts. A week with close to fifty pounds on my back. What's that to a sixty-three year old man besides maybe death and being eaten by feral hamsters? Once there I'd take a short shopping, eating and sleeping break then head back. See the other side of the trees I'd passed. Or maybe catch a bus back to Hovland.
Anyhow, what I'm getting around to is a walk I took after shoveling out the driveway the other day. Should've known better. Worked up a sweat in the hour and a quarter it took me to clear the snow but felt pretty good. Stuffed my shovel in a snow bank and set off south down the McFarland Road. Probably was above zero but not by much. Half hour out. A little more on the return. A smart man would've started out north. Wasn't much of a wind in the beginning but slowly built on the outbound. When it was at my back I payed the breeze no mind. Sure did on the way back. Near to froze my nose but more important, my privates. My pecker pain got my attention when it started to thaw. Guess that's one of those good-bad things. Bad that it hurt like the devil. Good that the pain said it was still attached. Might not do that again.
Friday, November 13, 2015
Emil To Archie
Dear Archie,
Been splitting wood lately. Nothing says life in the northwoods like getting ready for winter in late April. Don't know what it is about splitting wood but I sure enjoy it. Birch is the best. Burns pretty good and has a light berry smell when the maul pops it open. Don't go at it with a vengeance like a young man would. There's enough hours in a the day and days in the week to cull all I need without breaking my hump. Somedays I split the lengths next to the stump they came from. Others I simply throw in the wheelbarrow and pile alongside the cabin. Whichever strikes my fancy. Need to buck up and split around four cords. Should I spend the winter ten'd be more like it. Seeing as how I enjoy the work so much I might just keep splitting till I think of something better to do.
Finally bought a stereo system and a length of antenna wire. Strung the wire between a couple of uprights I'd screwed onto the lookout roof. Now I not only have music but also the news. Can't say the news is an improvement in my life.
She's looking like it'll be a late spring up here on Aspen Brook. The water's flowing up and over the bank in places, there's still two foot drifts here and there in the woods and all the lakes remain frozen tight. When the flow goes down and the water clears I just might try to see if the trout are still there. Bought a used split bamboo spinning rod down in Duluth. It'll be fun to see how it works.
Must have been some kind of winter up here. Almost sad I missed most of it. Makes me feel like a coward to pass the frozen months worrying the bass down in Florida. Also spent the holidays down in the cities. Almost didn't make it out of here in December. The driveway looked like a tunnel when I finally headed south. To this point I've been hand shoveling the entire sixty rods of driveway. I keep plenty of food in the cabin so there's usually no hurry finish the job. Even with the shoveling it doesn't hurt that I store a load of firewood in the truck's box. Four wheel drive is good but the extra weight helps a lot. By mid-December last winter my back told me in no uncertain terms to bite the bullet and put a blade on the front of the truck. Don't like to do that but probably will.
So, did I ever think of death when I was in training or combat? Yes and no. When it'd come to mind I'd stuff it down. And when we were in contact, there was no need to think of it. Death was there with us every inch of the way, not some idea in our heads. Mostly I'd think of staying alive and how best to do that. Even when I had to stick my neck out I was careful. Not slow, careful. My job was to keep the wounded alive and I couldn't do that if I was dead. Hell, I wanted everyone of us to pull through, especially me. Sounds selfish and maybe it is. But that's just the way it was and still is. I went to war with the idea of not dying. So Archie, that's my advice to you. Do your job to the best of your ability but most of all keep your mind on staying alive and come home in one piece. Then, over the years that follow, learn to deal with the ghosts who come back with you. You may not yet know about them but you will.
Should you have a few free moments now and then, give some thought to the canoe trips we did. Got a feeling the woods we passed through were a hell of a lot more peaceful than the ones you must be in by now. Also, consider another trip when you get home. A day, a week, I'll take whatever you can spare.
As always,
Emil
Been splitting wood lately. Nothing says life in the northwoods like getting ready for winter in late April. Don't know what it is about splitting wood but I sure enjoy it. Birch is the best. Burns pretty good and has a light berry smell when the maul pops it open. Don't go at it with a vengeance like a young man would. There's enough hours in a the day and days in the week to cull all I need without breaking my hump. Somedays I split the lengths next to the stump they came from. Others I simply throw in the wheelbarrow and pile alongside the cabin. Whichever strikes my fancy. Need to buck up and split around four cords. Should I spend the winter ten'd be more like it. Seeing as how I enjoy the work so much I might just keep splitting till I think of something better to do.
Finally bought a stereo system and a length of antenna wire. Strung the wire between a couple of uprights I'd screwed onto the lookout roof. Now I not only have music but also the news. Can't say the news is an improvement in my life.
She's looking like it'll be a late spring up here on Aspen Brook. The water's flowing up and over the bank in places, there's still two foot drifts here and there in the woods and all the lakes remain frozen tight. When the flow goes down and the water clears I just might try to see if the trout are still there. Bought a used split bamboo spinning rod down in Duluth. It'll be fun to see how it works.
Must have been some kind of winter up here. Almost sad I missed most of it. Makes me feel like a coward to pass the frozen months worrying the bass down in Florida. Also spent the holidays down in the cities. Almost didn't make it out of here in December. The driveway looked like a tunnel when I finally headed south. To this point I've been hand shoveling the entire sixty rods of driveway. I keep plenty of food in the cabin so there's usually no hurry finish the job. Even with the shoveling it doesn't hurt that I store a load of firewood in the truck's box. Four wheel drive is good but the extra weight helps a lot. By mid-December last winter my back told me in no uncertain terms to bite the bullet and put a blade on the front of the truck. Don't like to do that but probably will.
So, did I ever think of death when I was in training or combat? Yes and no. When it'd come to mind I'd stuff it down. And when we were in contact, there was no need to think of it. Death was there with us every inch of the way, not some idea in our heads. Mostly I'd think of staying alive and how best to do that. Even when I had to stick my neck out I was careful. Not slow, careful. My job was to keep the wounded alive and I couldn't do that if I was dead. Hell, I wanted everyone of us to pull through, especially me. Sounds selfish and maybe it is. But that's just the way it was and still is. I went to war with the idea of not dying. So Archie, that's my advice to you. Do your job to the best of your ability but most of all keep your mind on staying alive and come home in one piece. Then, over the years that follow, learn to deal with the ghosts who come back with you. You may not yet know about them but you will.
Should you have a few free moments now and then, give some thought to the canoe trips we did. Got a feeling the woods we passed through were a hell of a lot more peaceful than the ones you must be in by now. Also, consider another trip when you get home. A day, a week, I'll take whatever you can spare.
As always,
Emil
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