It was a typically cool mid-August morning around Limekiln Lake. The air pulled back its nighttime chilly wave of air and gave way to a warm respectable day-perfect for a construction project.
I hunted around the garage for some tools that might help me build a sturdy hut similar to the drawings I saw on page 155 of the Deerslayer book.
The sketches showed sticks bent in a domed shape and covered with bark and boughs to make the hut weather-proof.
In the garage I found a bow saw, hatchet and a spool of old rusty wire my dad used for Beaver trapping.
I slipped the spool of wire over the hatchet handle and set out with my tools to find the perfect location for my hut.
I tried to make my way up the hill on an old Deer trail next to the trickle of a stream, but the ground there was too wet. I moved further away from the gully to dryer ground.
I hiked along for about a half-mile in search of a building site and some good building materials. I halted at a flat spot next to two very large boulders.
The area was covered in a bed of ferns which I felt would make a good ground cover for the hut.
I dropped my tools and scanned around the area for saplings that might work well for the super structure.
There was an abundance of good stuff growing nearby. I picked up the bow saw and began cutting away to make some large saplings smaller.
I cut for over an hour and had accumulated a pretty good pile of materials.
Most of the wood was very flexible, so I had no trouble bending it into perfect half loops.
However, keeping it bent was another story altogether.
Every time I stuck one end in the ground and bent it into a bowed shape, it would spring back up into its naturally straight condition.
But with a bit of boyhood ingenuity and a lot of Beaver wire I finally managed to create something that resembled a skeletal dome.
Hours had passed in creating the framework of the hut, and my enthusiasm to cover it with brush to complete the project had diminished.
Instead, I laid down atop the bed of ferns inside my hut. I folded my knees so I could fit within its walls.
I wondered if the natives in James Fenimore Cooper’s books would have accepted my hut in their village, eventhough I had forgotten to make room for a doorway.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Big Moose Lake.ltmitch3rdny@aol.com