Do They Snarl and Bare Their Teeth?

 

By Donald Holmes Lewis

Published on August 14 in The Cheboygan Daily Tribune.

 

      Even though I rented a splitter a couple of months go and stacked what I thought was enough birch to last me through the winter, the wood is half gone.  Some summer we’ve had. Had a fire going in the fireplace most nights since the Fourth of July to keep the electric heat bill to a minimum.

      Over coffee, I told Sally that we’d have to order wood after all.

      “Why don’t you hike along the trail every day and pick up a little fallen timber on the way back?” she asked. “You need the exercise and we don’t have the money right now.”

      “That’s my line.”

      “After a month we’ll have plenty of wood.”

      “A month?”

      “Yup. Walk a mile south and a mile back. When you get close to home, pick up an armful. It’s all over the place. Every day for a month.”

      “You don’t think I can do it, do you?”

      “Yes I do. And you don’t have a choice. We need wood. Your last two job interviews didn’t go anywhere.”

      An hour later, dressed in my heavy old jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt, and with leather work gloves sticking out of my hip pocket, I started down the North Central State Trail that passes right behind our place on Mullett Lake. My clothes meant I was serious about doing this; exercise then hard labor. I was prepared, I figured, for anything that could stand in the way of success on my thirty day mission of getting in shape and laying in wood for the winter. Not mosquitoes or sand flies. Neither poison oak nor poison ivy. Not scratches or cuts or bruises.

      First, the exercise. I began with a pretty good stride, enjoying the rise of an orange red sun over the still waters of the lake. Crows were cawing, surprised to find me on the old Gaylord to Cheboygan route.  After a half mile, I started dragging my feet along the crushed limestone. Sally was absolutely right. I needed to do this more for my health than the fuel. I picked up the pace even though I was starting to sweat profusely. It had to be the hottest day of summer. Really humid. This was a real test.

      When I reached Long Point, I turned around and began my return hike, walking with half the steam of the outward mile. ‘Don’t push it’, my smarter inner voice said. It was not the one I usually listened to.

      I’d never used the trail much. Slowing down let me gaze down the tunnel of overhanging poplar, birch, and bent cedars. Sunlight like tiny stars sprinkled the path. This is an incredibly beautiful trail, I whispered. I’d read about the conversion of the old Michigan Central Railroad lines into one of the finest summer hiking and biking trails on the planet and one of best snowmobile runs in the state. 

      A breeze from the south picked up and pushed at my lazy back side. My confident, easy stride returned.

      Near the Grand Resort not far from home base, I began sizing up the right pieces of dead and dry hardwoods to carry the rest of the way. I planned on being very selective. I put on my gloves and stepped off the trail a few feet. ‘Here’s one.’ I carried it another fifty yards. ‘Here’s another.’ Not bad so far.

      The day was getting hotter by the second. I heard myself breathing heavily for the first time. Then I heard the sound of something following me deeper off the path. When I took a step, a creature was moving with me. When I stopped abruptly, so did my stalking companion. Peering into a dreamlike sea of green branches where I sensed it was, I waited for movement. I suddenly wished I could see like I could when I was a lot younger. ‘What does a wolverine look like?’ I thought. ‘Are they aggressive? Do they slink along when seeking their prey? Have they ever attacked a two legged adversary? Do they growl, snarl, or bare their teeth before they strike. I need to know a lot more about my new home state.’

      A giant black squirrel abruptly stood up on his hind legs. I dropped my three trophy logs onto the trail, just missing my right big toe. The squirrel didn’t move. He or she seemed to be smiling at me, ready to spit out his mouth full of pine nuts and unleash a real belly laugh.

      I gathered my logs and grabbed a couple of other more imperfect ones and started for the cottage. Back at the leaning tower of garages I call my wood shed, I put them where they belonged.

      Sally walked out the kitchen door waving big thumbs up.

      “All right! You made it!” She cheered. “It took you a long time to go two miles. God, you’re drenched.”

      “Good exercise,” I said walking past her on the way to the shower upstairs. “Good wood.”