I put the college theme book marked 24 onto the pile and carefully re-tied the string. From out on the lake came calls from the loons. I watched them from the window as they splashed and dove, surfaced and splashed again. It was mating time. Their tremolos carried from shore to shore, inspiring other loons from faraway bays to answer their calls.
The ladies from the Cable Congregational Church were finished for the day. The back seat and trunk of their green, four-door Plymouth was packed full.
Waving to them as they pulled out of the yard, I lugged the full wastebasket out to the workshop. As I dumped the trash into the stove, the old buckskin pouch fell on the floor. I picked it up and brushed it off.
“Your old Indian friend must have given this to you, eh, Grandpa Tor? Why else would you have kept it?” After dropping it into my shirt pocket, I tossed a lit match into the stove and shut the cast iron door.
Inside the lodge again, I poured a cup of leftover coffee and put some cornbread on a plate. I found no butter, no honey, but did find some molasses.
“Grandpa Tor, didn’t you write about you lumberjacks using molasses on your johnnycake?”
The coffee, cornbread, and molasses went well together. Before I realized it, I had finished the entire pan. Still hungry, I looked through the cupboard and found a can of stewed tomatoes. Ten minutes later it was gone, along with two cans of beans, and a can of creamed corn, all eaten straight out of the containers. I found a package of chipped beef to go along with the beans and washed it all down with the last of the coffee and a bottle of beer.
“Grandpa Tor, I haven’t eaten this much for years. Must be this fresh, northern Wisconsin air.” The only reply was the ticking of the large clock on the mantel.
I returned to Grandpa’s easy chair and the second bundle of books. Darkness approaching, I turned on his reading lamp, wondering how the old lodge might have looked back in the old days with the only light coming from kerosene lamps. After starting a fire in the large, stone fireplace, I untied the second bundle of theme books. Taking the top one, I sat back in his chair and opened the book, saying, “Tell me more, Grandpa. Tell me more.”