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Tales from the UP: King, the Malamute By Donna Rieder My grandparents lived, and raised 7 kids, in a three-room house next to where the Ford River fed into Lake Michigan, in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. It was a wood-frame house with tarpaper covering both the roof and sides. The first room was the kitchen, and it was the only room that had paneling on the inside, painted bright white. The other two rooms, bedrooms, did not have wood on the inside; the framing was visible, and where there were knot-holes in the wood, the tarpaper that covered the outside of the house was visible. The kitchen had a small table that was pushed against one wall, with two chairs on one side and a chair at each end. The doorway going into the middle room, which was Nana and Grandpa's bedroom, had a blanket nailed over the opening. The inside wall of the kitchen had open shelving for pots, pans and dishes, and a huge wood-burning cookstove next to a wringer-type washing machine which was in the corner, with a hose to drain it out of a hole in the wall. Nana would boil water on the wood stove in a huge aluminum pot and then pour the hot water into the washer. She shaved soap off of a bar with a small knife. I remember sitting next to her so many times while she replaced buttons on clothing; buttons were made from thin slices of deer antler with holes drilled in them, and oftentimes they broke while going through the wringer that squeezed the water from the washed clothing. Between the washer and the front corner of the kitchen was a window, and in the corner there was a table similar to the one we ate at, but this one had a long-handled water pump mounted to it, with a "slop pail" under the spout to catch excess water. The slop pail was also where we peed at night so we wouldn't have to go outside or walk to the outhouse. There was a small saucepan sitting on the table, white enameled with a red ring around the top edge, which was used to prime the water pump, and then refilled after using. The front wall of the kitchen had more shelves for storage, including a vast assortment of spools of cotton rope that Grandpa used to make and mend his fishing nets. Grandpa worked as a commercial fisherman on the Great Lakes during the warmer months of the year, selling his catch at market ports along the coast of those Great Lakes. Grandpa was as good at spinning tales as he was at mending nets, and I fondly remember many times sitting at his feet while he mended nets and talked about all his adventures. Raising seven kids on a fisherman's wages wasn't easy in the 1930's and '40's, so during the winter, Grandpa trapped beaver, mink, fox, lynx, and bobcat for their pelts, and coyote for bounty. I realized later in life what a cruel thing trapping was, but back then people wore fur to keep warm, and it was just an accepted part of survival. Snowmobiles were just being invented back then, but Grandpa couldn't afford one. Instead, he relied on a homemade sled and his trusty Malamute, King. King would pull Grandpa out to the traplines, but Grandpa would walk back home on snowshoes because the sled would be piled high with hides, and sometimes carcasses. If the animal wasn't frozen, Grandpa would skin it out in the woods and leave the meat for other critters to eat. If it was frozen, he'd haul the whole thing home, and thaw it in his shed, where there was a pot-bellied wood stove. After skinning the animal, he'd turn it inside out, fur side in, and place it on a metal hide stretcher, and scrape all the gunk off the skin side of the pelt. The rafters of the shed were always filled with a couple dozen hide stretchers on any given day during the winter. My family would spend several weeks during the summer at Nana and Grandpa's, and the whole clan would gather there for five days at Christmastime. The third room in the house had three full beds, a couple smaller mattresses on the floor, and a crib. The adults and any real young kids would stay in the house, but us older kids all slept on blankets on the floor on Grandpa's shed. We'd tell ghost stories and listen to the bats crawling between the wood and the tarpaper. I can still remember the smells of woodsmoke, musty old quilts, and the sickening-sweet smell of death coming from those pelts. We didn't exchange gifts at Christmas, but there was always plenty to eat ~ venison, partridge, and turkey, plus potatoes and other goodies from their root cellar. Nana always had several apple and rhubarb pies baking, and the house smelled much better than the shed! The highlight of our visit, however, wasn't the food or getting to hang out with our cousins, it was when Grandpa would harness King to the sled and all of us kids would get bundled up to ride on the sled. No matter how old I got, whenever we visited Nana and Grandpa, King was always there. It wasn't until I was older that I realized it wasn't just one King, but a succession of Kings, as Grandpa would give each replacement the same name. Each one was a wonderful, gentle giant of a dog, each a testimony to Grandpa's patient hands. I often wonder how such a man must have felt, loving nature as he did, but having to do what he had to do to take care of his family. I hope someday I'll once again be able to sit with him and listen to his stories and perhaps ask him those hard questions. But then again, maybe then it won't matter anymore. Donna Rieder's Clifty Creek Farm is located at 3190 White Oak Church Rd, Russell Springs, KY (visits by appointment). You can reach Donna by email at cliftycreekkikos@aol.com, or on the Clifty Creek Farm Facebook page. This story was posted on 2026-06-02 21:23:16
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