In September 1969, Dick and I spent a year on Tucker Lake. Our cabin had neither road access nor amenities. This reprint is one of many stories about our lives during that special year. Apologies if you’ve read this before, but it’s my favorite Valentine memory.
I’ve received some unusual presents during my life, but the Valentine’s Day gift Dick gave during that year we spent in the woods was one I never forgot.
My simple present to him was an extra-large batch of divinity. Dick loved the stuff, and I found the task of pouring hot sugar syrup into fluffy beaten egg whites easy enough. I added chopped walnuts to the white concoction, cut and placed the white squares in a heart shape on a plate, and he was happy.
His present for me was a little more complicated. We sat in front of the fireplace each night, reading, listening to the radio, and I yearned for a footstool so I could stretch out my legs and prop up my feet.
For several days, he’d been searching for just the right size log for a footstool and on Valentine’s Day he found it.
“I’ll peel the bark off,” he pointed to a nice-looking log, “and cut it to size. Should be ready tonight.”
“Make one for yourself, too,” I said, feeling generous, and trekked down to the lake for an extra pail of water since washing the sticky divinity from the cooking pot had used up my daily quota.
That night we exchanged gifts. I handed Dick his plate of divinity, and he presented me with the footstool. I’d seen him working on it, but was amazed at its attractiveness. Cut to the right height, its peeled sides glistened white and its width looked comfortable. “It’s beautiful!” I set my feet on it for a try-out. Perfect.
With the dishes washed and put away, I settled in for an evening of serious lounging. Plopping my feet on my new footstool, I opened a book and had just finished the first chapter when I glanced down. Something crawled across the top of my footstool, moving very close to my ankles. Something black and shiny with lots of legs.
“Euughhhh! I screamed, jumping away from the footstool. Another black creature appeared on the log’s surface… and another…
“Carpenter ants!” Dick yelled.
“Ugh!” I stared in horror as the cabin’s warmth awoke a squadron of ants from their winter hibernation in my lovely footstool. The little black creatures freed themselves from my footstool’s interior and, dropping to the floor, circled, looking for a new home.
“Stand back!” Without a moment’s hesitation, Dick grabbed my footstool. “Open the door!” He yelled. I didn’t waste a second, and as cold air rushed in, Dick gave a mighty heave, throwing my gift into the night.
I’ve never received a more dramatic Valentine’s gift than my ant-infested footstool.
Leave a Reply