A night during the winter of 1952
This story was so interesting to a work-mate that he told it to his granddaughter so I begin with it.
Winter is my favorite season but this one (give or take a year) was especially cold and had more snow than any my young (6 year old) mind remembers. One needs a geographical/social setting to really comprehend it. Our "house" during this 1952 period was two old machine shops shoved together. The main building contained the entry and kitchen, (an add-on, I think, because of a step down into the main living area), and the living/family room and my parent's sleeping area. At one point, Dad sheetrocked their sleeping area but the balance was rough lumber. If we had electricity it was in just the one main room.
The living/family room contained a wood stove which Dad would start each morning and to which my sister and I were drawn like matter heading for a black hole (to use a modern metaphor) on the cold mornings. I stress the adjective cold. The night I remember was so cold that I could hardly see through the ice on the window in our bedroom. My sister and I were in bunk-beds in the tiny second building. We could each look out the window and I am sure that on most moon-lit nights it was a pleasant sight. But, on this particular night the ugliest, hungriest, meanest bunch of coyotes appeared outside that window. I think they would have been glad to eat us and I kid you not. We were scared breathless by the terrible snarles we could hear and the vicious fangs we could see through the ice.
I suspect that we may have screamed and that Dad may have gone out with his trusty 45 and scared them off - I don't remember. But I do remember the terror one young boy and girl felt during a winter night in 1952.
Winter is my favorite season but this one (give or take a year) was especially cold and had more snow than any my young (6 year old) mind remembers. One needs a geographical/social setting to really comprehend it. Our "house" during this 1952 period was two old machine shops shoved together. The main building contained the entry and kitchen, (an add-on, I think, because of a step down into the main living area), and the living/family room and my parent's sleeping area. At one point, Dad sheetrocked their sleeping area but the balance was rough lumber. If we had electricity it was in just the one main room.
The living/family room contained a wood stove which Dad would start each morning and to which my sister and I were drawn like matter heading for a black hole (to use a modern metaphor) on the cold mornings. I stress the adjective cold. The night I remember was so cold that I could hardly see through the ice on the window in our bedroom. My sister and I were in bunk-beds in the tiny second building. We could each look out the window and I am sure that on most moon-lit nights it was a pleasant sight. But, on this particular night the ugliest, hungriest, meanest bunch of coyotes appeared outside that window. I think they would have been glad to eat us and I kid you not. We were scared breathless by the terrible snarles we could hear and the vicious fangs we could see through the ice.
I suspect that we may have screamed and that Dad may have gone out with his trusty 45 and scared them off - I don't remember. But I do remember the terror one young boy and girl felt during a winter night in 1952.
posted by G'pa Bob at 5:12 AM
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