I braced myself against the bitter cold as I followed my father through the knee-high snow.

“Pa, we should leave some of the supplies,” I shouted through the storm. “We will make better time without them!”

He turned, his face hardened by the cold. “No. You know as well as I do how important these supplies are. We have to pick up the pace.”

I looked down angrily at the snow in front of me but followed anyway. The snow striking my face reminded me of the dust at the homestead. I hate the homestead. Hours and hours of hard, dangerous work with the livestock and for barely any reward. Father had been a homesteader all of his life ever since his father settled the land over 50 years ago, the work runs in the family. Decades of work and we were still poor. My family couldn't even make it through the winter with what we had earned, that's why my father and I were out here.

My only escape from the homestead was the forest nearby. I had always loved the forest. From the pristine wild beauty to the quaint peaceful serenity, the forest had been a place where I could go to escape from responsibility. Often times while herding the cattle on the sunburnt grassland I would imagine lying in the shade of a pine tree with the sound of a crystal clear river in the background rather than the rumbling of hooves. I loved the vast expanse of the unknown just begging to be explored. Everywhere in the woods, there was something new and untouched by man. There never seems to be a pine grove or stream that’s the same. Besides the old trails made by the Indians, the forest has a way of reclaiming its own. It is amazing how nature tries to be as unpredictable as possible.

The overgrowth made it an ideal place for a child to explore. Building small forts where I could hide my secret treasures and paving secret trails that crisscrossed the terrain fueled my sense of adventure and exploration. As I grew older, I taught myself how to hunt and track prey.  I was taught how to use firearms and was given my own repeater on my 15th birthday. My father said that this was a sign of things to come as he was given a gun when he turned 15 and his father promised he would inherit the homestead. He said soon I would inherit what the family had worked so hard to build. I was horrified. More and more I was forced to work alongside him and the more often I would go into the forest. A month ago I brought home a buck. My father instead of being impressed or proud of me for my accomplishment was furious saying that I could’ve gotten myself killed and that I had a duty to the homestead and all who relied on it. Therefore, he barred me from running off or going to the forest on my own.

I  wanted to become a woodsman or a trapper as the townsfolk called them. I had heard the stories, read the books, and even met some trackers from the town. Nothing on Earth could compare to the life of a woodsman. They were men who were as much of the forest as the forest itself. They were free to explore the wilderness, live on their own terms, and bask in all of its beauty. I want to live off the land my way, not the way my father and grandfather had done before.

“Hurry up! You’ll get lost in this storm!” A voice woke me from my daydream.

I looked around and my father was nowhere to be seen, only a blank curtain of swirling white among the pine trees. I began to frantically search for him. I called out his name but the howling wind swept my voice away.

 I started to look for the tracks he made but the snow covered up any there might be. When I couldn’t find any, I tried to gauge my location. I didn’t recognize anything in this part of the forest. I couldn't see very far. The snow covered up all of the topography. I thought I was maybe six miles away from the town but couldn't be certain that I was going in the right direction. I began to panic and the supplies I carried felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Could all of my passion, my skills, and dreams come to waste? I continued to yell his name. I was alone in a cold, merciless, and cruel place. The independence and freedom that I had once loved and revered so highly had become my greatest enemy.

“There you are!” My father appeared right in front of me.

 “Stay with me or we’ll never get out of here!” I couldn't help but hear a twinge of anger in his voice.

“You belong at the homestead, we need you more than you know. It’s hard work but it’s more rewarding than you realize now at your age. That independence that your lookin’ for is nothing but smoke and mirrors. You will never stop working and struggling to survive in the wilderness, and when you think you are, it will find a way to destroy you.”

I opened my mouth to respond but he continued over me and started forward.

“You think that you are the only one with grand plans to tame this wilderness or somehow thrive in it? Your grandfather came out here in a search for riches, but he had lost enough and realized he had more than himself to provide for. That’s why he started the homestead. To provide for his family and to protect them from the reality of the world we live in. We have little but it’s more than he and many before us had so we are blessed. We can't waste what we have been given.” His voice was rising to be heard through the storm.

“The homestead might not give you that freedom but it gives you security. You’ll always have a roof over your head and someone to support you there. Neither of those is a given in this wilderness. You’re gonna want to start a family later and where’s the best place to do that? On a ranch or in a cave? You can’t be dependent on the wilderness to provide for you.”

I didn’t know what to think. I yearned the freedom from the restraints of the homestead that I would find in the forest but knew he was right. I was indignant. I wished he would have left me in the blizzard, let destiny decide if I thrived or died. He didn’t and here I am stuck in my own mental squall. To die freely, or to live securely. I can’t see the light through this storm.