As I mentioned earlier this week, we’ve had a ton of snow. Hubby and I are currently in Quebec on a ski week. The weather has been cold but sunny and beautiful. I love a sunny, crisp winter’s day. And since I’m not able to post, I thought you might enjoy this old post from 2016. About logging. Ha. A treasured memory of mine that is always triggered by a cold, sunny winter’s day.


Being in the woods in the winter, always reminds me of my brief career in logging. Okay, so, I wasn’t exactly a logger, more of a logger’s helper. Kind of. Let me explain.
When we first moved to the farm, after my mum and my stepfather married, I was entranced by everything. The farmhouse, the brook, the hills and fields, the treasures I unearthed in the old cellar or under the woodpile behind the barn. I wrote a post about that a year or so ago; you can read it here, if you’re interested. 
Our farm had, like many farms, a large woodlot. And my stepfather worked in the woods, for a few weeks each winter, cutting logs, some for firewood for the kitchen wood stove, and some to sell. 
He loved to be in the woods. Especially in the winter. Especially with his horses. Usually he would harness Myrt to the sled… that’s her on the left… she was lovely, wasn’t she… and he’d set off early in the morning, for the whole day. Returning in the late afternoon dusk, in time for supper. 
That first winter after we moved to the farm, when my stepfather came home from the woods, I’d quiz him at supper about his day. Where had he cut? How did he get Myrt to help drag the logs? What did he do at lunchtime? And his stories of the day caught my imagination. How he had built a big fire, and kept it going all day. How, when he stopped to have a bite to eat, he’d sit down on a log and get warm at the same time. How he boiled some snow in a kettle on the fire and made a pot of tea. All these details stirred my little romantic heart. 
“Wouldn’t it be good,” I asked my stepdad, “To have someone to tend the fire and make the tea?” And, of course, he allowed as how my services would be indispensable. So, I awoke early the next morning, donned my step-brother’s one-piece snowmobile suit, and set off with my stepdad for a day in the woods. 
Lloyd harnessing Myrt and King
We had a lovely day that I have never forgotten. We built a fire. I added scrap wood to keep it going all morning. Sometimes I held the horse when he needed to be doing something like shifting a big log, and rolling it onto the pile. At noon we boiled water for tea. I have never drunk tea that tasted more wonderful. He said it must have been the ashes that blew into the open pot. Then we opened the packet of sandwiches that Mum had made for us. Homemade bread, bologna, and cheese. He showed me how to take a forked stick, place the sandwich across it, and toast it over the fire. They tasted wonderful too. And after lunch he cut a few more logs, Myrt pulled them into the small “yard” he had cleared, and I helped pile them. And then when the shadows fell across the track, we headed for home. He hooked Myrt up to the sled, and stood with the reins in his hands, urging her along, and I sat on the back of the sled and tried to stay awake.
I must have told an enticing tale at supper of our day in the woods: the sunshine, the fresh air, the fire, the tea and toasted sandwiches. Because the next morning, my stepbrother, two years younger than me, who had been born on the farm, and had previously viewed logging with a certain amount of disdain, as just something his dad did every year, and not how he wanted to spend his school holiday… had a change of heart. Afraid that he’d been missing something all along, he was awake before me, and sitting in the kitchen wearing his snowmobile suit, all ready for a day in the woods, when I came down for breakfast. Looking back I’m sure my parents must have been quite amused by the sudden popularity of logging in our house. 
I used to love to listen to my stepfather tell stories of working in the woods when he was young, big gangs of men lived all winter in the bush, housed in shanties, cutting all day. I remember drinking tea one Sunday afternoon and listening as he and our neighbour told of working in the backwoods of Maine one winter. And of the time the cook quit half-way through the cutting season, and my stepdad had to stand in temporarily. No small feat keeping fifty men fed, the secret apparently being beans, bacon, and biscuits. What? No toasted sandwiches over the fire?

The men would cut all winter and pile the logs, and then in the spring, there would be the drive. Logs sent downstream on creeks and rivers swollen from the spring run-off. Floated downstream until they could be gathered in huge booms, and lashed together into rafts, and thus continue further downstream to the mills. I remember as kids we even learned to sing a song in school about the log drive…”Down, down, the river Saint John… something, something.”

It was a dangerous business working on the log drive. One summer when Hubby and I were fishing on the Bonnechere River, in Ontario, we stumbled upon a small fenced graveyard. Not far from the banks of the river, its white wooden crosses were surrounded by encroaching bush, and barely visible in the tall grass… seemingly forgotten. According to local history, it marks the graves of several log drivers who died one spring in the 1890’s. Their names are not recorded. 
And have a look at this little film created by the brilliant people at the Canadian National Film Board. They really do make the best animated short films in the world. I’ve been singing the song on my head for days. The music is by Canadian singing sister duo Anna and Kate McGarrigle. If you get a chance check out more of the McGarrigle Sister’s work. I love them. Sadly Kate died in 2010. 

Logging is a big part of the history of many areas of Canada. It was a big part of my stepfather’s life. And a small, but treasured, part of mine.

So now, whenever Hubby and I are out in the woods in winter, part of me really wants to build a fire, toast some bologna and cheese sandwiches, and put the kettle on for tea. But I usually settle for a thermos.       

What about you dear readers? What memories does a sunny winter day conjure up for you?  


Would you like to have new posts automatically delivered to you? Sign up below, and when new content appears on the website, we’ll send the story to you via email. 

* indicates required


Would you like to have new posts automatically delivered to you? Sign up below, and when new content appears on the website, we’ll send the story to you via email. 

* indicates required

From the archives


Travel with Wendy to Scotland

Today we're taking a holiday from Christmas stress, and Covid stress to travel to beautiful Scotland with someone who knows the country well.

Reading. Sometimes It’s Like Falling In Love

If you're a book lover, sometimes reading is like falling in love. Here are some books I'm in love with this week.

Further Consequences of Reading: The Goldfinch and “Value Added” Books

Some books are what I call value-added books. And that's one more reason I love to read.

42 thoughts on “Of Winter, Logging, & Bologna Sandwiches”

  1. Fascinating Sue . I remember seeing newsreel film of loggers as a child & watching with wonder as they hopped around their cargo on the water . Canadian men seemed very tough . What a lovely man your step -father sounds . I'm about his background – have you any info on his ancestry ? Sorry I haven't made any comments for ages but they are disappearing. I'm still following you – I sound like a stalker
    Wendy in York

    1. Hi Wendy,
      So glad to see that you haven't given up on me! I wondered if you were travelling or somewhere in deepest Scotland without internet access.
      About the disappearing comment thing. I spent some time yesterday trying to research how and why comments can disappear like that. It happens to me too on some blogs. It seems that on my blog "anonymous" comments and "name/URL" comments require the "I'm not a robot" Captcha verification. I've read that this has appeared on other Blogger sites and I'm not sure how to get rid of it, even I even can get rid of it. Some computers which have had undated security settings see the pop-up Captcha window as spam and block it. If you don't see the Captcha prompt the comment will not go through. Apparently you need to make sure that your computer is "third part cookies" enabled. The article I read said that "cookies" do not and cannot contain Malware and people should not be afraid to enable them. This might be the reason you can't always make comments. I need to try to do this on my new computer which has different security settings from my old one. Once I can figure out how to do this, I'll put it on the blog. You're not the only one who has had problems. The article also said that sketchy internet service will not allow comments to come through, either.
      My stepdad was a lovely man indeed. My mum called me after I wrote that post and said, laughingly, "You're turning him into quite the character." But it's all true. He was the strongest, most patient person I've ever met. I know that his ancestry is Scottish (McGibbon was his last name) and that his ancestors emigrated to Canada in the United Empire Loyalist migration from the States, He always treasured his copy of the original land grant from the 1700's for a piece of property a few miles away from our farm.
      P.S. Stalkers are welcome here:)

    2. Very interesting info about your step-father . I'm always curious about people in the old days , leaving all they are familiar with & heading thousands of miles away into the unknown . I'll have to read up on this United Empire Loyalist Migration you mention – not heard of it before . Nice that he had Scottish roots , my dad was from there so I'm biased 🙂
      When the captcha thing appears then I get through . Will get my hubbie to look into the cookies – wish I were better at the technology (:

    1. Great story Sue! I grew up in Northern Ontario and listened to the same types of stories. I even visited some of the saw mills, sat on the banks of the narrow rivers imagining what it was like. Now huge trucks haul the logs away. By the way those sandwiches sounded delicious!

    1. I think that they truck most of the logs now. I remember the huge booms from the 70's too. But I don't remember when I stopped seeing them. I'll have to research that.

  2. Leslie in Oregon

    I too love your stories about the farm, your stepfather and winter. They remind me a bit of times I spent on my grandparents' farm in central Alberta. I was raised, and have returned to live, in western Oregon, which also was logging country until recently. My vision of log driving has been clouded ever since I long ago watched the scene, in the film "Sometimes a Great Notion," of the slow, tortuous drowning of a log driver who became snagged and trapped in a rising tidal river in coastal Oreogn. Thanks to you, I will try to replace that nightmare memory with the rousing "Log Driver's Waltz" video. As for memories of a sunny winter day in the snow: regrettably, I have few memories of working in the snow, as I did not get to spend any winters in Canada after I was a baby. I do live near the Cascade Range and have spent many a happy day with family, friends and dogs cross-country skiing (and, before we had dogs, downhill skiing). I love being outside in snow more than just about anything and try to visit snowy places as often as possible!

    1. Thanks, Leslie. I was telling my husband about your comment and he said he thought he'd seen that movie too…years ago. He retold the plot and we looked it up to see if he was correct…yep…same movie. Funny, that.
      There's just something about physical activity on a snowy winter's day, isn't there? Best thing ever. Well, except for the relaxing in front of the fire which comes after!

  3. I love this post and read the 2014 post of the family treasures you inherited! What a wonderful childhood! I love the fact that you appreciate old things, too! So do I. My husband says that why I keep him around. :D.
    Thank you for sharing!

  4. Great post — so evocatively described, that scene of little girl and her (wonderful) stepdad. He sounds a real gem.
    I loved the McGarrigle Sisters as well, and love the rest of the family talent (Martha and Rufus Wainwright — do you know their stuff?).
    And bologna sandwiches — I remember them well? I wonder if they still show up in kids' school lunches — they were such a staple in the 60s…

    1. He was a gem, that's for sure. I love Rufus Wainwright, although when I was writing this post I looked him up and he has lead a complex and not always easy life. That surprised me, his mum and aunt always seemed so sensible, and grounded.
      I heard Anna and Jane McGarrigle interviewed on CBC last week; they've written a book about their own lives and about Kate.

  5. What a lovely evocative post! I adore snow as well. For me, it reminds me of me and my grandmother on her farm, mixing up big bowls of 'snow cream' to eat. Snow, vanilla, sugar, and some milk. 🙂

    1. Margaretanne Clinton

      Wow. My mother made “ snow cream” for us when I was little and living in Boston. ! Exactly the same ingredients. I’ve told many people about that treat. No one had heard of it.
      I’m pleased you’ve had it too !
      1950’s for reference.

  6. Loved this post. Something I know little about so it was very informative in a good way. You have a great way with words and once again you struck the right balance IMO! Very enjoyable thanks Iris

  7. What a magical,mythical almost, memory you have. I remember cartoons when I was little of loggers walking on floating logs and being so fascinated by that. Your experience was like those stories come to life. What memories do I have of winter days? Skiing. Skiing in Colorado since I've been knee high to that proverbial grasshopper. My mother packing salami, cheese, oranges and crackers in a plastic lined bag and burying it in the snow outside a ski lodge where we'd sit and eat lunch together – that and hot chocolate in a red and black plaid thermos. Those winter adventures, along with ice skating are near and dear to me and still make winter a favorite season.

    1. Salami, cheese, and oranges sound like a wonderful skiing lunch. There's something so convivial about winter sports, we often ski on trails near us which have log cabins where you can eat lunch, I love it when the fire in the wood stove is already roaring, and we can hand our our gloves and our jackets to warm while we eat.

  8. Your posts are always so interesting and varied – I love the historical pictures too. How wonderful to have snow! We're in London and it is just freezing! Thanks for linking to All About You on

  9. i'm a grade 8 student and i wanted to know if i could please use your pictures for a school project?

    1. I would be pleased for you to use my photos. Just let me know your name and school, please. And be sure to correctly identify the source of the photos as you would in any research project. Hope you get a good grade on your project:)

  10. Great story. Spending time with a parent, especially a father, makes for wonderful memories. My Dad has been gone for over 40 years, he died when he was 59. He was a private detective in the 60s when it involved a lot of sitting and evening stakeouts. I remember it being a treat to go with Dad at night to keep him company when he was sitting in the car outside a house waiting to take pictures of an unfaithful spouse 🙂 At a time when I was more into the Beatles, we listened to Ray Sonin and military band music and talked and talked. Having Dad’s undivided attention was the best thing in the world! I still miss him so.

    1. OMG Ray Sonin on CFRB? My Mom never missed ‘Calling All Briton’s’ on Saturday afternoon ‘brought to you by Irish International Airlines’ Mr. Sonin and his wife Eileen had a TV show for a brief time…a usual guest was their cat, Dodger! Honestly my moms ‘British’ blood was well diluted by several generations ( her father was a second gen Torontonian and fourth generation Canadian and my Grandmother had not a tot of anything from the British Isles tracing her mixed French Canadian-Métis-Algonquin- German Jewish bloodline back to the 1700’s) I am not sure why my Mom loved the radio show so much but the music was pretty catchy!!

  11. My own family history is strongly connected to logging in Ontario. My Grandmother’s father ran a logging company in the late 1800’s/early 1900’s up on the Georgian Bay. Logs were moved by barge but dragged from the bush by two draft horses ( Dick and Dan) My grandmother and her youngest sister being significantly younger than their older siblings lived with their parents in the ‘camps’ during the summer. It was the opposite of Sue’s story, wood was cut in the spring and summer, moved in the fall by barge or over the ice by sled in winter. My great grandfather purchased land for a summer home from the logging company which my family held until the early 2000’s. In Ontario/Québec most ‘logging men’ were French Canadian or First Nation. My grandmother and her sister were forbidden to learn French ( their parents were fluent) I guess the language was pretty salty amongst the guys and their parents didn’t want the little girls cursing a blue streak when they returned to school in the fall. They both, despite parental language policing, became fluent French speakers with my great aunt developing functional ability in a local First Nation dialect. She took over the business from her father and needed the language skills to work with her ‘men’ as she called them. That part of the province was pretty much ‘logged out’ by the 1920’s and then became along with nearby Muskoka a vacation haven for the wealthy seeking escape from the summer heat. Haha we weren’t ‘wealthy’ but did have a pretty fine summer place for almost a century!
    Sue, enjoy the great weather we are having! Skiing should be awesome!

  12. Margaretanne Clinton

    No matter about the photos. !
    The visual came through in the story .
    Thanks for sending this. Beautiful writing.

  13. What a fascinating story. Your stepfather sounds lovely and very caring. I loved the video of the loggers’ waltz.
    There was a lot of logging here in NZ in the early days, especially of massive Kauri trees. The loggers built dams on the creeks and when there was enough water and logs behind the dam it would be broken and the logs would rush downhill in the surge of water. Dangerous work.
    Glad you are enjoying your ski trip.

  14. I loved this story. Sorry the pictures did not work out, but I’m sure all of us “got the picture” perfectly!
    I remember my uncle’s farm and many winter afternoons when we visited, when the adults would talk and I would go out to the barn with the cows and sing to them.
    Your blog is a treasure I look forward to reading.

  15. Hi Sue,
    I loved reading this story and imagining you as a child, heading off to log with your stepfather.
    I remember logs coming down the rivers in New England when I was a child. I also remember festivals during which people would walk on the logs in the rivers and roll the logs as they tried to stand on them. You’ve brought back memories.
    We are lucky to have your stories about life on the farm.

Comments are closed.