To me, Winter is the melancholy season; some say it is a season unto itself when we seem to be on another planet. In Winter everything seems dreary, dark and muted. I read recently, "My favourite thing about Winter is when it's over." The world remains so unfriendly and cold; in my confined world I am moody and morose. If I can't be a Snowbird, I would like to have a biological clock like the bears and sleep through the Winter. It even becomes difficult to think, you can'€™t seem to see beyond yourself. The wood fire manages to keep the body warm, but it does little to keep the heart warm. When even warm feelings are in absentia, our memory can be a small substitute. My memory takes me back to earlier years when I was more robust and energetic, I used to go to the cabin, located at Butt's Pond East, to cut birch firewood and pull it by snowmobile back to the cabin. Undoubtedly, there is much truth to what Winter lovers say, "to truly enjoy winter you have to get out in Winter's wonderland, the great outdoors." But sometimes that's easier said than done. But those days gathering firewood at the cabin were good for body, mind and soul; a week in the woods cleanses or purifies the spirit. My favourite time was late February and March when the days got longer and the sun more powerful. As we got into late March we would get started early in the morning because by approximately 10 A M the trail would become soft making it more difficult to maneuver. At times some, or all of the load, would have to be unloaded. The first thing one must do is to go in and break the trail. If there's not much snow this could be done with the snowmobile. If the snow is deep, it might be necessary to walk around and stamp the snow down compactly, in some cases with the use of snowshoes. Once the trail is ready, the sleds are attached to the hitch on the snowmobile. A rectangular wooden box is attached to the sleds to hold and transport the birch junks. Good weather and favourable hauling conditions were conducive to enjoyment and a sense of accomplishment. But life has its peaks and valleys, good days and bad, and sometimes, we even encounter those "Murphy's Law" days. There will be days with high winds and deep snow making sledding conditions unfavourable. I readily confess that I would not make it to the logger's Hall of Fame. I'm the one who always muddles through. A few encounters will no doubt verify and confirm this self-evaluation. On one occasion, after having the bar and chain off for cleaning I did not tighten the nuts on securely. When I noticed the chainsaw was wobbling and tottering I realized it was too late. The two nuts had come off the mount and disappeared in the deep soft snow. I had to summon my "Girl Friday," Dora, to go to Gambo to get two new replacements. Later when the snow had melted I may have found at least one of the lost nuts. Another problem encountered was more serious and certainly more time consuming. While sawing a big birch I managed to get the chainsaw bar and chain jammed and disabled. After quite an ordeal I finally freed the saw from its tight grip. I discovered the saw was now truly disabled and immobilized. The tip of the bar was bound tightly preventing the chain from moving. Once again, I called on Girl Friday to go to Gambo, and then on to Glovertown, to get the right size replacement bar. A few times we encountered some bad snow storms. It's difficult enough to shovel a path away from the cabin. Then one must find the snowmobile and the sleds and shovel them out. Next the trail must be redone: no doubt the snowmobile will get bogged down and you will need to use snowshoes to press the snow down. After a few runs with a lighter load you are back in operation again. But cabin life is not all about work and frustrations. "The woods are lovely dark and deep," but unlike Frost I had no promises to keep. The heat from the wood stove forced the removal of another layer of woollen clothing. We were ensconced amidst the white, powdery, sparkling snow as it swirled, darkening the windows. There is something special about a cabin blanketed in snow - that eerie silence, solitude, and serenity, the very essence of peace. It's a time to unwind the tenseness and rigidness of our bones. Dora tries to read under a dull lamplight, while I sipped a cola blended with a black accompaniment. The crackling of the fire was the only sound to permeate the silence, worries and thoughts subdued by the calming influence. Presently the cabin is accumulating not only snow but memories and the cost of maintaining it is incommensurate with the amount of time spent there. At least a brief look into our memories past can give us a different perspective, for as the saying goes, "The path out of the valley appears when you choose to see things differently." Above photo: Cabin at Butt's Pond Submitted by Charles Beckett, Gambo, NL   Submitted By: NULL