Martin looked out above the tree tops at the grey Oregon sky. Fall had been here a seemingly short time, but winter was trying it's best to move in early. The country was in the middle of what would become known as "the great depression" and the then rural area around McMinnville was not exempt. Martin, now in his mid twenties, had grown up with his older brother Herb in Portland. Herb had a wife and a baby girl, and while Martin had at times slightly envied Herb's life, now he considered himself fortunate to be free of the obligation to provide for anyone other than himself. He had a good income, for those times at least, made by cutting firewood in summer which sold for the princely sum of a dollar a cord. In winter, he turned to trapping.
Martin turned back for the last look he would have at town for a couple of weeks, when he would need to make the six mile walk back in for more groceries. After the summer in town he was looking forward to getting back to the cabin he called home for the winter months. As he headed down the dirt road he was thinking about what would need to be done when he arrived. The woodshed was full, he had seen to that over the summer. Floors would need to be swept, and bedding unpacked from a trunk in the corner by the stove. Uncover the stovepipe, and chase the mice out of the mattress rolled up on the bunk. As Martin went through the list in his head, he pulled an old Peterson briar out of the breast pocket of his Mackinaw. A strike of the match and the remains of the tobacco in the bowl from earlier that morning were alive once again.
The pack on the young mans back was not as heavy as it had been last year. Martin had stayed out a month at a time last year. Not this time. He did enjoy his time alone, but discovered last winter that a month was a bit long for him to go. The previous season he had been out on the trap line for five weeks when he noticed someone passing through a small meadow at the foot of the hill where the cabin stood. In an instant he was on his way down the hill to see what this "intruder" thought he was doing invading this neck of the woods! Fortunately for both men Martin came to his senses and decided it was time to go to town and socialize again. This year it was to be two weeks out, and then go in for a day or two.
The sun was just beginning to dip below the hills when Martin reached the door to the cabin, and a fire was at the top of the "to do" list. The now dead ashes were knocked out of the pipe and he slipped the briar back into the coat pocket. After dropping the pack near the single bunk in the corner of the room Martin went up the ladder at the back of the cabin and removed the old coffee can from the top of the stove pipe. Soon the old cast iron stove was creaking and groaning with the heat that only well seasoned Red Fir can provide.
After the walk in and the work done about the cabin Martin was hungry, but to tired for anything very elaborate. He was content with a can of beans and a heel of bread for tonight. By now the one room of his winter home was feeling fairly comfortable. He had eaten, made coffee for the morning, and was ready to take a few minutes to just relax.
Martin decided it was time for one more pipe before bed. Reaching into the folds of the heavy coat, he retrieved the Peterson from its resting place. He pulled a tin of Half and Half from his shirt pocket, and carefully filled the pipe. He still had a full day's work ahead of him getting his traps ready for the season. They had spent the spring and summer months hanging from the rafters in the cabin, and needed a bit of "tending". For tonight, he was done. There was nothing to do now but watch as the bluish colored smoke from the Peterson curled up toward the roof and vanished. He wondered if a man could be any more pleased with his life, than he was right now.
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©copyright Perry S. Fuller, 2005
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