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Updated: July 6, 2025
For Ostersund Lake Lulu Giant Rocks and Pigmy Mortals The Island Garden Heaven's Artillery Strange Casualty at the Ravine My Luggage nearly blown up The Driver's Presence of Mind How to carry a Canoe Darlington Bay An Invisible Lake Lord and Lady Dufferin A Paddle to the Lakes The Captain's Tug Monopoly of Water-carriage Indian Legends The Abode of Snakes.
I lingered on at Ostersund until I heard that my heavy luggage had arrived at Kuwatin, via Clear Water Bay and the Lake of the Woods, having had a narrow escape on its way over the portage. The horse ran away, and dragged the cart over a number of nitro-glycerine cans.
As it was necessary that I should repack my luggage before sending it to Winnipeg, I was obliged to tear myself away from Ostersund, hoping to see my friends again before I left the contract altogether. This hope, however, was not fulfilled, and it was a last farewell I took of them as they stood on the rustic wharf, while Mr. K pushed off the birch-bark canoe on which I was lounging.
The 27th of August dawned sultry and oppressive, but having decided to leave Inver for a long-promised visit to Ostersund on that day, and feeling that if I did not get the parting with the children over at once I should never succeed in going away at all, I determined to carry out my intention, although by doing so I was obliged to forego the pleasure of visiting Kalmar, which I regretted very much.
Towards the end of the winter, the sleighing being a little better on the portages, we drove to Ostersund, the nearest house east of us. It was Sunday, the 3rd of March, and a bright, clear, cold day. Our conveyance was a sort of combination arrangement of a long, low platform, with one seat, on two bob-sleighs, which platform turned on a pivot independent of the sleighs.
One of the strangest thunderstorms I ever saw raged while I was at Ostersund. The whole day had been warm, and as night fell the air became sultry, and the sky assumed a leaden hue.
I should like to linger over the delightful three weeks I spent at Ostersund, and describe in detail the tranquil pleasures of every day.
Birds of Passage An Independent Swede By Sleigh to Ostersund A Son of the Forest Burnt out A Brave Canadian Girl Roughing it in the Shanty The Kitchen-tent Blasting the Rock The Perils of Nitro-glycerine Bitter Jests. We had plenty of strange visitors; almost every day men passing along the line came in, either to inquire the distance to the next shanty, or to ask for a meal or drink of milk.
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