A tiny trail of smoke rises from the man's cupped hands as he gently blows a steady stream of air into the nest of frayed jute and char cloth he holds. Urging the little red spark in the black square of cloth to ignite, a flame soon flares up and the man gently places the bundle under a teepee of twigs waiting on the ground in front of him. The wows and quiet applause coupled with a few "I want to do that" remarks, murmur through the little group sitting in a circle around the scene. Ed Kennaday smiles and starts pulling fascinating trinkets from his leather bag that hangs from his shoulder. The majority of the audience are children, some as old as 60. Ed explains the steps of making a fire from flint and steel, watching the "want to" ignite in the observers. He coaches each child with gentle speech and kind hands, encouraging each one to success.
This is only one of many memories of my friend who passed last week. I have memories of Ed that aren't quite as tame as this one, but just as fun. I was at the rendezvous when he "jumped the broom" with Joni. That was a night to remember.
I remember the midnight mountain man call at rendezvous, "Waaaaagh!" which usually resulted in a domino effect, with several heads coming out of the teepee or tent door to yell with him. Of all the mountain men I've met, and there have been many, he was my favorite.
Ed had many sides to his personality including a sense of humor, love for kids, a love for nature and especially for his wife, Joni, and an intense loyalty to his family and friends. He shared of himself freely. Ed had no problem telling you when you messed up, but he was also quick with praise when a lead ball hit its target, or your tomahawk split the card. He loved to teach, and share his knowledge of mountain man history, skills, and lore. Many years I've sat cross-legged in the dark, at the edge of a trade blanket that Ed was in charge of. Lit by the dim flicker of candles, surrounded by kids and adults, he would run the blanket trade making sure every kid made a good deal. It wasn't unusual for him to toss something way more valuable onto the blanket in a trade, making the winner feel like they'd won the lottery. He made it clear that it was for kids, not adults. Grown ups were allowed to throw something out to trade, but the kids had to initiate the deal. He was the Booshway for many years at our local rendezvous. I was honored a few years ago, when he handed the torch to me to take care of the trade blanket because he wasn't feeling well. Ed spent all day helping people at rendezvous, on the gun range, teaching kids how to do beading work on leather, and start fires. He also would run the tomahawk and knife throws. After Josh took over as Booshway, Ed didn't stop teaching or helping. Coaching kids or sitting with friends around the council fire telling stories, he was always there, and now he isn't. Rendezvous will not be the same.
Another important memory of Ed was when he rescued me from a very serious situation. I was in a bad spot, that most likely would have resulted in me being injured. Ed somehow knew, even though I wasn't in view of the crowd, he knew and he came to my aid. He stepped in front of me, gently pushing me out of the way and took control of the issue, settling it without much ado. I never forgot that, and neither did he. Every once in awhile he'd check on me, just to make sure I was OK. I suspect he had others that he kept an eye on too. That's the kind of man he was. A guardian angel in buckskins.
I can picture him sitting around a campfire, in those glorious mountains in Heaven. He's with other mountain men that have passed from our little group, Joe Morrison, Les Daniels, Mike Underwood, and others. I can hear the raucous laughter, and the crackling of a fire, the scent of bratwurst or burgers wafting across the meadow, an occasional scrape of a chair as one of them gets up to poke the fire and throw another log on the blaze.
It's time to say goodbye, but goodbyes are sad, so I'll just say hello. Hello to a new adventure my dearest friend Ed. Keep your powder dry and your cache safe. You will never be forgotten by the thousands of lives you touched and friends you made.
Reader Comments(0)