Out of the Frying Pan

Cafe in the Snow

My brothers and I finished digging and banking the snow. The clearing we made was about eight feet in diameter with walls around three feet high. Grandpa came over with the kindling and began to stack it carefully in the center.

“Mike, fetch me the knapsack.”

When I handed him the knapsack, Grandpa pulled the aluminum-foil-wrapped biscuits out and placed them on the ground. He then reached into his pocket and brought out a handful of wood shavings that he had just cut. He placed the shavings on top of the foil package, then slid the whole thing under the wood he had arranged. He pulled a box of matches from his pocket and with little effort, the fire was lit.

The fire grew bigger, letting off a few pops and crackles because the wood was a little damp. The warmth it gave off felt wonderful on our faces. We pulled our gloves off and positioned our hands and feet close to the fire to warm them up, too. Beyond the physical warmth that the fire provided, it also brought about another kind of warmth. Encircled by white walls of snow, the firelight cast a glow on us and we all felt the warmth of sharing this special time together, and enjoying each other. Even my trouble-making brothers were subdued and respectful within that circle of flickering light in the hush of that silent forest.

Grandpa passed a thermos to Lenny with the extra cup tied to it for Lanny. From the second thermos, he poured two cups and passed one to me. As we all enjoyed both the richly brewed scent and taste of the coffee, Grandpa started telling us about that tree. He said he’d been watching it for years and knew that this year the top would be perfect. He went on to tell us about other trees that were around and where they were located.

“The reason I like cutting the top off the tree is so you’re not killing the whole tree. It allows the sun to penetrate the inside so the rest of the branches will fill back in. That tree will continue to grow fuller and eventually you won’t even know the top is gone.”

The biscuits were ready and Grandpa pulled them out with a stick. He handed each of us a biscuit with beef jerky. I don’t know if it was the fresh air, the long walk, or the ambiance of our little cafe in the snow, but that was one of the best snacks we’d ever tasted. The biscuits were warm and flaky inside, golden brown and crisp on the outside.

After we finished eating, Grandpa announced, “We had better pack up and start heading back, daylight’s a-burning.” We got everything packed up, and put the fire out with snow. I asked Grandpa if he wanted us to fill in the hole we dug. He answered, “No, there might be an animal that can crouch down in it to stay out of the wind just like we did.”

I offered to help with the sled, but Grandpa said “You’re not needed just yet, Mike.” He told me to take the lead and follow our tracks back. It sure felt funny, me walking in front of Grandpa. As we walked along, every now and then I would see where the tracks of an animal had crossed ours. Grandpa was quick to tell us what it was and about how big it was by how deep of an imprint it left. We trudged along and before I knew it, there was the gate. Of course, there were also the tracks where Mutt and Jeff had gone their own way under the barbed wire fence. I unlatched the gate and waited for them to pull the sled through, then latched it again.

As we came up to the hill, Grandpa told me to get behind the sled and push. At the top, Grandpa paused for a moment, smiling as he looked up at his house.

“Your grandma used to watch for me out the back door window when I’d go out to get a tree for Christmas. She’d come out to greet me as soon as I reached this very spot where we’re standing.”

My brothers and I stood quietly, watching his face as it softened with memories and listening respectfully as he relived those cherished moments. “She would come down the steps and cup her hands around the branches of the tree, then lean down and inhale the aroma of the fir. She would look up at me and say, ‘Mighty fine tree, John, mighty fine.’ I don’t think it would have mattered what kind of tree I would have brought home, she would have said that. That’s what we have here, boys, a tree that would make her as proud as I am.”