Fraser Mountain - Living the snow life

Chapter Eleven

I may be snuggled under a thick quilt, but my nose can still detect the smells of freshly ground coffee and just-baked muffins rising up the small staircase. If this is my daily wake-up call, I’m one happy bunny. I stretch out on my back, curl my toes and raise my arms above the sheet, poking my head out.

In the dim light, I make out a few tiny embers still glowing in the wood-burner. Getting to grips with that thing last night wasn’t exactly easy, but I got there in the end. I’ve discovered the key to keeping the fire going is adding a slow and steady supply of wood and if the logs are too big, it goes all smoky and I end up looking like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. I made a mental note to stockpile some old copies of the Fraser Local, to act as kindling, but on the whole I’m quite proud of my pioneering spirit. I’ve been reading this amazing book that I got from the library about the early days of the Gold Rush in North America and the women who followed their husbands to a new life in the harsh winters of the prairies and mountains. My little adventure seems like small fry compared to the hardships they had to endure. Without a TV or a radio, I’m going to get through a lot of books this winter.

I have another little stretch and throw the covers back, swing my legs out and hit the floorboards with my bare feet. They’re chilly, but it’s bearable. I throw the quilt around myself and pad downstairs in the gloom, following the trail of light that’s coming from the kitchen.

‘Mornin.’’ Jenn says, simultaneously kicking the door of the oven shut with her foot and putting two trays of enormous muffins on the counter top. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Tops.’ I say, my mouth instantly watering. ‘Can I put the kettle on?’

‘Sure, go for it.’

I have quick rummage in my designated cupboard and find my teabags. ‘You want one?’

‘A proper cup of tea, made by a Brit? Hell, yes!’ she grins, while I plonk two mugs on the counter and pop the teabags in.

I look at the enormous muffins on the hob, steaming gently. ‘Those muffins looks amazing, as per usual. What flavour?’

She smiles at me indulgently. ‘I already put one to the side for you…Plum and cinnamon today.’

‘Yu-um.’ I smile, filling the mugs with hot water, before grabbing the milk and adding a splash to each cup.

‘I guess you haven’t seen outside yet?’ she asks.

‘No?’

I glance briefly at my watch and it’s just after seven, still black as night outside the steamed-up kitchen windows. Jenn walks over to the back door and opens it, inviting a blast of icy cold inside.

“Jesus, that’s cold!’ I yelp, wrapping the quilt closer around me. I move to the doorway and peer through the gloom. There’s a pinkish tinge to the darkness and I instantly know that it’s been snowing.

‘Oh my God!’ I squeak, taking in the view of the backyard. It’s obviously been snowing most of the night, because there’s a good three inches on the wooden deck. I shuffle out, not caring that the cold snow burns the soles of my bare feet and makes the bottom of my PJ’s wet. I stick my tongue out and catch some of the large flakes as they drift down silently. I don’t know if it’s just an assumption that I make about the smell of falling snow, but because it makes everything look clean and fresh I always think it smells good. At the end of the day, it’s just frozen water so it doesn’t smell at all.

‘And here was me worrying you’d get cold upstairs.’ Jenn rolls her eyes at me. ‘Don’t blame me if you get pneumonia, young lady.’

‘But this is so exciting!’ I sigh happily, feeling the flakes land on my eyelashes. ‘First snow of winter… I love it.’