The Morning Chill

Iron Smith (Wikipedia)

The morning chill sits fast in my bones and my breath makes a distinct fog in the unlit room.  I locate some matches and light up a couple of old kerosene lamps and a soft golden glow begins to illuminate the oaken walls of the cabin.  After locating my clogs,  I don a jacket, and head for the outside wood pile to chop some kindling and restock the woodbox that sits beside the pot bellied stove.  This will keep me nice and toasty for the day. To get a good fire going, I open up the flue on the chimney to get good airflow through the stove.  A little paper, some slivers of cedar kindling and a few pieces of nice dry alder stacked on top is all that's needed to get the stove piping hot.  The cedar begins to snap and pop as the fire takes off and begins to throw off a little heat on top of the stove.  It will be a while before the stove heats up and begins to radiate through the room.  I need to keep a eye on it though, or the fire can get away from me and make the little airtight glow red as an branding iron on a iron smiths forge.  A small adjustment to the flues damper slows down the airflow to settle the fire to a quiet moderate burn.  

With the stove glowing hotter, the chill begins to leave the room.  Now I can settle in for some ham and eggs mixed in with a few cubed potatoes all prepared  in a skillet on top of the airtight stove.  The blue jays begin their cacophony of calls for their breakfast which I gladly oblige them.  A few pieces of bread or peanuts and then they are on their way.  The tea kettle begins to whistle, signaling it's time for morning ablutions followed by a cup of tea. Heating more water in the kettle requires keeping the wood stove good and hot so then I can finally wash the morning dishes. Living without running water requires a lot more time and work than one would think.  By the end of my two year experience I decided living without modern electricity is something I can do, however, running hot water is a convenience I'd rather not go without.

The Reason I Write

I write these stories now so kids can look back in time and see how things once were, an age before technology took over and changed the way kids interact. It was a time when you didn’t need to worry about a boogie man lurking around the corner. The world seemed so much safer than it does now. I believe most kids today are missing out on the adventures that  the boomer kids  enjoyed. So, for those that don’t get out and scramble up rock cliffs, ride bikes miles away from home and camp out by a river with friends, this is for you, a look back at some of my adventures. Though they are of the domestic kind, they still should be better than sitting  and watching TV.

They are not necessarily in chronological order, however one day, when enough of the stories come to mind and finally find their way to written  page, I will probably put them in order.

I begin my short stories with one of my last young adventures, living in a cabin in the woods.  It was a time of transition, a time of being a child with child like adventures and wonders of the outdoors, transitioning to a time of growing up and a changing of my world view.

I was seventeen and finishing up high school when I moved to the woods. There were several reasons for doing so, however, I will not go into them just now.  I hope you enjoy the stories and maybe they will take you on an adventure of your own.  

Cabin Living

The morning rays of today's sun shines through the windows of the loft of my little cabin.  Though filtered, it penetrates the many branches of conifers and alder.  It is late winter so the leaves of the alder have yet to fill in the forest ceiling.  My eyes adjust to the light before I climb down the pole-ladder to the cabin's main room.  There I'm met by my forest cat waiting for his morning milk. I should say, the cabin's forest cat since it came with the cabin. I slide open a double hung window and pull out the milk from the orange-crate that is nailed to the outside of the window that acts as my refrigerator.  This works well in the winter time when temperatures are below 45 degrees, however, when spring begins to birth forth her wondrous works of life, the milk gives way to mice and whatever else the cat can find crawling, scampering or flying through this small Northwest jungle. I pour a little milk into the empty tuna can that acts as his dish.

The cabin is far from any source of electricity or any real source of plumbing.  I rely wholly on mother nature for my refrigeration and water.  Some times this works well in some kind of symbiotic perfect harmony, and other times it is anything but symbiotic. For instance, there were times I would return from an outing to find raccoons on top of the orange-crate reaching through the slats of wood that make up the crate, trying to reach the cheese or something else that called to them.  Another time I came home to a trail of flour that ran from the main-room then up the trail before it disappeared into the salal of the forest. It seems I did not secure the door properly before leaving; and the little thieves burgled the cabin of it's dry goods while I was away.