The Winds of Autumn (6 page)
I found the beat-up tin that Aunt Lou had filled with pancake fixings, added some crik water to the dry ingredients and poured some of the dough into the frying pan even before it was heated enough to sizzle. They didn’t turn out too well—least not those first ones. They were still pale and soggy and wouldn’t flip worth nothing, but we ate them anyway. They weren’t too bad with maple syrup poured over them. By the time I got to the end of the batch, the pan was too hot and they were burning even before they got a chance to cook.
In spite of all that, they tasted so good I whipped up another batch and we ate them, too. That finished off our pancake fixings. What Aunt Lou had thought would feed us for three breakfasts, we had managed to polish off in one. But then, we reasoned, we hadn’t eaten too well the day before.
The crik-drowned shoes were still wet, and the clothes and blankets in need of more drying time, so we knew it would be foolish to break up camp yet. We decided to stay right where we were.
“We have to stay here and get dried out,” said Willie. “We only have one more night to stay. There is just no way we can get up in the mornin’, walk the rest of the way to the spring and then get all the way back home again in one day.”
“You mean we have to turn around from here and go on home without even seein’ the spring we came all this way to see?” moaned Avery.
“Well, I’m sure not tryin’ to walk on to that spring in my bare feet,” said Willie. “You wantin’ to?”
Now I knew Avery had never gone barefoot in the summer months like I had done for many summers. But I knew right well if it came down to seeing or missing that spring, I sure wouldn’t have hesitated to go shoeless, even if it was the fall and even if there wasn’t a decent path through the bush, but I didn’t say anything.
“Doesn’t seem fair,” grumbled Avery. “Here we were tellin’ all the fellas how we were gonna hike to the spring, and now we hafta go home and say we didn’t see the spring at all.”
I was feeling pretty low myself.
“Josh can still go—he’s got shoes,” Willie suddenly cut in.
Now I hadn’t even thought of going on all alone. But when Willie seemed so excited and Avery’s eyes lit up, I suddenly felt great relief. I would get to see the spring after all.
I knew this wasn’t the way we had planned it, but it did seem better than nothing. At least one of us would be able to report to the other fellas what the spring looked like in the fall of the year.
We decided I would venture up the crik on my own while the fellas dried out their clothes at our camp. I knew Willie and Avery hated to miss the adventure and I felt real sorry for them, but there didn’t seem to be much point in my just sitting with them by the fire.
I carried more wood before I left, and they snuggled back under the blankets. I knew that with nothing better to do, they would catch up on the sleep they had missed the night before. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open. I guessed I had missed more sleep than either of them.
Still I felt excitement urging me on. I was anxious to see the place where our crik was born. Was it really as pretty as folks said? Was the water as pure and cold? I decided to take a pail along with me so that when I found it, I could bring some of that famed water back to the fellas.
T
HOUGH TRULY EXCITED
, as I explained before, I was also disappointed when I realized I would be going on up the crik by myself. I don’t know if my disappointment was for myself or for the other fellas. I know they felt bad about having to stay at the campsite while their shoes dried out. But, too, it wouldn’t be quite the same not having anyone to share the hiking experience with.
I started up the trail just a bit downcast. But I hadn’t gone far when my spirits began to lift. The sun was warm and bright—who could be gloomy with all this sunshine around? A breeze rustled the leaves that stubbornly still hung on to the tree branches. Twittering birds flitted back and forth above me. In spite of the warm weather, most of the migrating birds had already left us, but I saw noisy jays and flirting chickadees, and such. I even saw a large hawk sitting on a tree stump, his preened feathers glistening in the sun.
As I said, I don’t know who could have stayed feeling down on such a day. I was walking through one of the prettiest parts of the countryside I had ever seen. I had never been this far up the crik before, and I sure was enjoying the sight now.
I had no idea how far I would have to walk before coming to the spring. Maybe an hour or two? But the deeper I got into the heavy tree growth along the crik, the less I was concerned about the distance. I was just sauntering along, looking all around me at the prettiness of God’s creation and thinking of how Gramps would enjoy it all if he could be there with me.
It seemed like no time until I heard a sound like falling water, and I hurried forward. I pushed my way through the trees and along the crik bank and, rounding the bend in the stream, I caught my breath with the sight before me.
There on the steep slope of a hill was a pretty little waterfall. As my eyes traveled up it to where it came out of the rocks above, I realized this was the spring—the beginning of our crik. I just stood there staring as the silvery water caught the sunlight and danced on down to the shallow pool directly beneath it, cool and clean. It was like they said—all around the pool the long, fingery tree branches seemed to stretch downward to reach toward the sparkling water. Here and there a dark spruce or pine shadowed the lighter greenery, and small shrubbery, still dressed in autumn reds and golds, looked at themselves in the mirror waters. It was a sight the like of which I’d never seen before. I just stood there, filling my eyes and my soul with it.
At last I let out my breath and moved slowly forward. I knelt at the side of the pool and eased one hand down into the water. It was so cold my fingers soon began to tingle.
I dropped down in the mossy carpet covering the bank and let my eyes travel every inch of the area and then slowly back again. I don’t know just how long I sat there, drinking it all in. I finally roused myself with a sigh, then pulled myself to my feet and began exploring the ground all around the little pond.
Boy, I was sorry the other fellas weren’t with me! They were really missing something, all right.
Reluctant at the thought of leaving this place, I dipped my pail in the coolness of the pond water so that I could hurry some back to the boys. Then I had another idea and let the water slip from the pail back into the pool again. I moved back around the small pool and climbed up the rocks to where the spring came out of the hillside.
This is why they call it a spring,
I mused.
It does “spring” right out of that rock.
By stretching the pail as far as I could, I managed to reach the silver stream of water that tumbled down from above. The icy water splashed over my hand as I caught the water in my bucket. I wanted to get it back to the fellas at camp as quick as I could so it would still be cold, but how I hated to leave the place.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered my promise; “iffen I have my way, I’ll sure be back. An’ when I come, I’ll camp right there by that pool and listen to the song of the waterfall all night long.”
I circled the little pool once more and after one last long look, I headed back the way I had come. This time I covered the ground much more quickly.
When I reached our campsite the sun had moved high in the sky and was already heading for the western horizon. I hadn’t realized until I got close to the camp and smelled the lingering aroma of food how hungry I was.
When I came hurrying in, hustling that pail of spring water before it had time to become warm in the afternoon sun, both Willie and Avery looked a bit shamefaced. But I was so excited to tell them all about the pool that I didn’t really notice it or pay much attention to the fact that the fire had gone out, though I sure was hungry. I went into great detail describing the waterfall, the pool, the surrounding greens and reds and golds. I shoved the pail of water toward them, insisting that they try a cold drink. At great length I told them just how cold it had been when I had started back with it and would have rattled on and on—but my stomach started to rumble. I sure was hungry.
I looked at the blackened kettle over the cold ashes of what had been the campfire, then fell to my knees and reached for the grimy pot.
Willie started to apologize but I waved it aside.
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “I don’t mind eatin’ things cold.”
“Well—ah—well ah—“ muttered Willie. “I’m afraid there isn’t anything cold left to eat.”
“Then I’ll just start the fire again and cook up some more of whatever you had,” I offered. “What’d you have?”
“Well—Willie baked potatoes and carrots over the coals,” said Avery helpfully.
“Sounds good,” I said. “Did it take long?”
But neither of them answered my question.
“We cooked all of the potatoes and carrots that we found,” put in Avery after a while. “Even so we were hard put to find enough. Some animal got in our supplies last night. Seems he liked vegetables.” Avery was warming to his story. “We had to scout around to find a few things left, and then we had to cut out the teeth marks before we cooked them.”
“Oh,” I said, then brightened at this idea. “Well, I’ll just fry me up some bacon then.”
Willie squirmed on the rock he was using for a stool. “Bacon’s all gone, too,” he said, his voice low and his eyes on the ground.
That slowed me down. I already knew we had no bread, no cheese, no more apples or pears, no cookies or no pancake fixings.
“What is there?” I finally asked the dreaded question.
“Beans,” answered Willie and Avery in unison.
“I think I’ll catch me a fish,” I mumbled, trying hard to keep the disgust out of my voice.
“While you’re gone I’ll build the fire and heat up the beans,” Avery quickly offered. I thanked him for that and got my fishing gear.
Willie looked worried.
“You sure you wanta wait to eat till you’ve caught a fish?” he inquired. “You know it can take a while to get one iffen they decide not to bite.”
I didn’t tell him I didn’t see where I had much choice.
“I ate an apple ’n pear while I was walkin’,” I said instead. “I’ll be okay till I get a fish in the pan.” With a show of more confidence than I felt, I started off down the trail. I thought I had spotted a likely place for the fish to hang out about a quarter mile up the crik.
It did take a bit longer than I had hoped to get a fish on the hook. I had to change my location twice before I finally caught something. When I did get a small northern I was pleased with it. My growling inwards were anxious to get it back to camp and into the pan.
As I neared the campsite I could smell something peculiar. I was expecting the rich, savory odor of baked beans to greet me, but this wasn’t it.
As I stepped into the small clearing where our lean-to hugged the fallen tree, I looked about me. I could see a lump under the blankets again, and I knew someone was having another nap. It turned out that two someones were bundled in the blankets. The fire was stone cold again, though I could see it had been built up, just like Willie had promised. A blackened pot sat on three stones. I looked in. It was hard to be sure, but I guessed the charred, smelly remains in the bottom of the pot was the last of Aunt Lou’s baked beans. I groaned.
It took me some time to get the fire hot enough to get the frying pan sizzling. I was glad we still had some butter and the can of flour, salt and pepper Aunt Lou had sent along for seasoning our fried fish. I cleaned the fish, washed it thoroughly in the cold creek water and then rolled it until it was completely covered with the flour mixture. Then I placed the butter in the sizzling pan and gently dropped the fish pieces into the golden fat. Boy, did it smell good.
For a fella who had only had an apple and a fall pear to tide him over since his breakfast pancakes, I certainly showed some constraint while waiting for that fish to get golden brown. I would have enjoyed some of those baked beans or a slice of bread or something else to go with it, but that sure didn’t slow me down none. I lit into that fish before it was even cool enough to swallow.
The smell of the frying fish was hanging pretty thick in the air, and it wasn’t long till I saw those fellas began to twitch and turn in their sleep. I heard Willie sort of groan, and I supposed they were hungry again, too. Not that I wasn’t a one to share— but, after all, what was one little fish among three fellas? I ate faster.
Sure enough, before I was finished, Avery was crawling up out of the blankets, licking his lips, and Willie wasn’t too far behind him.
I sorta kept my back to them and went right on finishing up my fried fish. I figured they were probably about as hungry as I had been. I didn’t want to appear selfish or anything, so I half-turned toward them and said around the bite of fish in my mouth, “My pole and hook is there iffen you want to use it.”
Avery had never been one for fishing, but he liked eating, so he picked up the pole and, with Willie following, set off down the trail to the crik.
“There’s a fair-sized hole about a half mile or so,” I called after them. “Seems to be a pretty good one.”
After I had finished my supper I washed up my few dishes in the crik, put the pot to soak and went to the lean-to. It seemed it was about my turn to get a little sleep. Especially if we all had to sleep in the same small space again. I sure wasn’t looking forward to that, and boy was I tired.
I took off my heavy shoes and placed them carefully under the lean-to, made sure my jacket was fastened up, crawled to the rear of the makeshift shelter and curled up in the blankets. In no time at all I was warm and drowsy. I didn’t even hear the fellas come back.
T
HE CHILL OF AN
autumn morning stirred us from our blankets early the next day and sent us scrambling to build a fire. I had already piled wood beside the makeshift shelter and, after gathering a few dry leaves, some bark and tinder-like grass, we soon had a welcome fire going.