I remember, as a kid, an old Tamarack tree that guarded our well at the hunt camp. By day, I would hunt grouse in and around its lower branches. At night,  it became a dark and spooky place that little boys liked to stay away from

It was the perfect place for an overactive imagination. I found that out the hard way on a dark, deer season night. I was starting to enjoy the warmth of the camp stove when dad announced that we were out of water. Normally, I would not worry about such a comment but this time his voice sounded different. Or perhaps it was his ‘I am looking at, YOU, kid stare’ as he reached for my coat and flashlight.  A feeling of impending doom poured over my body. Outside, a slight breeze began to blow through the ‘fang-like’ needles of an old tamarack.

Sensing my fear and hesitation, dad pulled me out of my over-worked imagination by saying something like, “You don’t need to be afraid of the dark. It’s time you got used to walking alone…at night.”

I felt like reminding him that it was not the dark that scared me. It was that old tamarack tree.

Slowly, dad ushered me to the cabin door and handed me a light and the water pot. The door creaked closed behind me as I headed down the foreboding trail to the well. Everything was fine until the trees around me moved closer together and blocked the light coming from the cabin windows.

I was theirs now. Their branches, like giant fingers, crept out towards me. I did what any kid would do.

I started whistling. This was a mistake.

My barely audible tune woke up the ‘beast of beasts’ lurking under the branches of the pine and spruce tendrils. The beaked monster circled around me. It was attempting to block my approach to the well. I ran faster and it kept pace. I dove behind an old tree stump, held my breath and waited. The giant grouse missed my diving maneuver and noisily crashed with a thunderous flap into the night. I peered around the stump and my shaking light caught a section of the well. I ran from my hiding my place and made my final approach to the well.

Wham! I tripped on the tamarack’s gnarly roots and landed looking up into the tree’s needled gaze. If trees snickered - I just heard one. My flashlight fell a few yards from me, but through the moonlight  I could see the water pail resting against the side of the well.  I crawled over to the well, slid the lid over and dipped the pot into the dark waters. Wanting to make sure I had more water than ‘floaties’, I crept to my flashlight and revealed the inside of the pot.

It was full of tamarack needles. Again, the well’s rooted sentry seemed to snicker.

I poured the water back into the sandy well and re-dipped the pot. Just then, a branched cracked out in the darkness. I slid the lid back onto the well and and my legs hit ‘warp-speed’ in a matter of seconds. Drops of water fell out with every step. I did not slow until I was safely within the glow of the camp stove’s fire. When the door flew open, with my hasty arrival, I handed my prize to dad.

His reaction was mixed and definitely not what I expected. He brought the pot closer to the light and, together, we saw water that the water was clouded with sand and yellowing tamarack leaves.

It looked like a kind of tamarack tea.

“You poured the water back into the well didn’t you?”, he sternly asked, “We can’t drink this and it will take a day or two for the sand to settle again”. I thought about telling him about the scary grouse, moving branches and the snickering tamarack

Across the room, Grandpa laughed quietly; as if to remind my dad of a time long ago when his son did the same thing. Two days later dad took me back to the well (at night) and showed me how to get a better portion of clear water.

There were no gnarly branched tendrils.

No stalking grouses.

No tamarack sneers.

Figures.

Bringing this story back to the present. I am looking across the room at our baby Lara. I am chuckling to myself wondering when it will be her turn to go for some tamarack tea.

Should I warn her about the old Tamarack?

*Photo From - Government of Ontario Website