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Adventures of a Crib
ADRIFT
Memories from Blind Channel
My sister-in-law purchased a crib shortly after my son was born. For the first month he had slept in a secondhand baby carriage that I bought for twenty-five dollars. When I first laid him in the crib he was a tiny bump cast adrift in a sea of baby blankets. It was brand new crib and she expected it would be returned when her baby was born.
When I got the job cooking at a logging camp for the season, I dismantled the crib and took it with us. It was stowed in the boss’s speed boat at Kelsey Bay along with provisions. When we arrived at Blind Channel after a buffeting ride on the choppy waters I carried it up the rickety wharf to the cookhouse where I would be living.
The cookhouse was a two room tarpaper roofed shack on the beach. It came equipped with a gas stove and a propane fridge. I was no stranger to either appliance due to my time in northern British Columbia. Tatty curtains hung directly above the stove.
From May to the end of October, the crib fulfilled it’s duties as bed and sometimes a playpen. My son learned how to walk and cut his first tooth while at the camp. I cooked, cleaned, did laundry and cared for my child in the isolated setting. The nearest store was half an hour away by speed boat.
When the season was over the speedboat was broken down and flying out was not an option, due to the weather. The crib was dismantled and carted down to the tugboat. We stowed the mattress below but there was no room for the frame. That we lashed to the engine bulkhead outside. There was a storm brewing when we set out and the ocean had deep swells. The tug reeked of diesel fumes and I spent most of my time on the deck as we were pitched and rolled with the waves. My son was asleep below and oblivious to the inclement weather.
The tug chugged across the channel to Kelsey Bay. Midway, we were caught by a substantial wave. Salt spray soaked the deck and the ropes which secured the crib loosened. All four pieces slid off the bulkhead and into the choppy ocean. I yelled to the boss but the noise of the engine drowned out my calls for help. I watched them begin drifting away. I grabbed the long gaffing hook. While the tug was tossed and bucketing I leaned over the side of the tug trying to snare a slat. I succeeded in hooking three of the crib pieces. The fourth drifted out of reach. I ran to the wheel house and yelled at the boss to please help. He cursed, shut down the motor and came outside. We searched the sea. A few hundred feet away the crib caught a wave and was visible for a few seconds. The boss started up the engine and we were away chasing the flotsam. When we caught up to it, the boss gaffed the drifting piece and hauled it aboard. During the remainder of the journey, I kept the crib secure beside me. No longer trusting in ropes, I hung on to the four pieces myself.
Arriving home after a long and miserable day, I investigated the crib for damage. It seemed none the worse for it’s dunking. I hauled it upstairs and assembled it. I gave it a good shake before placing my son in it for the night. All seemed well.
One morning, a few weeks later, my son was feeling rambunctious. He began jumping up and down in his crib while I tried to catch a few more winks. There was a creaking and popping sound and the whole crib collapsed. My son landed in a heap with the wooden slats falling like timbers around him. He was startled but undamaged. The salt water had weakened the glue holding the crib together.
I re-glued it back together. The remainder of the crib’s career was placid and stable. My sister-in-law decided she would buy another crib when her child was born. She felt that a sea worthy crib was not desirable.
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