Recently married, my faith was to be tested. I married the preacher’s daughter, so I had more on the line then most. The family shared a secluded piece of property relatively close to Thunder Bay. Along the very busy Trans-Canada Highway, one would never guess what lies down a gated gravel road. Approximately 7 kilometres uphill then a drop down to McKenzie River Valley. So far inland through the thick mixed forest of the Canadian Shield, that one cannot hear the highway whine. Instead the rumble of trains on the CNN railroad and the occasional wolf’s howl.

I have walked, hiked, skied and driven this little stretch of road. When animals, birds or a scene captures your eye, you simply stop and enjoy without worry of traffic. Moose, hawks, porcupine, bear, Blue herons, beaver, Kingfishers, martens to list a few of the animals sighted.

The camp, an old log cabin built in 1976 by Frank and sons, was a large sauna, with a common area. Equipped with wood cook stove and wood sauna stove. With time passing, marriages and children, meant a new larger cabin needed to be built.

This is where I come in. Land needed to be cleared and with a forest in front of us, this, I was told, was to be where the lumber to build would come from. I also had a nice new ¾ ton truck which was to be used to hull the logs to a local saw mill back towards town, owned by Frank’s cousin. I really enjoyed physical work, having worked in construction and mining. I had no problem with cutting the logs needed for a cabin.

At first, I had little experience with chain saws or cutting trees. I would learn quickly with hundreds of trees needing to be milled into lumber. Being new with chainsaws, I stood a little puzzled when Frank started up the Husqvarna for me the first time. I watched this big, heavy, chainsaw rotate clockwise faster than a second hand. A refurbished Husky from the bush camps, this saw had seen better days. There was no idle. No brake. And a freshly sharpened chain honed down by Frank, who worked in the bush camps before becoming a Lutheran preacher. I was a little apprehensive but the pressure was on. I looked at Frank then down at the chainsaw. Taking a leap of faith, I reached down and grasped the spinning beast. The chainsaw with all its flaws, preformed like a hot knife through butter. The land was cleared, the lumber dried out and the new cabin has held many family gatherings. Best of all, I still have my fingers.

Written by Barnwood 57(E.W. Rantala)