Liz very much wanted a fire that evening, both keep the jerky drying through the night and for warmth, as the nights had begun cooling very quickly that past week or so as soon as the sun went down, and finally Einar--having spent a good many minutes outside straining his ears for any distant sign of approaching aircraft, flattening himself on the rocks for a while in an attempt to pick up on the vibrations that had so often warned him of coming trouble--relented, allowing a small blaze with the understanding that it needed to be extinguished well ahead of bedtime, whenever they wanted that to be. He did not intend to take the risk of having both of them going to sleep with a significant heat signature still emanating from the cabin and possibly giving them away in the night, should that chopper or another aircraft come over while they were sleeping. Though she would have liked to bank the fire after cooking, keep it going through the evening and use it to warm the rocks that she wanted to tuck into bed with them that night, Liz was grateful for the few hours’ fire deemed wise by Einar, as they gave her a chance to prepare them a hot meal and thoroughly warm the layer of air up along the sloped cabin ceiling, where the bulk of the jerky would be spending the night.
As the evening went on, Einar’s mind turned more and more to the tarn in the basin, to the training he very badly needed to resume if he was to have much hope of being prepared for winter, himself. The level of adaptation to the cold weather that he had maintained for years took a good bit of work and training, and he knew he needed to find the time to get down there and return to it--either the tarn or the spring; spring was, come to think of it, slightly closer, a good bit colder and far more protected from aerial observation, making it the better spot--if he hoped to reclaim some part of that readiness. Trouble was, he didn’t know how he was supposed to get away from the cabin for that long each day without Liz noticing. Guessed he’d just have to let her know what he was up to, and face the consequences. With which assumption--that there would be dire consequences--he knew he was seriously underestimating her, had, many times in the past, been surprised at just how willing she’d been to make allowance for one plan or another of his, once he’d explained its purpose, and especially if he’d tried to include her in some way. Even the times when he’d possibly had no right to expect her acceptance, let alone her participation--though he’d hardly found himself capable of ascertaining the fact, at the time--such as during his ordeal up at the dead tree on the dropoff, she had gone along and done her best to avoid interfering. That time, he’d been attempting to allay her concerns by being entirely honest about his intentions and even allowing her to participate, but still remained unsure whether or not he’d done the right thing. Well. Regardless, he had to tell her this time, if only because she would soon end up following him and finding out, regardless. She had not tried to prevent his doing such things in the past. No reason to think this time ought to be any different.
Ha! He knew better. It’ll be different, alright. She’s been getting after you just for leaving the cabin since this bit with the ribs, so how do you think she’s going to respond if you just come out and tell her you intend to spend an hour every day freezing yourself in the spring? Rabbit stick will probably come out, at that point… Which was simply a danger he would have to face, and would also have to make certain that his daily training did not interfere with the work he must do each day to help prepare them for winter. Work such as dealing with the mess of chokecherries that currently stood in partially fermented heaps all over the cabin, awaiting attention. Little bit of fermentation won’t hurt anything, but we don’t want it to go too far, not much further than this, actually. Need to get these berries out into the sun to start drying, which will mean one of us standing guard to make sure the ravens and bears don’t come and eat them all up. It’ll be alright, though. I can be berry guard, because there’s no reason at all why I can’t guard berries and work on the parka at the same time, which was to be my main project for tomorrow, anyway…
Sounded like a plan. The other part, the bit that involved his heading up to the spring for an hour first thing in the morning…well, he figured it could wait for morning. No sense in giving Liz an entire night to stew on it and dream up ways by which she might prevent him from carrying out his plan, if she found herself so inclined. Which she almost certainly would, he couldn’t help but thinking, the way she was so diligently working to keep him under the bear hide as the evening went on, pulling it back up and over him whenever his restless movements and his reaching for one item or another that he need in his parka-sewing project caused it to fall away, apparently wanting to prevent his starting to shiver and further hurting his ribs. He could only assume that was the reason. Was too tired to ask, and had been since sometime just after supper, when he’d begun drifting unwillingly into a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, work sitting unnoticed in his hands for longer and longer periods of time, apparently a good bit more worn out from his long day contending with a poor oxygen supply than he had been at all ready to recognize or admit. Liz, having spent the day working feverishly to get as much of the bear as possible turned into thin strips of drying jerky and herself beginning to feel a bit more each day the demands of the growing child, was weary also, and had joined him sitting there in the bed immediately after cleaning up following their supper of stew. She was thankful simply to find him willing to be still and warm for a while, even if it did come at the price of his appearing only a small step away from unconsciousness, and somewhat frustrated at the fact, as it was interfering with his parka-sewing. The day had been a better one. He seemed, at least, headed in the right direction, to which could be added the very hopeful fact that he had not insisted they abandon the place after the appearance of the helicopter earlier in the day, and had even allowed them a fire that evening about suppertime, if a brief one.
Einar did not remain frustrated for long, as he was soon asleep, Liz rearranging the bear hide one final time, blowing out the candles and joining him in slumber. Though his ribs troubled him greatly in the night, leading to a good bit of restlessness and more than one occasion when he awoke with a feeling of not being able to get adequate breath--never a good way for him to wake, and it took all the willpower he could muster to keep himself still at those times, keep from jumping up and heading outside to spend the remainder of the night alone in the timber, but he did it--Einar managed to get a good bit of sleep that night, more than he’d been able to come up with since getting his ribs mashed by the bear, and he woke somewhat refreshed the following morning, ready to take on the day’s tasks. First of which needed to be hauling the chokecherries out to flat, sunny rocks to begin drying, but before embarking on what promised to be a whole-day project of that nature, he really wanted to get up to the spring for the hour of training he had the day before decided seemed a wise idea. Einar had intended to inform Liz of his intentions, truly had, but when she took off before breakfast to cut an armload of willows for additional jerky racks, he made the fateful decision to head on up to the spring while she was away. At least he left a note…
09 July, 2011
08 July, 2011
8 July 2011
Working with careful precision so as to avoid any unnecessary cuts to the hide and the extra sewing that would result, Einar roughed out the shape of the hood and pouch for Liz’s parka, laying out the second sheep hide as he began considering what might be the most advantageous way to cut it in creating the remainder of the parka. The idea occurred to him that he had better plan on attaching the fur lining to the outer layer of sheepskin before beginning to stitch the cut pieces to one another, lest he find himself in for a rather difficult job with dubious results. A little detail which he expected Liz never would have come close to overlooking, and neither would he, normally, yet he almost had just then, and the near-oversight bothered him. Had always relied on his sharpness and his meticulous attention to detail to keep him from making dangerous mistakes in even the most intense and difficult of situations, and the fact that it seemed to be lapsing while he sat in the cabin trying to sew winter clothing, of all things, struck him as rather troubling.
Guess maybe I’m a little shorter on oxygen than I’d let myself realize, the way I’m having to breathe with these ribs. Head feels all muddled, and that would explain at least part of the trouble I’ve been having lately keeping up with little details. Don’t like it, but at least I can look forward to things improving as the ribs start to heal. Speaking of which, a hound’s tongue poultice might help speed things along right now, since it’s so similar to comfrey, and comfrey helps speed up cell growth and heal broken bones and such. May have to try that tomorrow. Already getting pretty chilly here tonight, and I wouldn’t want to keep Liz up half the night with my shivering through a few hours of cold hound’s tongue poultice. Having a hard enough time keeping my fingers flexible enough to use this needle, as it is. Guess I’d be better off sitting out there in the sun for this work, but then I’d likely or not just go to sleep. No good. And I’ve got to work on my cold tolerance, anyway. Hardly remember a time when I’ve had more trouble just maintaining my basic body temperature while doing the typical tasks of the day, and with winter not at all far away, that just won’t do.
Need to take a day here and there and get down to the tarn in the basin, I guess, soak in it and work on my breathing until my body learns to generate more of its own heat, again. Takes work to maintain the level of adaptation I’ve considered to be my standard for years, lots of work and frequent training, and not only have I slipped from that level, but now I can’t even seem to keep from freezing after sitting still for a while in a relatively warm room like this one. Still enjoy the cold for the most part, even when it’s got ahold of me like it does now and won’t seem to let go, but I’ve got to admit it’s getting kinda debilitating at times, and winter isn’t even here yet. Guess the best solution would be to eat more, put on a little weight so I’ve got a reasonable amount of insulation on my body again, that, and a reserve to draw from so it’s easier for me to produce the hear I need, but I’m not sure that’s gonna happen, right now. Yep, got to get out there and train in the water, it seems. Sure would like to wait until this rib’s a little better to do it, ‘cause it’s gonna hurt awful bad to do all that shaking with the loose section of ribs I’ve got, right now. Probably wouldn’t do any permanent damage, though, and the trial of it might do me some good. Clear some of the cobwebs out of my head. Well. I’ll think about it. For now, back to the parka. Guess I should just be glad to have thought about sewing in the fur lining before going any further…
Sorting through their inventory of furs, Einar stacked all of the rabbits in one pile, and set them aside. Looks like these are out, because Liz is still working on her rabbit skin strip blanket. She may already have enough to finish it, enough already cut into those long strips and set aside, really looks like she might, because that blanket sure is getting pretty big now, the way she works on it a little each evening before bed. The evenings when we’re home… I’d prefer to use mostly rabbit for the lining, because they’re relatively real plentiful compared to marten and ermine, and so easier to replace. I’ll use ermine to line the hood, though. That should keep the two of them good and warm, in there. It was a good picture, his little family snuggled in securely together beneath that warm, wind-resistant hood, a heavy snow beginning to fall in the clearing as Liz gathered up a few sticks of wood to bring in and add to the evening’s fire, cabin all stout and secure against the storm and a thin tendril of smoke curling from the chimney to be snatched away and scattered by the wind, and at the sight of it--for he was truly seeing, rather than imagining, could pick out and study every detail of the scene--Einar wanted nothing more in the world than to protect those two people, to make sure they had everything they needed, and were never touched by the hand of the enemy. So unequal to the task. Lord, help me. Make me able to do it.
Back to the parka--which he was able to do, and which was a necessary part of their winter preparations; take it one step at a time--and to the question of whether or not he might be able to get away with using some of the rabbit skins to line it. Wished he knew just how large Liz had intended on making that blanket. It was, when he spread it out, certainly large enough to thoroughly wrap a baby, and he decided that if Liz needed it to be much bigger, he’s simply trap her more rabbits. Replace the hides he was about to use on the parka lining. Choosing two good-sized skins, he trimmed them slightly around the edges so they would come a bit closer to matching up, and began the laborious process of stitching them together with strips of moistened sinew thread. By the time Liz had finished up her last rack of jerky for the evening and headed in, Einar had sewn together three of the soft, supple rabbit hides, and was working on a fourth. Liz came in carrying one of the jerky racks--more awkward than it was heavy, being constructed of willow--and Einar rose to help her.
“Plan to bring all of it in for the night? Seems the safest thing to do…”
“Yes, I was planning to, assuming it’ll all fit in here! I’ve got quite a few racks going!”
“Good. That’s real good. I’ll come help you carry them.”
“I wish you wouldn’t…”
“Am I really such bad company. Wouldn’t be surprised, I guess…”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Sure, come help me carry the racks. You’re probably just going to do it anyway unless I use the rabbit stick, which I’m not going to do right now.”
“Speaking of rabbits, hope you don’t mind that I raided your stack of rabbit furs. Need something to line this parka with, and the blanket was looking pretty big…”
“Nope, don’t mind. I’m almost done with the blanket, so most of those are extra. Though I probably should get after you with the rabbit stick for using them without asking!”
“Yep. Probably.”
Together they brought in the remaining jerky drying racks, standing those that would fit in the few open places left on the floor and partially collapsing the others, suspending them in the rafters right up near the ceiling where the heat of the fire Liz very much hoped they would soon have could exert the maximum drying effect on the meat. A good evening after a long and productive day, and Liz could not help but wish, as she began the supper preparations, that they might be allowed to enjoy a few such before circumstances--or Einar, who seemed in his own way quite capable of creating situations, regardless of the actual circumstances--again left them scrambling to make it through the day. One could hope…
Guess maybe I’m a little shorter on oxygen than I’d let myself realize, the way I’m having to breathe with these ribs. Head feels all muddled, and that would explain at least part of the trouble I’ve been having lately keeping up with little details. Don’t like it, but at least I can look forward to things improving as the ribs start to heal. Speaking of which, a hound’s tongue poultice might help speed things along right now, since it’s so similar to comfrey, and comfrey helps speed up cell growth and heal broken bones and such. May have to try that tomorrow. Already getting pretty chilly here tonight, and I wouldn’t want to keep Liz up half the night with my shivering through a few hours of cold hound’s tongue poultice. Having a hard enough time keeping my fingers flexible enough to use this needle, as it is. Guess I’d be better off sitting out there in the sun for this work, but then I’d likely or not just go to sleep. No good. And I’ve got to work on my cold tolerance, anyway. Hardly remember a time when I’ve had more trouble just maintaining my basic body temperature while doing the typical tasks of the day, and with winter not at all far away, that just won’t do.
Need to take a day here and there and get down to the tarn in the basin, I guess, soak in it and work on my breathing until my body learns to generate more of its own heat, again. Takes work to maintain the level of adaptation I’ve considered to be my standard for years, lots of work and frequent training, and not only have I slipped from that level, but now I can’t even seem to keep from freezing after sitting still for a while in a relatively warm room like this one. Still enjoy the cold for the most part, even when it’s got ahold of me like it does now and won’t seem to let go, but I’ve got to admit it’s getting kinda debilitating at times, and winter isn’t even here yet. Guess the best solution would be to eat more, put on a little weight so I’ve got a reasonable amount of insulation on my body again, that, and a reserve to draw from so it’s easier for me to produce the hear I need, but I’m not sure that’s gonna happen, right now. Yep, got to get out there and train in the water, it seems. Sure would like to wait until this rib’s a little better to do it, ‘cause it’s gonna hurt awful bad to do all that shaking with the loose section of ribs I’ve got, right now. Probably wouldn’t do any permanent damage, though, and the trial of it might do me some good. Clear some of the cobwebs out of my head. Well. I’ll think about it. For now, back to the parka. Guess I should just be glad to have thought about sewing in the fur lining before going any further…
Sorting through their inventory of furs, Einar stacked all of the rabbits in one pile, and set them aside. Looks like these are out, because Liz is still working on her rabbit skin strip blanket. She may already have enough to finish it, enough already cut into those long strips and set aside, really looks like she might, because that blanket sure is getting pretty big now, the way she works on it a little each evening before bed. The evenings when we’re home… I’d prefer to use mostly rabbit for the lining, because they’re relatively real plentiful compared to marten and ermine, and so easier to replace. I’ll use ermine to line the hood, though. That should keep the two of them good and warm, in there. It was a good picture, his little family snuggled in securely together beneath that warm, wind-resistant hood, a heavy snow beginning to fall in the clearing as Liz gathered up a few sticks of wood to bring in and add to the evening’s fire, cabin all stout and secure against the storm and a thin tendril of smoke curling from the chimney to be snatched away and scattered by the wind, and at the sight of it--for he was truly seeing, rather than imagining, could pick out and study every detail of the scene--Einar wanted nothing more in the world than to protect those two people, to make sure they had everything they needed, and were never touched by the hand of the enemy. So unequal to the task. Lord, help me. Make me able to do it.
Back to the parka--which he was able to do, and which was a necessary part of their winter preparations; take it one step at a time--and to the question of whether or not he might be able to get away with using some of the rabbit skins to line it. Wished he knew just how large Liz had intended on making that blanket. It was, when he spread it out, certainly large enough to thoroughly wrap a baby, and he decided that if Liz needed it to be much bigger, he’s simply trap her more rabbits. Replace the hides he was about to use on the parka lining. Choosing two good-sized skins, he trimmed them slightly around the edges so they would come a bit closer to matching up, and began the laborious process of stitching them together with strips of moistened sinew thread. By the time Liz had finished up her last rack of jerky for the evening and headed in, Einar had sewn together three of the soft, supple rabbit hides, and was working on a fourth. Liz came in carrying one of the jerky racks--more awkward than it was heavy, being constructed of willow--and Einar rose to help her.
“Plan to bring all of it in for the night? Seems the safest thing to do…”
“Yes, I was planning to, assuming it’ll all fit in here! I’ve got quite a few racks going!”
“Good. That’s real good. I’ll come help you carry them.”
“I wish you wouldn’t…”
“Am I really such bad company. Wouldn’t be surprised, I guess…”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Sure, come help me carry the racks. You’re probably just going to do it anyway unless I use the rabbit stick, which I’m not going to do right now.”
“Speaking of rabbits, hope you don’t mind that I raided your stack of rabbit furs. Need something to line this parka with, and the blanket was looking pretty big…”
“Nope, don’t mind. I’m almost done with the blanket, so most of those are extra. Though I probably should get after you with the rabbit stick for using them without asking!”
“Yep. Probably.”
Together they brought in the remaining jerky drying racks, standing those that would fit in the few open places left on the floor and partially collapsing the others, suspending them in the rafters right up near the ceiling where the heat of the fire Liz very much hoped they would soon have could exert the maximum drying effect on the meat. A good evening after a long and productive day, and Liz could not help but wish, as she began the supper preparations, that they might be allowed to enjoy a few such before circumstances--or Einar, who seemed in his own way quite capable of creating situations, regardless of the actual circumstances--again left them scrambling to make it through the day. One could hope…
07 July, 2011
7 July 2011
Einar was indeed on a mission, hurried over to Liz and would have crouched beside her where she worked but remained standing, knowing how difficult it might be for him to regain his feet and not particularly wanting her to watch the struggle.
“Can that jerky spare you for a minute? I need your help with something inside. Need your body.”
“You need…what?
“Need just what I said. Can you come, or can’t you? It’ll only just take a minute.”
“Yes, of course I’m happy to help, but I hardly think you’re in any shape for…”
“Aw, sure I am! I’m not dead, you know, and I’ve got to be able to do something, can’t just sit around in there until I fossilize, or some such. That wouldn’t be any good. At least this is gonna be pretty easy on my ribs, give them a chance to heal like you keep getting after me to let them do.”
“Perhaps I’m misunderstanding just what it is you need my help with…”
“How could you be misunderstanding, when I haven’t even told you yet? Here. You’ll see soon enough. Just come on in here and lie down on the sheep hide if you don’t mind, right here on the edge, yep, just like that.”
Which Liz did, laughing, shaking her head, “Einar, this is very nice with the sheep hide and all, but I really don’t think…”
“Don’t worry, we’re almost done. Just put your arms up for a minute, up here on your chest, and you can get up again.” Liz watched out of the corner of her eye as Einar took his charcoal-tipped marking pen and lightly traced a line from her waist to arm, making a mark just above her shoulder on one side and then the other, a faint line sketched along the top of her head, and then he was done, took her hand and helped her to sit up.
“See? Not so bad, was it?”
“You goofy guy! Why didn’t you just tell me you needed to measure me for a coat? That would have made the whole thing a good bit more simple, don’t you think?”
“Was it complicated? Didn’t mean to make anything complicated…”
“Never mind. Let’s just talk about the coat. Is this the one for carrying the baby, the Inuit coat you kept telling me about, earlier?”
“Yep, sure is. Gonna line it in places with fur and it’ll mean you ought to be able to venture out in the worst sort of weather, and not worry too much about the little one getting cold or wet, or being out in the wind. He’ll be pressed up right against your back, sharing your body heat and completely protected, and the coat’ll be roomy enough that if you need to feed him while you’re out there, you’ll be able to turn around in the coat and do that, too, all without moving him from his little pouch. That’s the idea, anyway. It’ll take some work to get it to that point, I’m sure.”
“It sounds great. Sounds like you must have spent a good portion of your life preparing to raise a family in a high, semi-arctic basin just like this one, too, gathering knowledge and planning what you would do…”
“Oh, no I wasn’t! Not consciously, anyway. Always been interested in how other folks live, applied a good bit of what I learned to my life out in the woods and up at my cabin, but sure never guessed I’d actually use this portion of the knowledge, myself, the part that relates to babies and children and all of that…no way!”
“Well, I guess the Lord knew otherwise…”
“Yep. Guess little Snorri’s gonna be kept all snug and cozy in a semi-authentic reproduction Inuit baby-carrying coat, even though we’re a few thousand miles too far south to find the sealskin the original ones were often made of…”
“We’re not really calling him that, are we? I mean, after he’s born…”
“Snorri? Well, I don’t know. I was just being goofy, calling the kid after my long-lost wayward uncle. Didn’t figure you’d really let me name him that, especially if you’d ever met my Uncle Snorri, which isn’t likely, because the last time anyone in my family ever heard from him was in 1974 when he…well, never mind about that. Guess we need to be thinking of a name for this little critter, don’t we?”
“Oh…eventually. For today, we just need to get some more jerky sliced up, and I need to get out of your way so you can start working on that parka. As soon as the bear’s all sliced up and drying, and maybe the hide finished, too, I’ll help you with the sewing projects so we can both have warm things to wear when the snow gets serious, and not just me and the little one. We don’t want you turning into a popsicle, either…”
“Aw, I don’t mind. It’s pretty much my natural state of existence.”
Which left him dodging Liz’s rabbit stick as she left the cabin, rolling onto the floor and laughing as he narrowly missed a good solid swat with the much-used weapon. Good thing she’d missed, he couldn’t help but think, because he sure couldn’t afford to lose any more ribs just then. Couldn’t, in fact, go on laughing like that without seriously impacting his ability to get air, and he stopped himself, lay silently on his side for a time, catching his breath and pressing the ribs to minimize the rather agonizing paradoxical movement in which they still wanted to engage whenever he tried to breathe a bit more deeply. Still a long way to go, Einar, before you’ll be of much use as a father to that child, and you’d better make pretty good time here healing up the ribs and all, because it doesn’t look like Liz can have that long until her time comes, month, month and a half, maybe, and then that’ll be it. He shook his head, rolled gingerly to his stomach and began the difficult process of getting himself to his hands and knees so he could return to work on the parka, glad that Liz had already left to pursue her own work. Seemed movement of that kind had become a good bit more difficult for him over the course of the day, his entire side swollen and stiff and inflamed, and he knew she’d probably get after him to lie down for a while, had she been there to see the extent of the difficulty. No need for that. It’ll all be fine, if I can just avoid injuring a lung or something until the pieces start mending back together, that, and remember to keep breathing…good to have a challenge, I guess.
“Can that jerky spare you for a minute? I need your help with something inside. Need your body.”
“You need…what?
“Need just what I said. Can you come, or can’t you? It’ll only just take a minute.”
“Yes, of course I’m happy to help, but I hardly think you’re in any shape for…”
“Aw, sure I am! I’m not dead, you know, and I’ve got to be able to do something, can’t just sit around in there until I fossilize, or some such. That wouldn’t be any good. At least this is gonna be pretty easy on my ribs, give them a chance to heal like you keep getting after me to let them do.”
“Perhaps I’m misunderstanding just what it is you need my help with…”
“How could you be misunderstanding, when I haven’t even told you yet? Here. You’ll see soon enough. Just come on in here and lie down on the sheep hide if you don’t mind, right here on the edge, yep, just like that.”
Which Liz did, laughing, shaking her head, “Einar, this is very nice with the sheep hide and all, but I really don’t think…”
“Don’t worry, we’re almost done. Just put your arms up for a minute, up here on your chest, and you can get up again.” Liz watched out of the corner of her eye as Einar took his charcoal-tipped marking pen and lightly traced a line from her waist to arm, making a mark just above her shoulder on one side and then the other, a faint line sketched along the top of her head, and then he was done, took her hand and helped her to sit up.
“See? Not so bad, was it?”
“You goofy guy! Why didn’t you just tell me you needed to measure me for a coat? That would have made the whole thing a good bit more simple, don’t you think?”
“Was it complicated? Didn’t mean to make anything complicated…”
“Never mind. Let’s just talk about the coat. Is this the one for carrying the baby, the Inuit coat you kept telling me about, earlier?”
“Yep, sure is. Gonna line it in places with fur and it’ll mean you ought to be able to venture out in the worst sort of weather, and not worry too much about the little one getting cold or wet, or being out in the wind. He’ll be pressed up right against your back, sharing your body heat and completely protected, and the coat’ll be roomy enough that if you need to feed him while you’re out there, you’ll be able to turn around in the coat and do that, too, all without moving him from his little pouch. That’s the idea, anyway. It’ll take some work to get it to that point, I’m sure.”
“It sounds great. Sounds like you must have spent a good portion of your life preparing to raise a family in a high, semi-arctic basin just like this one, too, gathering knowledge and planning what you would do…”
“Oh, no I wasn’t! Not consciously, anyway. Always been interested in how other folks live, applied a good bit of what I learned to my life out in the woods and up at my cabin, but sure never guessed I’d actually use this portion of the knowledge, myself, the part that relates to babies and children and all of that…no way!”
“Well, I guess the Lord knew otherwise…”
“Yep. Guess little Snorri’s gonna be kept all snug and cozy in a semi-authentic reproduction Inuit baby-carrying coat, even though we’re a few thousand miles too far south to find the sealskin the original ones were often made of…”
“We’re not really calling him that, are we? I mean, after he’s born…”
“Snorri? Well, I don’t know. I was just being goofy, calling the kid after my long-lost wayward uncle. Didn’t figure you’d really let me name him that, especially if you’d ever met my Uncle Snorri, which isn’t likely, because the last time anyone in my family ever heard from him was in 1974 when he…well, never mind about that. Guess we need to be thinking of a name for this little critter, don’t we?”
“Oh…eventually. For today, we just need to get some more jerky sliced up, and I need to get out of your way so you can start working on that parka. As soon as the bear’s all sliced up and drying, and maybe the hide finished, too, I’ll help you with the sewing projects so we can both have warm things to wear when the snow gets serious, and not just me and the little one. We don’t want you turning into a popsicle, either…”
“Aw, I don’t mind. It’s pretty much my natural state of existence.”
Which left him dodging Liz’s rabbit stick as she left the cabin, rolling onto the floor and laughing as he narrowly missed a good solid swat with the much-used weapon. Good thing she’d missed, he couldn’t help but think, because he sure couldn’t afford to lose any more ribs just then. Couldn’t, in fact, go on laughing like that without seriously impacting his ability to get air, and he stopped himself, lay silently on his side for a time, catching his breath and pressing the ribs to minimize the rather agonizing paradoxical movement in which they still wanted to engage whenever he tried to breathe a bit more deeply. Still a long way to go, Einar, before you’ll be of much use as a father to that child, and you’d better make pretty good time here healing up the ribs and all, because it doesn’t look like Liz can have that long until her time comes, month, month and a half, maybe, and then that’ll be it. He shook his head, rolled gingerly to his stomach and began the difficult process of getting himself to his hands and knees so he could return to work on the parka, glad that Liz had already left to pursue her own work. Seemed movement of that kind had become a good bit more difficult for him over the course of the day, his entire side swollen and stiff and inflamed, and he knew she’d probably get after him to lie down for a while, had she been there to see the extent of the difficulty. No need for that. It’ll all be fine, if I can just avoid injuring a lung or something until the pieces start mending back together, that, and remember to keep breathing…good to have a challenge, I guess.
06 July, 2011
6 July 2011
Finished with as much preliminary work as he could do on the bearfat barrel without the benefit of fire, Einar laid out the two bighorn sheep hides, the massive bull elk and the single deer that so far represented their entire stock of large, non-bear hides, studying them and trying to estimate how far they could be stretched when it came to garment making. Not too far. A single shirt could take anywhere from two to five of the deer-and-sheep sized hides, depending on its size and design, and he knew that between the two sheep and the deer, they barely had enough to make even the baby-carrying parka he was so set on producing for Liz. Which made it the first priority. Trouble was, as soon as he started cutting on the hides they would be unavailable for use as blankets, which had been their main purpose to date, and he knew Liz would miss having their added warmth in the bed, and as an easily portable source of additional protection to wrap around shoulders and drape over heads while working outside on cold mornings. Well, too bad. Time had come to get serious about the winter clothing projects, and it had, after all, been at Liz’s insistence that he’d gone about the matter with a renewed sense of urgency that day. At least they would still have the elk for warmth, until he started cutting it up for leggings… They’d just have to try for more sheep or deer, another elk, perhaps, if they wanted to replace the blanket-hides. Would have to do that anyway, if they wanted a second parka as well as the fur-insulated winter leggings Einar had intended to make for both of them from that elk before the snow fell, mukluks and mittens and…he shook his head.
Not as well prepared as I was letting myself think earlier, maybe. We do have plenty to eat, at least for a few months, but without a way to keep ourselves warm and out of the weather when we venture out in the snow to check traps and such, we’re gonna go through that food pretty fast. That, or end up burning more calories trying to stay warm than we gain through whatever we find in those traps. I’ve been in that situation before, and it can only go on so long before you end up in real trouble, sleepy and cold all the time and not really having the motivation to get out there and try anymore. Dangerous place to be, and something I really want us to avoid, especially since the little one will be depending on Liz for all his meals for a good year or so. She’s got to have plenty to eat if he’s to thrive and do well, which means it’s awfully important that we have the clothes we need to allow us to safely and effectively venture out after more food during the snowy months. There are just too many snowy months up here--over half the months we get--to stash food away for all of them. Got to be out in the world adding to our stores through the whole thing, trapping beaver and muskrat down in the valley. Well. Aside from hustling to try and get them another few hide-bearing hoofed critters, all he could do for the moment was to focus on starting Liz’s parka.
Searching through the hastily put-out remains of that morning’s fire until he found a stick with an appropriately charred end, Einar laid the larger of the sheep hides out flat on the cabin floor and began trying to picture how he needed to mark the skin for cutting, wracking his brain for any details he could remember of the Inuit baby-wearing amauti coats he’d seen in museums, and had once had the benefit of seeing in use. The coat’s most important feature was its oversized hood, which was designed to cover both the child and the mother’s head when up, and the pouch below the hood, in which the child sat and which allowed him to share the mother’s warmth. A wide belt was passed through loops beneath the pouch area to prevent the baby’s slipping down too far in the coat and allow the mother to adjust his position. When the baby was small, the belt could be tied up higher to keep him up near the mother’s neck, the design of the coat putting most of the child’s weight on her shoulders when small, but distributing it down to her waist as he grew. Einar seemed to remember that the hood and pouch were traditionally made from one piece of hide or cloth, while others were used for the front and sleeves of the coat.
Looks like I’d better get Liz in here for some measurements before I start cutting anything, doesn’t it? Wanted this thing to be a surprise for her, but there’s no sense in making a surprise that doesn’t fit right, and the distance between her waist and neck will be pretty critical to getting this coat to work right. Somewhat reluctant to go in search of Liz and inform her of his efforts as a tailor--knew he shouldn’t feel strange about doing the “women’s work” of sewing the baby coat, especially as he was the one amongst them who had the most experience working with buckskin, but couldn’t help himself--Einar sorted through the bags and pouches of tools and raw materials that hung well protected and even somewhat well organized from the rafter logs, coming up with a good-sized coil of pounded, prepared and stripped lengths of sinew thread and an assortment of bone needles that he figured ought to be up to the task. Buckskin, the way they had prepared it, was quite soft and easy to work with needles, unlike the much tougher commercially prepared leather with which he had been more familiar before getting into more primitive tanning methods. A definite advantage when it came to working with the stuff, but the leather’s softness also meant that it behaved more like cloth in other ways, too, absorbing water rather than shedding it as commercially tanned leather tended to do. Not too much of a problem during the often sub-zero temperatures of winter when snow could be effectively brushed off long before it began melting in, but it did mean that wearers of buckskin could expect to be wet at least some of the time during the rainy summer months.
Alright. Done as much preparation work as you can without troubling Liz for some measurements, so you’d better head out there and see where she is with the jerky, see if she can take a break, and he did, a bit alarmed at the difficulty posed him by the simple act of rising after having sat so long in contemplation of his sewing project. Ribs were inflamed, his entire left side bruised and swollen and stiff, and he could not help but think he would have been wise to accept Liz’s offer of salicin-rich willow solution the day before. Would have helped reduce the inflammation, some. Just too stubborn, aren’t you? Too busy looking for opportunities to prove yourself, to test yourself…got plenty of those without going looking, I’d think. And he ruefully eyed the jar of boiled down willow bark where Liz had left it sitting on a shelf-rock not far from the stove, calling to him, mocking his feeble efforts to go on resisting, it seemed--though Liz certainly wouldn’t have seen it that way at all--and he shook his head, looked away. Had to go on resisting. Sometimes, it was all he had, all that kept him going…
Now. On your feet. Ribs can hurt all they want, but they can’t stop you from getting up, now can they? Isn’t your leg that’s hurt, after all. Not this time. Liz was just finishing up her last batch of jerky when Einar reached her, last batch only because she’d finally filled all the drying racks and saw no purpose in building another that evening, not when they barely had room in the cabin for those she had so far constructed. Additional racks could, she supposed, be suspended from high branches for the night to keep them out of reach of scavengers, but that seemed to leave the drying jerky strips wide open to any bird who wanted to come along and pick at them, and besides, there really was no need to go to such lengths. The nights were cold, days cool and at their high, dry elevation, the large meat chunks from which she was working seemed to be developing a hard skin over them more quickly than the remaining flies of fall could find and infest them. There was no great hurry when it came to finishing the jerky. A good thing, for it appeared Einar was on a mission of some sort, one which, if she was not mistaken about that look in his eye, appeared to involve her. She was just glad to see him on his feet and appearing to be getting enough oxygen for a change, or close to it. The rest had done him good.
Not as well prepared as I was letting myself think earlier, maybe. We do have plenty to eat, at least for a few months, but without a way to keep ourselves warm and out of the weather when we venture out in the snow to check traps and such, we’re gonna go through that food pretty fast. That, or end up burning more calories trying to stay warm than we gain through whatever we find in those traps. I’ve been in that situation before, and it can only go on so long before you end up in real trouble, sleepy and cold all the time and not really having the motivation to get out there and try anymore. Dangerous place to be, and something I really want us to avoid, especially since the little one will be depending on Liz for all his meals for a good year or so. She’s got to have plenty to eat if he’s to thrive and do well, which means it’s awfully important that we have the clothes we need to allow us to safely and effectively venture out after more food during the snowy months. There are just too many snowy months up here--over half the months we get--to stash food away for all of them. Got to be out in the world adding to our stores through the whole thing, trapping beaver and muskrat down in the valley. Well. Aside from hustling to try and get them another few hide-bearing hoofed critters, all he could do for the moment was to focus on starting Liz’s parka.
Searching through the hastily put-out remains of that morning’s fire until he found a stick with an appropriately charred end, Einar laid the larger of the sheep hides out flat on the cabin floor and began trying to picture how he needed to mark the skin for cutting, wracking his brain for any details he could remember of the Inuit baby-wearing amauti coats he’d seen in museums, and had once had the benefit of seeing in use. The coat’s most important feature was its oversized hood, which was designed to cover both the child and the mother’s head when up, and the pouch below the hood, in which the child sat and which allowed him to share the mother’s warmth. A wide belt was passed through loops beneath the pouch area to prevent the baby’s slipping down too far in the coat and allow the mother to adjust his position. When the baby was small, the belt could be tied up higher to keep him up near the mother’s neck, the design of the coat putting most of the child’s weight on her shoulders when small, but distributing it down to her waist as he grew. Einar seemed to remember that the hood and pouch were traditionally made from one piece of hide or cloth, while others were used for the front and sleeves of the coat.
Looks like I’d better get Liz in here for some measurements before I start cutting anything, doesn’t it? Wanted this thing to be a surprise for her, but there’s no sense in making a surprise that doesn’t fit right, and the distance between her waist and neck will be pretty critical to getting this coat to work right. Somewhat reluctant to go in search of Liz and inform her of his efforts as a tailor--knew he shouldn’t feel strange about doing the “women’s work” of sewing the baby coat, especially as he was the one amongst them who had the most experience working with buckskin, but couldn’t help himself--Einar sorted through the bags and pouches of tools and raw materials that hung well protected and even somewhat well organized from the rafter logs, coming up with a good-sized coil of pounded, prepared and stripped lengths of sinew thread and an assortment of bone needles that he figured ought to be up to the task. Buckskin, the way they had prepared it, was quite soft and easy to work with needles, unlike the much tougher commercially prepared leather with which he had been more familiar before getting into more primitive tanning methods. A definite advantage when it came to working with the stuff, but the leather’s softness also meant that it behaved more like cloth in other ways, too, absorbing water rather than shedding it as commercially tanned leather tended to do. Not too much of a problem during the often sub-zero temperatures of winter when snow could be effectively brushed off long before it began melting in, but it did mean that wearers of buckskin could expect to be wet at least some of the time during the rainy summer months.
Alright. Done as much preparation work as you can without troubling Liz for some measurements, so you’d better head out there and see where she is with the jerky, see if she can take a break, and he did, a bit alarmed at the difficulty posed him by the simple act of rising after having sat so long in contemplation of his sewing project. Ribs were inflamed, his entire left side bruised and swollen and stiff, and he could not help but think he would have been wise to accept Liz’s offer of salicin-rich willow solution the day before. Would have helped reduce the inflammation, some. Just too stubborn, aren’t you? Too busy looking for opportunities to prove yourself, to test yourself…got plenty of those without going looking, I’d think. And he ruefully eyed the jar of boiled down willow bark where Liz had left it sitting on a shelf-rock not far from the stove, calling to him, mocking his feeble efforts to go on resisting, it seemed--though Liz certainly wouldn’t have seen it that way at all--and he shook his head, looked away. Had to go on resisting. Sometimes, it was all he had, all that kept him going…
Now. On your feet. Ribs can hurt all they want, but they can’t stop you from getting up, now can they? Isn’t your leg that’s hurt, after all. Not this time. Liz was just finishing up her last batch of jerky when Einar reached her, last batch only because she’d finally filled all the drying racks and saw no purpose in building another that evening, not when they barely had room in the cabin for those she had so far constructed. Additional racks could, she supposed, be suspended from high branches for the night to keep them out of reach of scavengers, but that seemed to leave the drying jerky strips wide open to any bird who wanted to come along and pick at them, and besides, there really was no need to go to such lengths. The nights were cold, days cool and at their high, dry elevation, the large meat chunks from which she was working seemed to be developing a hard skin over them more quickly than the remaining flies of fall could find and infest them. There was no great hurry when it came to finishing the jerky. A good thing, for it appeared Einar was on a mission of some sort, one which, if she was not mistaken about that look in his eye, appeared to involve her. She was just glad to see him on his feet and appearing to be getting enough oxygen for a change, or close to it. The rest had done him good.
05 July, 2011
5 July 2011
Liz was halfway through her second rack of jerky since the coming of the helicopter when Einar made his appearance to give her the good news, and she at first mistook the look of triumph on his face--twisted grin, a bit crimped around the edges by the hurt of his ribs and not looking to Liz particularly like the expression of joy which it was meant to be--for an increased difficulty in breathing that might well constitute an emergency, hurried to him and took his arm when he appeared a bit less than steady on his feet.
“Einar, sit. What is it? Can’t you get your breath?”
“No more than…usual but…listen to this! I’ve been figuring up our supplies, and between the two sheep, two bears, the…various rabbits we’ve dried, fifty or so pounds of dried spring beauty and avalanche lily corms, nearly eighty pounds of bearfat, counting this second bear, all that honey, dried serviceberries and all those chokecherries in the cabin, if we can get to them before they ferment…we’re doing pretty well, you know?”
“Yes. Yes, I do know. I think after these last couple of weeks we’re doing pretty well on the food end of things, but we’re still way behind when it comes to the warm clothes we’re going to need if we intend to do anything this winter other than huddle in front of the stove most of the time wrapped in the bear hide. The clothes we do have are well on their way to being worn out with all the hard use they get, and even wearing both layers of them, it seems you’re spending most of your time half frozen or worse, even now in the fall. And our boots. They’re being held together with pitch and cordage, and won’t do much to keep up from losing toes when the snow sets in for good. We’ve got some hides now, so it’s just a matter of turning them into parkas and boots and things, but we’d better not forget to do it.”
Einar shook his head, gave her another grin, this one looking a bit less like the horrible, pained grimace of a dying hyena, now that he’d got his breath a bit. “Won’t forget. Just because I…end up going out in the weather half the time without much protection doesn’t mean I’d expect you to do it, and sure don’t expect the little one to. You’ve got that…rabbitskin blanket almost done for him, and I have plans to make you a parka that he can be carried in, like the Inuit mothers use, and I’ll coat the hood of it with a beeswax mixture to make it somewhat waterproof, give him some extra protection when you’re carrying him. Just let me…finish rendering the fat, and I’ll get started with the sewing.”
“Speaking of the fat…do you think we’ll be able to have a fire again pretty soon? Because it’s going to be hard to do much rendering without one, and once it cools down out here for the evening, I’d like to be able to put these jerky racks in near the stove to keep them drying for a few more hours…”
“Soon. Want to give that chopper more time to come back, if it’s gonna do that, and then maybe by evening if it hasn’t shown back up…” He stopped, shaking his head as if unsure of his decision, considering the fire a concession and perhaps even an unacceptable one.
“If you were here by yourself, you probably wouldn’t have a fire for days after an incident like that one with the chopper, would you?”
“Ha! When it was just me and myself, I went for whole months sometimes without a fire, didn’t eat for nearly as long on occasion, slept under fallen trees and about froze to death every night once it started getting cooler for the year, even though I did my best to stay out of the wind and burrow down under the spruce needles.”
“Yes, I remember that. Things weren’t much different from that when I found you over at the Bulwarks that time… I’m glad to see that you’ve changed your habits at least a little now, because really, how long can a person keep on like that?”
“Oh, you might be surprised… We can conduct a series of controlled experiments if you’d like--on me, of course, not on you and the little one--to try and quantify more exactly just how long a person can keep on like that, because really, that’s something I’ve always wondered, myself, and obviously I’ve never come up with a definitive answer, seeing as I’m still here…”
“Oh don’t you dare! This isn’t the time for experimentation of that sort, especially now when it’s finally looking like we have a bit better chance of making it through the winter without each day being such a struggle, such an uncertain thing…so you just get that idea out of your head, or I may have to do it for you! I’ve still got that rabbit stick. You don’t want a busted skull to go with those ribs, do you?”
Einar shrugged, ducked when she dived at him and, surprisingly agile for his present difficulties, caught her by the wrists. “Maybe.”
“You stubborn, stubborn man…”
“Thanks!”
“What am I going to do when this child comes out just like you, and I’m hopelessly outnumbered?”
“Oh, maybe he’ll…” Einar released his grip on her, sagging forward and pressing his ribs, suddenly hurting and rather breathless. “Maybe he’ll end up being sensible, steady and wise, just like his mother, instead.”
“I sure hope not! I mean, I hope he gets good things from both of us, but I’d be disappointed if he didn’t inherit at least some of the absolutely intractable stubbornness that you seem to have been born with a double dose of, and some of your…I don’t know…will, I guess you’d call it, because I have a feeling he’s going to need it, in the life that’s in store for him out here…”
“He’ll learn it. Won’t have a choice. Sometimes a person just doesn’t have a choice, becomes what they have to become...”
“Yes, and sometimes a person doesn’t give themselves a choice, even when there otherwise might be one…”
Einar shrugged, rose, guessed she was right but knew the tone her voice had taken on, gentle but insistent as if she was about to ask him something he knew he wouldn’t want to answer, start prying again at his thoughts and motivations--he’d had enough of that the last time Kilgore had been there--and lacking the breath to get into a serious discussion with her just then, he figured he’d be better off getting back to work. Which meant more hacking and carving on the fat container in preparation for the potential return of fire that night, not easy on his ribs but certainly an easier thing to face than the line of questioning he believed Liz about to embark upon. Might have stuck around and waited to see--the more difficult path usually being the better one--except that he truly did not have the breath to argue, and didn’t want Liz’s conversation to be a one-sided one, him sitting there and listening in silence. Well. Some other time. Right now I’ve got some more preparations to make on the bearfat barrel, and then if Liz is still working outside, I ought to spread out the hide we have and see about starting on that parka for her and the little one.
“Einar, sit. What is it? Can’t you get your breath?”
“No more than…usual but…listen to this! I’ve been figuring up our supplies, and between the two sheep, two bears, the…various rabbits we’ve dried, fifty or so pounds of dried spring beauty and avalanche lily corms, nearly eighty pounds of bearfat, counting this second bear, all that honey, dried serviceberries and all those chokecherries in the cabin, if we can get to them before they ferment…we’re doing pretty well, you know?”
“Yes. Yes, I do know. I think after these last couple of weeks we’re doing pretty well on the food end of things, but we’re still way behind when it comes to the warm clothes we’re going to need if we intend to do anything this winter other than huddle in front of the stove most of the time wrapped in the bear hide. The clothes we do have are well on their way to being worn out with all the hard use they get, and even wearing both layers of them, it seems you’re spending most of your time half frozen or worse, even now in the fall. And our boots. They’re being held together with pitch and cordage, and won’t do much to keep up from losing toes when the snow sets in for good. We’ve got some hides now, so it’s just a matter of turning them into parkas and boots and things, but we’d better not forget to do it.”
Einar shook his head, gave her another grin, this one looking a bit less like the horrible, pained grimace of a dying hyena, now that he’d got his breath a bit. “Won’t forget. Just because I…end up going out in the weather half the time without much protection doesn’t mean I’d expect you to do it, and sure don’t expect the little one to. You’ve got that…rabbitskin blanket almost done for him, and I have plans to make you a parka that he can be carried in, like the Inuit mothers use, and I’ll coat the hood of it with a beeswax mixture to make it somewhat waterproof, give him some extra protection when you’re carrying him. Just let me…finish rendering the fat, and I’ll get started with the sewing.”
“Speaking of the fat…do you think we’ll be able to have a fire again pretty soon? Because it’s going to be hard to do much rendering without one, and once it cools down out here for the evening, I’d like to be able to put these jerky racks in near the stove to keep them drying for a few more hours…”
“Soon. Want to give that chopper more time to come back, if it’s gonna do that, and then maybe by evening if it hasn’t shown back up…” He stopped, shaking his head as if unsure of his decision, considering the fire a concession and perhaps even an unacceptable one.
“If you were here by yourself, you probably wouldn’t have a fire for days after an incident like that one with the chopper, would you?”
“Ha! When it was just me and myself, I went for whole months sometimes without a fire, didn’t eat for nearly as long on occasion, slept under fallen trees and about froze to death every night once it started getting cooler for the year, even though I did my best to stay out of the wind and burrow down under the spruce needles.”
“Yes, I remember that. Things weren’t much different from that when I found you over at the Bulwarks that time… I’m glad to see that you’ve changed your habits at least a little now, because really, how long can a person keep on like that?”
“Oh, you might be surprised… We can conduct a series of controlled experiments if you’d like--on me, of course, not on you and the little one--to try and quantify more exactly just how long a person can keep on like that, because really, that’s something I’ve always wondered, myself, and obviously I’ve never come up with a definitive answer, seeing as I’m still here…”
“Oh don’t you dare! This isn’t the time for experimentation of that sort, especially now when it’s finally looking like we have a bit better chance of making it through the winter without each day being such a struggle, such an uncertain thing…so you just get that idea out of your head, or I may have to do it for you! I’ve still got that rabbit stick. You don’t want a busted skull to go with those ribs, do you?”
Einar shrugged, ducked when she dived at him and, surprisingly agile for his present difficulties, caught her by the wrists. “Maybe.”
“You stubborn, stubborn man…”
“Thanks!”
“What am I going to do when this child comes out just like you, and I’m hopelessly outnumbered?”
“Oh, maybe he’ll…” Einar released his grip on her, sagging forward and pressing his ribs, suddenly hurting and rather breathless. “Maybe he’ll end up being sensible, steady and wise, just like his mother, instead.”
“I sure hope not! I mean, I hope he gets good things from both of us, but I’d be disappointed if he didn’t inherit at least some of the absolutely intractable stubbornness that you seem to have been born with a double dose of, and some of your…I don’t know…will, I guess you’d call it, because I have a feeling he’s going to need it, in the life that’s in store for him out here…”
“He’ll learn it. Won’t have a choice. Sometimes a person just doesn’t have a choice, becomes what they have to become...”
“Yes, and sometimes a person doesn’t give themselves a choice, even when there otherwise might be one…”
Einar shrugged, rose, guessed she was right but knew the tone her voice had taken on, gentle but insistent as if she was about to ask him something he knew he wouldn’t want to answer, start prying again at his thoughts and motivations--he’d had enough of that the last time Kilgore had been there--and lacking the breath to get into a serious discussion with her just then, he figured he’d be better off getting back to work. Which meant more hacking and carving on the fat container in preparation for the potential return of fire that night, not easy on his ribs but certainly an easier thing to face than the line of questioning he believed Liz about to embark upon. Might have stuck around and waited to see--the more difficult path usually being the better one--except that he truly did not have the breath to argue, and didn’t want Liz’s conversation to be a one-sided one, him sitting there and listening in silence. Well. Some other time. Right now I’ve got some more preparations to make on the bearfat barrel, and then if Liz is still working outside, I ought to spread out the hide we have and see about starting on that parka for her and the little one.
04 July, 2011
4 July 2011
Happy Independence Day, everyone! 
Though this is a day for celebration, we must never forget the sacrifice of those who have bought and maintained our freedom with their blood through the years, and we must each of us not only strive to live lives worthy of that sacrifice, but be ready and willing to put our own "lives, fortunes and sacred honor" on the line in the most literal way in order to maintain it.
________________________________________
“The helicopter,” Liz inquired, standing her ground and refusing to follow Einar until he’d answered her, “do you think it was here looking for us? It was awfully low.”
Turning wearily to face her, Einar took a few slow breaths before attempting to answer, and seeing him, Liz realized that what she had taken as a strange lack of reaction to the chopper’s presence might well be simple exhaustion rather than lack of interest. It appeared a great effort for him to speak, so much so that she was almost sorry to have asked, but she did need an answer. “Chopper was…sure it was here for us, but I don’t think they saw anything. I had the…fire burning real hot until just before they came, no smoke. Checked. Didn’t seem to be any haze of smoke up here or in the basin for them to spot. Might have been able to pick up on one of our trails to the…spring or something, but if any of it interested them, they sure didn’t show any sign. Hoping it’s…routine patrol of some sort, won’t be back. If they come back, we…” He shrugged, out of breath, but Liz knew what he’d been going to say, could guess, at least, at its approximate intent. We’ll have to get out of here in a hurry, because a return flight could mean they’ve found something that interested them, some sign of our presence, and she knew he was right about that, hoped very much that the aircraft would keep its distance.
Einar, knowing he had a limited supply of energy and hardly the breath to waste on matters that weren't of immediate concern, had already wandered farther into the woods in search of the aspen log that would hopefully provide them the means, once he'd had the opportunity to burn it out, to store their rendered bear fat. Looking, he rejected several possibilities--one just a bit too narrow in diameter to be worth their trouble, another slightly rotted along the bottom from contact with the wet ground--thinking to himself that in light of the recent chopper flight and the ongoing uncertainty of their lives there in the basin, perhaps they really would be better off storing as much of the fat as possible in more mobile containers, baskets, pouches, something they could transport if required. Not that they'd be able to carry too much if they were forced to flee the place on short notice, as it would probably happen, but if the stuff was stored in portable containers, caching it for later retrieval would at least be an option. They really needed to get more caches put out. Ought to have half or more of their food resources set aside in off-site caches so they would stand at least some chance of not starving if forced to abandon the cabin in the middle of winter. More baskets, then. The weaving of such devices, though more often done by Liz, was certainly a task of which he was capable, probably, he admitted with a wry shake of his head, a good bit more capable at the moment than he was of doing much of anything else. Like helping to haul back a log large enough to serve their purposes as a fat reservoir. Still, he would do his best, do his part, make sure the log was available should they discuss the matter and decide it best to put some portion of the fat into a larger container, as they had with that of the first bear. Would probably not have time, all things considered, to weave and coat enough baskets to hold all of it, even if they wanted to.
There. That one. The aspen was fallen but leaning and had been kept up out of contact with the dampness of the ground, and at some foot and a half in diameter, it appeared near perfect for their purposes. They needed only a chunk of it, a length of perhaps some three feet, and having brought the axe for just such a purpose, Einar freed it from his belt and started in on the tree. Liz, who had been searching some distance from him in a close-growing grove of aspens, hurried to Einar when she heard the axe begin to work away at the tree. Wanted to take it from him, spare him the obvious agony of the repeated twisting motion of his torso necessary with each bite of the axe but she hesitated to break his concentration, waiting until he paused, breathless, pressing his ribs in an attempt to keep everything in place if even for a short while, to step in and take her turn. He didn't seem to see her at first, clung blindly to the axe and did not want to relinquish it but she kept a firm grip,, and eventually he looked up, acknowledged her wordless offer with a grateful nod, and let her take the tool.
"You're more than halfway through. My turn." Liz made quick work of the remainder of the log, the two of them then going on to roll the heavy section back to the cabin, but Einar worried that they would leave too much of a trail that way, a three foot wide path of mashed-down and soon to be yellowed vegetation that would show quite clearly from above and stand out as anything but naturally occurring.
"No good this way. Need to...flip it end over end, I think. That, or carry it. Think I can carry it, if you help me lift it and..."
"No! That first idea sounded better. How about I help you flip it end over end, and we'll have it there in no time." Which they did, "no time" turning into something well over half an hour with all the precautions Einar insisted on taking, skirting around the more heavily vegetated areas in favor of those more densely timbered and boasting less undergrowth, but they got it there, leaning it up against the wall and sitting down in the shade to rest. There had, the entire time they worked, been no sign that the helicopter was intending to make a return, which both of them took as encouraging, though Einar with rather more caution than Liz. For all he knew they might have been spotted, some unquestionable sign of their presence noted by the crew or observed later in one of the photographs the great beast was no doubt taking as it passed over, and had thereafter kept things quiet in the skies over the basin to put them off their guard, leave them soft for the assault that would come that night, the next day, whenever the enemy was ready and had all their resources in place. The thought of it kept him on edge through the afternoon, pausing frequently to listen, to reach out into the distance for any sign, audible or not, that they were being watched, stalked, set up, frustrated that he could hardly seem to quiet the sounds of his own breath long enough to get a good listen.
Regardless of the actions of the helicopter--reappearance or not--Einar considered it far too great a risk to have a fire during the daylight hours, allowing for the possibility that a visible smoke plume or haze could mark their basin as a definite item of interest, and he knew that, should they actively be looking, fire was an even more dangerous proposal by night. Smoke could be minimized, the inevitable heat that escaped a chimney, less so. They'd just have to wait and see, make a judgment about a nighttime fire sometime after dark. In the meantime, he could do the preliminary work on the log, and did, flattening its bottom side and chipping away at the top, creating the depression that would later hold coals for burning it deeper. Einar worked silently, had nothing to say to Liz when she from time to time stepped into the cabin to check on him and keep him informed on her progress with the jerky project, and though she knew he was struggling with the pain of his ribs and with getting enough air to keep himself going, let alone carry on a meaningful conversation, she could not help but wonder if his silence might have some other significance, hoped he wasn’t growing too discouraged at the difficulty of his present existence but certainly didn’t intend to ask, did not even know how she might begin such a conversation with him. Nor did she have reason to expect it to be particularly beneficial to either of them. He’d get through it. The ribs would heal, if he’d let them. If only. She shook her head, once again stepped outside to slice and hang another batch of jerky for drying.
Though Einar was indeed finding himself a bit subdued that day by his ongoing struggle for breath, what Liz did not know was that a large part of his silence was due to the rather intense (considering his present circumstances) mental effort of taking inventory of their stores of food, fur and other resources to date, figuring how they ought to stretch through the winter, and at the end of the effort he rose with as much eagerness as his situation would allow, leaving his work to seek Liz and share with her the good news. Barring a major disaster of one sort or another--a forced departure from the cabin definitely qualifying--it was looking more and more like they ought to be well prepared for the coming winter months. They ought to make it.
Though this is a day for celebration, we must never forget the sacrifice of those who have bought and maintained our freedom with their blood through the years, and we must each of us not only strive to live lives worthy of that sacrifice, but be ready and willing to put our own "lives, fortunes and sacred honor" on the line in the most literal way in order to maintain it.
________________________________________
“The helicopter,” Liz inquired, standing her ground and refusing to follow Einar until he’d answered her, “do you think it was here looking for us? It was awfully low.”
Turning wearily to face her, Einar took a few slow breaths before attempting to answer, and seeing him, Liz realized that what she had taken as a strange lack of reaction to the chopper’s presence might well be simple exhaustion rather than lack of interest. It appeared a great effort for him to speak, so much so that she was almost sorry to have asked, but she did need an answer. “Chopper was…sure it was here for us, but I don’t think they saw anything. I had the…fire burning real hot until just before they came, no smoke. Checked. Didn’t seem to be any haze of smoke up here or in the basin for them to spot. Might have been able to pick up on one of our trails to the…spring or something, but if any of it interested them, they sure didn’t show any sign. Hoping it’s…routine patrol of some sort, won’t be back. If they come back, we…” He shrugged, out of breath, but Liz knew what he’d been going to say, could guess, at least, at its approximate intent. We’ll have to get out of here in a hurry, because a return flight could mean they’ve found something that interested them, some sign of our presence, and she knew he was right about that, hoped very much that the aircraft would keep its distance.
Einar, knowing he had a limited supply of energy and hardly the breath to waste on matters that weren't of immediate concern, had already wandered farther into the woods in search of the aspen log that would hopefully provide them the means, once he'd had the opportunity to burn it out, to store their rendered bear fat. Looking, he rejected several possibilities--one just a bit too narrow in diameter to be worth their trouble, another slightly rotted along the bottom from contact with the wet ground--thinking to himself that in light of the recent chopper flight and the ongoing uncertainty of their lives there in the basin, perhaps they really would be better off storing as much of the fat as possible in more mobile containers, baskets, pouches, something they could transport if required. Not that they'd be able to carry too much if they were forced to flee the place on short notice, as it would probably happen, but if the stuff was stored in portable containers, caching it for later retrieval would at least be an option. They really needed to get more caches put out. Ought to have half or more of their food resources set aside in off-site caches so they would stand at least some chance of not starving if forced to abandon the cabin in the middle of winter. More baskets, then. The weaving of such devices, though more often done by Liz, was certainly a task of which he was capable, probably, he admitted with a wry shake of his head, a good bit more capable at the moment than he was of doing much of anything else. Like helping to haul back a log large enough to serve their purposes as a fat reservoir. Still, he would do his best, do his part, make sure the log was available should they discuss the matter and decide it best to put some portion of the fat into a larger container, as they had with that of the first bear. Would probably not have time, all things considered, to weave and coat enough baskets to hold all of it, even if they wanted to.
There. That one. The aspen was fallen but leaning and had been kept up out of contact with the dampness of the ground, and at some foot and a half in diameter, it appeared near perfect for their purposes. They needed only a chunk of it, a length of perhaps some three feet, and having brought the axe for just such a purpose, Einar freed it from his belt and started in on the tree. Liz, who had been searching some distance from him in a close-growing grove of aspens, hurried to Einar when she heard the axe begin to work away at the tree. Wanted to take it from him, spare him the obvious agony of the repeated twisting motion of his torso necessary with each bite of the axe but she hesitated to break his concentration, waiting until he paused, breathless, pressing his ribs in an attempt to keep everything in place if even for a short while, to step in and take her turn. He didn't seem to see her at first, clung blindly to the axe and did not want to relinquish it but she kept a firm grip,, and eventually he looked up, acknowledged her wordless offer with a grateful nod, and let her take the tool.
"You're more than halfway through. My turn." Liz made quick work of the remainder of the log, the two of them then going on to roll the heavy section back to the cabin, but Einar worried that they would leave too much of a trail that way, a three foot wide path of mashed-down and soon to be yellowed vegetation that would show quite clearly from above and stand out as anything but naturally occurring.
"No good this way. Need to...flip it end over end, I think. That, or carry it. Think I can carry it, if you help me lift it and..."
"No! That first idea sounded better. How about I help you flip it end over end, and we'll have it there in no time." Which they did, "no time" turning into something well over half an hour with all the precautions Einar insisted on taking, skirting around the more heavily vegetated areas in favor of those more densely timbered and boasting less undergrowth, but they got it there, leaning it up against the wall and sitting down in the shade to rest. There had, the entire time they worked, been no sign that the helicopter was intending to make a return, which both of them took as encouraging, though Einar with rather more caution than Liz. For all he knew they might have been spotted, some unquestionable sign of their presence noted by the crew or observed later in one of the photographs the great beast was no doubt taking as it passed over, and had thereafter kept things quiet in the skies over the basin to put them off their guard, leave them soft for the assault that would come that night, the next day, whenever the enemy was ready and had all their resources in place. The thought of it kept him on edge through the afternoon, pausing frequently to listen, to reach out into the distance for any sign, audible or not, that they were being watched, stalked, set up, frustrated that he could hardly seem to quiet the sounds of his own breath long enough to get a good listen.
Regardless of the actions of the helicopter--reappearance or not--Einar considered it far too great a risk to have a fire during the daylight hours, allowing for the possibility that a visible smoke plume or haze could mark their basin as a definite item of interest, and he knew that, should they actively be looking, fire was an even more dangerous proposal by night. Smoke could be minimized, the inevitable heat that escaped a chimney, less so. They'd just have to wait and see, make a judgment about a nighttime fire sometime after dark. In the meantime, he could do the preliminary work on the log, and did, flattening its bottom side and chipping away at the top, creating the depression that would later hold coals for burning it deeper. Einar worked silently, had nothing to say to Liz when she from time to time stepped into the cabin to check on him and keep him informed on her progress with the jerky project, and though she knew he was struggling with the pain of his ribs and with getting enough air to keep himself going, let alone carry on a meaningful conversation, she could not help but wonder if his silence might have some other significance, hoped he wasn’t growing too discouraged at the difficulty of his present existence but certainly didn’t intend to ask, did not even know how she might begin such a conversation with him. Nor did she have reason to expect it to be particularly beneficial to either of them. He’d get through it. The ribs would heal, if he’d let them. If only. She shook her head, once again stepped outside to slice and hang another batch of jerky for drying.
Though Einar was indeed finding himself a bit subdued that day by his ongoing struggle for breath, what Liz did not know was that a large part of his silence was due to the rather intense (considering his present circumstances) mental effort of taking inventory of their stores of food, fur and other resources to date, figuring how they ought to stretch through the winter, and at the end of the effort he rose with as much eagerness as his situation would allow, leaving his work to seek Liz and share with her the good news. Barring a major disaster of one sort or another--a forced departure from the cabin definitely qualifying--it was looking more and more like they ought to be well prepared for the coming winter months. They ought to make it.
03 July, 2011
3 July 2011
Einar decidedly did not think it was a good idea for him to remain virtually immobile in the cabin for the rest of the day while Liz stretched the hide and began the work of turning the massive quantity of bear meat that graced the trees in and around the clearing into the jerky that would help sustain them through the winter. He thought, in fact, that any such indulgence on his part would represent nothing less than a terrible negligence. Which was why Liz, though sorry to see him suffering so and still somewhat concerned about his ability to go on securing himself enough oxygen--wished, in fact, that she had some way to give him supplemental oxygen, keep him confined to a bed and feed him constantly for a few days, though she knew he’d never go for that, even if she’d had the means--could not help but regard his breathing difficulties as a bit of a blessing, at the same time. In effectively limiting his movements, they accomplished what she could not herself hope to do. Einar fought the limitations, alright, doggedly forcing himself to his feet every so often and tending to one thing or another outside as if simply to assure himself that he was still capable of doing it, helping Liz stretch the hide or lower another section of meat so she could begin slicing and drying jerky, but between the fights were long periods of stillness, enforced hypoxic respites during which Einar was doing well to be able to keep himself conscious, let alone mobile.
Coming out of his involuntary rest periods, and before venturing outside once more--had to wait a few minutes, longer each time, it seemed, or he’d simply find himself passed out on the floor once more, and what was the point to that?--he would work on the bear fat, rendering down a pot or two of it on the stove by floating lumps and globs of raw fat in the near-boiling water until they were liquefied and began to separate, impurities falling away and leaving a clean oil floating on the top which he skimmed off and poured into the baskets Liz had previously prepared for just such a purpose, tightly woven willow coated internally with spruce pitch. There weren’t nearly enough baskets to hold the entirety of the fat with which the creature had provided them, and as he knew Liz would hardly have time to make ten or twelve more of them while working full time to turn the meat into jerky before it could begin spoiling, Einar began sorting through the woodpile in search of a log he could turn into a large coal-burned vessel for holding a portion of the rendered fat. Nothing too promising, all of the logs understandably small in diameter, having been broken and carried by Liz during her forays up to the spring for water. Well. Just have to find one outside, trim it down to length with the axe and roll it in here so I can start working on something to hold what’s gonna be left of the fat when I get all of these baskets filled. Which it looks like I’ll be doing on the next batch, most likely. Going pretty quickly. Ha! Guess I am good for something, after all… But had better be good for more than ideas, he told himself as he tried but failed to rise, a great dizziness knocking him back to the floor at his first attempt, had better be good for some action, too, and pretty quick here, because you’re almost out of places to put this rendered fat.
Back on his feet then, using the wall for support and nearly placing a flat-palmed left hand on the stove to steady himself before realizing his mistake and allowing it to rest against the wall, as well. Close call. Would have been a bad burn, and in a rather unfortunate place. Got to pay more attention here, Einar. Which is difficult to do when one is having to fight so hard for each new infusion of oxygen, ribs catching and burning and turning the simple act of breathing into a major test of one’s endurance, but Einar knew he wouldn’t be getting far without a major accident of one sort or another if he didn’t find a way to keep himself a bit sharper, just a bit more fully in the present. He knew a way, knew but didn’t have to resort to it, not that time, as his full attention was presently commanded by a strong and growing sense of imminent doom that had been creeping up on him over the course of the past several minutes. He’d taken the feeling at first as another reaction to his ongoing shortage of oxygen, some unconscious mechanism by which his body was trying very hard to tell him that there was a problem, that he’d better quit ignoring the problem, but as he stood there braced against the walls, feeling the approaching vibrations through the logs, he knew it was more than that.
Quick. Had to act quickly, reached over and pounded on the sliding stone that stuck out from the chimney at shoulder height, his crude attempt at giving the stove a damper closing it with one good solid whack with the heel of his hand and at the same time pushing closed the stove’s sliding stone door. A start, it was a good start but wasn’t enough, and he was out the door, elbow pressed to his side against the pain of the ribs and his breath catching in his throat, gagging him, which didn’t even seem possible, so maybe it was just the hurt of the thing that was making him gag, but in any case he ignored it, had to ignore it as he scrambled up onto the roof and put in place the large flat stone he’d left sitting beside the chimney for just such a purpose. The chopper was close by then, by the time he’d stopped up the chimney and all but eliminated the danger of smoke escaping, and when Einar got to his feet there on the roof and quickly scanned the cabin clearing, the woods and basin beyond, he was greatly relieved at the discovery that he could not see a haze of smoke hanging over the area. The wood he’d been using to render down the fat had been very dry, would not betray them.
Time to get under cover. The thing was almost on top of him, and Einar rolled off the roof, throwing himself down behind the cabin where he lay panting in the deep, springy accumulation of spruce needles and aspen leaves that he’d earlier heaped there in an attempt to begin insulating the place, uninjured but in so much pain that he could have easily been convinced otherwise. Breathing too fast. He was breathing way too fast at the sound of the thing, the thought of it hovering there above him, the necessarily unanswered animal instinct to take off running for the timber, to crouch there until the thing came into sight and then to do his best to bring it down, and he struggled to slow his breaths a bit lest he pass out from the hurt of it and fail to fully observe the actions of the thundering intruder, a full knowledge of which might later prove crucial. Success, more or less; he stayed awake as the Blackhawk thundered over the cabin, certain that he was concealed from view by the heavy timber overhead and catching only a glimpse of the great beast through the aspens as it dropped down into the basin. Liz, he could only hope and pray, was equally well concealed.
The Blackhawk did not circle back, continuing instead up along the far wall of the basin, skimming the exposed bulwarks of red sandstone that stood out just above the spot where the last scrawny island of sub alpine firs dwindled to ground mats and then to nothing, no more than fifty feet off the ground as it banked sharply, climbing up the ridge to the higher one above, where in time it disappeared into the vast bowl of fractured red rock down on the far side, its sound suddenly vanishing as it dropped below the ridgeline. Einar waited a count of twenty, then one more, still struggling to slow his breaths and still the pounding of his heart so he might be able to hear the first indication that the chopper was returning, but it never did, and after a time he got to his feet and climbed stiffly over the spruce stake and woven willow barrier that held the two and a half feet of insulating material which had broken his fall from the roof.
Liz. He had to find her, make sure she hadn’t been seen, and it seemed she must have had the same thought--similar, but not exactly the same, as her concern revolved far more around what Einar’s reaction might be to the presence of the chopper; she knew he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be spotted--because just as he rounded the corner of the cabin there she was, skirting around the clearing in the timber, steps away from him. She looked somewhat alarmed, and Einar hurried to her, suddenly fearful that she might have believed herself seen, had, perhaps, left a jerky rack or a rock with some partially sliced meat out in the open, visible to any who might be on the lookout for signs of human presence. Which was not at all her concern; she had been diligent, quickly moving the jerky racks beneath their assigned trees and herself crouching against one of their trunks until the menace had passed. Einar himself was the source of her alarm, that wild look in his eyes and the faint blue tinge around his mouth speaking to a potentially dangerous lack of oxygen, and she hoped very much that he hadn’t further injured himself trying to get away from that chopper… Not that he would be likely at all to answer her questions on the matter or let her examine him, not until they’d talked out the possible meaning of the aircraft’s sudden appearance, and she crouched beside him, steadying hand on his arm when he appeared ready to topple to the side after a moment of stillness.
“You…keep out of sight? Meat and racks and all out of sight?”
“I was fine. Got everything under the trees just like we’d talked about. They won’t have seen a thing.”
He nodded, stared blankly at the sky for a minute and scrubbed a hand across his eyes, struggling to his feet. “Need to find a log to…store some of that fat. No more room in the baskets. Have to…wait for dark now to render any more, wait till then to burn out the log, too, but need to have it ready. Maybe you can…help me find a log, haul it back here?”
Liz was of course more than willing to help Einar find and move the log, but something was wrong, something very much unlike him in his minimal response to the helicopter--he seemed to have dismissed it already, gone on with his day--and she hesitated to bring the matter up at all when he seemed to have moved on to other things, but knew she had better get to the bottom of it before they went wandering off together in search of the perfect bearfat-holding log.
________________________________
A basin very much like Einar and Liz's. Picture their cabin on one of those little rock shelves over on the left, about halfway up, hidden in the timber.
And a few photos from my wanderings over the last several days:
Edge of the world...
Sunrise in the high country...
Surrounded by peaks...
Coming out of his involuntary rest periods, and before venturing outside once more--had to wait a few minutes, longer each time, it seemed, or he’d simply find himself passed out on the floor once more, and what was the point to that?--he would work on the bear fat, rendering down a pot or two of it on the stove by floating lumps and globs of raw fat in the near-boiling water until they were liquefied and began to separate, impurities falling away and leaving a clean oil floating on the top which he skimmed off and poured into the baskets Liz had previously prepared for just such a purpose, tightly woven willow coated internally with spruce pitch. There weren’t nearly enough baskets to hold the entirety of the fat with which the creature had provided them, and as he knew Liz would hardly have time to make ten or twelve more of them while working full time to turn the meat into jerky before it could begin spoiling, Einar began sorting through the woodpile in search of a log he could turn into a large coal-burned vessel for holding a portion of the rendered fat. Nothing too promising, all of the logs understandably small in diameter, having been broken and carried by Liz during her forays up to the spring for water. Well. Just have to find one outside, trim it down to length with the axe and roll it in here so I can start working on something to hold what’s gonna be left of the fat when I get all of these baskets filled. Which it looks like I’ll be doing on the next batch, most likely. Going pretty quickly. Ha! Guess I am good for something, after all… But had better be good for more than ideas, he told himself as he tried but failed to rise, a great dizziness knocking him back to the floor at his first attempt, had better be good for some action, too, and pretty quick here, because you’re almost out of places to put this rendered fat.
Back on his feet then, using the wall for support and nearly placing a flat-palmed left hand on the stove to steady himself before realizing his mistake and allowing it to rest against the wall, as well. Close call. Would have been a bad burn, and in a rather unfortunate place. Got to pay more attention here, Einar. Which is difficult to do when one is having to fight so hard for each new infusion of oxygen, ribs catching and burning and turning the simple act of breathing into a major test of one’s endurance, but Einar knew he wouldn’t be getting far without a major accident of one sort or another if he didn’t find a way to keep himself a bit sharper, just a bit more fully in the present. He knew a way, knew but didn’t have to resort to it, not that time, as his full attention was presently commanded by a strong and growing sense of imminent doom that had been creeping up on him over the course of the past several minutes. He’d taken the feeling at first as another reaction to his ongoing shortage of oxygen, some unconscious mechanism by which his body was trying very hard to tell him that there was a problem, that he’d better quit ignoring the problem, but as he stood there braced against the walls, feeling the approaching vibrations through the logs, he knew it was more than that.
Quick. Had to act quickly, reached over and pounded on the sliding stone that stuck out from the chimney at shoulder height, his crude attempt at giving the stove a damper closing it with one good solid whack with the heel of his hand and at the same time pushing closed the stove’s sliding stone door. A start, it was a good start but wasn’t enough, and he was out the door, elbow pressed to his side against the pain of the ribs and his breath catching in his throat, gagging him, which didn’t even seem possible, so maybe it was just the hurt of the thing that was making him gag, but in any case he ignored it, had to ignore it as he scrambled up onto the roof and put in place the large flat stone he’d left sitting beside the chimney for just such a purpose. The chopper was close by then, by the time he’d stopped up the chimney and all but eliminated the danger of smoke escaping, and when Einar got to his feet there on the roof and quickly scanned the cabin clearing, the woods and basin beyond, he was greatly relieved at the discovery that he could not see a haze of smoke hanging over the area. The wood he’d been using to render down the fat had been very dry, would not betray them.
Time to get under cover. The thing was almost on top of him, and Einar rolled off the roof, throwing himself down behind the cabin where he lay panting in the deep, springy accumulation of spruce needles and aspen leaves that he’d earlier heaped there in an attempt to begin insulating the place, uninjured but in so much pain that he could have easily been convinced otherwise. Breathing too fast. He was breathing way too fast at the sound of the thing, the thought of it hovering there above him, the necessarily unanswered animal instinct to take off running for the timber, to crouch there until the thing came into sight and then to do his best to bring it down, and he struggled to slow his breaths a bit lest he pass out from the hurt of it and fail to fully observe the actions of the thundering intruder, a full knowledge of which might later prove crucial. Success, more or less; he stayed awake as the Blackhawk thundered over the cabin, certain that he was concealed from view by the heavy timber overhead and catching only a glimpse of the great beast through the aspens as it dropped down into the basin. Liz, he could only hope and pray, was equally well concealed.
The Blackhawk did not circle back, continuing instead up along the far wall of the basin, skimming the exposed bulwarks of red sandstone that stood out just above the spot where the last scrawny island of sub alpine firs dwindled to ground mats and then to nothing, no more than fifty feet off the ground as it banked sharply, climbing up the ridge to the higher one above, where in time it disappeared into the vast bowl of fractured red rock down on the far side, its sound suddenly vanishing as it dropped below the ridgeline. Einar waited a count of twenty, then one more, still struggling to slow his breaths and still the pounding of his heart so he might be able to hear the first indication that the chopper was returning, but it never did, and after a time he got to his feet and climbed stiffly over the spruce stake and woven willow barrier that held the two and a half feet of insulating material which had broken his fall from the roof.
Liz. He had to find her, make sure she hadn’t been seen, and it seemed she must have had the same thought--similar, but not exactly the same, as her concern revolved far more around what Einar’s reaction might be to the presence of the chopper; she knew he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be spotted--because just as he rounded the corner of the cabin there she was, skirting around the clearing in the timber, steps away from him. She looked somewhat alarmed, and Einar hurried to her, suddenly fearful that she might have believed herself seen, had, perhaps, left a jerky rack or a rock with some partially sliced meat out in the open, visible to any who might be on the lookout for signs of human presence. Which was not at all her concern; she had been diligent, quickly moving the jerky racks beneath their assigned trees and herself crouching against one of their trunks until the menace had passed. Einar himself was the source of her alarm, that wild look in his eyes and the faint blue tinge around his mouth speaking to a potentially dangerous lack of oxygen, and she hoped very much that he hadn’t further injured himself trying to get away from that chopper… Not that he would be likely at all to answer her questions on the matter or let her examine him, not until they’d talked out the possible meaning of the aircraft’s sudden appearance, and she crouched beside him, steadying hand on his arm when he appeared ready to topple to the side after a moment of stillness.
“You…keep out of sight? Meat and racks and all out of sight?”
“I was fine. Got everything under the trees just like we’d talked about. They won’t have seen a thing.”
He nodded, stared blankly at the sky for a minute and scrubbed a hand across his eyes, struggling to his feet. “Need to find a log to…store some of that fat. No more room in the baskets. Have to…wait for dark now to render any more, wait till then to burn out the log, too, but need to have it ready. Maybe you can…help me find a log, haul it back here?”
Liz was of course more than willing to help Einar find and move the log, but something was wrong, something very much unlike him in his minimal response to the helicopter--he seemed to have dismissed it already, gone on with his day--and she hesitated to bring the matter up at all when he seemed to have moved on to other things, but knew she had better get to the bottom of it before they went wandering off together in search of the perfect bearfat-holding log.
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A basin very much like Einar and Liz's. Picture their cabin on one of those little rock shelves over on the left, about halfway up, hidden in the timber.
And a few photos from my wanderings over the last several days:
Edge of the world...
Sunrise in the high country...
Surrounded by peaks...
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