Cabin Fever

Cabin Fever

         The wind was howling outside, shaking the walls of the neatly chinked log cabin as if it were shivering from the arctic blasts. The towering spruce trees behind the cabin creaked and moaned as if they were going to uproot at any given point in time. The hearth, made of stones carefully fitted together from the mountain spring outside, glowed a crimson yellow with tinges of red in the embers. The wood cabin was toasty and warm inside from the fireplace.
         The snow had been flying since December 15 and it was already February 15. It had been two long months of being cooped up in this cozy cabin in the North woods. Winters tended to last long in this part of the country, so planning had been done months ahead for the coming winter. Plenty of food in the pantry, firewood cut since last April, and plenty of time to live without the towners bothering. He smiled as he thought of the towners asking him how he survived the last winter. He didn't own much, except the clothes on his back, a worn leather bible, and a set of chisels, and axe, and the best bird dog in the country. The bird dog was laying at his feet, a chocolate lab that dreamed he was running and hunting when he slept, his head gently resting on the old man's moccasined feet. The old man wore his worn denim jeans held up by his suspenders and a plaid shirt. He smiled as he carefully chipped away at the pieces of wood he had assembled in front of him. He made small wood carvings during the winter months and sold them to the general store for basic staples like coffee and sugar. He had been sitting at the handmade table for about six hours. He yawned, looked down at his sleeping dog, and stretched. He was about ready for bed, but he didn't want the fire to go down while he slept. This was probably going to be the last big storm this winter and the cabin would freeze over if the fire went out. He decided he would have to stay awake, even though he was tired already. He remembered a story he had heard about when he was a child, and his father would tell it to the children before they went to bed.
         "The story begins, he said to his sleeping dog,"when a German woodcutter decided he wanted to cut down a tree in the dark forest. He began to cut down the biggest tree he could find in the dark forest to use as firewood for the coming winter. He took his axe, cutting at the base of the tree, when he heard a small fluttering overhead. A small feather fell to his feet. He kept on choppiing, however, and he finally got the tree to move a little when he pushed with all his might. The fluttering, however, still bothered him. It was probably a bird of some kind, and he thought the bird would fly away. The German woodcutter cut at the tree all afternoon. Finally, it started to move when a big breeze hit it and blew its top branches. The tree moved and fell toward the treecutter, only it missed him by a hair. 'Mein Gott!!!', the woodcutter muttered to himself as the tree came crashing down very close to where he was standing. Shaken, the woodcutter got out his pouch of tobacco and his pipe, and sat on a stump. His hands were shaking as he lit his pipe, still staring at the tree laying across the path he had walked up that afternoon. That's when he heard the chirping. It was coming from the top branches which were laying at his feet.