A Home in the Wilderness

 

A HOME IN THE WILDERNESS

 

 

The woods are dark tonight.  Not a star lights the sky as I stand on the veranda of the cabin I built many years ago. Looking over the water of the almost invisible sea-loch, I hear the rustle of trees that were but saplings when I first came. Then, I had to haul wood in to build; now the trees stand tall around my wilderness home. Trout fresh from the loch glisten as I light the lamp above the door and the evening chill begins to bite as I open up and try to carry in fish, logs and my tackle. A log drops on my foot as words best-spoken in the wilderness escape my lips.

The hearthstone is bare so I find kindling and twigs which spark into flame at the striking of a match; the cabin and therefore the kindling is dry. Small flames grow and climb through the twigs and small branches that now crackle upon the hearth; the flames are yellow – as yet the fire has no heart – it is simply a collection of crackling, guttering twigs. I begin to feel the heat – fiercer by the minute. It is time to put on the logs and soon, after a brief period of smoke, there is sudden combustion as the smoke becomes flame and a blaze is begun. Bright edges grow round the peeling bark. Cracks and bangs sound loud as sparks begin to fly and, lo, as I look into the base of the fire, before my eyes, a heart red and bright begins to form. I can leave my fire for a while to clean and gut my sea trout.

When I return to the fire, the first logs are burned down and I have a bed of red ash reflecting back to me every vagary of the draughts that are drawn into my haven in the wilds; over it I build my spit – two simple tripods of steel rod with a rod held in their top joints on which are speared three trout slowly cooking. I watch the skin lose its lustre and as the wonderful odour of cooking fish arises, slowly I rotate one end of nature’s stove to cook the other side. The fish are now brushed with oil which drips and sputters new life into darkening ashes. As I put two wooden platters upon the stone, my love slips through the door. The wine, cooled in the loch, is opened and poured, the fish arrayed with salads fresh from my own soil. A bearskin awaits us on the clean-scrubbed floor; we eat.

The fire casts shadows in amber and black upon the inside of the gabled roof; beams cross and gently swinging lamps, pendular, misshapen, unlit, ride the joists, but we are lost in the magic of firelight. Together, we take in the panorama of light and shade that surrounds us and savour the odours of a wood cabin and fire, a sensual feast in itself. It is not in the shadows and reflections however, that the true beauties are seen, but in the source light where, as the varied materials within wood burn, so the colours change. Green from a bit of copper nailed to the tree years ago, blue from odd chemicals once used - oranges, reds – some dimmed some intense. We lay on the bearskin, replete with the food beneficent nature has provided to watch the fire reduce to embers and think of the ‘million year young’ coal we see burning before us. The room is warm, we are happy, we are tired, cosy, in love . . . . . and . . . . asleep.

 

 

Reviews

[Greg Skura]

Wow i really enjoyed this emensely brought me back to the joys of the woods, of my youth! Thank You for sharing!

[R J Askew]

This makes me crave a more adventurous life where I too could enjoy the delights you describe here. There is a feeling of self-sufficiency and joy taken from simple pleasures. You take us close to nature and the fish sound delightful. The observations on the nature of the fire are acute and warming. There is an atavistic feeling of things being as they should be. This also seems to underscore how much of modern life is so removed from nature and the simple pleasures you nail down in words here. The writing feels like an extension of the mood and moment it captures and evokes a whiff of wood smoke. Scotland?

[emmajoy]

What a beautiful, heart-racing story this is.. i've read it twice, will read it again and again.. it's utterly magical!

There are descriptions that make the eyes see and the heart feel; there are phrases that melt in the mouth. You describe your surroundings, visual and aural.. they come alive.. you have such a way with words and yet, never over embellish.

'Small flames grow and climb through the twigs and small branches that now crackle upon the hearth; the flames are yellow � as yet the fire has no heart � it is simply a collection of crackling, guttering twigs. I begin to feel the heat � fiercer by the minute. It is time to put on the logs and soon, after a brief period of smoke, there is sudden combustion as the smoke becomes flame and a blaze is begun. Bright edges grow round the peeling bark. Cracks and bangs sound loud as sparks begin to fly and, lo, as I look into the base of the fire, before my eyes, a heart red and bright begins to form' That, Sam, is exquisitely written.. it equals any of the long published master story tellers.

If i say more it will read 'over the top' so have to stop.

Last word: BRILLIANT!