The Architect and the Outdoorsman

How bleak these icy fields are. Frozen grass crunching beneath my boots step after step. There are the faint creaks and thuds of branches breaking under their heavy loads of snow; sound carries well over these plains. Once in awhile the mockingly cheerful warbling of a bunting. And the wind, always mumbling, sometimes howling.

The same wind, ice cold, relentlessly caressing my unprotected face and hands, tightening the skin, scraping it raw. My face a desperate grin, as tears and snot freeze.There is a dwelling in the distance, no smoke coming out of the chimney. I still have some deer meat left in my pack. If there is no water, there'll be some snow under the trees on the edge of the forest some more miles in the distance. If there is no dry wood, I'm fucked.

There is dry wood, neatly stacked on a pile next to the wood stove. There is even water. Frozen in a bucket, I don't know how old, but I don't think I can make it to the forest for fresh snow. I cook it in a battered kettle and throw in a femur with some scraps of meat left onto it. The hovel, a pathetic log structure with leather flaps covering glassless windows, starts to warm up and to fill with the smell of boiling game. There is a sack mattress in one of the corners, a plank table with two rickety chairs in the other. There is the wood stove and a crude sideboard. The floor is dirt. Deer antlers hang over the doorway. To me, it feels like a five star hotel. I roll a cigarette from my pouch of tobacco, nearly gone now, and smoke it while I wait for the broth to finish.

I stoke the fire and lie down on the mattress. I am warm. There is food in my stomach. It has been days since I've experienced both feelings. Sleep comes instantly.

When I wake up it is still day. Or night. It is hard to tell when the sun never sets. I throw some more chunks of ice into the kettle and add a handful of pine needles. I pour this improvised tea into a tin mug and step outside. The wind immediately greets me with an ice cold embrace. I steel myself against it and take a sip of my beverage, scalding my mouth but welcoming its warmth nonetheless. The frozen fields from where I walked stretch out into the distance, surrounding the cabin on three sides. The forest some distance to the north. Pines. Almost black in the colorless environment. This is where I will go. But not today. I allow myself a morning cigarette, although I know my supply won't last. I enjoy it, for I feel safe. There are bones of goat in a gated pasture next to the cabin, but nothing else of interest. It is okay. I cook the last of the deer fat over the stove, adding some more pine needles, and sip on the brew. There is even some left to pour into my canteen. I sleep again. I don't need to save daylight. It is one of the few resources I have in plenty in this godforsaken place.

I tear open the mattress and put handfuls of dry straw into my pack. I also take the mug and a relatively sharp knife I find in one of the drawers of the sideboard. The previous owner won't miss it, and if they will, their circumstances will probably be much better than mine. The weather will be milder, and judging by the distance from any kind of civilisation, they'll probably have a car. Looking at the state of the place, I don't really think the owner will ever come back. I don't feel guilty.

In the woods now. The cold is still bitter, almost tangible, but the wind is far less of a problem here. Snow covers the ground, trees obscure the sky. It is much darker here, which feels welcoming after walking for ages through daylight. Branches snap and break. The chittering of the bunting much closer now. I wonder how they feed themselves. Are there insects in this frozen forest? Berries? It does not matter.

There are tracks in the snow. Hare. Deer. I hope they will lead me to fresh water. They do. A partially frozen lake, fed by a rushing river. The water around the bank sheeted by only a thin crust of ice. This is where the animals hardy enough for a place like this come to drink. I crush the ice with my boot and fill my mug with the clear water. Drink it down gratefully. However cold it might be, the walking has got me hot and thirsty.