Christmas arrived right on time, and with
it a fresh fall of snow. The weather was
perfect for a ski trip around the circuit and there was plenty of time before
we needed to return for group breakfast and the giving and receiving of our
gifts. If I had had my way, the gifts would have been given out the night before, but this was
their tradition, so I honored it. Upon
our return, we were greeted by warm mugs of hot chocolate that heated the
inside and warmed the heart. Breakfast
consisted of pancakes and maple syrup.
There was plenty of syrup to go around.
Bruce and Tammy had raided the store and removed every bottle they could
find.
After eating and cleaning up, we retired to our rooms for a short
time. The girls wouldn’t let us into
their place, so we had nothing else to do other than take another trip around
the ski trail, but no one wanted to do that, so we just counted the seconds
until we received the invitation. As I
exited my room, and closed the door, I noticed Bruce leaving the girls’
apartment. “Odd,” I thought.
Bruce saw me looking at him and began coming my way. “How’d you enjoy the skiing this morning, Mr.
W.?” He asked seemingly sincerely.
“The air was crisp. Just the
way I like it. How about you, Bruce?”
“Couldn’t have been better. I
found the trail fast, almost icy. It
really tests your sense of balance, don’t you think?” he questioned.
“That’s a fact. There is one
tree that needs to be moved, or we need to change the trail slightly. I nearly crashed into the large maple just
before the elbow.”
Bruce knew exactly to what I was referring. The trail went downhill at that point and
near the bottom, right where the trail took a ninety degree turn to the right,
stood a solid maple tree much older than I, with a large diameter. It was obviously a widow maker. Not that anyone in our group could actually
pass for that, since no one was married, but we had been
fortunate enough to have had only minor accidents so far, one being my shoulder
wrenched out of it socket as I grabbed a small tree with my right arm as I sped
out of control down the slippery tracks.
“Maybe I can work on that for a Christmas present.” He grinned and continued walking past my
place and disappeared around the corner of the escarpment.
***
The coldest days had been late January and most of February. We were getting rather tired of the winter by
then. With the coming of March, to
everyone’s surprise, also came the end of the snow and most of the cold. One problem developed immediately with the
arrival of heat. The snow turned to
slush; the slush turned to water. The
riverbed we had built wasn’t working; water began to rise above the ditch. It seemed that the snow and slush had filled
the ditch and frozen leaving the ditch ineffective.
Quickly, we had to come up with a plan “B.” This involved going into town and retrieving
some kind of rig that could cut a large path through the snow away from our
homes before they filled with water. We
settled on a small rig with a scoop in the front that I had seen removing snow
from my school parking lot during some of the more serious winter snowfalls in
Border City. We fueled it up, packed it
on the back of a small flatbed and hurried it back to the hideout.
We arrived none too soon, as the water level was nearly even with
the doorways. I climbed on the vehicle
and searched for the keys. I wondered
how I was going to get it off the flat bed.
Presently, I noticed that Bruce was standing beside me.
“Sir. If you’ll allow
me?”
I stepped off the rig and Bruce hopped on in my place. He would operate the machine. He began by making a path parallel to and
about thirty feet in front of the escarpment.
He didn’t want to create small tsunami waves that would surge against
our doors. From this path, he cut
another single one, at a right angle that led the accumulated water downhill
away from the camp. As the water began
to recede slightly, he began to widen the original path closer to the caves,
but as the water was not hurrying downhill, he abandoned this and cleared more
of the snow following his original right angled path. With this done, the water began to ebb
rapidly, so Bruce was able to remove most of the remaining snow and slush piled
close to our shelters. We used shovels
to move what was left around our doorways.
I could not praise Bruce enough for his amazing ability to not only
drive the machine, but also his instincts in making sure that our homes were
not put in danger. More and more, I began
to realize that Bruce had what it took to be a great leader. If the alien attack had not taken the
opportunities away from him one wonders what he would have become.
***
For about a week or so, we had to exchange our regular footwear for
rubber boots as the ground began to thaw, leaving a mucky mess everywhere. Until the ice melted thoroughly beneath the
surface, we would have to put up with this situation. It was a normal part of spring thaw, so
although not appreciated very much, mostly because of all the filth it added to
our clothing and bodies, we knew that it would pass and we would be able to go
about our regular routines without all the mud.
The trees’
tiny limbs began to grow green, the leaf buds began to swell and then open as
the days warmed and grew longer.
Something about spring and the rebirth of nature seemed to give us all
hope. It wasn’t New Years, with its
return of the sun that boosted our spirits, but rather spring, with its burst
of new life.
With the milder weather and dry surface, winter sports turned to
summer fun, with soccer, football and baseball taking their turns to keep
everyone amused and happy. Our daily
routines also returned. The targets
returned to the trees and practice continued as Bruce resumed where he had left
off in the fall. He planned for
different scenarios which would require alternate responses. We would not be taken off guard.
Knowing my personal preference for a good rifle and scope, Bruce
made me an impressive gift that changed my mind about hand guns, a Performance
Center 945-1. The name meant very little
to me, but it reminded me of a military handgun usually assigned to
officers. This was probably the most
accurate handgun I had ever had the privilege to hold. It had an adjustable rear site that I had not
seen on pistols. I really didn’t want to
take the weapon, for as I soon learned, this had been his father’s pride and
joy, but Bruce was insistent. I kept it
in my room, loaded, within easy reach, two violations of laws that my country’s
people-pleasing leaders had put into place many years earlier, a contravention
that I would soon enough be pleased that I had disregarded.
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