Peter Bradbury stepped outside into the ten-degrees-below-zero Canadian air. The winter would get much colder. The bundled-up, seventeen-year-old boy was not cold. He had grown up in this weather. He was tall, lean, dirty, unshaven, strong, and tough. He had been born in the woods. With much difficulty, he trudged through the three-foot-deep snow over to a rack that his snowshoes were on. The frame was made from wood and the webbing was made from animal skin. They had to be kept outside the whole winter. The temperature change of bringing them in the house was not good for them. Wearing the snowshoes, he walked on top of the snow with ease over to a small doghouse. Curled up inside was a young malamute. He was a grayish brown with black ears and patches of white on his face. “Come on, Chocolate. We’re going to check the trapline.” The dog got up. Peter was wearing many layers to stay warm. He had a pack on his back. Chocolate had a thick coat of hair; he was always dressed for the weather. Peter put another pack on Chocolate’s back. “We’re ready to go.” The dog followed Peter into the woods. Peter Bradbury’s trapline was fifteen miles long. At the other end there was a cabin where he would sleep. The next day he would come back home. It was usually easy for Peter and Chocolate to travel the ten miles in a day. “Come on, Chocolate. We’re going to check the trapline” When they traveled down the trail, through the pines, Chocolate ran ahead and then turned around and came bounding back to Peter. Both dog and boy squinted. The light from the sun reflected on the white snow caused their eyes pain. Sometimes Chocolate would run off to the side to chase a squirrel for a while. Peter was quite amused when he dashed into the forest in a frenzy, in mad pursuit of some small animal, barking nonstop. Finally he would give up and come back to Peter. At each trap that they came to, Peter would put in fresh bait, reset the trap, and if there was an animal in it, take it out. The bait came from Chocolate’s pack. Peter whistled cheerfully as he went along. He and Chocolate knew the route well. The first three traps were empty. At the fourth, there was a jackrabbit which he took. He tied the rabbit’s legs together and attached it to the outside of his pack. When he got home, Peter and his mother would skin the animals and sell the pelts at the closest trading post at the end of the season. Peter’s father had died long ago, so Peter was the man of the house. His mother did odd jobs in town. During the winter, Peter’s trapline was their main income. They desperately needed the money. The fifth trap he disappointedly found empty. At the sixth he found an arctic fox. He cheerfully whistled as they moved on. The seventh and eighth traps were empty. Peter started to notice a change in the weather. It was getting colder and dark clouds filled the sky. It had gotten extremely windy. The cold bit at Peter’s pink nose. It was snowing lightly. At the ninth trap there was an ermine. Ermine fur was very much in demand. Very happily, Peter took it out. They were headed toward the tenth trap when there were some very sudden gusts of wind. The snow was much heavier now, coming down in sheets. Peter could barely see. “It’s a blizzard! We’d better stop awhile, Chocolate. Let’s look for some shelter.” About seventy meters to the left of the trail, there was a small rock outcropping. The roof sloped down and met the floor at the very back. Slabs of rock held it up. It could not have been more than fifteen feet by ten feet. Once sitting inside the dry shelter, Peter began to go to work. He brushed the snow off of himself and the dog. “We’ll just stay here awhile, Chocolate.” The dog barked. “I’m going to build a fire. You stay here while I try to find something dry to burn.” The dog stayed in the shelter while Peter pushed his way through the heavy snow, not being able to see where he was going, in search of something to burn. He found some tree branches, felled from the blizzard. Gathering as much as he could possible carry, he tried to make his way back to the shelter. “Oh, no!” Peter groaned aloud. “How will I find my way back? OK, OK. Don’t panic. I can’t be more than fifty feet away. I’ll call Chocolate. I’ll hear his bark and follow the sound back. Chocolate! Chocolate!” he shouted, but his voice was lost in the wind. He continued to shout and kept moving toward where he thought the shelter was. He did not hear an answer. Then he saw something coming toward him. It was an animal covered with snow, about the size of a wolf. Peter started to back away but the animal kept coming closer. Peter tried to remain calm. It was unlike wolves to attack people. The animal kept advancing toward Peter. Peter was still not sure what it was. He kept backing away. Then the wolf-like animal jumped on him. “Chocolate!” Peter cried in relief. Chocolate led him back to the shelter. Once inside, Peter set to work. His hands and feet were numb from cold. His ears were almost frozen. His top layer of clothes was soaking. Peter cut up the wet wood and made a tepee. He stuck the leaves underneath it to use as the kindling. “Now,” Peter said to Chocolate, “all I have to do is get the fire going and then we will defrost.” Peter hesitated a moment and then said, “Oh no. Oh no. Oh boy.” He sighed and then said in a grim voice, “I forgot to pack
January/February 2001
Life Without You
You were loved, sweet, Always smiling When I needed you, You left. You gave me the name orphan, You gave me a black shadow, Life without you has no sense. Now, in your best years, Black soil covers you. O my Daddy On your grave There are roses It’s me who put them there Your orphan My Daddy A life without you. Florije Bobi, 12, Lybeniq, Kosovo The poem and drawing on these two pages were created in 1999 by young ethnic Albanians from western Kosovo. Many of these young people witnessed mass murder and the systematic destruction of their family homes. They were forced to march over the mountains to refugee camps in neighboring Albania and Montenegro. An international relief agency called Concern Worldwide organized classes for the young refugees and compiled their work in a book called Drawing Lessons. To learn more about Concern Worldwide, go to their Web site at www.concernusa.org. Laberije Shala, 13 Rashiq, Kosovo
Together
When I look back now, eighteen months later, at our horrendous car crash, it seems so far away, so surreal. But the harsh reminders are suddenly there. My older brother’s scars, jagged lines across his muscled chest and stomach, and also running down his spine. Still my hero, so brave in his suffering, never a word of complaint during his long healing process. My mother’s stiff neck and hole marks on her brow from her “halo” brace, used to heal her broken neck (what a nice name for such a painful contraption!). One moment my parents and two older brothers, Scott and Tyler, and I were carefree and traveling along a remote country road on the second-to-last day of our family vacation in Australia, my stepdad cracking a joke, hilarious as usual. Everyone relaxed from just playing tennis. The next moment, we’re violently hit head-on by a speeding car. The sound of crashing metal, then everything is still, my family all moaning in pain, smoke in the air, no one seems to be able to move. In a haze, I try to open the van’s side door but can’t. My stepdad groans and rolls out, blood is everywhere, my mom is not moving, shouts to get out of the van, my eldest brother Scott whimpers in agony that he can’t move (broken pelvis and nose), but Tyler, thirteen, an incredible athlete, miraculously moves to the front seat and crawls out, now lying in a fetal position by the side of the hot, dirt shoulder of the road, moaning in intense pain (back broken in three places, severed stomach and severe intestinal injuries, severed leg arteries). Finally I jump out of the driver’s door and see the smoking car that hit us and it seems to be on fire, with an older man trapped inside. What to do? My parents are now both shouting for me to get help, I am the only one who can move. Me, the kid brother, the out-of-it one, suddenly called upon. I have no choice. A lonely country road, I can see no one and no houses. The van is demolished, the other car is crushed, with smoke coming from it. Suddenly I run, yelling “Help, help” until I find a house. Part of me wants to rest and make it go away. Two men and a woman come outside. They are kind and phone for help (they visit me later in the hospital). Fortunately, an ambulance arrives from close by, and soon a helicopter comes for Tyler, who is in serious trouble. Another courageous man, luckily just driving by, rescues the trapped and injured man with a crowbar. I vividly remember my mom, dad and stepdad around Tyler’s bed, each massaging a different foot and hand My mother’s neck is broken, so close to paralysis, but she is going to be OK and is taken by helicopter to Brisbane, three hours’ drive away. Tyler and the rest of us are in the Lismore Base Hospital. He is in critical condition. They stabilize his broken back and work on his insides, removing thirty percent of his intestines. His leg circulation is bad, and many skilled doctors work to save his foot and toe. My aunt and uncle fly in from Singapore. My aunt talks endlessly to a semi-conscious Tyler and holds his hand. He thinks she is my mother, their voices so similar. It is wonderful to have healthy family looking out for us. The doctors and police say we are lucky to be alive; seat belts and air bags saved us. I say a few awkward prayers for Tyler, he is the cool, free-spirited one, now lying powerless in his hospital bed, linked up to all sorts of monitors, while I play endless video games. My bruises and headaches heal quickly. I try hard not to think of the natural athlete, the graceful snowboarder, triple-long-jumper and effortless back-flip diver, without a foot or his toes. I run from room to room telling each person how the other is doing. It is a strange feeling when your “together” parents and brothers are helpless and you’re fine. I imagine my mother lonely and frantic with worry about Tyler, and away from us. She is the one who insisted that we buckle up, immediately, after each of the many stops of our three-week trip, and now she is separated from us. Later, my dad arrives from Canada to be by Tyler’s side. My mom, heavily sedated, is mistakenly put in the overcrowded female “dementia” ward of a public hospital with one woman named Ivy, who is over 90, who never stops talking and thinks she is having a baby. Yes, there is some humor, even in tragic moments. All I can say to anyone who has been in a car crash is that my heart goes out to you. It is a numbing and mind-boggling experience. It is best to focus on the positive things. There are many, and we’re grateful to be alive, and that my baby sister Caleigh wasn’t with us. She was left home with my grandmother, because she was too young to really enjoy what my mom called a more macho trip. And yes, Australia is a wonderful country for a family vacation. We combined my interest in nature and my older brothers’ interest in sports and adventure. We started in beautiful Sydney, saw its impressive aquarium and zoo, and then on to the Blue Mountains, where we hired a biologist for a nature tour, saw wild kangaroos and leaned over the steep cliffs looking down into the ancient forest. We went to an ecological mountain retreat in the rain forest— no phones or TV—and night-time nature walks to see the fascinating animal life. We absailed down a beautiful cliff and explored remote nature caves and trails. We drove up the Gold Coast. My brothers went bungee-jumping. We took a huge ferry over to an island near the Great Barrier Reef, and
