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My woodsman

I have always called Henry a mountain man.

I met him shortly after moving to Alberta, joining my mom, two sisters and my brother John.

Lisa’s good friend Leona had the “cutest brother!” and I just “had to meet him!”

Well I met him. Couldn’t really see the appeal, but hey, to each his own right?

The next time I met him, he crashed Tamara’s birthday which we held at a local park.

I did not immediately recognize the huge hairy guy, ( his Afro was big and only his eyes and nose peeked out of his wild beard) who came dressed in short shorts and a cut off t-shirt.

I was rather horrified “Who is that hairy guy?!”

I met up with him again at his older sister’s wedding.

I hadn’t realized that, not only was he huge (6’5″) and hairy, he was also very charming!

Hmmm. . . .

He’s a little less hairy these days, and, since mountains are in short supply on the prairies, I’ve decided that he’s more a woodsman than mountain man.

A very happy woodsman in the Kubota with our friend R at the cabin.

You know what he whispered to me as we took a wild ride through the bush in the cool dune buggy?

“I really want one of these one day!”

He hasn’t lost the charm. . .

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