Page 9 of A Snowstorm & A Stronghorn

THE STORM RAGES ONfor days, transforming the world outside Bram’s cabin into an endless sea of white. I stand at the window, watching the swirling snow with awe and frustration. As much as I appreciate Bram’s hospitality, I’m starting to feel restless, trapped in this cozy prison of warmth and safety.

“Looks like we’re in for another day of this,” he says, his deep voice rumbling behind me.

I turn to face him, noting the way his massive form seems to fill the entire room. “How long do these storms usually last?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders rising and falling. “It varies. Could be another day or two. Could be a week.”

“A week?” I exclaim, my eyes widening. “What if we run out of supplies?”

He smiles. “We won’t. I always keep the cabin well-stocked for winter, but...” He pauses, studying me thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I teach you a few things about surviving out here.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “What kind of things?”

“For starters, how to chop wood and build a fire. Essential skills in these parts.”

I glance at the crackling fireplace, then back at Bram. “I don’t know... I’ve never been very outdoorsy.”

“It’s not about being outdoorsy,” he says gently. “It’s about self-sufficiency. Being able to take care of yourself, no matter the situation.”

His words are uncomfortably full of truth. Isn’t that exactly what I’ve been struggling with since Mom died? Finding a way to stand on my own two feet?

“Okay,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “Let’s do it.”

Bram nods approvingly. “We’ll start with chopping wood. Bundle up – it’s cold out there.”

I layer on every piece of warm clothing I have, along with a coat borrowed from Bram’s wardrobe. It’s a short jacket on him but fits me like a full-length parka. When I’m done, I look like a puffy, mismatched snowman. Bram, on the other hand, seems impervious to the cold, wearing only a thick flannel shirt over his fur-covered torso.

We step out onto the porch, and the icy wind immediately bites at my exposed skin. Bram leads me to a covered area at the side of the cabin, where a large pile of logs sits next to a sturdy chopping block.

“First things first,” he says, picking up an axe that looks comically small in his massive hands. “Safety. Always make sure your stance is solid, and keep your eyes on the target.”

He demonstrates, his movements fluid and practiced. The axe comes down with a satisfying thunk, splitting the log cleanly in two.

“Now you try,” he says, holding out the axe to me.

I take it, surprised by its weight. Mimicking Bram’s stance, I position myself in front of the chopping block. I raise the axe, my arms already trembling from the effort.

“Keep your back straight, and let the weight of the axe do most of the work.”

I nod, focusing on the log in front of me. With a grunt of effort, I bring the axe down. It glances off the side of the log, barely leaving a mark.

“That’s okay,” he says encouragingly. “Try again. This time, aim for the center.”

I grit my teeth and lift the axe once more. This time, when it comes down, it bites into the wood with a satisfying crack. The log splits, not as cleanly as Bram’s, but split nonetheless.

“I did it.” A grin spreads across my face.

Bram nods with approval. “Well done. Let’s see if you can do it again.”

We spend the next hour chopping wood, and my technique improves with each swing. By the time we finish, I’m sweating despite the cold, my arms aching pleasantly from the exertion.

“You’re a quick learner,” he says as we carry the freshly chopped wood back to the cabin.

“I had a good teacher,” I say, surprised by the warmth in my voice. His eyes widen as his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything.

Back inside, Bram shows me how to build a fire, explaining the importance of proper airflow, and the right mix of kindling and larger logs. Under his patient guidance, I soon have a small flame flickering to life in the fireplace.

“There’s something satisfying about this,” I say, watching the fire grow stronger. “Knowing I can do these things for myself.”

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