We are continuing the story of "Life in the Wisconsin Woods" that we started yesterday. This comes from the book, "Sawdust City" by Lois Barland and is used with permission of the Barland family: It was late in January of that winter of (18) '54 - '55 when John West told me he would have to send old Buck and Berry out of the woods for their feed was getting short and they had more than they needed. And so equipped with an old sled, a blanket and an axe I was started for the log cabin on the storm swept prairie three miles out from Eau Claire. My first day took em to the camp of my old friend Jim Reed. Jim Reed was surprised that I should have been sent on such a trip. The weather was fiercely cold. The snow was two feet deep without a sign of travel and the only bridge for the steams, the treacherous ice. Jim Reed was wrathy but he went to work to outfit me for what he knew full well was to be a desperate struggle. Brave little man that he was, he went down on his knees and cutting up a fine wool blanket, he wrapped my feet in the most skillful possible manner inside my Indian moccasins, and with the utmost care, he wrapped up a large bunch of matches and placed them securely right up near my throat. And then while the stars were still shining in the frozen sky, I bade my dear friend goodbye. The crossing of Bridge Creek was accomplished with much effort, the large creek open in midstream but frozen heavily at both sides. From there it was two miles to the Bears Grass where the trail crossed a deep stream. Finding it frozen over, I stepped out on the ice tapping with my axe. When right in the middle of the stream, I went down up to my neck in the icy water. That bath sharpened my wits, for well I knew that it was a life and death struggle. The first thing I had to do, standing in the water, was to cut a way through the ice so my oxen could cross the stream. With this accomplished, my clothes were frozen like so many boards, for this was one of those terrible days that sometimes come in the end of January, when a night of sparkling frost is succeeded by a black, dark day of desperate cold. My brave old Buck and Berry seemed to rise to the occasion for dashing the icicles from their coats they struck out through the deep untrodden snow as if they knew they were going home. I, with my clothes so stiff with ice that they cramped my limbs, determined that I would just trudge by the side of my noble oxen in the deep snow and live or die with them. It seemed an interminable struggle, over the wind swept plain ere we reached Fall Creek late in the afternoon. Our trail crossed the creek in a deep gorge near the river -- it seemed so grateful, the shelter of the hills and the trees. At once I applied myself to the task of starting a fire, dreading that I should find my matches spoiled by the water, but thanks to the friend who had wrapped them so carefully, I found them all right. I soon had a blazing fire, but also the cold was intense. I could do nothing toward drying my clothes. While I would be steaming on one side, I would be freezing on the other side, and so, as the night as drawing round, with the consent of my faithful friends, old Buck and Berry, who had licked at their last few ears of frozen corn, we took the trail again for home. Fifteen miles and more, for after we should cross the Otter Creek there would be three miles across the windswept prairie. We climbed the hill out of the sheltering gorge, but the darkness was so intense I could only fall into the rear and let the oxen nose out the trail. We traveled a long time without much headway for our strength was almost gone. I tried in vain to find a tree or a stump to start a fire, it was so dark. At last I found a tree prostrate under the snow. Again a fight for life. With utmost care, a few pine knots were dug out from under the snow, and then, with freezing hands, began the struggle to start a fire. The only dry thing I could find on which to strike a match failed till at last I had come to my very last match. If that match should fail me what should I do? I knew I was freezing. I had just one resource left. My father and my mother had taught me that God was a very present help in time of need. I promised Him then that if He would help me, I would strive to serve Him all the days of my life. With confidence I struck my match, the pine knots blazed and I was saved. Now it may well be asked of this writer, why have you not been faithful to your promise? Ah, there it is! Our poor weak human nature admits of no boasting. But this we can truly say that, "Tho we have Him oft forgot, His loving kindness changeth not." I will only add that, with a great fire, I somewhat dried my clothes when the wolves began to howl, and i got scared and again, I started for home. It was just at the break of day when, again half frozen, I stumbled out of the snow drifts in at the old log cabin door, and there, with my frozen feet in a tub of ice water, to look around upon the dear ones and feel that I was safe home at last." +++++++++++++ We have more stories such as this one yet to read. The next one that we will be reading was written by John Woodworth. See you then! -- Nance mailto:nsampson@spacestar.net