The Wanigan

The Wanigan Read Free

Book: The Wanigan Read Free
Author: Gloria Whelan
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The men took out their oilcloth lunch bags. They stuffed the bags with bacon, biscuits, hard cheese, oatmeal cookies, and dried prunes, which they call logging berries.
    Then came the disgusting part. The men rolled up their trousers, which they shorten to keep out of the way of their spiked boots. They removed their socks and shoes. Scooping up handfuls of lard, the men rubbed the lard onto their feet. Next came three pair of socks and heavy boots greased with beeswax and tallow. The men would be in and out of the freezing water pushing the stranded logs off the shore and into the river. I knew their feet must be kept dry. Thank heavens they obeyed Mama and took the lard from a special bucket she had set aside for just that use.
    I watched the men walk the wanigan, with Mama and me right in it, down the river to its new docking. A man on either side had stuck sharp pike poles into the riverbed. Hanging on to the pikes, the men walked from the front of the wanigan to the rear, pushing the cooking shack and the bunk shack that was tied to it as they went. In between the walks, the men let the swift current push the wanigan even farther down the river. When the men had made many such walks back and forth and the wanigan was just where they wanted it, they brought it close to shore. They dropped anchor and climbed over the side to begin their work, leaving us to discover where we would spend this day. Next day the wanigan would be moved again. In this way we would travel the hundred and seventy miles to Oscoda.
    Papa was the last to leave. He gave me a quick hug and waded ashore. Mama watched, too. She stood beside me, a worried look on her face. She always hated to say goodbye to Papa in the mornings. In the winter there had been the danger of Papa being crushed under falling trees. On this trip there were new dangers. I had overheard the men say that on the river drive there were sure to be slippery logs, deep water, and dangerous logjams.
    I stood on the deck watching Papa disappear into the woods. Like Mama, I worried that something might happen to him. I feared my dear papa might meet some tragic fate in Mr. Poe’s “lone waters, lone and dead … still waters, still and chilly. ”
    The early-morning light was thin as skim milk. Overhead a V of geese headed north. The geese sounded like Gabriel’s horn, the long tin horn that had called the men to meals back in the lumber camp.
    On one side of the river there was nothing along the shore but empty fields and a crop of tree stumps left behind by the loggers. On our side of the river, where there had been no logging, the pine trees soared more than a hundred feet. Even if I stretched my neck, I could not see to the trees’ tops. Ahead of the wanigan floated thousands of logs, so that the whole river looked like it was made of wood.
    My unhappy thoughts at what lay before me were interrupted by a terrible crashing and banging of pans from inside the wanigan. Jimmy collected wood for the stove and polished the stove with blacking to keep it from rusting. It was also one of his jobs to scrub the pots. It was a job Jimmy detested. I had heard him say to his father, “Why must I stay with the women? I can free up the logs along the shore as well as any man.”
    Teddy McGuire shook his head. “You’re only twelve, son. That’s no job for a boy. One misstep in that raging river and you’re done for. Don’t whine, there’s a good boy. I don’t need to have the likes of you causing me grief. I’ve enough to worry me.”
    Mama went into the kitchen to see to all the commotion. I stayed out on the deck of the wanigan to avoid being in the same room with Jimmy, who was sure to find some way to torment me.
    Just as I feared, I soon found Jimmy beside me. Once the pots were cleaned, Mama was glad to get him out of the kitchen. Jimmy is tall for his age and skinny, with large, clumsy hands and ragged nails because he bites them.

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