It’s 4:30, quarter to five,
on a crisp mid-winter afternoon.
The sun has gone down behind the hill,
and you can see dusk forming in the shadows.
Dry powder snow covers the ground.
The temperature never got above fifteen degrees today,
but working in the sun, you warmed up easily.
Now a slight chill seeps into the dampness of sweat on your shoulders.
The team is ready,
hitched in front of a nice jag of fine straight logs.
Put your coat back on, and check for mislaid tools.
Climb up on the load, gather lines,
brace your feet, and calmly call on your animals.
As the load lurches forward,
puffs of steamy breath float from the horses’ nostrils.
You can feel the weight of the load through your legs,
as the bobsled travels over humps and through hollows.
Hooves thump and squeak,
as chips of ice fly from sharpened caulks.
From below the load comes the jingle of bridle chains,
and as the logs rasp over the frozen snow
they put forth a whine, like from a bow on a fiddle.
Feel that?… That’s the spirit in your soul dancing the bob-sledder’s jig.
” Now we’re logging”.
1998; For Walt Bryan; Farmer horse logger, family man