Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Adventurous George (4)


Now if you think I'm just making this story about George up, well just you think again. It's as true as the gospels. Oh the names might be changed, and the characters to protect the guilty ones, and even most of the events may be skewed to make them less ineffable, but it's all true, cross my heart and hope to die. And here's a little map to prove it. It matches perfectly with a well known location in the western hemisphere.

So, George and Mottles wanted to explore their whole island, but the walking was difficult as the beaten paths were made by those born to be wild. George had been doing some fishing with the little boat and was quite confident with the ores now, so one really calm morning with Mottles seated on the prow, they ventured off along the shore, taking everything they valued with them in case they found a better nook to call home because the prevailing west wind really blasted at them some days. They headed south, George having his compass handy to make sure. Most of the shore which wasn't just plain swampy and full of red wing black birds had a little clay cliff wall along it which was the summer home of many swallows, with muskrats thriving in the mud at the bottom, and mud hens paddling in the weedy puddles. When they came around the southern tip there was open water to the east as far as the eye could see. As they cleared the rocky treed outcrop they could see into a nifty cove with a sandy beach and a little meadow sloping gently up from the waters edge. They went no further. This would be home. With their hearts in their throats they gently beached their little boat and both jumped out to explore this little piece of paradise.

Mottles found it first, hidden from view behind a tuft of pines, almost overgrown with grass and saplings. Lumber. Neat stacks of 2 x 8's and 2 x 6's and 2 x4's and plywood, 3/4”and 3\8”and cedar shakes and rolls of heavy plastic and bundles of pink insulation now home to more than a few critters. Plastic pails of nails with names like ardox and common of many different lengths were all lined up in a row. There was even a pile of triple glazed slider windows strapped over with several sheets of plywood. There was enough stuff here to build a castle. It must have taken days to haul this stuff out here. Maybe it had been sledded out in winter over the ice, who knew? Some of the new pines growing through it were six feet tall. This stuff must have been here for years. As they poked around further they even found a crate half sunk in the sand which said in big black letters, “Acme Wood Stove.”

Well, George sat down on a stack of 2 x 4's and scratched his head. And Mottle's head too. Somewhere in his forgotten past there stirred a memory of building things and the pride of his accomplishments. But the only tools he had were the hatchet and a pair of pliers. He could probably pound nails with the hatchet but he had no saw. Could anyone build a little home with a hatchet? He started to ponder his future. Could anyone survive a winter out here? He'd need some warm clothes. He'd already snared a rabbit with a piece of soft cable he'd found on the beach. Ice fishing would be good, the lake here was full of nice Jacks, although they were a bit bony. If he waited for a good east wind he could make it back to the big city and his bank account would have lots of money after not spending any for a few months, but could he find his way back out here? He really didn't want to go back to his little pad with the saggy bed. This life was way better. What should he do, what should he do?

(To be continued)
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