Pine, Honey, Silver and Sap

That’s a sure sign that something happened, out there beyond the reach of the busy mind.

Gone. It’s good practice for The Big One.

Two nights ago, the coldest of the year by far, we ignored Boss’ barking – the last time we do that – and stayed warm inside. An hour later, satisfied and ready for sleep, we stepped out into a maelstrom. Flames in the trees down at the creek bed, twenty feet and higher, the roar of conflagration, a whole wooden building taken up.

The volunteer firemen were there pronto, but there was nothing but to drown the site and see it didn’t spread.

The only thing left standing: a lone post, and the wood stove where it all started, all cleaned out and heat blasted and ready to go.

The sugar shack is a pile of carbon today, and every tool, aid, connivance and device Dustin employed to make his living in pine, honey, silver and sap is in there somewhere, melted, rendered, rent. His confidence, or some of it, is in there too. He had a big hand in making the teaching hall, and built the shack from scratch. Yes, everyone’s okay, depending on what’s meant by okay.

He has wrestling to do, as anyone in a building fire would. That’s proper. But you could help with the tool part of the loss if you’d like. Thanks for considering it.

-Stephen Jenkinson