too young to help out. How well I remember the chores I had to do.
“C’mon, Jos, ya gotta help me wit de wood!” Sammy hollered.
“But, tis too cold!” I cried.
“Oh, Jos, yer some tissy maid,” he grumbled, giving me a smack. Freezing, I watched as Sammy’s saw went swish, swish through the wood. The ends of the wood fell to the ground. Often I held the tips to avoid having to pick them up. But Sammy, being only 12 or 13 at the time, hadn’t yet mastered his saw-cutting skills, and sometimes the saw would stick and I’d fly off into the snow.
After the wood was chopped, it had to be split. With the well-sharpened axe in hand, Sammy placed a junk (log) of wood on the chopping block, raised the axe high overhead, and slammed it onto the wood, splitting it wide open. Then he cut it in half again to make it small enough to fit into the stove, and we carried it into the house. I was cold and just wanted to go inside to play. To my mind, there was never enough time for play.
When supper was finished, there was no time for play, either. Exhausted, I was happy to climb the crudely constructed ladder and roll into my nicely made-up bed. I lay there studying the images in front of me, praying I wouldn’t pee in my bed during the night. Through the flickering of the oil lamp I reached up into the blackness and touched the rafters. My imagination went wild as the pictures turned into monsters stretching out to grab me. Once the lamps went out, I had nightmares of demons and ghosts in the absolute blackness.
“Mommy, tis too dark an I’m scared!” I cried.
“Yeh? Ya better be good, too, or de boogie man’ll get ya,” she replied to this foolishness.
Courtesy Them Days magazine and the artist Gerald W. Mitchell.
Sawing wood in the Labrador wilderness.
We got our drinking water from the nearby brook. Daddy chopped two holes through the ice covering the water. One spot was used as a well for drinking water, and farther downstream another hole was used for soaking the salted dog food.
To fetch water, Daddy lashed the barrel onto the komatik and headed for the steady. He chopped a hole through the ice, scooped bucket after bucket from the brook, and poured them into the barrel. The water was then transferred into the barrel on the porch, which froze over during the night and had to be chopped free each morning.
For firewood Daddy had to take a daylong trip to cut wood. To do that he had to get his ninny bag ready the night before. It usually contained his ever-present knife, chewing tobacco, shells for his gun, matches, a kettle, and a small pot.
In the morning, while Daddy ate his toast and sipped tea from his saucer, Mommy hustled about, stuffing food into his grub bag — fresh buns, tea, a little salt and sugar or molasses, and a piece of fatback pork. The grub bag then went into his ninny bag. If Daddy was going to cut wood, he would use the komatik box to put his things in. It was also used as a seat. He’d lash it tightly onto the komatik, along with his rackets (snowshoes), axe, and gun.
Courtesy Them Days magazine and the artist Gerald W. Mitchell.
Fetching water in Labrador.
If Daddy was going to haul the wood he’d already cut, he would tightly lash the horn junks (wooden cradles) to each end of the komatik. They were contructed from two large pieces of timber just long enough to span the width of the komatik, with a hole drilled in each end. A stick about three feet long stood up in them, providing a sturdy wooden cradle.
Eventually, the wood was cut, limbed out, and placed in a neat pile by the side of the wood path ready to be hauled out. After several days of cutting, the dogs were harnessed, the wood was piled into the komatik between the horn junks, and then it was transported home by dog team. Once the green wood arrived, it was placed in the vertical woodpile so it wouldn’t be buried in a snowstorm. Dry wood was stacked separately.
Courtesy Them Days magazine and the artist Gerald W. Mitchell.
Hauling home firewood in horn junks in Labrador.
At dusk until well after dark each day Daddy and Sammy had to feed the dogs, top up the water barrel, saw the firewood, and chop up two armloads of splits (dry wood cut into kindling), which were brought in and neatly stacked near the stove to dry out. In our house dry wood was like gold and was always kept away from the regular wood. Some of it was used to make wood shavings, and no one was allowed to touch it. The trick was not to let the fire get so low that we would have to use the dry wood.
To cut the wood shavings, Daddy used a drawknife, a tool ideally suited for the task. It had a large steel blade about a foot long, with wooden handles bent toward the sharp edge of the blade, designed to be pulled toward you. Daddy sat on the floor, facing the stove, and squeezed the kindling between his knees for stability. He then placed the drawknife three-quarters of the way up the wood. I always watched intensely as he pulled the drawknife toward himself, afraid he would cut right into his belly. But with great precision he never failed to stop an inch from his body. I can still hear the sound of the wood curls being separated from the junk as the sharp blade forced its way through the wood. Daddy cut into it with just enough pressure and speed to make a neatly curled shaving. He then put the next one behind the first, and so on, until there were several neat curls still attached to the wood. After that he started another junk until there was enough to start a fire. Daddy made it look so easy.
“I wanna do dat, Daddy,” I said. “Can I try?”
“No, Jimmy, ya can’t do dis. Tis too hard fer ya.”
“I can do it, Daddy,” I insisted, tugging at his arm. “Lemme try.”
“Awright den.”
Handing me the drawknife, he showed me where to place it on the wood. With great tenderness and patience he let me pull and struggle for a while. I couldn’t get the blade to move. “Tis stuck, Daddy!”
“I tol ya twas too hard fer ya,” he said. “Ya can try again when yer a little bigger.”
Every evening, after the dishes were cleared away, Mommy sat in her favourite chair with her sewing machine or knitting needles. Daddy, with all his outdoor work done and the shavings cut, lay back on his settle and had a little rest. If his day hunting in the woods was successful, we had roasted partridges for supper. After a short nap, he played a few songs on his accordion and Mommy danced around the room. We danced around the cabin, too, happy and secure with a belly full of food and a nice warm fire.
The husky dogs were our lifeline and had to be well cared for. Daddy made the dogs’ harnesses and traces and the bridle used to pull the komatik. The dogs’ harnesses were created from rope that had to be taken apart and braided back together to make it more pliable and softer around the animals’ bodies. The rope was then spliced at the end with a loop where the traces were attached. The traces were made of bank line, which was the size of a pencil and had a distinct tar smell. The bank line was tightly woven and quite rigid. The traces were then attached to a bridle, which was fashioned out of a larger rope braided together from three pieces of rope with a loop at one end for the traces.
