It Takes Wood to
Build a Fire…
But It Takes
Special Wood to Heat the Pot
An Excerpt from: A Mountain to Climb
By John W. Vander
Velden
The flames of the
small fire danced and crackled, sending sparks skyward into the blackness. There in the dark, they sat staring into the
flames, just the two of them, alone on the top of Hawk Mountain. Daniel asked his father to tell a story…a
scary story. Mathew was not certain it
was wise, but the boy’s pleading broke his father’s resistance.
“You’ll tell me if
it’s lame.” Mathew commanded.
The boy nodded.
“Many years ago
when I was a boy.” Mathew began with as
serious a voice as he could create.
“There was a man that lived in the hills north of our farm. He lived there all alone and people only saw
him two or three times a year. He kept
to himself, living in a shack near Grover’s Creek.” He pointed in the general direction of the
valley. “Well the back of our farm butt
up against his land. There were times
when Joey Kindig and I would walk the woods back there. You couldn’t be sure where the boundary was,
but we were pretty far past, just wandering around with our dog Snowball. You remember I told you about Snowball.”
“He was the good
dog.” Daniel responded.
“The best. Well anyway it was autumn and the leaves had
fallen, so you could see a good ways, but walking quietly…well that was nearly
impossible. We came to the top of a hill
and looking down onto Lyle’s land we saw him gathering wood. Now there is nothing unusual about a man
gathering wood. Especially a man that
lived back and away. He would need wood
to keep from freezing and to cook. Since
we had heard stories about the strange guy we laid down so he wouldn’t see us,
as we watched. But he was singing as he
dragged an old cart loaded with long sticks.
‘It takes wood to build the fire…wood to build the fire… wood to build
the fire…but it takes special wood…to heat the pot!’ He would stop gather up more sticks and throw
them on his cart all the while singing. ‘It takes wood to build the fire… wood
to build the fire…wood to build the fire…but it takes special wood…to heat the
pot!’ Twice he stopped. Stopped in the middle of his song and looked
all around. As he did he would look
directly our way. Once Joey let out a
squeal, so certain the crazy man had seen us.
I covered Joey’s mouth so only the slightest ‘hmmph’ escaped. But I felt certain the old man had heard
us. He tilted his head, stared in our
direction for what seemed like forever, but then began to sing again. ‘It takes wood to build the fire…wood to
build the fire…wood to build the fire…but it takes special wood…to heat the
pot!’
Joey wanted to get
up and run right then. But I whispered
that we hadn’t been seen and even if we were, we could easily out run that bent
old man. This seemed to calm Joey a bit
but not very much. We watched as Crazy
Lyle, that was the name we gave him, kept working and singing that weird
song. Finally when he was out of sight,
we left.”
“Is that the
story?”
“Not scary
enough?” Mathew asked.
“Well…”
“There’s more, so
why don’t you let me tell it.” Mathew
took a slender stick and raked its tip through the coals, sparks flying up into
the darkness. Then he began once again. “The next Saturday afternoon Joey and I went
back to that woods. We were just running
among the trees, up the hills and down.
Snowball ran off chasing a rabbit or some fool thing, and we ran
after. Now dogs can run faster than
kids, but we gave it a good try. Well,
we got turned around and lost in those woods.
I guess we weren’t thinking straight because we couldn’t agree on which
way we should go, and so Joey and I got into a loud argument. It was then we heard that song. It was close…real close. ‘It takes wood to build the fire…wood to
build the fire…wood to build the fire…but it takes special wood…to heat the
pot!’ We panicked, turned and ran right
into the old crazy man. He tripped us
and we fell face down on the leaves.
Grabbing us by the ears, he dragged us away screaming our lungs
out. He took us to his cabin, where he
tied us to the porch posts all the while singing, ‘it takes wood to build the
fire…wood to build the fire…wood to build the fire…but it takes special wood…to
heat the pot!’ By now it was beginning
to get dark which only made us more afraid.”
Mathew added a
small piece of wood on the fire. It
kicked sparks once more skyward as he watched the pale face of his son, with
mouth open. “He had this large black pot
standing on a great big pile of those sticks we had seen him dragging
along. It seemed he had been working for
months, to get so many. He would go to
his well and fill two buckets and carry the water to that pot all the while
singing, ‘It takes wood to build the fire…wood to build the fire…wood to build
the fire…but it takes special wood…to heat the pot!’ At times he would swing the buckets around
and dance, as he came back to the well for more water.
“‘What do you
think he means to do with that pot?’
Joey asked me when the man was the furthest from us. I didn’t tell my friend, I felt certain the
old man was going to make a soup or stew and we were certain to be the main
ingredient. I think Joey was feeling the
same way too only didn’t want to admit the possibility.
“When it was full
dark Lyle lit up the wood, soon the flames licked up the side of that great big
black pot. The old bent man dancing all
around and singing his song. ‘It takes
wood to build the fire… wood to build the fire…wood to build the fire…but it
takes special wood…to heat the pot.’
Then he came to the porch, tilting his head and looking us over one at a
time, he felt our arms, first me then
Joey, looking a bit disappointed he asked, ‘Don’t you boys eat nutin?’ He shook his head. ‘But I guess I’ll just have to make do.’ Then he pulls out a knife. Now I thought my paw’s knife was big, but it
wasn’t anything compared to the blade that crazy man whipped out. He cut Joey lose holding my friend by the arm
with the blade to his neck. Joey and me
screaming our lungs out as he pulled Joey toward the pot.”
Mathew suddenly
stopped. He looked up from the fire into
his son’s eyes. “I know the story is
lame. I’ll just stop now.”
Daniel blinked and
jumping to his feet. “You can’t stop now
dad. What happened?”
“Like I said the
story is lame…there’s no reason to bore you anymore.”
“No, dad tell me
what happened.”
“You sure?”
The boy nodded
firmly.
“Well
alright. I don’t know whether it was
because I was scared, or because I had struggled so long, but just then I found
one hand free. I struggled with the rest
of the rope all the while screaming, as Joey was being pulled toward that pot,
while that monster kept singing his fool song.
‘It takes wood to build the fire…wood to build the fire…wood to build
the fire…but it takes special wood…to heat the pot!’ He had nearly brought Joey to the pot when
out of the dark came a white bolt…Snowball!
That dog was all over that man, knocking him to the ground. Joey broke free and began to run as fast as
his legs would take him toward the woods.
It was lucky for me that I had managed to free myself. For it seemed I would not get any help from
my friend, not that I blamed him. He had
been close enough to the fire to be pretty warm by the time Snowball rescued him. Snowball still had the man rolling on the
ground when I ran past chasing after my friend.
I called Snowball from the trees and soon the three of us were most of
the way home.”
Daniel just sat
there blinking, mouth open. The sight
nearly caused Mathew to laugh out loud, but to do so would spoil the moment, so
he went on. “Nobody believed us, not my
folks not Joey’s. But when we finally
convinced our fathers to go back with us a few days later, there was no sign of
the old man…or the pot. The shack had
burned to the ground and there was a chard spot right where we told them the
pot had been. No one ever heard of Lyle
Cass ever again. A few weeks later we
found Snowball bloody and dead. But
sometimes late at night I can hear a voice far away in the dark singing, ‘It
takes wood to build the fire… wood to build the fire…wood to build the fire…but
it takes special wood…to heat the pot…’”
(1584 Words)
In life every person
faces blows, physical, emotional, spiritual.
On occasions most of us find ourselves unable to withstand the force of
the impact we must face. Things bend us,
things at last, break us. For, though
few would acknowledge, we are as delicate as bone china..jpg)
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