North of Boston

They aint much happened sence the last riting. Couple of weeks ago I got an old timer to show me the lines on a timber lot. It was a mountain lot that his family had owned years before.

We bucked the jeep up a logging road and started to climb through snow and bustable crust. He was seventy and ast me to stop and let him rest on account of his heart condishun. I was awful glad that he had that heart condishun and didn't argue a mite.

We picked up the first corner where stone walls met and set a compass course. Worked our way real slow up a very old line, finding faint spots on a tree now and then.

He claimed that the next corner was a hole drilled in a big rock with witness trees. Said his grandfather had told him about that drill rock when he was ten years old and his grandfather (orthe old man) hadn't ben to that rock for forty years before he told him about it.

We kept on going. The lake and the settlements and the hills kept getting further and further below us through the hardwoods.

We come to a big rock. I thought that I could make out spots on the trees around it. He took his axe and scraped the snow off en the rock. Then he scraped some more. He pointed to the drill hole.

His face broke into a real wide grin. He slapped his mitten down onto the drill hole. "Grandfather - I aint seen you for fifty years. How are you anyway - I'm glad to see you again."

I do wisht that one or two of you fellers could of climbed up there with us. You might of liked it.