Carl Levitian
member
The sun was setting and the deepening dusk made the already cold temperatures drop noticeably. It was a winters evening, and to the lady sitting on the log in the woods, it was a bit scary. Everything had been fine, a nice late afternoon walk in the local state park, with binoculars hanging around her neck for any bird watching. Then a misstep while looking up, a loose stone, and a stumbling fall and now a sprained or broken ankle. The woman sat on the log in the growing gloom, and wondered how she would get out of the woods in the cold dark winter night.
It was then she saw the man watching her.
He stood in the shadows, at the crest of the hill where the trail had come up from a small wooded valley and a creek, and he said nothing, but looked at her and then raised a hand in greeting.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
The woman didn't quite know how to respond for a moment, wondering at the wisdom of telling a strange man in the woods that she's injured and unable to walk. But then she realized that she didn't really have much choice in her situation.
"No, not really. I've gone and twisted my ankle and now I don't think I can walk to the trail head. My cell phone won't get any reception here, and I'm in a fix. Do you think you can get me some help" she asked.
The man looked all around, as if making sure they were alone, making the woman very nervous. Then he smiled and put her somewhat at ease.
" I can't go for help, because it's getting colder and by the time I hike out of here and make it back, you're gonna go hypothermic. So first, I'm gonna make a fire to get you warm, so I can work on getting us both out of here together. How's that?" he said, then added, "If some park ranger sees the fire, so much the better."
The man went to work, gathering small sticks and twigs, and the woman used this time to study her would be rescuer. He seemed a compact man, no more than average hight and slim build. Dressed in an old faded army field jacket, jeans, hiking boots, and an old much battered fedora on his head. Silver hair stuck out from under the hat, and he seems to be in his early 60's, much like the woman herself. He dumped a load of sticks by her and took out a pocket knife. It wasn't a very large knife, and in fact it seemed very small to the woman. She watched carefully as he took one of the sticks and began to carve it into small slivers so thin they they curled up on themselves. He made a careful pile of them, then laid some of the smallest twigs across the pile of shavings. He closed the little knife carefully, and placed it deep in his pocket. Taking out a battered Zippo lighter, he quickly got the little pile of shavings and twigs burning, and laying on more sticks had a nice fire going in a just few minutes.
"Okay, I'm impressed. You must have been a boy scout, right?" she asked him.
"Yeah, I was. Always be prepared, that was our motto. Now you stay here and keep warm, and I'll go make you a third leg." the man said.
Mystified, the woman sat by the fire, feeding a stick or two in now and then, and watched while the man walked around the woods, looking at the trees. Finally finding what he wanted with a comment of "Ah ha!" he again took out the little pocket knife and knelt down by a small sapling that had a fork in the trunk about five feet from the ground. Curious as to how the man was going to cut down a tree, even a small one, with such a little pocket knife, she watched very closely as he began to cut with his little knife. Working around the base of the tree, the man cut into the wood first downward, then upward, so by the time he had circled the sapling, he had a v shaped groove in the wood. Going around a second time, he deepened the groove, and the stood up. Stropping the knife on the leg of his jeans to wipe off the edge, he then carefully closed the knife and stuck it down in his pocket. The woman was struck by the careful way he handled the knife, that it meant something to him.
Reaching up to head hight, the man then bent the sapling over, pulling it until there was a sharp snap, and the sapling broke off even where he had cut the groove in the base. He then took out the little knife again, and trimmed off the forks of the tree using the groove and break method. Carrying the cut off sapling over to the woman, she saw what he had done.
"You made a crutch out of that little tree! Is that in the boy scout manual?" she asked him with a smile.
"Yup, sure is. Funny what some things you never forget, even though it was so long ago." he said. "Now lets stand you up, so I can fit this crutch to you right."
With the man's help, she stood up, wincing with pain as she accidentally put some weight on her injured ankle. The man sat the forked end of the crutch on the ground, and measured where the end came even with her underarm. Helping her sit back down, he then used his knife to again cut a groove around the base of the crutch, and then resting it on the ground, stamped down with his boot and snapped off the six inches of wood that was too long. He then asked for her scarf. It was a long knitted scarf, and she handed it to him, and watched as he wrapped it over the forked end in a figure eight as a padding. They were almost ready to go.
"Before we start, I want to take a look at that ankle." he told her. He knelt down and unlaced the boot and gently felt the injured joint. As he felt the tell tale bulge on the outside of the ankle, he heard her sharp intake of breath as he touched the area.
"Yeah, it's broken. I need to splint that before we set off," he told her, and then took the laces out of the boot on her injured side, and cut them in half. Using the two halves of the boot lace, he tied some shorter sticks on each side of the ankle. One stick was too heavy to break over his knee, so he took out the small knife and cut a groove around it like he had done with the crutch. It snapped easy after that, and he again gently stropped the egg of the blade on his jeans, cleaning off the small wood particles from the edge. The woman could see it was an old knife, the blades dark with the patina of time, and the handles seemed to be worn smooth as well.
"I've got to say, you're very handy with that little knife. You must have had it a very long time, from the looks of it." she told him.
The man stopped and looked at the little knife in the palm of his hand. Only then did the woman get a real good look at it. It seemed even smaller than she had though, laying there in his open palm. Then, surprisingly, the man held out his hand to her, offering her the knife. With no comment the woman picked up the knife from his hand and looked at it. In her hand she did indeed see that it was a very old knife, with the blades worn down thinner than new, and the dark color bone handles seemed smoothed by the handling of many years. On the bone was a shallow ghost of jigging, and the knife was a subtle serpentine shape with a graceful curve to the handle. She handed it back to the man.
"Very pretty little knife. I never thought I'd say that about a knife. It must mean a lot to you that you've carried it for so long." she said.
The man hesitated and stared off in the dark woods for a moment.
"I gave to to my dad a few years before he passed away. " he said in a quiet voice.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman said.
The man looked up, and realized the woman was embarrassed.
"Oh, it's okay, that's the way life goes. Dad had a good long run and enjoyed a lot of fishing in his retirement. One night he passed away in his sleep. This was on his bedside table, so I carry it and think of my dad every time I use it. I think of the things he told me, like to always have a sharp knife and a way to start a fire on me."
He had finished splinting the ankle, and now it was time to go. He helped her up than told her what they were going to do.
"Okay, remember the three legged race in summer camp? That's what we're gonna do here. Hang onto me. When I say step, you step out with your inside leg, and I'm gonna do the same. When I say crutch, you step with your bum leg and the crutch taking your weight. So it's gonna go step, crutch, step, crutch. Okay?"
The woman looked up at him figuring that with her five foot six hight, he wasn't that much taller. Maybe five nine. She smiled up at him.
"If we're going to be hanging on to each other in these woods, we'd better be introduced. I don't even know your name. I'm Katy. Hi." she said.
The man smiled back embarrassed.
"You're right. I'm Sam. Hi. Shall we go?" he said.
They set out after Sam stamped out the small fire, with Sam calling "Step, crutch, step, crutch". They made ground slowly, carefully, stopping to rest when they made some distance. A strait part of the trail, over a hill, across a low spot. Sometimes 200 yards at a time. Step by step they three legged walked out of the cold dark woods. It took almost an hour and a half to reach the gravel parking lot at the trail head, and along the way they both found out a lot about each other. Both were born city kids, and both were retired government cogs. Both loved the woods, and old movies. Both were divorced for many years. Sam found himself liking the way she had a sparkle in her blue eyes when she smiled.
"You really love Bogie?" Katy asked him.
"You bet, shweet heart!" Sam replied doing a very good imitation of Bogart.
Katy laughed, in spite of the pain in her ankle.
"I have to admit that I hardly ever miss a re-run of Cassablanca." she said, "it's so darn romantic when Rick makes the sacrifice to let the love of his life go with the other guy."
When they finally go the trailhead, there were two dim shapes parked there. Katy's late model Honda Accord, and an old 1966 Volkswagon beetle. She looked at it with wonder.
"Oh my God, I had one of those in college. I loved that little car." she said.
"Yeah, I had one too." said Sam.
"Let me guess, you got the midlife crisis and got one again." Katy asked.
Sam was quiet for a moment.
"No, actually, I never got rid of mine. I like old things, and I never could bring myself to sell it. I had other cars to drive to work, whatever. But the bug stayed in the garage and became a weekend project and fun car. I rebuilt the engine every ten years or 100,00 thousand miles needed or not. It's like my dads old pocket knife, I become attached to things and don't like to get something new just for the change. I don't like change. One day I decided to let the newer car go, and just drive my bug. So there is sits."
Sam looked at both cars.
"Yours or mine?" he asked. "Next stop the emergency room."
"I'd love a ride in your bug, Sam."
Sam pulled down the brim of his battered fedora.
"Katy, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship!." he said to her.
He helped her into the bug, and the air cooled engine rattled to life with it's distinctive sewing machine sound.
"Oh God that sound brings back memories!" Katy told him.
Sam smiled and just said, "It's the stuff dreams are made of."
It was then she saw the man watching her.
He stood in the shadows, at the crest of the hill where the trail had come up from a small wooded valley and a creek, and he said nothing, but looked at her and then raised a hand in greeting.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
The woman didn't quite know how to respond for a moment, wondering at the wisdom of telling a strange man in the woods that she's injured and unable to walk. But then she realized that she didn't really have much choice in her situation.
"No, not really. I've gone and twisted my ankle and now I don't think I can walk to the trail head. My cell phone won't get any reception here, and I'm in a fix. Do you think you can get me some help" she asked.
The man looked all around, as if making sure they were alone, making the woman very nervous. Then he smiled and put her somewhat at ease.
" I can't go for help, because it's getting colder and by the time I hike out of here and make it back, you're gonna go hypothermic. So first, I'm gonna make a fire to get you warm, so I can work on getting us both out of here together. How's that?" he said, then added, "If some park ranger sees the fire, so much the better."
The man went to work, gathering small sticks and twigs, and the woman used this time to study her would be rescuer. He seemed a compact man, no more than average hight and slim build. Dressed in an old faded army field jacket, jeans, hiking boots, and an old much battered fedora on his head. Silver hair stuck out from under the hat, and he seems to be in his early 60's, much like the woman herself. He dumped a load of sticks by her and took out a pocket knife. It wasn't a very large knife, and in fact it seemed very small to the woman. She watched carefully as he took one of the sticks and began to carve it into small slivers so thin they they curled up on themselves. He made a careful pile of them, then laid some of the smallest twigs across the pile of shavings. He closed the little knife carefully, and placed it deep in his pocket. Taking out a battered Zippo lighter, he quickly got the little pile of shavings and twigs burning, and laying on more sticks had a nice fire going in a just few minutes.
"Okay, I'm impressed. You must have been a boy scout, right?" she asked him.
"Yeah, I was. Always be prepared, that was our motto. Now you stay here and keep warm, and I'll go make you a third leg." the man said.
Mystified, the woman sat by the fire, feeding a stick or two in now and then, and watched while the man walked around the woods, looking at the trees. Finally finding what he wanted with a comment of "Ah ha!" he again took out the little pocket knife and knelt down by a small sapling that had a fork in the trunk about five feet from the ground. Curious as to how the man was going to cut down a tree, even a small one, with such a little pocket knife, she watched very closely as he began to cut with his little knife. Working around the base of the tree, the man cut into the wood first downward, then upward, so by the time he had circled the sapling, he had a v shaped groove in the wood. Going around a second time, he deepened the groove, and the stood up. Stropping the knife on the leg of his jeans to wipe off the edge, he then carefully closed the knife and stuck it down in his pocket. The woman was struck by the careful way he handled the knife, that it meant something to him.
Reaching up to head hight, the man then bent the sapling over, pulling it until there was a sharp snap, and the sapling broke off even where he had cut the groove in the base. He then took out the little knife again, and trimmed off the forks of the tree using the groove and break method. Carrying the cut off sapling over to the woman, she saw what he had done.
"You made a crutch out of that little tree! Is that in the boy scout manual?" she asked him with a smile.
"Yup, sure is. Funny what some things you never forget, even though it was so long ago." he said. "Now lets stand you up, so I can fit this crutch to you right."
With the man's help, she stood up, wincing with pain as she accidentally put some weight on her injured ankle. The man sat the forked end of the crutch on the ground, and measured where the end came even with her underarm. Helping her sit back down, he then used his knife to again cut a groove around the base of the crutch, and then resting it on the ground, stamped down with his boot and snapped off the six inches of wood that was too long. He then asked for her scarf. It was a long knitted scarf, and she handed it to him, and watched as he wrapped it over the forked end in a figure eight as a padding. They were almost ready to go.
"Before we start, I want to take a look at that ankle." he told her. He knelt down and unlaced the boot and gently felt the injured joint. As he felt the tell tale bulge on the outside of the ankle, he heard her sharp intake of breath as he touched the area.
"Yeah, it's broken. I need to splint that before we set off," he told her, and then took the laces out of the boot on her injured side, and cut them in half. Using the two halves of the boot lace, he tied some shorter sticks on each side of the ankle. One stick was too heavy to break over his knee, so he took out the small knife and cut a groove around it like he had done with the crutch. It snapped easy after that, and he again gently stropped the egg of the blade on his jeans, cleaning off the small wood particles from the edge. The woman could see it was an old knife, the blades dark with the patina of time, and the handles seemed to be worn smooth as well.
"I've got to say, you're very handy with that little knife. You must have had it a very long time, from the looks of it." she told him.
The man stopped and looked at the little knife in the palm of his hand. Only then did the woman get a real good look at it. It seemed even smaller than she had though, laying there in his open palm. Then, surprisingly, the man held out his hand to her, offering her the knife. With no comment the woman picked up the knife from his hand and looked at it. In her hand she did indeed see that it was a very old knife, with the blades worn down thinner than new, and the dark color bone handles seemed smoothed by the handling of many years. On the bone was a shallow ghost of jigging, and the knife was a subtle serpentine shape with a graceful curve to the handle. She handed it back to the man.
"Very pretty little knife. I never thought I'd say that about a knife. It must mean a lot to you that you've carried it for so long." she said.
The man hesitated and stared off in the dark woods for a moment.
"I gave to to my dad a few years before he passed away. " he said in a quiet voice.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman said.
The man looked up, and realized the woman was embarrassed.
"Oh, it's okay, that's the way life goes. Dad had a good long run and enjoyed a lot of fishing in his retirement. One night he passed away in his sleep. This was on his bedside table, so I carry it and think of my dad every time I use it. I think of the things he told me, like to always have a sharp knife and a way to start a fire on me."
He had finished splinting the ankle, and now it was time to go. He helped her up than told her what they were going to do.
"Okay, remember the three legged race in summer camp? That's what we're gonna do here. Hang onto me. When I say step, you step out with your inside leg, and I'm gonna do the same. When I say crutch, you step with your bum leg and the crutch taking your weight. So it's gonna go step, crutch, step, crutch. Okay?"
The woman looked up at him figuring that with her five foot six hight, he wasn't that much taller. Maybe five nine. She smiled up at him.
"If we're going to be hanging on to each other in these woods, we'd better be introduced. I don't even know your name. I'm Katy. Hi." she said.
The man smiled back embarrassed.
"You're right. I'm Sam. Hi. Shall we go?" he said.
They set out after Sam stamped out the small fire, with Sam calling "Step, crutch, step, crutch". They made ground slowly, carefully, stopping to rest when they made some distance. A strait part of the trail, over a hill, across a low spot. Sometimes 200 yards at a time. Step by step they three legged walked out of the cold dark woods. It took almost an hour and a half to reach the gravel parking lot at the trail head, and along the way they both found out a lot about each other. Both were born city kids, and both were retired government cogs. Both loved the woods, and old movies. Both were divorced for many years. Sam found himself liking the way she had a sparkle in her blue eyes when she smiled.
"You really love Bogie?" Katy asked him.
"You bet, shweet heart!" Sam replied doing a very good imitation of Bogart.
Katy laughed, in spite of the pain in her ankle.
"I have to admit that I hardly ever miss a re-run of Cassablanca." she said, "it's so darn romantic when Rick makes the sacrifice to let the love of his life go with the other guy."
When they finally go the trailhead, there were two dim shapes parked there. Katy's late model Honda Accord, and an old 1966 Volkswagon beetle. She looked at it with wonder.
"Oh my God, I had one of those in college. I loved that little car." she said.
"Yeah, I had one too." said Sam.
"Let me guess, you got the midlife crisis and got one again." Katy asked.
Sam was quiet for a moment.
"No, actually, I never got rid of mine. I like old things, and I never could bring myself to sell it. I had other cars to drive to work, whatever. But the bug stayed in the garage and became a weekend project and fun car. I rebuilt the engine every ten years or 100,00 thousand miles needed or not. It's like my dads old pocket knife, I become attached to things and don't like to get something new just for the change. I don't like change. One day I decided to let the newer car go, and just drive my bug. So there is sits."
Sam looked at both cars.
"Yours or mine?" he asked. "Next stop the emergency room."
"I'd love a ride in your bug, Sam."
Sam pulled down the brim of his battered fedora.
"Katy, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship!." he said to her.
He helped her into the bug, and the air cooled engine rattled to life with it's distinctive sewing machine sound.
"Oh God that sound brings back memories!" Katy told him.
Sam smiled and just said, "It's the stuff dreams are made of."
