Mountain Refuge

[dmat77]

FOTH! I am so glad you've created this site! For some reason I had problems being able to post comments on the other. I wanted you do know that I have followed your saga and the exploits of Einar and Liz often break the end of a long day with such excitement that I am easily carried away to the Hills! I haven't much free time, but, I satisfy my hunger with these daily excursions. I do so appreciate your time and efforts. Blessings to you my friend. dmat77 (Blackrobed Rev)

[FOTH]

dmat77, I'm very glad to see you here, and hope the forum will prove easier to use than the blog--for you, and for everyone.

Discussion is so much easier in a forum setting like this, and in the past, some of the discussions spawned by the stories have proven more valuable (in my opinion) than the stories, themselves. It is my hope that by starting this forum, it will be easier for everyone to participate.

Thanks for reading!

FOTH

[FOTH]

Liz wasn’t too sure about that roast wolverine. To her, the meat really did taste very much like the live animal smelled--not an appetizing odor by any stretch of the imagination--and though she did eat, hungry after their day out in the snow and knowing how much trouble Einar had gone to in preparing the meal, she could not say that she very much enjoyed it. Einar appeared to be just the opposite, devouring his portion with obvious relish and picking the bones clean before pounding and breaking them on the rock hearth down to manageable sizes and adding them, somewhat to Liz’s dismay, to the pot in which she was to cook the next morning’s breakfast soup. Looks like it’s going to be wolverine, the broth, at least, and I guess I can just hope that the taste isn’t contained so much in the bones as it is in the meat, or we’re in for some pretty interesting soup, when I combine serviceberries, avalanche lily corms and wolverine broth! Einar will love it, I’m sure, even if it does taste of wolverine. Perhaps especially so. Seems he must have been permanently affected by having to eat that first wolverine when there wasn’t much else available and after the major battle he had to endure--and win!--to subdue the creature and keep it from eating everything in his shelter, and now it’s almost a treat to him to eat the meat. Or something. Maybe I’d better not ask.

Supper finished and the wind still howling like mad outside, throwing itself against the cabin until the walls shook and whistling with a sharp, angry sound through the tall, flexible tops of the surrounding spruces, Liz made a hasty trip out to the woodshed to bring in an armful of logs, wanting to be certain that they would have enough to keep the fire going through the evening and, if she had her way, though the night, too. The wind nearly took her breath as it gusted sharp and bitter between the cabin and woodshed, leaving her to wish she might have thought to slip into her parka for even that short stint out in the weather and quickly gathering up her load of firewood so she could return to the warm shelter of the cabin, strong logs encompassing them and shutting out the storm’s wrath; a good place. No sooner had she got the door back open, pulling against the wind and nearly calling out to Einar for help when she felt the force with which the gusts were trying to hold it closed, than a massive black shadow swooped down before her eyes and into the rectangle of warm light. Einar sat watching in silent laughter as Muninn flapped and shook the snow from his feathers--and all over the bed, Liz all but throwing her armload of firewood against the wall by the stove in her haste to stop him getting any more snow on the hides and furs that served as their sleeping robes.

“Oh! Look what you’ve done now, you big scoundrel! Just about the only dry wraps we’ve got left in this place after that trapline run, and now you’ve gone and got snow all over them! I ought to throw you right back out into that storm…but I’m not going to do it. So long as you’ll promise not to do it again. Come on now, away from the bed and onto your perch.”

Still shaking with silent laughter Einar turned to her, shaking his head. “Sometimes I’m pretty sure you have more to say to that bird than you do to me.”

“Well, the bird actually listens.”

“Aw, hey now…I listen. Fact that I’ve got a thick skull and enough stubbornness to easily last me two or three lifetimes doesn’t mean I don’t listen.”

“I know. You really do listen when it counts, most of the time…there are times when you seem to hear me even when I don’t say the things aloud, take care of them before I even think to ask or realize that the need might be there, and that’s why I really can’t understand why you…it’s just that I want your lifetime to be…well, I really want you to live. To live, and when it comes to me trying to urge you in that direction, sometimes it seems that you listen, but you don’t really hear. And I just don’t know how to get through to you.”

Einar was quiet for a moment, contemplating, trying to understand but not really succeeding, and somehow managing to say the right thing, anyway, or something close to it.

“Stew. Your stew gets through to me.” She gave him a big smile, which told him he must not have been entirely off course in what he’d had to say, a good thing, as he’d had the distinct impression that he might be growing dangerously near to entering rabbit stick territory…

“Well I guess it does, when you actually eat it! Speaking of which, what about dessert? Do you think you could eat a little chokecherry pudding, because I was thinking of making some…”

Nodding, Einar conceded that her pudding was indeed a wonderful thing and one which he’d be honored and delighted to consume whensoever she might see fit to prepare a batch, which seemed to make her happy, and he was glad. And tired. Suddenly so awfully, terribly weary that it was all he cold do to keep from sinking to the ground right there where he was and going off to sleep without any further delay, but he did delay it, fought the weariness and then finally pressed hard enough on his injured and still rather tender ribs--white splinters of light crashing and crackling over his head and falling away to the floor; yep, that ought to do the trick--that he made it retreat to the dark corners of the cabin where it sat looking out at him dark and sullen-eyed, waiting to claim him should he let his guard down in the least. Which he did not. Not in the least. Mustn’t do that. Mustn’t let it have you just yet…you’ve got cordage to make.

While Liz prepared the pudding, set it to simmer and then worked to spread out their wet hides and her parka from earlier in the day so they could more efficiently dry near the stove, Einar pulled down the bundle of dried, tied nettle stalks that hung up near the ceiling, choosing several of them and going to work preparing them for the making of cordage, gently pounding the stems with a rounded rock, splitting them and removing the foamy-dry, spongy white pith before stripping the fibers from the woody part of the stalks, setting them aside until he should have enough to begin the cording process. Soon finished with her evening chores, Liz joined him, and they worked together to prepare and cord nearly twenty feet of good, strong nettle twine as darkness closed in outside and the wind went on blasting against the walls of the cabin, trying very hard but largely failing to enter.

It took Einar all evening to warm up, just as Liz had predicted, and even then, after hours of sitting on the rocks surrounding the stove and absorbing its warmth as he worked to twine foot after foot of nettle cordage, he still had that cloudy, distant look to his eyes, hands not quiet as steady as they might have been and shoulders occasionally trembling a bit when a particularly strong gust of wind sent a draft in around the door. None of which mattered much to Einar, counting as he did all of it as simply part of the price he must pay in order to ready himself for winter, ignoring the particulars and telling himself that he must overcome, had no choice, but Liz noticed, and could not help but worrying.

Which worry did not last terribly long, being interrupted just as they were beginning contemplate heading to bed for the night by, an insistent dripping along the wall beside the stove, and in an instant both of them were on their feet, scrambling for something in which to catch the water before it could dampen too many of their possessions, Einar knowing that his first task upon the arrival of daylight would be to clamber up onto the snowy roof and see just what might be the matter…

[EdD270]

Whew! Got caught up on these chapters, again. Love reading them over and over. Learn something each time I read it.
So glad to see this forum up and running. Thank you FOTH for all your work to get this forum going and to keep this great story comeing to us Einar addicts.

[FOTH]

Glad you got all caught up, Ed--thanks for reading!

[FOTH]

In the night the leak stopped, Einar--bones aching, too cold to really get to sleep even beneath his covering of bear hides; body just didn’t seem to be producing enough heat, and while he wanted to press close to Liz in the hopes of sharing hers, he kept his distance, not wanting to risk disturbing her--hearing the drips grow fewer and fewer until they stopped altogether, and he knew outside temperatures had dropped enough to allow the accumulation of half-melted snow on the section of roof there just over the stove to freeze once more. He’d known from the beginning that the roof would likely be a problem when cold, wet weather set in, and it did not surprise him that with the cycles of freeze and thaw over the past several days, snow and ice would have found their way down into its structure, creating openings and melting in the warmth of the stove. Roof needs shingles, that’s what. Water-shedding shingles to keep the moisture from getting down inside where it can cause leaks like this, and I know how to do it. But not tonight. Got to try and sleep some tonight if I can, because cold as it feels like it must be getting out there, I expect the storm’s gonna be gone by morning and the skies all cleared off, and in that case the critters’ll be out and I’d really like to get out, too, and check the snares, see if we’re on the right track with where we put them. With which he rolled over and curled up with hands and arms tucked beneath him in an attempt to thaw them a bit, see if he could get himself warm enough to allow sleep to come, still avoiding Liz as he lay at the edge of the bed. She sensed his restlessness, though, pulled him close and held him until some of the ice had left his bones, after which they both slept, warm as the wind howled on outside, driving the storm away.

Morning was clear and frigid when Einar emerged from the bed, wrapped himself in the by-then dry hides he’d worn the previous day and hurried to bring the fire back to life, knowing Liz would be wanting to make some breakfast when she woke and would appreciate not being able to see her breath so readily in the cabin, as well. Standing briefly over the stove as he gathered a few items into his pack, took his spear and axe and gulped down a hasty breakfast of five dried serviceberries, Einar banked the fire with a good-sized chunk of unsplit spruce and eased his way out the door, Muninn all puffed up and dozing on his perch--watch the place while I’m gone, you big old vulture--and Liz still comfortably asleep in her nest of bear hides. Seemed she was needing more sleep those days, and he was glad they were in a position that allowed her to get it, at least part of the time. Would surely help her be in better shape as the baby’s time drew nearer.

Down towards the tarn Einar followed their trapline, wearing snowshoes and keeping to the timber as much as possible--though snowshoe travel can prove quite difficult where the trees grow close together and deadfall cuts across one’s path--to minimize the tracks he would leave, passing close enough to each snare and deadfall to get a good look. Nothing. Not so much as a track or a hair, no sign that anything had even been out to sniff at the bait, and the more stops Einar made, the more it began to seem that he must be the only and solitary creature out and stirring on that bright, frigid morning. Halfway through the circuit he turned back--no sense in seeing any more; it was too soon after the storm, and every living thing remained asleep, aside from a pair of chickadees he’d seen sitting amongst some willows just below the cabin, puffed nearly round against the cold--stopping for a quick dip in the tarn before returning to the cabin. In the night, the ice had closed in completely over the little patch of open water, and he had to break it away with the axe before getting in. Oh, how that water stung at first, brought tears to his eyes and took his breath but he stayed in, soaking for a good ten or fifteen minutes and focusing on his breathing until at last his legs became so numb that he began to doubt his ability to get himself back out should he stay in much longer, at which he pulled himself back up on the ice, dried off and got into his clothes. Or tried to. It was a major struggle and took far longer than he had anticipated, leaving him dangerously cold and in need of some immediate exercise to get the blood flowing at the end of it, and he was glad Liz hadn’t been there to see. Got to keep at this, though. Doesn’t seem to be doing a whole lot of good, not like it has other years, but if I keep at it, eventually it’ll have to.

Climbing up the slope towards the cabin with as much speed as he was able to muster and finding himself finally able to use his hands once more at the end of it--a good thing indeed, as he hadn’t been able to tie the snowshoes back in place after his time in the water, forcing him to carry them on his back and slog along through the deep snow--Einar began searching for the materials with which he intended to shingle the roof, once things had dried off for a few days. The shingles themselves were, he had decided, to be of aspen inner bark, the stiff, thick sheets coated with spruce pitch to help them shed water and last longer than they otherwise might have. If they’d had cottonwoods in the area, he would have searched for a large dead tree and pried the outer bark from it in great solid sheets and strips, but they were far too high for the trees, and the outer bark of the small aspens growing in the basin was too dramatically curved to make good shingles. The bark could, he knew, be flattened with the application of enough steam and pressure, but with all they still had to accomplish before winter set in for good--if it hasn’t, already--he had opted for using the inner bark, fortifying it with pitch. Choosing a tree, a dead aspen, but not too long dead; he did not want the bark to have begun rotting at all, Einar went at it with the axe, removing large sections of its bark and prying carefully at the inner layer until it separated and could be lifted out in large chunks and strips. Keeping at it until he had a large pile of the bark Einar had to pause now and then to warm his hands, struggling to keep them from going entirely numb and knowing he would have been better off had he not spent all that time in the water--had barely even begun warming from the experience, and knew he probably wouldn’t until back in the cabin in front of the stove--but remained glad that he had kept himself moving forward with his training.

Enough. He had enough bark, at least for the first load, as he knew he’d be unable to carry much more, and he tied his harvest into several bundles with lengths of the nettle cordage they had made that past night, slinging them on his back and returning to the cabin clearing. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney; Liz must be up, he supposed, and keeping the fire going, and then, crossing in front of the cabin to the spot where he intended to stack and store the shingle material he had no doubt, a most wonderful odor of simmering stew greeting him and twisting up his stomach with a cold-strengthened hunger that nearly convinced him to take a break from his work and see if she might let him have some breakfast before continuing. Talked himself out of it, though--knew if Liz saw him just then she’d be doing all she could to drag him in and get him fed and warmed up without further delay, and he wasn’t ready for that just yet--hurrying on around the cabin and staring up at the offending portion of roof.

They wouldn’t be able to shingle the roof until everything had had a chance to melt and hopefully dry out for a few days so he wouldn’t just be sealing the moisture in and asking for trouble with rot, later, which meant they would have to put up with the leak again for a time, once the day warmed sufficiently to allow the ice to begin melting again. Not a terribly big problem to deal with, as their second cookpot had so far done a fine job in catching most of the drips, but Einar was anxious to have the problem resolved. Didn’t figure--though the thought of it made him laugh--that Liz would much like to wake in the morning to the sight of icicles hanging down from their ceiling…which would almost certainly be happening now and then until he got things waterproofed. To help the melting and drying process along, he decided to shovel off the roof, a task which would have been much more easily accomplished had they possessed a shovel, a deficiency he decided to remedy one of those days, after he’d made more progress on some of his other projects. For the moment a deer scapula would have to do the job, Einar tossing one up on the roof and climbing up after it, ribs complaining all the way up but not, as they had the last time he’d had to get up there, for the construction of the chimney, threatening to prevent him from breathing with the intensity of their hurt. Good. Must be starting to heal just a little. Alerted to Einar’s return by the commotion on the roof Liz hurried outside, staring up at him as though she thought he’d gone mad as he scooted about on hands and knees, clearing the roof of snow.

“It’s Ok. It’s not leaking anymore. Come in and have some breakfast at least, won’t you, before you finish that?”

“Will just leak again as soon as the sun gets on it, if I don’t get most of this snow off. And I’m all snowy and wet already, besides. Might as well get done with this messy work before I come inside. Gonna make us some shingles so we won’t have to deal with leaks anymore, but I can’t put them up here until everything dries out. So, I’m helping it dry out.”

“I’d like to help you dry out, if you’ll come down from there pretty soon. Your hair is all frozen, and….where have you been? You snuck out before I was awake, this morning.”

“Trapline. Walked half of it just to see if there’d been any action yet. Didn’t take anything this morning, but I figure that’s probably as much on account of the storm having just now moved out as it is anything. We’ll check again tomorrow, probably have more success. Almost done with the shoveling up here…you want to help me make shingles, in a little while?”

“Sure, if you’ll have some breakfast first…”

“Already had some.”

“Well, come on in and have some more, because I’ve made more stew that little Hildegard and I can finish off, for sure, and you’ve already put in a few hours’ work this morning.” A good point, and though Einar felt somewhat like arguing, thought better of it when he caught another whiff of that freshly made stew.

____________________________

Peeling aspen inner bark for shingles:

[thefishinmagician]

Einar's stubbornness is a blessing and a curse. It's kept him alive during rough times in the past, but he can't keep going at this rate. It's gonna be a loooong winter! Eat, man, eat!

[Kathy D]

Now, I thought Einar was not going to "skinny dip"...
I mean, resume his cold training until he had put on a few pounds.
Five berries for breakfast? He is delusional.

EAT EINAR EAT!

[FOTH]

Thank you all for reading, and for your comments. Hopefully we can make things work here in this new location.

Sept 22, 2011 18:31:03 GMT -6 thefishinmagician said:

Einar's stubbornness is a blessing and a curse. It's kept him alive during rough times in the past, but he can't keep going at this rate. It's gonna be a loooong winter! Eat, man, eat!

Yes, he's definitely going to have to find a better balance if he wants the winter to be anything other than extremely difficult for him, at best.

Sept 22, 2011 21:53:40 GMT -6 Kathy D said:

Now, I thought Einar was not going to "skinny dip"...
I mean, resume his cold training until he had put on a few pounds.
Five berries for breakfast? He is delusional.

Well, maybe just a little at times, but that's beside the point...

(Five berries for breakfast have to better than two for breakfast, one for lunch and two for dinner, now don't they? Asks Einar... )

As for the "skinny dipping," winter isn't waiting, so neither can he, the way he sees it.

[FOTH]

Sitting with backs to the stove in the warming cabin Einar and Liz shared a breakfast stew of fresh goat meat, bear fat and serviceberries, Einar beginning to thaw a bit as he leaned over the pot and breathed its steam, hands wrapping the vessel and slowly regaining a bit of their natural color. Seeing that he had not even begun to sample his portion by the time she finished hers and appeared, in fact, about to fall asleep right where he sat breathing its warm steam, Liz got rather abruptly to her feet, nearly upsetting Einar and his stew both as she walked past. That woke him up, sent him scrambling dizzily to his feet with knife in hand, glancing about somewhat frantically for whatever could have precipitated her sudden movement, but seeing nothing.


“You hear something? What is it?”

“I was just about to hear you snoring, that’s what!”

Einar sat back down, looking a bit confused. “Ah…no, not sleeping. Just…planning the day and…yeah, guess I may have been getting a bit drowsy, but that’s just because it’s so awfully good and warm in here, and your stew smells so great. I was just starting to dream about stew, I do believe, and it was turning into a real pleasant dream.”

“Don’t dream about the stew, you goofy guy, when it’s sitting here right in front of you--eat it! It won’t do you any good unless you eat it.”

“Oh, it’s already done me a lot of good, so guess I might as well save it for…”

“No! We have shingles to make, I seem to remember you saying, and how are you going to make shingles unless you give yourself a little energy to work with? And besides, I need that pot for the pudding I’m going to make to go with dinner, so you need to empty it right now. Before it gets cold.”

Which Einar did, and he had to admit that the berries were a good bit better stewed than dried, the good rich stew leaving him to feel rather more wide awake than he had, before. And a good bit warmer, too. Hands were starting to function again. Time to carry on with the shingles. Liz followed him when he went to retrieve the bundles of pre-cut aspen bark, carrying two of them herself and marveling at the quantity of the stuff Einar had been able to amass during his short time out in the woods. Opening the bundles and spreading the damper of the bark squares and strips on rocks beside the stove to begin drying, Einar arranged a number of already-dry ones along the cabin’s back wall, propping them on firewood sticks so that their front ends were raised slightly up off of the dirt floor. Time to begin melting the pitch, and to that end he retrieved the flat rock they had previously used for the purpose, propping it atop the stove at an angle and pressing onto its surface several large lumps of raw spruce pitch to begin softening and melting. Beneath the melting rock he placed another with a slightly dished-out center to catch the liquefying pitch, not wanting it to spill down onto the stove where it would burn and smoke and generally make the cabin less inhabitable than currently it was. An effort which Liz greatly appreciated. As the pitch began softening, Einar sorted through the pile of scraps that they had saved from various sewing projects, a strip of sheep hide here, bits of rabbit fur there, and came up with a small clump of bear fur, hide still attached, which he rolled in on itself so that the fur stuck out on every side. Into the center of this fur cylinder he pressed a stick, tightening the fur around it with a bit of cordage at its bottom and another an inch or so from where the stick emerged. Holding up the finished device, he showed it to Liz.

“Here. A paintbrush. As many shingles as we’ve got to coat, I figured it’d save an awful lot of time and frustration if we had a good way to apply it. Take a look, see what you think and if it looks like something you’d like to use, too, I’ll make us a second one.”

Liz tried the brush, experimentally pressing it against one of the shingles. “Well, it would certainly work if we were painting them with…paint! Or brushing honey mustard sauce onto a bit piece of mountain goat we were roasting…oh, that sounds good, doesn’t it? Honey mustard? And I think we actually have the ability to made some, since we have all this honey and I’ve dried and stored up so many bundles of shepherd’s purse just to make certain I’d have enough to use after the baby comes if I have any trouble with bleeding…but you know, I ended up with way more of it than I’ll ever need, and those seeds can be made into a fine mustard! Susan showed me how. All we lack is vinegar. But we weren’t talking about mustard, really, were we? The brush looks good. Pitch is a lot thicker than either paint of honey mustard, but I think the brush’ll still be a big help. Here. I’ll make the second one just so I know how to do it. You can show me.”

Einar smiled. “Yep, I’ll show you… This one won’t be much good for a basting anything, not after it’s got pitch dried into it, but if you’re really serious about the mustard--which I have no doubt you are, excited as you sound about it--I’ll make you a new set of brushes just so you can do that! Got to say it sounds pretty tasty.”

Brushes in hand and a pool of melted pitch beginning to accumulate beneath the angled melting stone Einar and Liz began waterproofing the shingles, working quickly and silently as it was rather tricky getting the pitch spread before it began cooling and hardening, eventually moving the entire operation nearer the stove in order to give themselves a bit more time before the hardening began. The bear fur brushes were working reasonably well, spreading the viscous, golden brown spruce-scented ooze over one shingle and then another, Einar daydreaming all the time of honey mustard being brushed layer after steaming layer onto a browning, sizzling goat roast, almost smelling it as he worked and narrowly avoiding drooling on one of the shingles before he got ahold of himself, shook his head, scrunched his eyes shut and tried with little success to banish the image. It’s pitch, not mustard, and these sure aren’t mountain goat roasts you’re brushing it onto. Just concentrate on your work, and don’t go eating the shingles. That would be counterproductive.

Soon the cabin floor became so crowded with finished and hardening shingles that they ran out of room to work and had to pause to carry some of them outside--where they would, as Einar pointed out, harden a good bit faster than in the warmth of the cabin--and clear some floor space so they could once again move without risking stepping on sticky shingles and becoming trapped, as Einar had very nearly done more than once in his somewhat clumsy movements about the cabin. Working through the morning they ran out of pitch before they ran out of shingles, Einar anxious to go out in search of more but Liz suggesting that they first see how far they might get with the shingles already made. While not at all liking to pause on a project before he considered it finished, Einar did see the sense in her proposing that they wait, considering the mounds of finished shingles piled around the stove cabin and spread in the snow outside.

“Yep, might well be enough. And if we stop now, that’ll give us time to do the first steps in braining that goat hide, too. Good to get that out of the way before the next storm comes, and it’s hard to say how long we have.”

[EdD270]

Amazing how much EA can get done despite his borderline starvation and hypothermia. Imagine what he could accomplish if he were healthy. Can't help but wonder why he don't put more effort into getting healthy.
Thanks for another great chapter, FOTH.

[Kathy D]

Honey Mustard! Yumm.. My favorite!

EAT, EINAR, EAT!