Daddy eased the craft into the landwash, trying to keep the dogs from stepping on us as they piled out and disappeared into the grass. Our cabin was the longest distance away, and all our supplies had to be transported by hand for almost a quarter-mile. I didn’t want to carry anything.
“Josie, don’t go empty-handed if ya knows wass good fer ya!” Mommy called out.
Pouting, I grabbed a pillow and waded through the tall grass, bumbling my way along. “Weers ever’body?” I asked, staring up at the tips of the grass. “I can’t see ya, Mommy. Where is ya?”
“Careful ya don’t fall in de brook!” she shouted.
Everyone old enough to walk had to help. It was an arduous job, but after many trips back and forth, we finally finished carrying all our belongings from the boat.
We stumbled, tired and exasperated, into the tiny cabin that was to be home for the next six months. Although there was barely room to move, we were glad Daddy had built us our own cabin.
Everything was done in order of importance. There was no panic or confusion as Sammy and Daddy went about taking the boards off the windows, putting the dogs’ food up on the scaffold, clearing away the land from a summer’s growth of weeds and tall grass.
“C’mon, Josie, let’s go pick de moss!” Marcie hollered.
“Awright den. C’mon, Sally!” I yelled to my younger sister. “We gotta pick de moss.”
Off we ran to collect moss that grew in abundance in the bogs and under the trees. We brought home armloads, dried it, and stuffed it into the seams of the cabin to keep out the wind. Being a free-spirited little girl, I wanted to explore. Unlike the barren hills of Spotted Island, Roaches Brook was surrounded by forest. I stood in awe among the tall spruces, absorbing the wonderful aroma and the sound of the wind whistling through treetops. As I investigated my surroundings, I was fascinated to see willows growing up through the water.
At last all the supplies were put away and we were settling in. Our tiny cabin had two small windows in the front, and a little one at the back. We entered through a tiny unheated porch that served as a freezer. Dog harnesses, bridles, and traces hung on nails on the walls. The main room contained an old “comfort” stove, a crudely constructed table, a bench, and a couple of rickety chairs. A settle (settee) that Daddy had built for himself was squeezed into one corner. Mommy had made a feather cushion for it.
The bedroom at the back where Mommy and Daddy slept held a double-size bunk similar to a bin mounted on the wall about three feet off the floor. The space under the bed was used for storage. A feather mattress comprised of bleached flour sacks stuffed with feathers filled the bin. A long pillow also crammed with feathers spanned the width of the bed.
A ladder through a small hole in the ceiling led to the tiny half-loft where my sisters and I slept. It was only a crawl space. Colourful catalogue pages covered the rafters, and 12-inch-wide planks separated our feather mattresses. Like the mattress of our parents, ours were fashioned from bleached flour sacks packed with bird feathers. They had to be dragged up onto the loft and made up with flour-sack sheets and homemade quilts.
Above the stove, skimmed tree limbs were suspended with line to hang clothes on. Nails in the wall behind the stove were used to hang caps, cuffs, and socks for drying. Mukluks were placed beside the stove to dry out overnight. Mom’s iron pots were also hung on nails around the stove. They were so heavy I could barely lift them. The woodbox located behind the stove completed the room.
And so the winter days began. There was work for everyone, and no one was 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.