The “road” is more than a straight line between departure and destination. It is a place in itself, especially to those who practice their craft for Edmunds and Company Log Home Restorations. Each place on the road has its unique characteristic, whether it is the house we are working on, or its location. Life can be difficult on the road, but it also holds an attraction for us. It is a world of its own. Hence our tongue-in-cheek-dictum, “What happens on the Road, stays on the Road.” Our crew really doesn’t have any lurid events to hide from those at home, but if it did, who would understand? I believe the statute of limitations has run out on the story I am about to tell.
Back in 1993, the Jurassic Period of Edmunds and Company, Matt Edmunds’ father Peter, then owner of the company, announced a major project east of Burlington, Vermont near Underhill. We would be restoring a family owned log home situated at the end of a dirt road and the trail head leading to Mt. Mansfield in the state park of that name. It would be a working vacation and we were invited to bring the family. Food and transportation were provided. We log workers were thrilled to take the family on a long journey to the beautiful mountains of Vermont and get paid for it to boot.
We camped on the sight (most of us are experienced campers and canoeists) of the historic cabin built just after the Civil War. It was almost beyond redemption but still worth saving. We demolished the crumbling stone chimney and rotten floors, letting them fall into the dank cellar of the building. We jacked up and supported walls, rebuilt the floor, then proceeded to replace rotten logs, imitating the joinery in vogue here during Abe Lincoln’s presidency.
Current and former crew members. Jesse and Peter are on the far right of the photo.
The camping went well despite a spell of rain that made the mud at Woodstock look like a day at the beach. The children explored the trails which followed crystal clear streams into the highlands. Some families took side journeys to concert events, visits to nearby relatives or other attractions in the area. Our sojourns to exotic pizza joints, or restaurants in Burlington on the weekends were enjoyed by all. Mostly though, we cooked and ate wonderful meals right in camp.
One fine morning it was my wife Sue and my turn to make the camp breakfast for everyone. I had brought maple syrup, harvested from my own woods, on the trip, and bragged what fine pancakes we would make. As the first cakes came off the griddle placed over an open fire of coals, one of my co-workers said she was tasting soap after her first bite. We were puzzled. Then Sue said, “What oil did you use?” I held up the small plastic container with which I had oiled the griddle. “That isn’t oil,” she exclaimed, “that’s Dr. Bronner’s Peppermint soap for bathing!” In my defense, she usually put cooking oil in a similar container, but had put the oil in a different vessel on this trip.
YUM! You can use this soap for just about everything - honest.
No problem. I carefully rinsed the griddle and started making pancakes again. My boss Peter, a man known for his hard work and his healthy appetite, asked for the first stack of cakes so that he could get over to the job site and begin planning for the day. Peter was half way through that stack of pancakes, when another diner mentioned that there was still a strong taste of soap in the cakes. I do not believe I was old enough to have a senior moment in those days. But it was to my chagrin that I realized, or remembered; I had also put what I thought was oil in the original batter. Everyone laughed, some so hard you could see tears rolling down their cheeks. There were two people however, that did not have a smile on their faces and did not find the situation humorous — Peter and me. Both of our faces held an unhealthy pallor. My face projected a bright red, while Peter looked a little pale. It was then I heard what sounded to me like a thunderous roar, “Sopiwnik!”
I am not sure that Peter didn’t assign me to busting rocks down in that old cellar that day; a task I would have accepted without protest. This was a story we didn’t tell in Peter’s presence for a long time after. Did it affect our relationship? The answer to that will stay on the road, unlike the retelling of this story. In this season of merriment, and the greeting of the New Year, let us remember Auld Lang Syne and hope our old acquaintances and times together never are forgotten. Merry Christmas Peter, members of Edmunds and Company Log Home Restorations and also to you dear reader!
