| Vol.
I, No. 5 | Cabin
Fever / Town Meeting | Feb.
19th, 2001 |
Living
Together Living
Together:
The Journal Notes of Maurice
LeBois, 1850 Ed. Note: If you
find yourself suffering from Cabin Fever, we offer these journal excerpts
especially for you. It may not help, at least not more than to know that
what you suffer is not yours alone, but has been shared by others for many
years. And if by chance you are cabin-bound with someone whom, under more
ordinary circumstances, you know you love, then so much the better for
you. ...
According to at least one account, the following journal notes were discovered
neatly wrapped in oiled leather, in an old stone cellar "somewhere up in
Jerusalem." However, the account cannot be confirmed. The name
Maurice LeBois, as with much else of this, is entirely fictitious, since nowhere
in the journals does there appear a single familiar or proper name.
Nonetheless, it was apparently written by someone who migrated south out of
Canada in the last century, and the likelihood is that it was written by someone
of Franco-Québecois descent, since portions of it were written in French.
...
The journal apparently covers a
period from roughly the late autumn of 1849, shortly after our writer arrived up
in The Champlain islands, through late spring of 1850. During almost the
entire period, our writer seems to have stayed relatively close to his cabin,
most likely located at or neat the 2000-foot elevation, and most likely located
somewhere south of Camel's Hump and north of the Killington area.
The excerpts presented here are taken from the months of February-March
1850. ... 12th February
It is Mardi Gras, yet I am far from festive in my mood. ...
I cannot say how long exactly it has been since I left Montréal.
While I know what date it is, the winter seems to have erased from my memory any
ability to place myself in time before I arrived at this cabin. I cannot
recall the date I left my dear Québec, nor the date of my arrival on this
mountain. Had it not been for my neighbor, who, at some twelve miles
distance, I have not seen since the morning of Christmas Eve -- that much I do
remember -- I would have had no way to measure the days between then and
now. But since then, I have been marking the days. 13th
February
Today is Ash Wednesday. Since I
am not at liberty to travel to the nearest church, I took some ashes from the
fireplace and made the Sign of the Cross upon my own forehead. I then
knelt in prayer for what must have been somewhat short of an hour.
I cannot say that the fasting is the most religious exercise I have ever
undertaken, not that I am generally inclined toward such things in the first
place. But, all the day, I could not help but think to myself that the
fasting was actually a benefit, since my supply of food would last that much
longer. In any case, without food, I have been reluctant to go outside,
since I want to conserve my energy and am concerned that, should I get a chill,
there might not be any alternative to eating in order to dispel it. 14th
February
The snow has been up to the sills of
this cabin since I arrived in late November. And while I am glad of having
found an abode, however humble, on such short notice, still, I now find myself
yearning for but a few more of the amenities. At my flat in the city, I
had an ample supply of water, both hot and cold. And I did not concern
myself with rationing, since I could, by means of a simple stroll of some
several city blocks, replenish whatever supplies I needed. Still, I
suppose I shall have more than enough food to see me through. The dried
beans and rice are both in good supply. The venison I smoked is also a
welcome respite from what would otherwise be enough, but not terribly good to
the palette. The water, too, is plentiful, even if it is necessary to
carry it in small jars from the spring up the hill.
But what concerns me, truly, is the lamp oil. I have been extinguishing
the single lamp I have not more than two hours after sunset. Of course,
the days have already grown noticeably longer. But if I am unable to read
in the evening, or to write in this journal
[NOTE: The
entry ends abruptly at this point.] 18th February
Today, for the first time since -- wait. I need to check my
journal. Yes. For the first time since the 26th of January, the sun
appeared. Between then and now, the sky has been almost completely
overcast each day, with low and ominous clouds hanging about the
ridgeline. But today, at the very first, it came and remained bright and
glorious the entire day.
To celebrate, I put on my
snowshoes and made my way to the ponds above the cabin. I almost thought
for a moment to strip my clothes and jump into the water, so warm did the sun
feel upon my face and hands. But then I thought the better of it. If
tomorrow shall be another such day, however, I believe I might abandon my
reluctance and do precisely that. 19th February
I should have determined it yesterday, when I saw the strange light in the
west shortly after the sun had set. During the night, while I slept,
joyfully dreaming of swimming in the small lake that is nestled less than a few
rods from my childhood home, a storm had come. Already, it has left at
least four hands of snow at my door. And the sky is such that I doubt
quite seriously it will relent before the windows of this cabin become
half-covered in snow.
I should have jumped into the
water when I had the opportunity. 24th February
I have now taken to extinguishing the lamp no more than an hour after the sun
has set. At least in this way, I may yet be able to read at least some
each evening before situating myself in the darkness until sleep comes. 27th
February
I was prepared to extinguish my lamp
when I noticed a fait glow along the horizon of the ridge to the
northeast. The sky was perfectly clear, and while I have lost track of the
moon, I believe it cannot be very far from full, perhaps within one or two
days. I will continue to read and wait, although my true inclination is to
pray that it may be so.
.
I waited and prayed, and, lo! It was the moon, very nearly full.
While the sky was clear, still, the air was not as cold as I might have
expected, so I set out on my snowshoes and walked again up to the ponds above
the cabin. The air was bright, and with the fullness of the moon and the
vast reaches of snow, there was no difficulty in seeing nearly all things almost
as clearly as in daylight. Even the thick stand of evergreen one comes
upon just before reaching the ponds presented no hindrance. When I
returned, exhilarated, I took my wool blanket and several small logs. I
then shoveled a small clearing in the snow, set the logs as a small crib, and
sat under the nearly full moon until the trees made it difficult to see any
longer, reading with delight the entire time.
Truly,
this moon was a God-send. I am thankful. Indeed, that is putting it
too mildly. I am refreshed and overjoyed. 28th
February
It may seem an inconsequential thing if
anyone should ever come upon these writings of mine; but the question plagues
me, nonetheless. I have forgotten the simple rule and am, therefore,
uncertain if we are in a Leap Year or not. If we are, then obviously I
must account for it tomorrow. But how am I to know?
For whatever reason, the accuracy of these dates is important to me. And
if I cannot determine it otherwise, I may resolve to set out for my neighbor's
house. I am certain he will have been keeping track, and may, in fact,
have a genuine calendar or almanac to which we might refer. 1st
March
I was determined to head to my neighbor's
this very day, despite the fiercely howling winds which are tearing through
these parts from the north. But as fortune would have it, or, perhaps it
would be better to say, grace, the trip has been made unnecessary.
I know this shall sound strange, but in a dream last night, I saw the visage
of Pope Gregory XIII. He sat upon the throne with his hands raised to
shoulder height and his palms facing upwards toward the vault of the heavens,
brightly painted on the cathedral ceiling. On either side of him stood two
cardinals. It was then that rule came to me, and at the instant it did,
the good Pope smiled and vanished from my sight.
It may
seem an odd thing to rely upon for something which I had held to be so important
to me. But I cannot express the certitude with which I know that today is
the 1st of March.
Thanks be to God for this favor he
has bestowed upon me. Even if I had been able to impose upon my neighbor's
hospitality once I had reached him, I cannot honestly say that I looked forward
to the journey under the conditions that prevail. 4th
March
Again the sun has deigned to pay a lengthy
visit. And while he has stopped by briefly betimes, since the last full
day of sun, his lingering presence is most welcome.
I cannot know for sure, but I would hazard that the day must be well within a
single hour of equal day and night -- equinox. I realize, of course, that
the actual date of the equality comes several days before the equinox. But
the real point is that, back at the time of the winter solstice, the sun, the
very few times it shone, was above the horizon for less than a full nine
hours. Soon, however, we will have added a full three hours or more, so
that, on even an only somewhat clear day, the actual time of light by which one
can see must extend to the better part of the day.
It is a welcome relief. 8th March
Today, the sun was again bright and warm, so I merely sat in its rays
outside the cabin all of the day, reading the while.
Indeed, when I found myself becoming hungry, I went in only long enough to bring
out some salt pork and beans and, in what can only be called a gesture of
extravagance, I cleared a small area and began a log fire outdoors, so
determined was I to let none of the day's sun pass me by.
The supply of lamp oil is lower than I had hoped. Yet, with days like
these, I could gladly endure a lifetime on this mountain. 12th
March
A light snow had fallen yesterday.
But the air afterward grew curiously warm. Before I turned in to sleep, I
had decided that today, weather permitting, I would put on my snowshoes and
finally pay a visit to my neighbor.
The sojourn
became unnecessary, however, when, shortly after mid-day, he appeared at my
door, bearing a jug of cider and some cheese. I invited him to stay the
night, of course, and we dined on smoked venison and cheese, along with a hearty
portion of rice and beans, and a generous helping of salt pork -- not to mention
the cider, which was more delicious than I had remembered. We talked the
better part of the time, but also, at times, fell into long moments of silence,
merely content with one another's company. Now, he sleeps near the fire, a
slight smile upon his face.
Tomorrow, I will
accompany him back to his home and, together, we shall make plans for a trip to
the village, to replenish our supplies, and perhaps even take a shave and a
haircut. He has also said that his wife will prepare a hearty meal for us
on his return. He has also invited me to dine with them come Easter
Sunday, which is now less than three weeks hence.
His, I now realize, is the first voice I have heard other than my own, and, of
course, the voices of the animals, or those that have come to me in my dreams,
since last he visited on Christmas Eve. It is a music I had almost
forgotten. .. *******
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