The Trapper
In my life I have met many people, though only a handful of those folks sit in the cherished part of my mind holding a secret place in time. One such fellow was The Trapper. An old friend of my father's, he was a trapper that lived way deep into the northern woods of Alberta.
I remember my father packing up the family to go visit him one spring. It was not a normal trip, as my father loaded up the little lawn tractor and wagon on the back of the truck. We had to wear rubber boots and bring extra clothes, as my mother packed a larger cooler of food and toilet paper. We were not going camping. Just a day visit to a man in the bush. I was puzzled by the shear effort my father was making to go visit this old trapper.
We drove for what seemed forever untill all that was left for a road was a bush trail. Soon even that bush trail came to an end as the spring run off had washed the trail into a raging creek. That is when my father unloaded the garden tractor as us kids loaded up in the wagon, for a rough but interesting treck through the wilderness. Nothing but bush surrounded us but soon a clearing was visible and atop the trees we could see chimney smoke rising up over the evergreens. We had arrived.
There nestled in the deep of the woods was a one-room cabin, around it was a enormous wood pile, and the smell of campfire smoke. The Trapper hurried out to greet us with miles of smiles and hugs. This to me was a true fairy tale cottage. Inside the cabin he had a old wood stove made from old rain barrels, a big bed at the back of the cabin covered in fur blankets and the most original wood furnishings I had ever seen. He brought out a crib board and a deck of cards for us kids, but we spent our time looking in awe at the sights surrounding us. No time for cards when the wilderness surrounds you.
I don't remember much more of that visit, except the wonderful smells, and sights that we beheld. The old enamel cups and coffee pot, and the out door biffy and the Trappers welcoming smile.
As we headed home the sun was beginning to set, the howls of the coyotes, and the slap of giant bugs could be heard echoing through the forest. Hours later we arrived home, and all three of us girls were quick to ask in excitement when we could visit The Trapper again.
Years passed and The Trapper would come visit us every so often. It was then as I grew and listened to tales of his life in the wilderness that I came to admire him greatly. But it was not his cabin, his lifestyle, the isolation that made him a great man. It was his soul and spirit that made him an amazing man. I could see now, why my father went to such great length to visit such a great man.
And how many of us, would go to such great lengths to visit a friend?
In my life I have met many people, though only a handful of those folks sit in the cherished part of my mind holding a secret place in time. One such fellow was The Trapper. An old friend of my father's, he was a trapper that lived way deep into the northern woods of Alberta.
I remember my father packing up the family to go visit him one spring. It was not a normal trip, as my father loaded up the little lawn tractor and wagon on the back of the truck. We had to wear rubber boots and bring extra clothes, as my mother packed a larger cooler of food and toilet paper. We were not going camping. Just a day visit to a man in the bush. I was puzzled by the shear effort my father was making to go visit this old trapper.
We drove for what seemed forever untill all that was left for a road was a bush trail. Soon even that bush trail came to an end as the spring run off had washed the trail into a raging creek. That is when my father unloaded the garden tractor as us kids loaded up in the wagon, for a rough but interesting treck through the wilderness. Nothing but bush surrounded us but soon a clearing was visible and atop the trees we could see chimney smoke rising up over the evergreens. We had arrived.
There nestled in the deep of the woods was a one-room cabin, around it was a enormous wood pile, and the smell of campfire smoke. The Trapper hurried out to greet us with miles of smiles and hugs. This to me was a true fairy tale cottage. Inside the cabin he had a old wood stove made from old rain barrels, a big bed at the back of the cabin covered in fur blankets and the most original wood furnishings I had ever seen. He brought out a crib board and a deck of cards for us kids, but we spent our time looking in awe at the sights surrounding us. No time for cards when the wilderness surrounds you.
I don't remember much more of that visit, except the wonderful smells, and sights that we beheld. The old enamel cups and coffee pot, and the out door biffy and the Trappers welcoming smile.
As we headed home the sun was beginning to set, the howls of the coyotes, and the slap of giant bugs could be heard echoing through the forest. Hours later we arrived home, and all three of us girls were quick to ask in excitement when we could visit The Trapper again.
Years passed and The Trapper would come visit us every so often. It was then as I grew and listened to tales of his life in the wilderness that I came to admire him greatly. But it was not his cabin, his lifestyle, the isolation that made him a great man. It was his soul and spirit that made him an amazing man. I could see now, why my father went to such great length to visit such a great man.
And how many of us, would go to such great lengths to visit a friend?
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