Free One man’s wilderness by Mr. Sam Keith, Richard Proenneke

roof overhead. While the rain pattered, I sharpened the blade of the jack-plane and oiled it. Then I moved my log bench under the overhang and proceeded to make shavings. All the boards I had ripped for shelves, counter, and table had to be planed on both sides and the two edges. Also the two-inch planks for the door. By the time I had finished, more shavings were piled up than I had ever made in a day before. I fitted the boards under the counter. The table will be ready to put together as soon as the glue arrives.
    A light rain all afternoon. The mountains must be dry because there is no sign of running water yet.
    A special treat for supper. I pulled some of my green onions to spice up the salad of fireweed greens.
    July 12th
. Heavy fog. No danger of frost today.
    I put on the door hinges, first the top hinge, then a plumb bob from itscenter to the bottom one. I think they are positioned about right. I cut the door planks to length and ripped the last one to make the width right. I sawed out and planed the door-stop molding.
    Streams are beginning to show on the mountain slopes. The lake is rising.
    I fear the blueberries really took a nipping with the heavy frost not so long ago. I find some berries big and healthy, but many are small and shriveled. Looks like a shortage of blueberry pies this August and September.
    July 13th
. About a dozen scoter ducks were bobbing on the rough lake this morning.
    A small char on the trotline. In its stomach I found a hook I lost a few weeks back. Bright as silver, it looked better than when it was lost.
    I put the roof poles on the woodshed. Next comes the indoor plumbing project. The front framework is in place, just the right height for comfort.
    Sourdough biscuits drenched with navy bean soup for supper. There’s a dish fit for any working man.
    July 14th
. Still beset with a siege of damp weather. This will be a day for inside chores. Fire up the smoker and give that big slab of bacon some more smoke. Letters to write. Work on the wolf track box. Put on a fresh kettle of navy beans to simmer the day away.
    In the afternoon I popped some corn. I accomplished what I had set out to do. A man needs a catch-up day now and then.
    July 15th
. Still damp, with fog hanging low on the mountains.
    Spent the day on the construction of the john, an important consideration in any new home. I made it big enough so that I could store a half-dozen empty gas cans. Materials to finish the front required lots of time ripping boards from the last of my cabin logs.
    July 16th
. The sun might burn through the fog today.
    My day’s work cut out for me. Build the front facing for the john. Smoothall the boards with the big jack plane. Then the door: sixty-four inches high and twenty-five inches wide and not a board in the house. It will take some ripping to put out better than ten board feet.
    I had a log spotted in my firewood supply, for five boards an inch thick with two slabs left over. It was twelve o’clock when I finished the last cut. Four boards would make the door and the other one, cleats to hold it together.
    After lunch I trimmed the edges and planed the boards smooth. And there it was—my door. About five hours and a bit more from the log to the finished product. Probably a thirty-dollar job at Alaskan wages. I made the hinges from a gas can, three of them three and three-quarter inches wide, and they look almost store-bought. And then the final touch—saw out the crescent—and the john door was ready to hang.
    July 17th
. Made the partition of poles between the john and the woodshed. The chamber is now ready for serious meditation.
    A tragedy! Notches in my peas, and some nipped off just above the ground. Three rows of them. I’ll bet that snowshoe rabbit that hopped by the door the other day is the varmint. Probably never tasted peas before in his life. That’s all I need around here—a gourmet rabbit.
    July 18th
. High clouds moving fast from the south.
    Fresh tracks of caribou