The New Bark Canoe

"It is five-fifteen in the morning, August 12th, and Henri is up splitting cedar. The lake is smooth. The far shore is indistinct in rising mist. A loon, attracted to the sound of the axe, cruises near. When the axe stops, the loon laughs." – McPhee...Bark Canoe








Nov. 2


Henri had limited space to work with in the morning. The roll of the cartwheels and deep rumble of the bus which passed by here every other hour started only just before he awoke at 5. It crossed his mind that the noises he made from behind the walls of the courtyard here in the neighborhood of the city, across the street from the river and at the lip of the lake, might sound a bit much in the morning. He was not the type that wasn't aware of his unusual craft – just one week ago he had unloaded two 16 foot slabs of cedar into the courtyard. Picture this: a densely carved, two-way, old narrow city street. A lumber truck backing into a slab driveway barely wider than the haunches of the truck itself. Long screeches of the disk breaks and then an exaggerated crane picking timber up off the flatbed and setting timber up and over the courtyard walls. There are many people at home in the neighborhood, out walking small dogs which peak up from fire hydrants. These are good and likable people and their curiosity is tamed by an attitude of 'whatever works for them, just don't harm others' property.' Henri appreciated this, although Gracey was not sure what to do. Gracey was twelve and sharp as most forty year olds. "Will the neighbors mind that we have trees back here," she had asked. We had mentioned Henri was conscientious, which he was, but there were certain tenets of do what must be done inside of him. He had put off bark canoeing not long enough. He had been in the city for two years, taking care of his only granddaughter. There was much work to be done and he had done it. Now it was time for the timber in the courtyard. "Here is what I would say – if they can just hang on for a moment, than they will greatly rewarded. They will be the ones who receive the canoes." Gracey pictured the same thing that Grands, as she called him, had: it was a perfect scenario, a business plan, so to speak: the neighbors who could easily carry their light canoes across the street and set them into the water with ease. "These canoes can take a beating Gracey. No other wood quite works like the birchbark. It doesn't get sodden with water. It can take hits like no other. It will last a good ten years if the craftsmanship is correct." Grands stood tall but slender. His eating habits had become sparse but healthy. He cooked for Gracey with a different attitude. She was too thin, nervous, and he would look out for fatty foods to cook, but his own metabolism had outreached the need for so much. It slowed him down. They had this conversation the night before the timber came. The timber truck was the symbol of beginning anew and they both knew it. It would be happened next that would take them on their most unusual next path.