CHAPTER VI.
O
OCT. 15. 1898.—In looking over my diary I find that I have recorded no "bad weather." This comes of my having inherited a tendency to look on the bright side of things. I hear such complaints as "bad weather," "disagreeable day." "awfully cold." etc. Days when some are grumbling about its being "too hot" or "too cold," "too wet" or "too windy," I find some special reason for thinking it very pleasant. It is no virtue of mine, as I said. It is natural. Up till to-day there has been warm weather mostly. Now there is a sudden drop in the temperature. Seven degrees above zero this morning. The north wind is blowing and makes one's ears tingle. All standing water is frozen and the Kowak has begun to show patches of ice floating down with the current. The great river is choking. It is being filled with ice which can move but slowly, grinding and crunching and piling up into ridges where opposing fields meet. Suddenly it is at a standstill. In a day or two the ice will support us, as it does now on the margin.
The Wreck of the "John Riley'"
So quickly does the cold of winter close its grip. All these achievements of nature are new and interesting to me. I ran down to the river bank a dozen times to-day to note how the process is going on. It is very low now on account of the dry weather of the past weeks, but, as the choking goes on, a flow of water comes down from above over the ice, making a double fastness. The only fish that can survive will be those that seek the deeper places. There will be no more passing of boats. We hear that the steamer "John Riley" has been left high and dry on a sand-bar, and has broken in two in the middle by her own weight. Two other boats are aground on sand-bars, and must be taken to pieces if ever rescued.
Since the Hunt River trip I have been at home mostly. I have been cook, of course, a part of the time. There is no special work to be done outside.
I have collected some birds, but they are growing very scarce. I went into the woods to-day for a couple of hours, and saw only two redpolls.
Redpolls look and act very much like our goldfinches in the States. Rivers made me a bird-table. It is strange, but everybody declared they would "fire" me bodily if I continued to skin birds on the dining-table; that is why Rivers took pity on me and made me the finest table I could wish for, and a chair to match.
We have the saw-mill. Dr. Coffin and Harry Cox, with the aid of others, ran that for several days, and enough boards were ripped out to cover the cabin floor, besides library and cupboard shelves. They declare "whipping" is hard work. I didn't try it myself, as I was cooking at the time. I prefer to run a cross-cut saw. The saw-mill worked "relays," working five minutes, talking fifteen minutes, resting a half hour before the next took its place. Whip-sawing is an interesting process, especially to the man who stands below and looks up into the shower of sawdust. The doctor advised the plan of wearing snow-glasses, so that the sawdust difficulty was obviated, but the hard work was still there. The doctor tried his best to get me into the business, for he said it would surely tend to straighten my back, which stoops from constant skinning of birds at the table. He got such a "crick" in his back from whip-sawing that he could scarcely sleep for several nights.