Smoke Break - The beginning

It started with a smoke break.  Saws shut down.  Packs or pouches came out.  Hardened hands tapped packs on a knee or delicately rolled slender tubes.  Hands cupped against a breeze and the first long drag.  Silence.  Silence until one old boy started.  “Hey, you guys hear about…?” or “Do you guys remember…?” And then the stories began.

Stories about:

Waiting for Boundary Creek Road to freeze up so the log truck drivers could follow the ruts down.

A dance coming up at the Grange Hall; the band with a harmonica, and an accordion.

A pack string “rodeo” with a load of powder.

A lookout hit twice by lightening with the same guy in it each time.

Snowshoeing 20 miles one way to get water samples with a well-stocked cabin waiting at the end.

Sundance.

Stories and laughter.  A break from the work.  And then silence again.  Memories stored.

Gnarled, rough hands stubbed out embers.  Men stood and grabbed their saws.  My less capable, less calloused hands tried to follow.  Break was over.

These men are gone now but their stories are in my heart.  Men and women, mountains, hard work, fun and laughter.  It is in their honor that I started this group.  Their lives are part of the foundation of our community.  The buildings that remain are their diaries.  You can sit quietly on a porch or a near-by rock and almost hear the old voices.  You can imagine a time when the world was different.  You can feel the cord that binds us to a community in time.

Join me in this celebration of community.  Tell us your stories.