My dad’s gentle nudge, and deep quiet voice, were urging me from under the warm covers. ”Wake up Bobby, I’m going to make breakfast before we go.” After his muffled footsteps, I heard the creak of the iron door, followed by the wooden thunk of fresh-cut kindling being loaded into the fire chamber. Then the scuffing sound of the poker, stirring the bed of red-glowing embers, encouraging them to ignite the fresh logs. There were then soft “phufts” as the lengths of virgin fuel burst to flame.
As the big black stove groaned to full life, I felt the growing heat permeating the cabin. I could hear dad clunking and sliding the bulky iron skillets into place, working by soft lantern glow that clutched at the darkness. Breakfast was coming, signaled by early sizzles of Canadian bacon. I was hungry, and excitedly slid from bed, dreaming of the day of fishing that lay ahead.
Breakfast behind us, I shivered, smiling through the damp darkness of the Ontario predawn, as we stepped carefully, by the light and hiss of the Coleman lanterns, down to the dock, where dad’s fishing boat waited. My fingers tingled to the metallic cold of the aluminum hull, as I climbed aboard. I was already bundled as a bear, but over that still went the life jacket, in the event of a tumble into the freezing water, still rippling under the morning moon.
My heart soared as I heard my dad tugging on the starter rope, bringing the Evinrude to spark then roar, readying it to propel us into the dawn that would soon slowly roll over the chop-water. I lovingly gripped the cork handle of my favorite pole, as I felt the mist of hull-spray light on my cheeks. Another slight shiver brought me further awake, but not from the chill — this one was glorious anticipation. I loved fishing with dad!
predawn mist on my chilled cheeks
loving my father
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What a wonderful poem of remembrance and love to your father! I particularly like this line “There were then soft “phufts” as the lengths of virgin fuel burst to flame.” Such an amazing detail.
Isn’t it amazing how getting up early, going out into the cold, can be such a “warm” experience when its with a well loved dad and a special time to be alone with him? Thanks for sharing here…..special memories to be treasured. Love the three lines of the haiku….they capture the specialness and love of this time shared between father and son.
Thank you Lillian. I still am glowing. I so appreciate your having nudged me into this wonderful memory. Love is warmth. Without it the sunniest day can be cold.
‘Glorious anticipation!’ Memories still contain this feeling for sure. Loved your haibun and the telling of it. Thank you for taking me there.
Thank you Carol, and you are most welcome! 🙂
Very nice. The product placement ads (I mean no disrespect) help to pull us in and make the story ring even more true.
Thank you Ron. Growing up, the only thing I ever heard from my dad was, “go pump up the Colemans Bobby” or “Bobby, go get the gas can for the Evinrude.” I didn’t even now they were brand names until I was older. 🙂
Wonderful memories Rob and so beautifully shared with us. I felt your pleasure in remembering them.
Thank you Christine. Those fishing trips every year from Ohio to Ontario were what kept me going as a child. I remember them most fondly.
Great remembrance, subtly captured Rob. Dad was not a fisherman, but Mom…yes.
I could hear the kitchen karma; you captured that beautifully, as you did the shoving off into the water. Thanks.
And the haiku…yum.
Thank you Ron, you’re very gracious. My vivid memories fishing with dad were the high spots in a childhood with many lows. My dad afopted me, and kept me emotionally above water. Love him dearly.
This is a wonderful treasured memory! I could imagine it all as you shared it. Your dad must have been a wonderful person!
He was Dwight, he was indeed. I miss him.
The Haiku is perfect!
Thank you Dwight… 🙂
Gorgeous haibun Rob
Much love…
Thank you Gillena… 🙂
Rob ~ you conveyed your love for your father spectacularly well.
Yours,
David
Thank you David. I loved dad deeply. He introduced me to the wonders of the natural wilderness of North America — which is still where my heart dwells, and my soul longs to be. My Oregon mountain paradise calls to me constantly.
A lovingly told memory, Rob! That stove was a beauty, wasn’t it? l enjoyed the description of your father stoking it up and cooking the breakfast, which was easy to imagine because of your skillful use of sounds. I love the way your haibun is focused on the anticipation, the build-up to the fishing trip, and not the event itself – I shivered with you at the end! And what a touching haiku!
Thank you Kim… 🙂 …writing that put tears in my eyes, but a warm smile in my heart. That picture I posted is not the original iron stove, which is gone, with no pictures left behind. However, that looks remarkably like it. Ours was a bit older and showed more wear. Loved thatd stove. Kept the cold nights warm and our bellies full!
A wonderfully evocative description of a happy childhood memory. I love this sentence: ‘ the damp darkness of the Ontario predawn’ – so atmospheric, I feel like I’m there when I read it!
Thank you Ingrid. I wrote this piece to be transportive, to bring people viscerally into this situation of my memory — to hopefully share intimately this deep-seeded recall of enduring personal impact, and ever endearing love, from and for my parental hero — my always rock, in the storm of my childhood.
What a wonderful memory to have. You’re very fortunate. Great post!
Ghank you Susan. It is a sweet saving memory that my loving adoptive father supplied, like a life line, in the bittersweet lost times of my childhood. My love and gratitude to that man are immeasurable.
How perfect this is. I was right there with you- excellent writing Rob!
Thank you Linda, I appreciate your gracious words… 🙂
What a wonderful memory, Rob (Bobby). Your words brought it all alive. I could feel the mist on my cheeks!
Thank you very much Bev… 🙂 …now please know, the monicker “Bobby” was retired officially, by me, on my 16th birthday… { 🙂 }
I love the sense of waking up to a woodstove being lightened… when hiking in the north, we sometimes stay in cabins where this is the only source of heat and I do remember mornings laying and listening to those sounds and feeling the warmth coming through.
At 74, and given my current health Bjorn, I am not certain I would find that “predawn chilled cabin” quite so exhilarating — but through my childhood, and into my early teens, wilderness fishing in Ontario CA, staying in our island cabin with my dad, it was ~ “ABSOLUTELY MAGICAL” ~ !!!
I love this! And the emotion in your memories / words makes me realize how much I missed … sixteen is too young to lose a father.
Thank you Helen! Yes, 16 is much too young… 🙁
What a wonderful memory to have shared with your dad. I liked the beginning starting with the wood stove and the big breakfast. I grew up with a wood stove in our house and it always made it cozy.
I thank you Ali, and yes, nothing cozier than a big iron stove pumping with heat!
What a beautiful memory! And you recall it so clearly.
Thank you so much Heather… 🙂