Footprints In the Snow Read online

  “He must be nearly eleven feet tall, if not taller. My goodness, you two have been busy.”

  Together we added the finishing touches, a row of shiny-black golf balls down his front, and two very life-like eyeballs for his eyes. Mom made a half-moon circle with her finger underneath his carrot nose and then added a row of shiny-red golf balls for his large smiling mouth.

  “I ran out of old golf balls so I used one of your dad’s new ones. He won’t mind. I hope. Let’s make him two nice arms with fingers from this dead branch, one arm down, the other arm up, waving.” After that mom tied one of dad’s old red tartan scarves around his thick neck. She plonked her huge straw sunhat on top of his head, it was the size of a Mexican sombrero, with a black ribbon tied around it.

  When she climbed back down the ladder, we all stood back admiring our creation. It was the largest, tallest snowman I’d ever seen. You’d have been able to see him from miles away, probably from as far away as the village on a clear day.

  “No Pepi! No,” mom shouted. But it was too late, he’d marked his territory by lifting his leg and peeing on our creation. I admit, I was annoyed, angry even. Jake, of course was in hysterics, his laughter contagious, that got us all laughing. I grabbed the snow shovel, casting the yellow snow as far away as I could fling it, Jake picked up the other shovel and patched up the damage good as new.

  * * *

  Mom, Jake and I stood at the window looking up the hill from the warmth of our kitchen. The huge snowman stood smiling down on us from his bleak surroundings, snow billowing around him as the wind picked up.

  “What are you going to call him? He has to have a name,” she said. Jake and I sat at the kitchen table writing out names, calling them out to our mother and ticking off those she liked from our growing list. Jake was really good at making up names from existing words, jumbling up the various letters.

  “Snawmon,” he cried, jumping up with delight. “Snawmon, like Norman only spelled different.” I nodded my approval.

  “Snawmon the snowman. Very good Jake, I like it, it suits him,” said mom.

  The telephone rang. “Okay honey,” mom said into the receiver. “Just be careful out there. Love you too.” She turned to us. “Dad’s going to be home late, there’s more heavy snow in the forecast moving in from the north. Come on boys, let’s get you a hot drink and something to eat.”

  “You didn’t tell dad about Snawmon,” said Jake, looking crestfallen.

  “That’s because I want it to be a surprise. He won’t believe his eyes when he sees it in the morning, the look on his face will be priceless.”

  It was dark by the time dad got home from work. Jake and I had already had our dinner and were sitting huddled together in our pyjamas on the living room couch, a woolen blanket pulled up over the two of us. As it was a Saturday night, we were allowed to watch a movie on the television, black and white back then of course. Now and again I’d get up and toss another log on the fire.

  Mom called out from the kitchen, “Dad’s home,” she sounded relieved. He looked exhausted, older than I’d ever seen him look. Tired and worn out.

  “I’m so tired honey, I could just crawl into bed. They want me back first thing in the morning.”

  “That’s crazy! They’ll put you in an early grave, I’ve a good mind to phone your boss right now and give him a piece of my mind.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” replied dad in his usual calm manner. “Think of it this way, it’s good overtime and we could do with the extra money.”

  “Not at the expense of your health.”

  Jake and I looked at each other, nodded and walked into the kitchen, a chilly draft of air circled our slippered feet having followed dad inside.

  “Don’t worry about the farm chores in the morning Dad, Jake and I have it covered.” He looked across the kitchen towards us.

  “Thanks boys, I really appreciate it.” Mom led dad to his chair at the head of the table and placed a large bowl of piping hot homemade soup in front of him.

  “There’s shepherd’s pie to follow,” she said, placing her hands lovingly on his huge shoulders. “And apple pie and cream for dessert.” Dad placed his right arm across his chest, cupping his hand over mom’s left hand.

  It was like time had stopped as I stood there watching the two of them. Jake looked up at me, fit to burst. I knew he wanted desperately to tell dad about Snawmon. I shook my head, “Not now,” I whispered.

  “The Christmas holidays will be upon us soon,” said dad, not bothering to look up. “I’ll need you Shawn to help me clear out the last of the things in Granddad’s garage. We’ll make an early start, the renters will be in the week after.”

  “Okay Dad.”

  * * *

  Very early the next morning I was awoken by the sound of our tractor outside my bedroom window. I rubbed the heel of my hand against the inside of the window pane, making a hole in the thin ice that had formed overnight from our breath. Mom was plowing the laneway so dad could get to work. The wind had blown the snow across the field, filling in the lane again. Dad was still sleeping, I could hear the occasional snoring from my parent’s bedroom.

  It wasn’t until the following morning that dad discovered Snawmon. He was looking out the kitchen window during breakfast and suddenly, in mid-sentence, stopped talking. He muttered something, squinting his eyes.

  “No way,” he said. “That’s got to be the biggest snowman I’ve ever seen. Who made it?”

  “The boys did.”

  “Mom helped,” I added.

  “Wow!” Dad said. “That’s impressive.”

  “He’s called Snawmon,” said Jake proudly.

  “Good name, I can’t get over the size of him, however did you get up there to put his head on, let alone his hat?”

  “We used the stepladder, with Mom’s help,” I said.

  “That’s after Shawn fell off,” giggled Jake. “I saved his life.”

  “That’s what brothers do,” said dad, not even asking what happened.

  “I used the old golf balls for the accessories and one of your new ones. I didn’t think you’d mind,” said mom looking apologetic with that angelic smile she always gave dad when she’d done something that might upset him. It worked every time.

  Dad started laughing, “No, no, that’s amazing.”

  Chapter Three

  The following week, with Christmas just around the corner, dad called me early in the morning. I felt his huge hand on my shoulder gently shaking me.

  “Time to get up,” he said whispering.

  Reluctantly I got up out of my nice warm cozy bed, wishing I could go to bed as tired as I felt getting up, and get up as wide awake as when I went to bed. Jake was still fast asleep, cuddled up to his teddy bear, the one grandma had made for him. I dressed in the bathroom so as not to disturb Jake, then crept downstairs, yawning as I entered the kitchen. Mom, as usual was already up, breakfast on the table. No matter what time of the day or night she was always cheerful, always smiling.

  “Good morning sleepyhead,” she said, giving me a hug as I sat down.

  The laneway from the gravel side road all the way down to our farmhouse was long, a small pioneer graveyard marked the entrance to our farm. The snowbanks on either side of the lane were so high, I couldn’t see the fields left or right. We passed the cemetery on our left, turning right onto the snow-packed gravel road. Granddad’s bungalow was at the far end of the top field, at the eastern boundary of our farm. Mom and dad used to live there when they were first married, my grandparents ran the farm back then and their parents before them. It’s been in my dad’s family for generations, the farmhouse is already an antique in its own right, the bungalow a more recent addition.

  It was bitterly cold outside, one degree Fahrenheit according to the thermometer nailed on the post outside the kitchen door. Good job I wore my woolen toque mom knitted me with the ear flaps. I could see Snawmon up on the hill, he looked great in mom’s old straw hat and dad’s old s
carf that mom had a job prying off him. Dad doesn’t like to get rid of anything. Mom says he’s a hoarder.

  “He looks good son.”

  “Thanks Dad.”

  When we pulled into granddad’s driveway, my dad looked sad. The truck hadn’t even had a chance to warm up, cold as it was, it was nothing compared to getting out of the truck with the freezing wind hitting me in the face. We made our way through the deep snow around to the back door, entered the house and then through another door into the ice-cold garage. Grandad’s old Ford truck had already been sold so we had plenty of room to work inside the garage. Dad turned on a small electric heater to take the chill off, not that it made any real difference. The only way we were going to get warm was to get right to work.

  We made four piles; one for stuff dad was keeping, one for stuff to take to the church goodwill sale, one for stuff to drop off at the dump and one for scrap metal. Tucked away in the far corner behind some old plywood sheets, I found a pair of what looked like homemade snowshoes, only they weren’t snowshoes. They were made of thick plywood, cut into the shape of the sole of a very large winter boot, a winter boot that only a giant could wear, definitely too big for a man, even for my dad. One for the left foot and one for the right foot. Each had two leather straps attached roughly in the middle, one towards the front and one towards the back. They were covered in a thick layer of dust and must have been stuffed behind there for years and finally forgotten. I held them up to show my dad, dust swirling around me.

  “What are these for Dad?” I said, coughing out the words. He tossed a piece of scrap metal on the pile and looked over at me. His face lit up, he was smiling. I was shocked to see he had tears in his eyes, that made me a little uncomfortable, it wasn’t something I’d seen before. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.

  “Well Shawn, when I was eight years old, the same age as Jake is now, my brother, your Uncle Bill and me, made a snowman. It looked just like the one you and Jake made with your mother, only ours was nowhere near as big as yours,” he laughed. “Ours had a black trilby hat on his head and a dark blue scarf around his neck. We stuck an old besom broom in his hand.”

  “What’s a besom broom Dad?”

  “It’s a broom made with a bundle of long twigs wired to a broom handle. We made him right over there,” he pointed out the garage window. “Right under that old willow tree.” I joined my dad at the window so I could see where he was pointing. He put his arm around me and pointed again. “Up on the hill, this side of where you made your snowman. See it?”

  “I see it Dad. We practically chose the same spot.”

  “Great minds think alike son.”

  “What did you call your snowman Dad? You must have given him a name.”

  “You know, I don’t remember. Come to think of it, I’m not sure we even gave him a name, maybe Mr. Snowman I suppose, but I’m not sure, it’s been so long ago now. Anyway, I do recall being very upset.”

  “Why? What were you upset about?”

  “Well, the days were starting to warm up and your Uncle Bill and I didn’t want our snowman to melt, that’s why I, we were upset. I do remember telling your granddad we had to get him to the North Pole, the snowman, not your granddad.” That made me laugh. “I told him if we didn’t, Mr. Snowman was going to die. I seem to recall I’d read somewhere, back then, that snowmen live in the North Pole and if they can, they try to make it back there before they melt. Apparently very few make it, most end up as puddles. I guess the two of us were in quite a state about it, Uncle Bill and me, crying as I recall we were that upset.”

  “You and Uncle Bill were crying?” I couldn’t believe my ears, my dad and Uncle Bill actually crying. Unheard of. Wow, I couldn’t wait to tell Jake this bit of news. “So what happened Dad?”

  “I know you won’t believe this, but the following morning when I looked out the kitchen window on the farm, the same window you and Jake look out of to see your snowman, our snowman had disappeared, gone, MIA. Missing In Action. Uncle Bill and I slogged through the snow all the way up to the top of that steep hill to find out what had happened to our snowman.”

  “Perhaps he just melted away Dad.”

  “No Shawn, he couldn’t ’ave, it wasn’t yet warm enough to melt all that snow. And even if it was, there would still have been something left of him, like a small mound of snow and what about his hat and scarf and the broom? You’ll never guess what we found when we got up there.”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “Footprints. Large footprints. Very big footprints, bigger than any man could have made, but only one set of footprints. Snowman-size footprints going from the very spot where our snowman had stood all winter long, leading over the fence and across the field. They went on through the woods and out the other side and on and on across the fields for as far as the eye could see.” I stared up at my dad, mouth open, eyes wide with surprise.

  “What did you do?”

  “Your Uncle Bill and me followed those footprints for miles, and I mean miles. All day we followed them, but they just kept on going in a dead straight line, heading north. Your granddad swears to this day that he had absolutely nothing to do with it, but I reckon now I know the answer to the mystery. Funny thing though, I never could work out how he removed our snowman without leaving any of his own footprints. Somehow he must have covered them up and then set off across the fields with those things you’ve got in your hands, strapped to the soles of his boots. It must have taken him all night, let alone walking for as far as he did. We never did find out how far he actually walked.”

  “Can I keep them Dad? Please, they can be Jake’s and mine, I’ll share them with him, I promise.”

  “Sure son, I think your granddad would like that.”

  We got a lot done that day, my dad was pleased with what we’d accomplished. It took a few truck loads before we finally got the garage emptied, then we swept it clean. He helped me clean up granddad’s mystery snowshoes before taking them home to the farm. I couldn’t wait to show my brother and to tell him the amazing story about them. What a lot of fun we were going to have wearing them.

  During dinner I sat next to Jake and told him about the wooden snowshoes. His face lit up with excitement.

  “Penny, I was thinking of heading over to the village after dinner with the boys and drop in on Dad. Shawn wants to ask him about those old wooden snowshoes he made. Wanna come?”

  “Sure, that sounds like a lovely idea, just let me put some makeup on and do my hair.”

  “You look just fine as you are.” I saw mom give dad the look. “Okay dear.”

  When we got to the seniors’ home we found granddad sitting in his armchair reading a book. He didn’t hear us enter his small room until I called out, “Hi Granddad.” He looked up, smiled and waved us all in, putting the book down on the edge of his bed. We all took our turn giving him a hug. Mom and Jake sat on the bed next to him, mom tenderly holding the old man’s hand. I showed him the snowshoes.

  “What have you got there Shawn?”

  As if you don’t know, I said to myself. “I think you already know the answer to that Granddad.”

  “Not sure I do Shawn,” his expression giving nothing away, though I detected a twinkle in those old blue eyes of his. Your eyes are the windows to your soul, my mother was always telling me.

  “Come, pull up a chair and tell me all about it, I can’t wait to hear.” Dad handed me a small chair from the corner of the room, I sat down in front of my grandfather and related the story to him as told to me by my dad. He nodded occasionally, but neither spoke nor interrupted until I had finished. He sat back in his armchair, stroked his whiskery chin and gave me one of his piercing looks, his left eye narrowed, his right eye widening, his forehead wrinkled.

  “Now let me tell you my side of the story. I remember it like it was only yesterday. I admit Shawn, I told your dad and your Uncle Bill the same strange tale. Yes, I did make those wooden snowshoes, only they are not snowshoes. Wer
e never intended to be snowshoes. I made them to make snowman footprints. I can tell by the look on your face you find that hard to believe, but let me finish, then draw your own conclusions. I made them because your dad and Uncle Bill were so upset about their snowman melting, your dad kept telling me we had to do something to help him get back to the North Pole, so I hatched a plan to remove the snowman without trace other than footprints heading north towards the North Pole from where he had been standing. I was going to strap those pieces of wood you’ve got there to the soles of my winter boots and head out across the fields and through the woods so it would look like the snowman had set off on his own. I had no intention of going any farther than the other side of the woods ...”

  “But Granddad, what about …”

  “Don’t interrupt Shawn, let me finish telling my story or you’ll get me confused. Where was I? Ah yes, footprints in the snow. It doesn’t matter what I say, no one believes me and likely you won’t either Shawn, that’s neither here nor there, I know what I saw. That night, when your dad and Uncle Bill were tucked up fast asleep in bed, I crept outside carrying those wooden snowshoes, let’s call them snowshoes. Like I said, I planned to remove their snowman and make my own snowman footprints so they would think their snowman had run off to the North Pole. They gave him a name, now what was it. Do you remember Dan?” he said, addressing my father, who shook his head. “Roger? No, not Roger, but something beginning with an R. Riley, Richard. Reggie! That was it, Reggie. I remember your grandma, bless her, laughing as I walked out the door. She was in on it too, in fact it was her idea to do it in the first place, if my memory serves me correct. She wasn’t laughing when I walked back inside not long afterwards and told her what I’d seen. Someone had beaten me to it! I don’t know how they did it in the time, because only about an hour had passed since I looked out the kitchen window from the farm on that moonlit night and saw Reggie still standing there on top of the hill, large as life. Mark my words, he was still there then, exactly where he was supposed to be, hat an’ all with the besom broom still in his hand.