The Homestead

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On the Willoughby homestead, the cold was our constant companion.

Throwing on a heavy coat, I strode into the kitchen to check on Grandpa's old woodstove. What remained of the last load of logs had been reduced to a pile of smoldering embers inside of the firebox, and I felt a shiver run through my shoulders as the frigid morning air slowly started to creep into the cabin.

Carefully, I slid the last few logs left over from last night's haul into the stove and shut the door. A heavy breath left my chest as I pulled on my boots and braced myself to do what needed to be done.

It was time to bring in some more firewood.

From across the cabin, the early morning silence was broken by a soft moan and the rustle of blankets. I paused, glancing towards the doorway in the direction of the bedrooms.

Grandma.

With the cold settling in, her joints were probably aching again. Mornings like this were probably the hardest on her. Better get moving.

The sun was barely beginning to creep over the trees by the time I stepped outside, painting the distant mountains in a pink and orange gradient. Snow crunched from underneath my boots as I followed the beaten path to the woodpile out back.

The cold bit through my gloves almost immediately, my breath hitting the air in massive plumes as I started wrestling logs from the stack and carried them into the cabin. I slowly started to rebuild the pile beside the stove, taking care to avoid setting them too close to the hot iron. Then, I headed back out for another load. And then another... and then another.

By the time there was enough to last through the morning, my fingers were numb and my shoulders ached. Most other people would probably complain, but to me this was nothing unusual. In Alaska, it was just a part of life.

Pulling up a chair from the kitchen table, I held my hands out in front of the stove and waited for the heat to oust the burning cold from my fingertips.

I used to think that things would be different once I'd finished school. In the weeks leading up to graduation, I had imagined waking up in the morning with some grand sense of freedom, as though the world was finally ready to open its doors to me. Instead, adulthood turned out to be surprisingly ordinary. The classes ended, winter came, the temperatures plummeted, and Grandfather still expected the woodstove to be fed again before breakfast.

Out here, turning eighteen didn't mean that I was done being needed. If anything, it was the opposite. I was useful, and now I had a lot more free time on my hands. Maybe that's what growing up really meant - not suddenly becoming somebody new, but coming to the realization of just how much of your life was already your responsibility.

The sound of footsteps approaching from the back of the cabin pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked up from the stove just as Grandma hobbled into view.

"Oh, good morning, Davey," she yawned, wrapping her arms around herself as she inched her way into the kitchen.

"Morning, Grandma," I replied.

I ushered her over, rising from my seat and allowing her to take my place in front of the stove. A small whimper escaped her as she lowered herself into the chair. The day prior, she'd slipped and taken a nasty fall while she was helping Grandpa tend to the livestock, and from the way she was moving, her back and hips were definitely paying the price for it today.

"Did you sleep well?" Grandma asked, rubbing her eyes.

I let out a chuckle as I shrugged off my coat and hung it on the coat rack next to the front door, "Better than a brown bear in the middle of hibernation."

Grandma smiled warmly up at me, resting her head against an upturned palm. Her eyes followed me around the kitchen as I made a pot of tea and started pulling out ingredients for breakfast.

"David, you really don't have to do all that."

"I know," I said with a nod.

"I can handle making breakfast."

"I know that, too..."

I poured Grandma a cup of tea and tossed a glance back at her as I set the pot back on the stove.

She gave me a tired frown as I gently placed the cup in her hands, "But I've got it this time, alright?"

We held each other's gaze for a moment. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she wanted to object, to get up and handle the cooking like she always did, but she also knew that there was no sense in trying to argue. I was going to do this for her, and I wasn't about to let her talk me out of it.

Grandma finally relented with a quiet laugh as she shook her head, "Stubborn boy..."

A quiet snort of amusement escaped me, "I got it from Grandpa."

I picked up where I had left off and continued on with making breakfast, frying up some eggs and bacon, and serving them alongside a couple of slices of Grandma's homemade bread. Simple, but hearty.

"Is your grandfather still outside?" Grandma asked as I brought her a plate.

"Yeah," I replied, "He said one of the snowmobiles was acting up yesterday, so he's probably gone into town to get parts."

Grandma nodded, wincing slightly as she turned in her seat to focus on her breakfast. For a couple of minutes, the two of us sat together, quietly picking away at our food as we savored the warmth slowly starting to build back up inside of the cabin.

"So..." Grandma eventually piped up, brushing a loose strand of her long, greying blonde hair back behind her ear, "Any thoughts about what you're going to do now?"

I paused. I knew exactly what she meant. I was eighteen, now, and officially done with school. Now came the talk that I knew all of my friends had already had with their parents. What was going to come next?

All of my friends knew exactly what they had wanted to do as soon as we were handed our diplomas. Find work. Go to college. Move somewhere where life was simpler and the air didn't hurt their faces quite as much. Unlike me, they had felt that sense of newfound freedom. They chased it to the usual places; California, Texas, Florida, New York...

As for myself?

I could only shrug, "I've got plenty to do around here."

Grandma frowned as her head tilted slightly at my response.

"You know you don't have to do everything around here," she pointed out, "If you want to go and see what's out there, you should."

I bit my tongue.

My grandparents had raised me, teaching me the skills that no classroom could ever properly teach. Grandma had taught me how to cook meals, how to wash and mend clothes, and how to take care of the house, even when the temperatures sat firmly in the negative double digits. Grandpa had taught me how to hunt, trap, fish, and process game. I had learned how to preserve food, make repairs to the homestead, how to navigate the wilderness, and understand our weather and wildlife.

Life on the Willoughby homestead was all I'd ever known. Starting over somewhere new didn't appeal to me.

Moreover, where we lived, I could walk into the woods and not see another person for miles. As far as I was concerned, it was just the three of us out here. Grandma was already hurt, and if Grandpa took a fall like that, he would be in pretty much the same state. I was still young. I could still take a hit.

The way I saw it, I did have to do everything around here.

"I might go out and see if there are any apprenticeships available for a mechanic, or something like that," I finally said, "But other than that, I'm perfectly happy helping you and Grandpa out here at home."

Grandma let out a tiny sigh as she forced a small smile onto her lips, "Well, as long as you're happy."

I gave her a nod as I downed the rest of my breakfast, "I'll check on the chickens and the goats this morning."

Grandma opened her mouth to protest, but stopped as she shifted in her seat. Her face tightened with discomfort as she brought one of her hands around to rub at the small of her back.

"Alright," she relented, "The cabin needs a proper cleaning, anyway. Don't worry about the stove today. I'll take care of it."

I raised a brow at her, "You sure you can handle all of that?"

"I'm just a little tender today, Davey. I'll be just fine."

I smiled down at her as I pulled my coat back over my shoulders. Grandma always said I got my stubbornness from Grandpa, but she had her own ways of being stubborn, too. Knowing her, she'd have the whole cabin cleaned and organized again before suppertime.

A spray of snow flurries blew into my face as I stepped out of our warm kitchen and back out into the biting cold.

Grandma's words echoed in my head as I trudged towards the barn.

"As long as you're happy."

It sounded so simple when she said it, but the more I thought about it, the more complicated those words started to feel. I had spent so much time wondering what I was going do once my school days were behind me; where I'd go, what kind of work I would find, what sort of life I'd make for myself. Everyone else seemed to have it figured out.

But happy?

The steady crunch of snow underneath my boots fell silent as I stopped and looked across the homestead - the cabin behind me, the spruce trees with their limbs heavy with snow, the mountains rising high above them in the distance. This place was home, and for now, that was enough.

Still, as I continued walking, I couldn't help but begin wonder. What if, one day, it wasn't? What if something changed? What would come next? 224Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡybxTVaNod4

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