Chapter III: The Lumberjack Prepares The Grounds

Long before the lanterns were lit...

Long before the first game was played...

There was work to be done.

No one knew the forests surrounding Boron better than The Lumberjack.

Every autumn, before the carnival arrived, he could be found deep among the towering maples and ancient pines, clearing fallen trees, widening old wagon paths, and making certain the roads remained safe for another season of visitors.

It wasn't glamorous work.

But it was honest work.

And honest work had always suited him just fine.

Each swing of his axe echoed through the forest, followed by the familiar crack of timber surrendering to the earth.

The scent of fresh-cut maple drifted through the cool morning air.

He paused for a moment, closed his eyes, and smiled.

There wasn't another smell in all the Lost Isles that reminded him more of home.

Fresh maple.

Cool mornings.

Golden leaves.

Woodsmoke rising from distant chimneys.

To him...

That was autumn.

As the first wagons of the carnival appeared over the ridge, The Lumberjack rested his axe against a weathered stump and waved with a broad grin.

"They're right on time."

Every year he looked forward to their arrival.

The carnival wasn't just another event.

It marked the beginning of the season everyone in Boron loved most.

Soon the forests would blaze with crimson and gold.

The evenings would grow colder.

Families would gather around warm fires.

Neighbors would share hearty meals after long days of work.

Children would spend their afternoons exploring the woods before racing into town as the carnival lights came alive against the evening sky.

It was the best time of year.

Without hesitation, he joined the carnival workers.

Massive canvas tents rose beneath strong hands.

Heavy wooden poles were lifted into place.

Lengths of thick rope were pulled tight.

Fresh-cut logs became sturdy benches.

New wooden fencing surrounded the midway.

Decorative archways were raised at the entrance.

By sunset, what had been an empty field that morning had become something extraordinary.

Strings of warm lanterns stretched from pole to pole.

Colorful banners danced in the breeze.

The scent of kettle corn, roasted pecans, cinnamon apples, and fresh baked pies drifted across the valley.

The Ferris wheel stood proudly against the crimson sky.

Everything was ready.

The Lumberjack wiped the sweat from his brow and admired the finished grounds.

It never grew old.

Watching a simple field transform into a place where memories would be made was a reward all its own.

He glanced toward the surrounding forest.

The maples had already begun changing.

The first brilliant reds and fiery oranges painted the hillsides.

Another beautiful autumn had arrived.

He smiled to himself.

"If the weather holds..."

he said quietly,

"...this may be our finest season yet."

He rested his axe over his shoulder and took one last look across the carnival grounds before making the walk home.

May the forests remain calm.

May the harvest be plentiful.

May the roads stay clear.

And may this autumn bring nothing but laughter, good memories, and another season that comes and goes...

...without a hitch.