First Night in the Cabin

I guess last night was my first night in the cabin alone in the winter, if we disregard that frantic time in November when I was building the shack quickly enough that I could sleep in it instead of my cold car. Then it was minus 3 degrees or so, although it descended as far as minus 10 or 15. Now it is warm, a balmy four or five degrees, and I have a good fire. Even when I go outside, like I did today for wood and to check on the creek, I am never cold. The cabin is very comfortable.

Last night I slept a bit uneasily, as I woke to feed the fire and then again as the night wore on. Also, I had gone to sleep at nine in the evening since I was so overtired from last week of preparation and flights. I was awake at one in the morning to build up the fire again although the cabin wasn’t really cold. It had dropped to 14 degrees perhaps. I stumbled to and fro a few times in the night to do that and then, after lying awake in the light of a cloud-obscured moon, I slept again. Only when it was late morning and I woke for a final time at 10 am, did I realize I had slept over a period of at least twelve hours. I rose, built the fire, washed up outside, since my water barrel was full from the rain and melt from the roof in the night. Then I walked around a bit, cut up the tree the storm had dropped on my path, and listened to the radio. Then, lying in the warmth on my bed, I slept again for some twenty minutes. I shall certainly sleep enough here.

I have been working my way through Coming Home to Newfoundland, the talking animal book, and I am pleasantly surprised to see it is more than merely that. It is more of an environmental treatise and a call to arms, and it might even be sellable if I get it up on Amazon, which I plan to do shortly after I get back. In the meantime I think I will see if Miriam has time to read it. I’d like her opinion on its readability. Now the fire is built up in the evening, the light is gone now at six pm, and I have an entire evening of writing and editing ahead of me. I think I will try to finish editing this book, which is surprisingly clean given that I have likely read through it only once. Then I will write a synopsis before I start on another editing or writing job that will wipe it from my mind.

About Barry Pomeroy

I had an English teacher in high school many years ago who talked about writing as something that people do, rather than something that died with Shakespeare. I began writing soon after, maudlin poetry followed by short prose pieces, but finally, after years of academic training, I learned something about the magic of the manipulated word.
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