Christmas Treasures-book (excerpt)

12   Rescue Rangers

 

 

     A short while later, the sounds of motorized snowmobiles came to them in their little refuge.

     By the time Z. Tyler climbed from the enclosure, following Goldie who took the lead, the noisy, shiny black machines had started down the slope toward them. Scrambling out from under the limbs, he shouted and waved as the big dog barked his own greeting to the rescue team.

     Bapa could hear muffled voices as the engines shut down and he heard Z. Tyler laugh.

     The branches over his head shook and snow plopped on his face again; that darned dog!

     “Goldie!” he half yelled, “that’s the second time you covered me with snow!”

     A tiny giggle met his objection and he looked up from his snow removal job to see bright-eyed Lauren scrunching under the evergreen limbs.

     “Hi! Bapa!’ she greeted. “It’s not Goldie, this time. It’s me!” Then, she hugged him, tightly.

     Bapa kissed the little girl’s rosy cheek, laughing in happiness and relief.

     “Well! Now!” he managed, “This is a pleasant surprise.” Sobering, he quickly added, “I am so glad you could come to visit in my little home,” he teased his eldest granddaughter.

     Lauren laughed at his perpetual shenanigans. “Are you okay, Bapa?” She inquired, looking him over for any obvious injury, not that they would have been evident in his bundled condition. Like a doting mother she eyed him carefully, gingerly touched and poked both arms and legs while giving his chest and abdominal area a cursory observation, just like a miniature nurse.

     Bapa laughed at her mock medical ministering; he always said that this girl would make one fine mother someday; she was already well on her way to fulfilling that prognostication.

     Z. Tyler entered the makeshift abode with pronouncements and orders.

     “First thing we’re going to do is get you out of here and onto the sled. Nanny fitted it with some soft blankets and, even, a pillow. Then one of them will shuttle you to the truck; it’s just about three hundred yards up the hill. They are getting the horses out of their shelter, now. We’ll tack them up and ‘Nurse’ Lauren can ride one, I’ll fork the other and lead the pack horse while Dad or Alex drives the snowmobile.

     “Once you and Lauren are safe and sound, and warm, in the cab and the animals are loaded in the trailer, the two of us will hike back down here and help with loading the sled. Dad and Alex and I will clear out this campsite and secure all of Ole Sam’s winter supplies on the snow sled and they will shuttle the provisions up to his place. Then, I’ll drive the three of us home.”

     Bapa nodded his agreement to the plan; Z. Tyler sounded like an officer issuing commands to a subordinate; he looked the part and took an easy, natural control of the situation.

     Shortly, Graig and Alex had led the horses to the area immediately outside the tree shelter. Z. Tyler went out. He held the three animals as his dad and his uncle slid into the confines of the temporary camp under the overhanging branches.

     They greeted Bapa and inquired as to his condition; an “I’ll be alright” is about what they expected and was exactly what they got. The old man was not partial to complaining.

     “Oh! Dad and Uncle Graig!” Lauren assured, “I already checked him over. He’s a little sore, but once Nanny gets a hold of him, he’ll be good as new.” Then, she laughed.

     The three men looked at one another in amazement; the “little” professor had spoken.

     “We brought a board to lay you on so we can slide you out of here and onto the sled,” Graig informed. He pulled a half sheet of plywood into the shelter. Then, he and Alexander maneuvered Bapa on top of it without causing him to have to sit up; he experienced some pain in the jostling, but it was minor and he did not object. Once lying flat on the makeshift gurney, Alex backed out of the shelter while pulling the board and Graig pushed from the lower end.

     “Wow!” Bapa exclaimed, once outside, as he shaded his eyes from an intense sun, “it sure is a bright day.” He fished his sunglasses from an interior coat pocket.

     Lauren took the lead ropes from her cousin as the three men lifted Bapa onto the sled as gently as possible. Alex got on the snowmobile to which the sled was attached and said, “Hang on!” as he started up the hill with his patient in tow.

     Z. Tyler quickly saddled and bridled the riding horses; while he performed that task, his dad brought the contents of the camp from under the branches and started sorting it for packing on the snow sled when Alex returned with it.

     “You go on ahead, get Bapa into the truck and send Alex back. We’ll load this stuff and get started up the mountain.”

     “I can come back down and lend a hand,” Z. Tyler offered.

     “No! Won’t be necessary. By the time he gets here with the snow sled, I’ll have it all in good order. Won’t take us ten minutes to get it loaded, secured and be on our way,” his father advised.

     “Okay, Dad. We’ll see you back at the house in time for supper.” The boy waved and hoisted Lauren into the saddle on Magic, then swung atop Applejack and led Desperado up the slope.

     “We’ll be there,” Graig called after them, smiling, “Nanny’s having fried chicken!”

It was his favorite. He often bragged that she made the best golden brown fried chicken in the world; Nanny would be embarrassed at such flattery and say she had learned the recipe from Bapa’s mother. In fact, her culinary skills were the result of hand-me-down recipes and know-how gleaned from generations of trial and error, and, Nanny’s loving heart which made everything she tried---perfect! They all knew it to be true and they all loved her for it.

     Lauren took to the leather like an old pro. She and sister Anna Marie and cousin Lexi had been around horses and had ridden since a very tender age. Lauren and Annie took lessons, were learning to jump and each wanted to pursue dressage training. Lexi loved the big horses, too, but she studied dance and painting. All three played the piano and enjoyed varied sporting interests.

     When Lauren and Z. Tyler reached the pickup truck, Bapa was already climbing into the passenger seat, with Alex’s help. He winced a little, but, surprisingly, he seemed fairly agile.

     “Looks like you’re not going to keep him down, Alex,” Z. Tyler laughed, dismounting.

     Alexander shook his head. “No! I’m glad I’m not in charge of his well-being; I don’t know how Nanny does it,” he teased. “I believe she must be a saint.”

     “An angel!” Bapa corrected as he lifted his right foot into the cab and closed the door.

     Z. Tyler put Lauren in the driver’s door while Alex piled the blankets from the sled on top of the plywood board which he had placed in the truck bed.

     Lauren sat in the middle of the seat next to her grandfather and poured him some hot homemade chicken soup from the thermos Nanny had sent; she prepared a piece of apple pie for him which was contained in a plastic dish; she even had a fork and a napkin for his convenience.

     Alex straddled the seat of the snowmobile.

     “Looks like Bapa is in good hands now,” Z. Tyler laughed, giving a back-handed compliment to his little cousin’s motherly attentions to their grandfather.

     “No doubt!” Alex affirmed, smiling at his daughter’s mature attitude toward the situation.

     Then, he added, “I better get back or Graig will have toted those supplies up the mountain on his back. See you for supper. Be careful!” And, offering that caution, he made a wide circle with the long snow sled in tow and headed back to the river bank that had once been Tall Pine Beach.

     Z. waved as he watched Uncle Alex close the distance to the abandoned campsite.

     He un-tacked the riding horses, stowed the saddles, bridles and blankets in the truck bed and loaded all three animals into the stock trailer for the ride home. They seemed not to have suffered any ill-effects from their little adventure. Once home, he would curry them and if they ate their feed with the usual appetite they displayed, he fully expected that they would be just fine.

Christmas Treasures (excerpt)

11   Rite of Passage

 

 

 

 

     The old man looked at his grandson, then, and their eyes met, at last.

     “Do you remember what I told you that day, Z. Tyler?” Bapa asked.

     The boy did not hesitate; he had always been a good listener.

     “Sure, Bapa. You said that it had been the most magnificent animal that you had ever seen, a great trophy, and that you could have shot it, too. You said that you didn’t because that was my deer, for the taking. But, because I had elected to allow it to live, you couldn’t bag it, either.”

     “That’s right, Son. That was your deer, and it was your right to let it go.”

     “But, I thought you just said that to make me feel better because I was weak and had disappointed you. That’s why I felt so bad---and…why I had cried.”

     With that confession, twelve years after the fact, he looked like a little boy finally relieved of a heavy burden which had secretly haunted him for too long.

     Bapa pulled the boy close and hugged him tightly.

     “You are not weak, but strong! You became your own man that day, and I was well aware of that rite of passage. Not many people have the integrity, the mental capacity, the intestinal fortitude to live their beliefs. That takes a deep conviction born of virtue, a pure, distinct under-standing of your beliefs steeled by challenge of, and strict adherence to, your worthy values. It requires shear courage to stand tall against all odds when you feel that your conclusions are pure and right and true. That’s what you accomplished that day. You made me so very proud of you.”

     A look of understanding came over the young man, along with a peaceful solitude.

     “It’s easy to talk the talk, Son, as your generation might put it; it is quite another matter altogether to walk the walk.” Bapa paused, letting that assessment sink in.

     “I wanted you to know that it is always alright to say ‘No!’ at any time, to anyone, in any situation. Decisions based on beliefs that are tried and true, Christian values, those that will stand the test of time, that can be scrutinized and analyzed and challenged for their purity, for their rightness, conclusions which make you proud, those judgments can never be wrong, not in any way---ever. They don’t bend with the way the social or cultural wind blows; they are solid.

     “You will have to make choices all through life. Others will try to influence you to join their opinion; it is up to you to say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. Once you capitulate, once you ‘do’ the deed, any deed, then, you can never, again, in honesty, deny the committing of your performed action.”

     Bapa paused. Then, with a sincere look into his grandson’s eyes, he added, “All of this, you already know; I think, you always have, since little on.

     “But, for our little girls, it seems, ever more so important that they understand their right to make decisions based on decency and honesty, upon their own values and their virtues. I told you, long ago, that should an occasion arise in which you were uncomfortable, uneasy, that you could call me and I would come and get you, no questions asked.”

     Z. Tyler nodded his recollection of that offer; he had kept it in his mind.

     “We need to impress that truth on our girls. It is of utmost importance that they know, without a doubt, that they can say ‘No’ and that we will support and protect them in that decision,” Bapa stated. “That’s what you did that day of the ‘Albino’ and I was so very proud of you.

     “Hypocrisy is just one more form of lying, the plague of modern man, his culture and our society. If a man cannot honor his principles at all times by standing tall in light of their truth, impervious to the repercussions, whatever they may be and from whomever they may come, then, that individual is not a man and cannot, in good conscience, hold his head high…ever.

“‘Courage of conviction’ isn’t just some fancy catch phrase; it’s a way of life, something outside the natural realm. It is a noble endeavor. Doing what you believe to be the right thing, even when you thought it would please me to behave differently…well, you proved yourself that day. A man is recognizable not by the length of his shadow, but by the strength of his stance.”

     They sat in silence then, the reverie forging even stronger the steel bond between them; two men together, yet alone in common qualities of independence and individualism. No human eyes could see the camaraderie; yet, the sense permeated their very being that, this was meant to be.

Christmas Treasures (excerpt)

10   Albino!

 

 

     “When you were in your eighth year,” he continued with the narrative, his resounding tone serious, “I told your Nanny that you were developing into your own man. I said that by the time you reached the age of twelve, you would make clear your declaration to the world that here walks an honest man, one of integrity, a humble spirit, generous and kind, trustworthy, considerate, dependable. One full of Faith! And Hope! And Charity! A young man with high intelligence, sound moral judgment, good-humor, quick wit. One not afraid to face the realities of life with his own talents. And, those were not idle words. No! Sir! I meant it---and…I still do!

     “Disappoint me!? Never! Not at all! Not in the least!” He shook his head in wonderment.

     “You honored me. Made me proud, you did.” He winked at the boy, an approval of the event, with an exclamation point!

     “Disappointment comes when people expect someone to behave in a manner which brings perceived glory to the one deciding what is good and important and proper. My only expectation for anyone is that they be happy with their own behavior; no one has ever had to prove anything to me. It is enough for me to love, unconditionally; any other deception is narcissistic, self-defeating, devoid of real love. Selfishness and untruth has no place in a worthy relationship,” Bapa concluded. He spoke to Z. Tyler but seemed lost in his own thoughts, with a trace of sadness as he contemplated the very truth of what he had said.

     Then, shaking his head after a brief pause, he continued, seemingly restored with confidence.

     “That day of the deer hunt, you beat my prediction by nearly a full year! Your maturity in that decision and the manner in which you handled the whole affair, well, that entire scenario spoke volumes about who you are and what you are. Yes, Sir!

     “I don’t know what you recall about that day, but I remember every second, each instant, every nuance, subtlety, determination. Yours---and…mine. Yes, Sir! Every one. Important!”

     Z. Tyler leaned back into a more comfortable position after refilling his own and Bapa’s cups with more hot brew; this seemed to be one of those times when his grandfather had something to say and as serious as was his tone, it would behoove the young man to pay particular attention.

     Bapa took a sip of the tea, his eyes focused on the fire, as he collected his thoughts.

     He continued after swallowing.

     “I woke you at four that morning,” he laughed, peering at his grandson. “Had to come in there two more times to finally get you going; you always did enjoy sleeping in.”

     He paused. The remark was gentle teasing at the boy’s proclivity to spend a good deal of the morning under the sheets. Nanny excused this aberration as just normal behavior in a youngster; Bapa saw it as a negative. Truth be told: Nanny always exited the warm bed before Bapa did!

     Z. Tyler was hesitant to break the flow of the narrative; he nodded a smile and remained silent.  Each knew that the boy got the trait honestly; his mother enjoyed morning dreaming, too.

     “By the time we had breakfast, checked our equipment and got it loaded in the pickup, it was closing in on five a.m.; I was chomping at the bit. Deer get up early and we needed to be positioned before dawn even had a chance to hint at morning light.”

     He looked deeper into the flames, lost in a time and place better than a dozen years earlier, reliving the experience with the same emotion as when it had actually occurred.

     “The stand I put you on is just about a mile, as the crow flies, from where we sit right this instant; on that bluff outcropping above Hickory Creek Bottoms. You remember?”

     The boy nodded, now joining in the reverie of recalling that, for him, bittersweet occasion.

     “We had to hike about a half mile from where we parked. It was still plenty dark, but we just followed that old creek bed and pretty soon, I could make out that large rock I was looking for.

     “We circled around the game trail as it ran from the stream, up the hill and came within about twenty feet of that perch I wanted to station you on. By the time we reached the natural bench, dawn had peeked over the eastern horizon. I got you settled, all comfy-like, with your back against the face of that limestone cliff. I wrapped a heavy woolen blanket around you, set the kerosene lantern close enough to provide some warmth, yet carefully secluded behind a boulder big enough to keep prying deer eyes from spotting it from below. They seldom look up, but if a freaky downdraft happened to send the telltale fumes down the ridge, well, bye-bye Bucky.

     “I checked your rifle, jacked a cartridge into the chamber and double checked the safety, made sure the scope was clear and still tight after our trek through the woods in the dark. When I was satisfied that all was in proper order, I whispered while pointing out where I was going, the route I would take to hopefully drive an old mossy-horn toward your location.

     “Thinking back, now, I noticed that you didn’t seem all that excited about the prospect of bagging your first deer. Thinking that you were just tired, I reminded you of the scrapes and rubs in the area, trying to build your enthusiasm. I guess I knew something was wrong, but I wanted to see you successful and so I just chalked my misgivings up to first time jitters.”

     He took a swallow of tea, then continued when the boy said nothing.

     “When I left you on that stand, I told you to stay awake and listen and watch carefully. When you’re hunting wild game animals, on their turf, well, you ‘see’ as much with keen ears as with careful eyes. If my plan worked, we should be filling your tag with fresh venison by the time the sun came up. I reminded you not to release the safety until you had the target clearly in the scope and was ready to shoot; that you needed to make sure the background beyond the deer was clear.

     “I slipped behind your stand and circled north about three hundred yards before crossing the creek. It was a warm morning for late November and some light snow from an early dusting still clung in the shadows and crevices. The temperate air was warmer than the land and so a slight fog came up with the rising sun. Tree branches and brush dripped with moisture and I walked silent as a soft wind in that stalking environment. The deer should have been returning to the heavy timber up the bluff after foraging in the adjacent alfalfa field all night.

     “When I reached the edge of the hay field, I stopped and watched and listened for about five minutes. It was light enough to see fairly good into the open alfalfa patch, but still pretty shadowy in the woods. I saw nothing. No deer. No game of any kind. I wondered if I was too late. Sometimes a change in the weather affects animal behavior; human, too.

     “If the deer had already begun their return to their bedding area that would put them somewhere between me and your stand. I decided to still hunt toward your location, gently pushing the whitetail your way. At least, that was the plan.”

     He took another sip of the tasty tea as Z. Tyler nursed his own cup, enjoying the history tory.

     “I walked out into the field as the going was easier there, rather than fighting the tangled mess of vines and saplings and weeds at the edge of the woods. Making my way to the south, I came to a spot in the underbrush where those deer had made a wide path right through. Fresh tracks in the mud told me that this was a heavily used game trail.

“Winding wisps of gray-white fog emanated corkscrews heavenward from the damp forest floor like myriad wraiths rising from the grave. It made for a downright eerie sight, sort of a surreal landscape, but also, very beautiful. I hoped that you could see it from above.”

Z. Tyler nodded his remembrance; it had been eerily beautiful, a surreal experience.

Bapa concluded, “That creek bottom was quiet as a ghostly cemetery on a haunted Halloween night. The only thing missing was a big, bright, yellow full moon.”

     The old man closed his eyes against the horror of the demon memory and gave a cold shiver.

     Z. Tyler could not help but smile at his Bapa’s theatrics; they reminded him of Anna Marie.

     “I took the trail, thinking about haunted spirit ghosts and wraithlike smoke-spooks and had gone about fifty yards when white flags shot up just ahead of me. I literally jumped at the unexpected disruption of the quiet solitude, but, they weren’t goblins lying in wait to ambush me.

     “Four does raced through the shadows, their white tails waving in the poor light of the woods, going directly toward your location; I didn’t see any sign of a buck, but chances were good that he was close by with a harem like that bevy of female deer-type temptation in the vicinity.

     “I stopped and waited a few minutes, intently watching and listening; not a sound, save the occasional muted drip of a droplet from a saturated twig dripping onto the damp forest floor, ever so subtle. Even the eruption of the does had died and precipitated no additional sounds. Hunting deer is like chasing a wraith with a butterfly net; the chances of bagging either is a little less than zero. Non-hunters think it’s as easy as walking out in the woods and picking the buck with the biggest trophy rack and hanging it on the den wall.”

     He shook his head; many people suffered a lack of any real understanding of the world.

     “Hunting isn’t a Neanderthal bloodlust boiling to the surface in some evil miscreant; it is an adventure-sport conducted in fair chase of a worthy quarry which is keen on survival, fleet of hoof, with instinct born of millions of years of living in a harsh environment, a sharp intuition, not diluted by an easy life, like man’s evil delusion. The bagging of the deer is a bittersweet dichotomy; the satisfaction in the success of outwitting and catching an illusion, in truth, an outcome mostly due to luck, and, planning, in some cases, and the negative feelings of taking a magnificent animal, ultimately, sadly ending the chase, the exhilaration, the very adventure.”

     Then, Bapa laughed at his own frustration. “I guess that pretty well sums up a hunter’s emotions when he tries to put salt on a wily deer’s tail. In the hunt, the fun is truly in the chase,” he mused. “In life, the joy is in the journey.” He paused. “Some people miss the entire event.

     “Anyway, it pays to be patient when matching wits with a wild animal on their turf; they know all the tricks and every nook and cranny in their bailiwick. To survive, they have to.

     “I almost missed the telltale hint when it came. Short on patience, as usual, I looked down for any stick or twig that might snap should I step on it and just as I lifted my foot to proceed, I caught the slightest movement off to my left. I decided that I hadn’t really seen anything, just my nerves acting up, when a flash of white winked at me in the brush. I figured that it had to be the polished tines of a buck’s rack catching the scant light which only hinted at the coming morn. That wraith was gone in an instant, and, again, I heard not a sound; like I said, they’re elusive as subtle, wispy, grey ghosts haunting a dark graveyard at the menacing stroke of black midnight.

     “He had been off to the right of the place where those does had bolted, close enough to keep a wary eye on his herd, but far enough so as to not be given away by their precarious ways.

     “Easing forward, I made little noise in my wool gear while the damp conditions helped a lot, too. But, compared to the natural silence of the game, I must have sounded like a bulldozer.”

     He laughed at the mental sight that confession conjured; Z. Tyler chuckled, too.

     “That buck kept moving steadily toward Hickory Creek and it looked like he’d come right up that game trail near your station. I got on his trail and walked right in his hoof prints. Several times, I saw a white flash, but he was always just far enough ahead of me to prevent a shot. Of course, he was your deer and I had no intention of bagging him; still, they are plenty wily.”

     Bapa shook his head to add emphasis along with a silent salute to their craftiness.

     “Those flighty does should have already come past your position by then, but, when I didn’t hear a report from your rifle, I figured that they might have taken another avenue; I never did catch sight of hide nor hair of them. That old buck and me were making a game of our tag match.

     “”When I got about thirty yards from the creek, I heard him splash through the water off to my left and I knew he had to be coming up the hill on that deer trail right beside your position. I hoped you were still awake---and…ready.

     “A big blow down just to my right afforded a bird’s eye view of that deer path and your stand. I scurried up to the top of the wide trunk and sure enough, there sat you with the rifle up and your eye on the target through the scope. Then, he came into view, not twenty yards away from you, slowly trudging up the hill. I grabbed my binoculars for a better view. The edge of the sun just topped the horizon and its glow lighted that buck in all his glory, like a silver steed silhouetted statuesquely, captured by a sculptor and cast in a blazing aluminum profile.

     “I have only seen four or five white deer in all my life and have never tagged one. I think that they are more wily than even the smartest “normal” whitetail, and they are extremely rare.

     “Those snippets of white that I had glimpsed during our tag match through the woods were not flashes of polished ivory buck antler like I had surmised; they had been patches of his hide.    

     “An albino!” He paused, seeing the regal trophy buck in his memory.

     “I waited for you to fire as he came abreast of your position. Glassing from the deer to you and back again, I couldn’t figure out why you didn’t shoot; he was moving steadily and had passed your position. In a few seconds, he’d be over the ridge and safe from harm. I considered yelling but thought that would probably scare you more than the buck.

     “There was an open shooting lane between my location on the blow down and the trail the albino was on, a narrow alley free of trees and brush, right to the top of the ridge. If you didn’t shoot, I’d have a second or two to take him before he disappeared over the crest. I silently slipped the safety to ‘off’, and, waited.

     “Putting the glasses back on you for one last look, I saw you lower the rifle.

     “My mind screamed ‘Shoot!’ as I reluctantly surrendered to the fact that you were passing on this magnificent trophy; a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

     “I released the binoculars and got the crosshairs on the white buck’s shoulder about three strides before he reached the ridge. Then, I slid the safety ‘on’ and lowered my weapon, too, taking up the binoculars, intending to watch the buck as he slid over the crest of the hill.”

     He shook his head at the memory of the unbelievable incident, still vivid in his imagination.

     “And, then, just when you think you’ve seen it all, that beautiful albino buck, looking like noble royalty, stopped dead still, turned directly toward me, as though he saw me perfectly, and, maybe he did, their eyesight is eight times more powerful than a human’s; he gave a sideways shake of his head, that exquisite ivory rack glistening in the now risen golden sun, tipped his black nose upwards and slowly pranced over the hilltop with a shake of his white flag tail, as if to say, ‘Adios! Hunter! This is my day. Better luck next time.’

“With a shake of my own disbelieving head, I laughed out loud, touched the brim of my cap with a fingertip in salute to that magnificent creature and said, ‘Well done!’ He was a true trophy and a most awesome, worthy challenge.

“I stood there, then, for several minutes, savoring the memory of that spectacular sight and mentally reflecting on what I had allowed to occur and, also, on what you had done, or, not done, as the case may be. Such a beautiful creation of nature, the likes of which I, and you, will probably never see again in this lifetime, a single opportunity to take a natural anomaly by out smarting it, maneuvering it to just the right place at the right time. But, the pleasure of hunting is not the harvest of the animal; that unpleasant part is truly anti-climactic in the scheme of things. We got to see him, one of nature’s most beautiful presentations, up close and personal. That you chose to let him escape speaks to your character, your will, your understanding as a true man.”

Bapa shook his head as he hesitated in his narrative of the tale from a dozen years earlier.

“I don’t know many people who could have made that correct decision and carried it out.

     “When I finally recovered from that entire ordeal, I walked on up to your location. You wouldn’t even look at me. I sat down beside you and put my arm around you; I could tell that you had been crying. I felt sorry for your little boy grief; proud of your manly decision.

     “We sat there in silence for a few moments. You finally wiped your eyes and said that you just couldn’t shoot such a beautiful animal. You apologized for letting me down because of all the hard work I had put in so that you could bag a trophy buck.”

Christmas Treasures (excerpt)

9   S.O.S.

 

 

     After bundling tight against the bitter cold outside the cozy little encampment and checking the charge on his phone, Z. Tyler protected the gadget with warmth by placing it in his woolen shirt pocket under the quilted vest and goose down parka. With the hood of the long coat tightly secured, he donned his fur lined leather gloves, whistled for Goldie, flashed that gleaming white-tooth smile, said a cheerful, “See you soon,” gave a quick wave and pushed aside the heavy boughs of the huge pine tree. Filtered snow, like fine sugar sifted through a screen for use in baking a cake, floated down upon Bapa as the boy and his dog exited the shelter.

     “Ah! And a beautiful day it is, Goldie, my friend,” Bapa heard the boy say to the dog in an exaggerated, faux Irish brogue. Then, the old man listened as the crunching footsteps of his grandson and Goldie faded away, retreating from their shelter and advancing up the hillside.

     Trying to sit in a more upright position, now that he had a bit of privacy from prying eyes that would have scolded him for such unnecessary exertion, the old man winced in pain as his tender right shoulder let him know that he was neither so young as once he had been nor as quick to recover from a severe injury. He settled back against the homemade litter, resigned to the fact that he had taken a very hard fall and that he might have to take it easy, at least, for a few days.

     No wind stirred in the tree above him; scant cracks of blue sky through the thick green canopy of pine needles greeted his purview as he slightly moved his head, trying to catch a glimpse of the day. That the sun was bright he could easily discern from the brightness within the little enclave; a high pressure center would have followed the low which had brought the snow the night before. As the day wore on, the temperature would rise, not much above freezing, but warm enough to eat away at the white fluff; all in all, promise of a good day was at hand and the Chinook seemed to be right on time. He wished he had asked Z. Tyler for another cup of hot tea before the boy took his leave; nothing to do now, but, wait for his return; shouldn’t be very long.

     He closed his eyes. meaning to relax for just a moment or two; the old man fell fast asleep within a few seconds. Suddenly, a face-full of cold snow plopped on his skin, bringing him wide awake in an instant. He wiped his eyes clear and came face to face with a red fox squirrel sitting on a branch just above him. Bapa laughed; the furry critter must have been nesting in that big old pine tree and came down to investigate the unwelcome intruders in his home. He barked raucously at the vagrant, urging the miscreant to vacate the squirrel’s private domain.

     “Listen! ‘Rocky!’” Bapa said aloud, trying to intimidate the rodent so that he would leave, “You might live here, but I needed lodging for the night. Now, you just relax; I’ll be gone in an hour or so.” Laughing at his own greeting to the red squirrel, he added, “I sure hope Bullwinkle didn’t come with you. It might get a bit cramped in here if a moose shows up.”

     The irritated landlord fussed a bit longer and then gave it up; he had more important business to occupy his day than worrying with a trespasser who seemed to offer no harmful intent. Bapa was glad when the furry creature exited his perch for greener pastures; pound for pound, squirrel were the toughest and most fearless animal he knew of, except, maybe for a badger. Squirrel could be physically destructive, due largely to their playful curiosity and insatiable  penchant for entertainment through constant fun and games; mostly, badgers were purposely pernicious.

      Relaxing after the comical incident, he looked around the tidy camp, now bathed in full light.

     The old man smiled his approval. That boy, “young man”, he corrected his errant thought, sure did a bang-up job with the entire challenge. He had aided Bapa, found shelter in quick order, tended to the horses, built a fire and laid in a nice supply of wood. He saw to it that they were well-lodged and well-fed, comfortable, with the stock sheltered to in a proper manner and, considering their dire predicament under uncomfortable circumstances, not the least of which was the old man’s serious injuries, the boy had been upbeat, downright helpful, happy and of good spirit, truly hopeful. Not once did he complain nor whine about the ordeal; he just took over, did what needed doing and performed flawlessly. His natural confidence in his ability had been a big comfort to Bapa in his pain. He had handled the situation with perfection.

     Nanny and Bapa had always been most proud of their progeny, their girls and these four grandchildren; each one, they realized, was a blessing beyond any this life has to offer, save their mutual love for one another; and, they cherished their family. The old man was especially proud of Z. Tyler for the way he had risen to the occasion in this tragedy. He was a fine man. Bapa smiled with satisfaction through the warmth of love in his heart that the boy had proven himself.

     A myriad swarm of tiny grains of icy pellets fell on the old man’s face again, melting upon contact with his warm skin; bright blue eyes fluttered open as he awoke from a sound sleep. He expected to see a recurrence of the red cousin to the chipmunk; instead, Goldie greeted him by placing his forepaws on Bapa’s chest. Z. Tyler shuffled into the warmth of the little campsite; his cheeks were rosy red and his nose could have belonged to Rudolph!

     “Sorry, to wake you, Bapa,” the boy began, by way of apology. “We didn’t mean to cover you with snow. I guess I should have announced our return instead of just barging in; I should have figured that you might be asleep.” He added several logs to the fire as he spoke.

     Wiping his damp face of the melted fine snow, Bapa tried to hide his embarrassment that the boy had found him asleep. “That’s alright, Z.,” he laughed, “I guess I got so busy thinking about how you did such a good job handling everything, well, the time just sort of slipped away and I dozed off. I should be the one who’s sorry.” He averted his eyes to the blazing fire.

     Z. Tyler was a truly humble individual, like all good men; he simply shrugged off the compliment. Bapa took notice of the subtlety; it added to his magnetic character charms.

     “It is one fantastic day, Bapa,” he allowed, readying water for boiling in preparation of some hot tea and rummaging in the knapsack for a tidbit of food. His grandfather smiled.

     “It is pretty nippy. Actually,” he corrected his own conclusion, “it’s downright frigid. Probably around twenty degrees, give or take a few. But, the sun is bright and it is clear as a bell. By noon, I think it’ll warm to the freezing mark; might even melt a little of the new snow before nightfall. Wind is coming up in the last ten minutes or so; I do believe that Chinook you predicted is on the way, right out of the south!” He smiled, knowingly; Bapa nodded.

     “And our rescue patrol?” Bapa inquired.

     “On the way, too,” he smiled, pleased at the news he was delivering. “Dad and Alex were fueling the snowmobiles getting ready to come searching for us when I got Nanny on the phone. I had her call them into the house and she relayed your message about the snow sled and the direction they should come with the truck and trailer.”

     Bapa’s eyes asked the question the boy was about to answer.

     Laughing, holding his hand palm out toward his grandfather, he added, “I told Nanny that you are okay, a bit bruised and sore, but that you’ll be just fine.

     “You know Nanny. She took it like a trooper as I told the story of your rodeo performance on the mountain. She made some comment about how we’d just have to find a new beach for our summer outings,” he paused. Then, added, “After all her show of courage and bravery, she finally cried and asked if you really were okay.” They both laughed at that.

     “Just one of the reasons I love her so much,” Bapa allowed; then, he wiped a tear from his own eye as Z. Tyler pretended not to notice, busying himself with tea preparations. As always, he was truly amazed at the strong bond of love between his grandparents. Secretly, he had often prayed for just such a loving relationship with his own spouse; he believed that he had found that heavenly happiness in Mary Theresa. Like he had so often heard Bapa do with Nanny, Z. Tyler was already calling M. T. a saint; he fully expected to promote her to angel status, very soon!

     “Everybody there is fine,” he added. “Mary Theresa is resting. No news---yet!”

     Bapa nodded. “That first one is always the hardest; worrying about all the things that might happen, but seldom ever do.” He paused. Then, “Of course, the womenfolk might take issue with me on that ‘first one’ being the hardest.” He smiled, “upon reflection, I know they would.”

     When the water boiled, Z. Tyler fixed them each a piping hot cup of tea and rustled up some bread and sausage and jelly for a snack while they waited for rescue by Graig and Alex.

     “If they don’t get here soon,” Bapa laughed around a mouthful of sandwich, “’Ole Sam will come up short on provisions for the winter and I’ll weigh more than I need to.” He swallowed and took another taste of hot tea. “Umm! I’m going to quit complaining. This is good!”

     Both men laughed; they enjoyed an easy manner between them, each had a good sense of humor and their keen kinship was much deeper than any simple family-blood relationship. They ate in silence then, sipping their tea and delighting in one another’s company. Such moments were natural, they could never be planned nor choreographed nor pretended; these special times were the events of a lifetime that became special memories dear to the heart. Events born of love and mutual respect contain the essence which is the very sanctity of a life worth living. When such a sacred circumstance comes about, that adventure is a celestial blessing to be savored.

     Several minutes elapsed with each man lost in his personal thoughts while somehow enmeshed in those of the other, like a dream which reflects reality so closely that the participants are relegated to real life energies. Z. Tyler broached the obfuscated divination between dreamed fantasy and experienced reality, not of a purpose, for he could have never guessed where his remark might have led, but, rather, by happenstance of his innate sense of humility.

     “Bapa,” he began, tentatively, absolute seriousness in his quiet tone, “I appreciate what you said about my ability and aptitude. Thank you, for that kindness.” He trailed off, as though contemplating what he meant to say next and wondering if it was appropriate; he never contradicted his grandfather and would not disrespect him or his judgment in any manner, both out of love and because of respect. The perceptive elder could almost read his thoughts.

     “Son,” he began, coaxing the boy to continue by giving his agreement to hear him out, “it’s always best to clear your conscience by saying what’s on your mind.” He nodded his permission.

     Z. Tyler looked toward the fire, then, hesitatingly continued with occasional fleeting glances toward the patient old man who seemed to sense how profound this revelation might be.

     “Well, I know how much you love me, and, the others, too. But, something has bothered me since that deer hunt back when I was eleven.” He looked into his grandfather’s soft eyes as though the boy was searching for the proper way to state his case; he was reluctant to continue.

     “Yeah! I well remember that day,” Bapa mused, the mental image clear in his memory.

     Z. Tyler swallowed, hard. He had carried this burden in his heart for many years; why he had chosen this moment to bring the issue to light, he could not reason, but, he felt it was right.

     “What you just said about me, I mean, about the way I handled things since the accident yesterday and all, well, that hunting trip back then,” he paused, this was not coming out the way he had intended. Bapa waited; he did not want to intimidate the boy. Obviously, this was important to Z. Tyler; best to let him say it in his own way.

     The young man swallowed again; this was getting harder, not easier. Then, his Bapa smiled as though he understood and that he harbored no ill will toward Z. Tyler for his pending confession.

     “I always felt as though I had disappointed you, somehow. Like you expected more of me and that had I let you down,” he blurted, a quaver in his usually strong voice. This time it was the young man’s turn to wipe an escaping tear from the corner of his eye; he did not look away.

     Bapa smiled and reached a hand to touch the boy’s outstretched fingers.

     “Son, of all the exciting hunts I’ve been on, the many fine fishing trips, trekking around the woods, the mountains, experiencing the goodness of nature in the great outdoors, living each day’s adventure as the sacred gift it is, as a wondrous event, as one more chance to challenge this old world on its terms, but in my time, that deer hunt means more to me than all the rest---combined. It was your first giant step in a man’s boots. You have never disappointed me. Not in the least. Ever! You have been a real man and I am extremely proud of you. Always!”

     His eyes softened and he squeezed his grandson’s hand, slightly, before releasing his grasp.