Backwater by Joan Bauer

Author:Joan Bauer [Bauer, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101657867
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2005-06-02T04:00:00+00:00

11

Inside the cabin was like being in a giant Lincoln Log house. The ceiling arched in a V above a stone fireplace with an intricately carved wooden mantel. Several of the birds sitting on the mantel flew over to Jo when I walked in. Josephine grinned and cooed at them. A black Franklin stove sat like a sentry in the middle of the main room. Jo layered logs in the stove’s belly and struck a match. She had a bird on her shoulder as she did this.

There were blue curtains on the windows, a yellow rocking chair in the corner, a small couch covered with red blankets, a braided rug. Off to one side was a corner kitchen with a painted blue cupboard and an old wood stove like the kind we had at summer camp. Across from the kitchen was a bedroom nook with a twin bed. The bed had a high carved wooden headboard and a faded patchwork quilt. On an antique dresser lay a banjo made out of a ham can and an old rag doll with no face. All through the house were wood carvings of birds and animals. There were a few old paintings of forest scenes, hand-painted dishes, a copper teapot and wooden carved candlesticks of every size and shape. There were candles in holders and lanterns hanging from hooks. The two long sides of the cabin had floor-to-ceiling bookcases that were stacked with as many books as I’d ever seen in one room.

It was wonderful.

Her book collection was awesome—literature, science, philosophy, history, theology, and dozens of books on birds—from behavior to diets to bird medicine, called ornithology. A well-worn book on first aid was propped against an antique Bible. Old fishing reels, baskets, and snow shoes hung on the wall, along with three pairs of deer antlers.

“I don’t shoot them,” Jo said, hanging my coat on an antler. “I find them.”

There was a primitive table stenciled with soaring birds. The rugs looked stitched together, resembling a Hudson Bay blanket stripe. There were folded blankets on the backs of chairs. Three steel bird cages hung from the ceiling, doors open; a few birds flew in and out.

“This isn’t roughing it,” I said, and scraped the snowy mud off my boots and put them by the door by what appeared to be carved wooden feet. My eyes followed the feet to the knees, the knees to a skirt. I looked up at a carved wooden statue of a woman some five feet tall that looked a great deal like Tib had ten years ago.

“That’s her,” Jo said.

“You did this?”

“One of my early ones—the legs are too short, the torso’s too long.”

“But it looks like her.” I felt the statue’s carved square chin.

“Balsam Poplar is best for carving. There’s plenty of it lying on the ground to keep me busy.”

I was transfixed by the likeness. “Has Tib seen this?”

“It’s less for public viewing than for me,” Jo said, and motioned me to sit down.

“I didn’t mean that the way—”

“I know you didn’t.

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