The camp

Thought I better catch up on my summer at Gramps logg'n camp. Pack'n that Ol' gear drive McCulloch saw, gas, oil and pack. Husky dog chase'n chipmunks. A great day to be alive. Finally at camp I threw open the door and drank in that fragrance – a cabin full of memories.

"Trout fer supper, Husky," I assured him. Grab'n my line and hooks, I ran out and cut me a pole. Dug some worms out near the old horse barn and took off on a trot for the river. A trout jumped!! I baited up and tossed it in. Almost instantly the hungry trout grabbed it and made a run. I evicted it from its' hiding place. An hour later, I had me a fine mess of fish.

First thing back at camp was build a fire. The cabin filled with smoke!! I jumped out and took a look, not a whiff was com'n out the pipe. Then I remembered Uncle Tony always checked the elbow fore he built a fire. I yanked it apart, sure enough a huge mice nest had blocked it tighter then a drum. Cough'n and gag'n I dumped it and stuck it back together. Trout fry'n, song birds sing'n, could ya beat that?

Towards dark the bugs were tell'n us rain was on its way. I shut the door and lit the old lamp. Boy, there came a downpour.

The pile of American Hunter got my interest till my eyes grew heavy. They had told me of these far off places, Alaska and the Yukon. Some day I'd go there I promised myself.

From my bunk I heard Husky sigh with contentment, so did I. Off 'n the woods I heard a tree rub'n on another moan'n like the ghost of Paul Bunyan. It was then I thought of the song of the timber cutter. I think sung by Leon Paine.

"I learned this fact from a logger named Dray. You don't cut timber on a windy day. Stay out of the woods when the moisture is low. Or ya ain't gonna live to collect yer dough."

And so I drifted off to sleep with the winds soft-symphony in the trees. The patter on the tar paper roof was like a heavenly Tom-Tom, my song in the night.