The Wanigan by Gloria Whelan Page A

looked out the window to see my first gull. It swooped over the wanigan and lighted onto the water. A moment later it was far overhead, no more than a white thread against blue sky.
    At breakfast Papa told me, “The gull means we’re nearing the end of our journey, Annabel. Oscoda and Lake Huron are only a few days’ float from here.”
    Mama breathed a sigh of relief. I cheered right up as well. I thought the gull was like the dove in the Bible that brought back the olive leaf to Noah because the waters had subsided from off the earth. I told myself nothing would make me happier than to live in a house perched on land. For a second I wondered if I would miss the wanigan, but the thought disappeared with the happy prospect of dry land and real houses.
    Soon we saw the houses, houses and barns, and people standing along the banks of the river, staring at us and waving. I waved back.
    Big Tom said, “They can hear the logs coming down the river a long time before we get here.”
    As we neared the mouth of the river, the men could talk of nothing but the prospect of an end to their hard, wet work. In Oscoda our logs would be chained together into great platforms called booms. The booms would be tugged to the sawmill or loaded onto boats bound for Detroit. Finally, after all these months, the men would be paid for their work.
    They talked of how pleased they would be to come to the end of their labors and to receive their wages. Still, all the men seemed quieter than usual, as if they were sorry the season was ending.
    Papa said, “I’ll tell you, fellows, I’m through with lumbering.” He gave Mama a fond look. “This year has been hard on Augusta. We’ll take our wages and head down to Detroit. I’ve got a friend who’ll put me to work on one of the barges on the Detroit River. We’ll find ourselves a little house with a garden for Augusta and a proper school nearby for Annabel.”
    I looked at Mama and Mama looked at me. It was like the sky had opened up and you could see right up to heaven. I tried to imagine what it would be like to live in a house that never moved and to go to a proper school instead of running around the woods with Jimmy. I told myself that I would be with well-bred people with agreeable manners. Our guests would not come to dinner in their undershirts or spit tobacco juice. Instead the men would wear starched white shirts and the women pretty dresses, and the conversation would be held in polite voices. But there might be no fiddle and no songs and no dancing either.
    Penti Ranta, Big Tom, and Frenchy announced that they would head back to a lumber camp in the fall.
    Big Tom said he knew just where the next camp would be. “There’s a stand of pine trees reaching a hundred and fifty feet straight up in the air. You can tell when they’re ready for cutting. It’s the way the branches whisper to one another. It’s a sound you never forget.” He sighed. “Still, I hate to think of cutting them down. Soon there won’t be a tree left along the Au Sable.”
    I thought of how Big Tom had once told me, “The river sure looks a different river now.”
    â€œAfter we get us a little fun in de city,” Frenchy said, “our moneys dey all gone.”
    â€œNot that we don’t mean to save our money,” Penti Ranta said, “but every year it disappears and this year is sure to be no different. “ He sighed, but he didn’t seem too unhappy.
    â€œI’ll be right there with you, boys,” Teddy McGuire said. “I’m heading back to the lumber camp as well.” He looked at Jimmy. “My boy here will stay with his aunt in Saginaw. He’ll get some education and unlearn his wild ways.”
    Jimmy winked at me. “You can take me to Aunt Elsie’s,” he told his pa, “but I’ll never stay there. No hound dog ever sniffed his way back faster’n I