Light

One time when I was young, we were living at Charlie Lake where our family owned a small hunter's cabin. The place was no showcase, and the amenities were all outside. The only way we got running water was if we ran from the pitcher pump to the kitchen with a pail of water.

For the most part, it was kind of fun roughing it. We spent evenings together, taking hours to do things that in a modern house would have taken minutes. Washing dishes was like that. You had to heat the water before you could fill a dishpan with warm suds. Then you carefully chose the order in which you washed things so as to take care of the "cleaner" items first, the greasy yucky pans last. We had it down to a science. Glasses and tea cups first, silverware and bowls next, plates and anything else before the cooking pans.

Rinsing was even more of a game, carefully pouring water over each item without getting it all over the floor, saving the drips in a glass, seeing how much you could catch, tossing it out the door at the end. The part I hated most was drying. Especially if the washer decided to see how fast you could work and handed you stuff faster than you could dry it. But it was all good natured fun and we chatted happily while we worked. They didn't call it 'bonding' back then. They called it 'chores.'

The living quarters were small, and it was crowded with us kids and Mom and Dad. I forget if all eight of us children were there at the time, but I think we were. You tended to live by the whims of nature, rising when the sun woke you, going to bed as soon as it was too dark to see. Propane lanterns weren't a lot of help, nor were flashlights. Their little circles of light barely made a dent in the thick country darkness.

The problem arose at night if you had to go to the bathroom. You tried to hold it until morning, but sometimes it just got the better of you. We kept big flashlights near our bed in case we had to find our way to the outhouse in the dark. One particularly cloudy night when there was little moonlight, both my sister and I had to go. We decided it was best to go together, even though our outhouse was a one seater.

I went first while she stood outside and held the light. Then it was her turn. Right about when she got seated, we both heard a rustle in the bushes. We'd been hearing tales of bear in the area, emboldened by their hunger, coming into inhabited areas. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. We heard it again, closer and more rustly.

My fear got the best of me and I turned and ran for the house with all the speed I could muster, stranding my poor sister with her drawers down in the black night to face the bear alone. She didn't wait for an encounter. She was right behind me, and mad as heck at my abandonment. I don't think she said a civil word to me for days, and she had every right to be mad. I apologized, but she was too angry to hear me.

I could think of nothing that would make it up to her, so I just let her alone for a long time. Life has a way of wearing away the edges of raw emotion, and eventually, we were on speaking terms again. I'm not sure she ever forgave me for my betrayal. Or trusted me again. I'm also pretty sure it wasn't a bear. We never found out what it was, but there were no bear claw marks in the dirt.

If I could go back and do it over, I would have jumped into the outhouse with her and shut the door, keeping us both in the light. But I can't go back and change my foolish act. I'm sure by now she has forgotten and moved on. But I still remember how I hurt her without meaning to, and wish I could take it back.

I hope heading into this particular dark time, I can take the light with me without stranding anyone else. I am loading up on uplifting thoughts thanks to my many friends who are sending me helpful poetry, great music, thoughtful suggestions, verses that speak comfort and strength. Yesterday I got cards in the mail from friends I haven't seen in awhile and I was so happy to remember them and read their kind wishes for health and strength. Thanks for shining some light in my life. Thanks for not running off and abandoning me to the frightful bears of destruction.

Maybe, just maybe, I will find that what I think is a bear in the darkness turns out to be nothing in the light.