Mr. Phelps' Ice Shanty

 

Sometimes when you purchase something, it's more than the something that truly matters. Take Mr. Phelps' shanty for example, on that day I bought a story with a lesson attached and as you will soon find out, I did in fact buy a shed. Well, actually I bought a project.

I typically tell a version of this story to my students between academics and right at that time of year when growing includes finding out about generosity and gratitude. To be clear, I never set out to tell this story; but how many arguments about marbles, pencils and chairs need one experience before it just pops out? 

My grandfather was quite the fisherman, In fact, his brothers were all skilled at fishing. Each of his brothers were named Joseph which has nothing at all to do with my story; but is quite interesting nonetheless considering there were ten siblings five of which were boys. My grandfather was Joseph Maurice; but everyone called him Morris. 

As it so happened, in the 50s Morris bought a piece of land between his brother Joseph Marcell's and Joseph Lucien's in South Hero upon which he built by hand and tool a camp. By the time that I came along, Morris and Anna lived in that place on lake Champlain year round and that is where I myself learned how to icefish. 

Now owning a shanty was something of pride and something of necessity when winter winds could blow a rambunctious child clear across to the other side simply by raising a snow shovel as a sail while sitting on a sled. The five of us children along with whichever cousins were visiting, had to wait for our turn to sit next to the adults and stare down an ice fishing hole. I for some reason remember that Morris had a stove, perhaps a coal stove if I remember correctly; but (I never share this part with my students) Morris used to say he kept warm with Canadian Club Whisky. Oh, and Morris raised baitfish in his cellar which seemed quite magical to me as young child, These are only some of the memories that I have of ice fishing with my grandfather. 

But all of this was many years ago as Mrs. Manning is now well over fifty years old!

My sister lives in his house now; and she is even older than I.

Mr. Manning and I noticed while visiting, that Mr. Phelps who lives at Phelps' farm just up the road from my sister's was having a yard sale. At first we looked at his many tools and camping gear and then later on, we went back to make him an offer on his old gray shanty. I was so excited to have a shanty of my own, that I plum forgot to look closely at it inside and out or to even consider if I actually wanted one. 

That very next weekend, Mr. Manning drove back up with his trailer to bring the shanty home to Vernon. It was while loading it onto the trailer, that the skis used to glide it across the ice fell off and the eyebolts used to attach the rope for pulling it ripped out. I'm not sure that you are going to believe me when I tell you about this next part, but once that shanty arrived in my driveway, I called up our daughter Helen and offered it to her for free! I was quite surprised when she said, "no thank you," after all, it did have beige carpet covering its bench seats. 

Over the next couple of weeks, Mr. Manning replaced two walls, the roof, both skids, the eyebolts and the skis. Our daughter Abigail, who doesn't fish at all, decided to paint fish on the lids that cover the holes in the floor when no one is using them for fishing. For my part, I painted the shanty with leftover green paint from another project that I never quite started. 

It was after all of this and while I was adding the finishing touches to the shanty, that I paused to read Mr. Phelps' hand written sign that he had screwed to an inside wall.

"Please Leave it Like you find it" Even though his shanty stayed out on the ice for the entire ice fishing season, Mr. Phelps never once locked the door.  He had instead, used a dog leash clip and a cord to fasten the door closed against the cold winter wind. In this way,  Mr. Phelps shared his shanty with anyone wishing to use it. I imagine that people who came upon it on blustery days, thought of Mr. Phelps as very neighborly. 

  

I keep that sign posted in what is now my potting shed as a reminder of just that. -Norma Manning