The first time he couldn’t lift a heavy log, he joked about it but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his powers.
He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. What could I do about him?ĭad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts.
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.ĭad glared at me, then turned away and settled back.
