There is little fun in my days. And when there is it is a small, sweet thing soon pinched out by worry.
Today I saw a chickadee, and watched him for long minutes, lost in the moment of sunlight and the small darting way he had of dancing from one thin branch to another, pecking at tiny bugs he found toothsome. Soon he flew close to me, landed within five feet of me and regarded me as something he was unsure of. I sat so very still, held my breath, kept my eyes from blinking, and do you know? He landed on me!
I did not feel him through my layers of wool and cotton clothing, but even if I wore a thin shirt that little bird was so light I might not have felt him. I shifted my eyes without moving my head, and saw him out of my left eye.
He stood near the end of my shoulder, pecked once at a seam with threads sticking up like caterpillar legs—likely what attracted him. He soon fluttered off as quickly as he landed. I wish he had stayed a little longer. That would have been grand with me. Not since hugging Bib and Bub have I been so close to a living thing that did not want to do me harm. (I do not count the rabbit, as it was in death agonies because of me.)
Since my leg is not yet healed, though greatly improved, I drag myself up and down the steps I have built inside in order to get to my little doorway. The steps consist of two small crates and one nail keg atop a small steamer trunk. I propped the trunk on a layer of rocks because it gets wet at the bottom when the stove heats up. It helped somewhat, but I have a devil of a time keeping my food, such as it is, dry.
I feel sickly much of the time and there is a rising stink coming off the salted meat. That happens every time we get these warm days. Such is the smell that in the midst of this warmth it is all I can do to reach in the bins and shuffle the meat to coat it again in what salt remains.
I was tempted to pack snow in with the meat, thinking the chill might help. But I thought it might wash off the salt instead. And if the warmth continues, the snow will melt anyway, and the meat will rot faster. At least with the salt on, I stand a chance of having some edible bites left.
I decided to cook whatever hunks look rank. I had to cut off a goodly portion that went green. Some of it was worse than I thought, and it made me cough and gag as I sliced it. My eyes watered, too, but I got the job done. I saved what salt I could, hoping that if it had touched the tainted meat it wouldn’t carry the taint to the fresher meat. But I don’t know. Time will tell.
As for the rest, I cooked up the questionable scraps and ate my fill, as I knew it would go bad soon anyhow. But that was only one meal, then I restrained myself from feasting.
It was a good thing I did, too, for the bad weather came back hard and fast, and with it the snow and gray skies.
Now I am in the midst of dreariness and cold and slicing wind. I don’t know how much longer it will last, nor do I want to know. I am better off wondering each day if there is an end in sight.
If I am still alive come spring, I will have to walk on out of these mountains. Though with my game leg I am not at all certain I will be able to contend with the hardships I might face. I will not likely be able to outrun determined creatures. I do not write that with pity in mind, but as a matter of course.