White Christmas II

Some Grinch came and stole my post before I was ready, so I will excite you with some more. Watch your blood pressure.

Usually, we can depend on a white Christmas around these parts of the Pacific Northwest for what that is worth. I suspect that folks in Southern California and Florida dream of white Christmases as much as anyone. I've heard Bing sing "White Christmas" at least 853 times so far this year, and I still love it.

While we know that snow at Christmas has nothing to do with the holiday, we get all sentimental and teary eyed when we hear the song. One Grinch told me, "My yard looks as good as my neighbor's when it snows." Now that wasn't very nice to say. Christmas is fun and sentimental meeting with friends and family; reminiscing about the good times of the past.

We remember the good times skating, sleigh riding, caroling and even the aching fingers when we ran in whining to Mama about the cold. Winter in itself can be fun, although it used to be more so.

Of course, we know that Christmas is celebrating God sending his Son to earth that we can have eternal life. That is the Good News of Christmas. So, with that, you have my permission to be merry his season. Let's celebrate.

Here's a winter story. I hope you like it .Sincerely, Don

SNOWBOUND
by
Donald R. Johnson

Cold weather? Let me tell you about the winter of forty-nine and fifty. The whole valley was full of snow; three feet on the ground by Christmas time and no letup in sight. Temperature is usually monitored quite closely by old men at any given time, but this year everyone was watching. The thermometer rose above the freezing mark only five times in thirty days. Night temperatures were going to twenty below zero every night. The wind howled, subtracting another twenty from what the thermometer said.

The weather was taking its toll on everything and everybody. The logging operations were shut down because the trucks couldn't get into the woods, due to the deep snow. In the valley, those who ordinarily worked at pruning apple trees were not working. When those young fruit spurs get so cold, they are brittle and break off, taking with them the next year's crop.

All this added up to no money to spend for car payments, Christmas and even groceries in some cases. The valley was paralyzed for all practical purposes. It seemed the only activity to be seen was the loan company workers coming to repossess cars, whose owners couldn't make the monthly payments.

Many families were sharing houses for various reasons. In some cases the water system was frozen up, not to return to service until there were several days of warm weather. In others, families pooled their meager food and wood supplies to make them last longer. Everyone had to eat and most people burned wood for heating.

In all crises there are a few heroes, who stand head and shoulders above the rest. George was just that kind of person. It may have been the fear of freezing to death or starvation, but he used every bit of ingenuity he could muster to stay alive for the winter. He knew that if he were to survive he had to put forth the effort.

George was always clever at making things work. He had earlier come into possession of an old drag saw, used mainly for cutting wood. He got the old one cylinder engine working pretty well, sharpened the saw and did a test run out by the woodshed. It was a noisy beast, but when the saw was brought down on the log, it cut right through, without complaint.
Red Durham had a truck and a Caterpillar tractor. When he was forced to, he would do a little hauling or dozer work with the "Cat". At thirty-five, he still lived with his widowed mother, and waited for her instructions for his every move. He was considered a little slow in body and mind, and only worked when Mama forced the issue.

George knew that he needed that truck and tractor to complete his survival scheme. His approach was to go to Mama and present his plan for forming a partnership in a wood cutting operation. She saw the wisdom of the plan and thought that George would take Red off her hands for at least part of the time. That was a good selling point, as well as the chance for a little income.

They spent the next two days gathering every axe, maul, wedge and gas can available. They sharpened the teeth of the crosscut saw to its finest cutting edge. Wool shirts, long underwear and "tin" pants were brought out. An old tent and an airtight heater would provide the temporary heat and shelter they would need up in the high valley, where they would be cutting.

They would be up in the higher elevation, where the temperature had been reported to be close to forty below zero on many clear nights that winter. The preferred wood from the tamarack and fir trees grew in those high valleys. Dead trees, which could be had for the taking, were plentiful. The plan was to fight their way up the hill, cut a load and take it to the lower valley to the buyer.

Most of day one was spent bucking through the snow and using the "Cat" to cut a trail when the truck couldn't make it. They did make it through, and by late afternoon, George and Red had everything unloaded and set up in readiness for the next day. They headed back to the lower valley for the night. It had been a hard fight, but they knew they could get the loads of wood out.

The sun came up bright on the cold morning, and George and Red were well on their way up the mountain. With the road cut through, it was an easy hour and a half to the camp. With a little coaxing, the "Cat" and drag saw engines started, and the operation was underway.

George ran the saw along a large fir log, while Red went into the woods, with the "Cat" to bring out more logs. By noon, they had the truck filled with the newly cut wood, stacked to the top of the racks. They went into the tent and built up a fire in the airtight heater, and made up a pot of coffee. They kept their bodies as close to the stove a possible, to try to thaw out. Finally the warmth penetrated their thick layered clothes, and they went back to the truck.

"I reckon that's about four cord on the truck." Red said as he mentally measured out the rows. "We got two cord sold to Max Evans, and the other two we can stack behind my shop."

They arrived down in the lower valley before dark, and had the wood delivered and stacked in a short period of time. Supper tasted good after the light lunch of soggy sandwiches they had eaten at midday.
The next day was clear and colder, but they decided that they had to go up the mountain, regardless of a little discomfort. George would be able to buy groceries for cash this week, instead of the usual winter charging, which was common during the winter season. With that thought he braved the cold and the bad roads up the mountain.

With the practice of the day before, they were able to increase production considerably. Red had skidded a good supply close in, so today he could stay near the log deck and help split and load the newly cut wood.
The first load of wood was split and loaded on the truck well before noon, and the two were excited with the prospect of having a good business from the cold weather.

"I have an idea, Red." George said, between his attacks on his cold bacon sandwich. "Why don't you take that load down the hill now, and I'll stay here, and by the time you get back, I'll have another load cut, split and ready to throw on the truck? That way we can increase the production considerably."

Red agreed to the proposal, and as soon as they finished their sandwiches and coffee, he was headed down the hill.
As the afternoon went on, George noticed the snow getting a little more crunch to it, and his face smarting more from the cold. Wrapping a wool scarf higher around his neck, he continued the routine of cutting and splitting. When he took his glove off to remove the gas tank cap from the saw engine, he very quickly felt his fingers going numb with the cold.
"Don't worry. Don't panic." he kept telling himself. "Red will be back shortly. In the meantime I think I'd better go in the tent and build a fire. This cold is getting serious."

A few pitch knots from a dead tree soon made a roaring fire in the little airtight. In fact, George had to close down the drafts a little, being afraid of catching the tent on fire at the ring, where the pipe went out through the canvas. He snuggled up close to the stove and was soon feeling a little less chilled; not warm, but less cold.

As the darkness settled in, he lit the old Coleman lantern, to provide a little more friendly atmosphere. It was late, but Red should be there any time now. He picked up the old Life magazine they had brought along, and holding it close to the lantern, tried to divert his thoughts by looking at the pictures on the wrinkled pages.

As the tent got colder, George built the fire as high as he dared, trying to keep from freezing solid. He was estimating the temperature at minus forty now, and bound to get worse as the evening wore on. He went out to the pile and got yet another arm load of wood.

Stoking the fire with as much wood as he could, he huddled in close, trying to thaw out from his last trip out. Keeping an eye on the tent fabric, where the pipe exited, he turned around the fire like a human rotisserie, warming one side and moving on to the other. It was becoming impossible to keep warm all over at any one time, in fact, it was getting downright uncomfortable.

Huddling closer to the stove, he shivered on, with his teeth chattering, sounding like castanets in a Latin orchestra. He huddled yet closer to the stove.
What was that smell? It smelled like smoldering cloth. After a quick inspection, George found that the source of the smell was his coat, smoldering from being too close to the hot stove. By that time he not only smelled the smoke, but felt the pain of the heat against his back, as the fire consumed another layer of the wool.

A feeling of desperation came over him. Was this to be his last night alive? This was not exactly how he had planned to end his life. He tried to clear his mind to devise a plan for his salvation from the elements. Finding a real house with a real stove and real people had to be the correct answer to the problem.

Grabbing an old tattered blanket, he wrapped it around his torso, and ran down the road as hard as he could. He wasn't exactly speeding, due to the bulky clothing and the difficulty in sucking in the frigid air. He knew the Schmidt ranch was about four miles down the mountain, and they would take him in. Maybe he'd meet Red on the road. His mind raced with the possibilities, including that of freezing to death.

He ran on, having no other choice, as stopping would be the end for sure. He was getting colder, and the cold air seared his lungs, making it difficult to continue at more than a stumbling walk. He had to keep going. What about Edith and Little Pat? What would they do without him. He pushed on like a madman.

By the moonlight, he could see the Schmidt ranch house out ahead. His pace picked up, along with his spirits. He could make it now. Looking at his watch, he could see that it was almost midnight. He knew that everyone would be in bed, but he would have to forego his manners tonight and wake up his host.

As he came into the yard he noticed their old Chevrolet, an International pickup and an International truck that looked just like Red's. The dog came out of the straw stack and greeted him with an unenthusiastic bark.
After banging on the door, for what seemed to George to be fifteen minutes, Gus Schmidt came to the door, in his slippers, an old heavy bathrobe and a knitted wool night cap.

"Come on in, George." Gus yelled out. "What in the heck are you doing out in this kind of weather."

George stumbled in and sat down, not feeling like a lot of conversation. Gus opened the draft on the heating stove and put in some wood. Gus's wife, Marie, was up by this time and rustled up some leftover roast from supper and heated up the coffee pot. George made that bread and meat disappear in no time at all, and then he was fed and warmed enough to answer questions.

After some discussion, they heard a noise on the stairs. There, coming down the stairs, a sleepy-eyed Red Durham made his grand entry, looking like a bear coming out of hibernation.

George was speechless for quite a spell, but was finally able to stammer out, "What in the World are you doing here?"

Red just stood there, kind of staring into space, and finally said, "I decided I better stop here when I had a chance. It's not safe to be out in this kind of weather."

George decided that it would be better not to respond right then, as Marie was in the room, and what he had to say was not permitted, by his upbringing, to be said in the presence of a lady.

The wood cutting operation sort of collapsed from there on out. The land finally thawed out in the spring, and George went back to the orchards to work, and Red went back to Mama, to work when she got sick of him being underfoot around the house. Almost everyone got back to working, and the general attitude got more pleasant, along with the weather.
(From Legends, Lies and Half Truths) (C) DRJ 2001