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  The eKubator


Kittiwake Economic Development Corporation

The eKubator Project

The Year's First Run
February 1, 2002
{Author: eBerg Staff}

When Friday came 'round, I knew we had to be gone on machine - so I called Jarv and told him to get ready. He said, I got me machine tore to pieces, oh man, carberutor gone.

I says, Jarv, get on the kamatik. Now Jarv not fond of getting on the kamatik on account of one time the sled come loose when the pin pop and I look over and there's Jarv screaming past me on the ice, shaking like Elvis' leg. He launched up over the bank oh man, and became the first Newfoundlander in space. Since then, he get nervous about the ol' sled.

Anyway, Jarv went on and took his old skidoo out of the museum. You know what brand it is, oh man? Coleman. Like the lamp. When that skidoo was made, Jesus was still holding dinner parties. Anyway, she's like a lamp with bogey wheels and makes a sound somewhere between an old chainsaw and a bunch of tomcats having an orgy.

But we picks up our bit of gear and is gone, stopping every now and then to light up a smoke. What a big old night we had, too. Big stars like pieces of glass and more traffic on the trail than a Tokyo rush hour. Anyway, we gets on down the cabin and Jav only broke down twice on Coleman, which is a new record in my mind.

Funny thing about the cabin and how we Newfoundlanders loves it so much. Most of what you does at the cabin is about keeping her up and running. You know, get there, start the stove, light the lamp, get out the generator, start cooking, clean-up the dishes, sweep the floor, fill the woodbox, sweep the floor again. By the time that's done you barely got time to drink two or three dozen beer. Anyway, t'is neither here nor there.

Jarv and I took to the deepfreeze to gather some grub for a late snack. On the menu we had a fry of moose, smoked arctic char, cod tongues, cod fillets, halibut, moose pepperoni sausages and bacon wrapped scallops. I made Jarv a bet when he got into the bacon-wrapped scallops his gout be flaring up like no one's business. But Jarv was after guzzling double digit beer since we turned off the machines for the night and said only thing he could feel was hornets buzzing in his head.

Anyway, four seconds after the bacon-wrapped scallops hit the pan every Bragg, Burton, Gillingham and Penney from the northeast coast be popping up. There was even a fellow from Alabama there, but he didn't come up on skidoo for the scallops. He be visiting his brother in-law in Eastport, and talk about a man loved going the cabin. Never saw nothing like it.

"Yewr cottage culture is fab-ulous," he say in the same kind of drawl Jarv gets after too many Jockeys. Anyway, we be sitting around playing some cards and arguing about politics and the place smelling like the fish plant and buddy was in seventh heaven. Apparently in Alabama there's laws against having fun and being friendly, but he was a nice enough fellow although he couldn't wrap himself around the cod tongues.

We hit the bunk at 3 a.m. and Jarv hit the floor about 15 minutes after. By that, I means he fell out of the top bunk down across the barbecue left in the room there. What a smack. And there was no way to get him back in the bed after that without a backhoe.

Next day the ponds were slubby, so combine that with Jarv having a head the size of sister-in-law and it was slow going.

A good trip in all. If you're lucky the snow might melt and I have a look at a few more movies sometime.