The Green Riot: Last Call

Solidago spp., a photo by FreeManWalking on Flickr.

A crisp autumn wind has already blown across the glades
Pushing summer out, the new season ushers in a glowing yellow sunlight.
I have become a botanist at last, so many photographs, so many
Thumb smudges sifting through field guides
Identifying, classifying.
I have watched the green float up from the mud,
Grow, diversify, flower in over a hundred forms
Flowers with dozens of different scents to tempt the perfect pollinator.
But the bright, wet, dripping green of spring and summer are gone.
Now the Indian summer flares across the glades with one last warm breath before the long sleep.
The leaves turn dark, ripped by insects, blistered by the sun, a couple burnt by the first hint of frost on a chilly night.
The growing season was long. Now life is tired. The verdant riot needs a break.
The hickories, dogwoods and maples have one last brilliant show of yellow and red before they can shed their clothes and rest.
The coda to the season has peaked as the goldenrod, thoroughwort, and asters slowly wind down retiring one by one.
But the frailest of plants, the stonecrop, the heliotrope, the fame flower, have already gone, crumbling into the Earth after a successful season, only to return in the genetic matrix of seeds they left behind.

Me and Mazy

Me and Mazy, a photo by FreeManWalking on Flickr.

Hicking at Laurel Snow Pocket Wilderness

Anemone virginiana

Anemone virginiana, a photo by FreeManWalking on Flickr.

An interesting plant from last Saturday's foray into the glades...

Bee On a Milkweed

Bee On a Milkweed, a photo by FreeManWalking on Flickr.

I took this today at Stones River National Battlefield...the bees were drunk on nectar and oblivious to my prescence.

A Sasquatch story I wrote, ca. 2001...it's pretty damn good!

Something In The Woods

By

Billy Plant III

Going east on Highway 2 the Cascade Mountains rise up out of the earth big ragged and jagged.  On the western extreme of the mountains Wallace Falls can be seen from the road, spilling its water down hundreds of feet in the shadow of Mount Pilchuck.

            Jeff turned off the road by the sign for Wallace Falls State Park.  He drove back past a maze of dumpy houses and trailers until he reached the parking lot.  Nearly thirty cars sat in the lot.

            Kind of a busy day thought Jeff.

            The day was sunny, the high around 50, not typical March weather for the Cascades.  The only clouds were those that were too wet and heavy to glide over the very tops of the mountains, instead they hung there like a haloed ring.

            Jeff parked his ragged old truck (bought it used, he’d driven it for 6 years), slipped on a small back pack and took off on the trail.  For a quarter of a mile the trail ran under power lines and Jeff could hear the electric hum as if the lines above him were singing the Gregorian chant of civilization.

            The trail then veered from the power lines and into a stand of Douglas firs.  Ferns grew all over the ground, a highland river, sixty feet wide and strewn with large boulders ran by the trail.  Jeff greeted other hikers as he met them on the trail.  These were the faces behind the cars in the parking lot and Jeff figured there must be nearly a hundred people out here on the trail.  The solitude of the wilderness.

            But all the people were walking back, tired looking having hiked for hours, relaxed by Nature.  A young couple with a little girl and a toy dog were the only people he’d seen start the trail behind him.

            Jeff walked over little bridges and down the trail where the way grew dark with bigleaf maples, bare of their leaves and draped in a velvety, dry moss.  Then the trail wound back around into more Douglas firs and large ferns all over the ground.  He looked at the ferns with interest, some of them were nearly five feet tall.  Most of the firs were tall and spindly.  Interspersed among the living forest were the stumps, many of them six feet tall and four or five feet across.  These were the remnants of the primeval giants that stood here before the loggers came.  Imagine walking in a forest surrounded by trees like that thought Jeff.  But he didn’t have any ambivalence toward the loggers which must have passed through fifty years ago or more.  Back then, that was what was done. At least we still have the redwoods.

            He walked on up the trail, examining some of the strange flora in this place he was now living.  Jeff had moved out three weeks ago from Tennessee.  In high school he had worked at a nursery in the Sequatchie Valley.  After high school he’d spent two semesters in college at the University of Georgia; he majored in forestry.  But Athens proved to be too much fun.  He spent his time there drinking beer at the Kappa Sigma fraternity house and fishing in area lakes.  Irresponsible, but he didn’t fail anything.  His grades were B’s, even a couple of A’s.  But he knew things weren’t what he wanted them to be so he quit college that spring.  After that he moved back to Tennessee and worked in the nursery again.

            Two years passed and Jeff found himself making no forward motion.  He started looking into other possibilities.  Maybe move to some other part of the country and see something completely different.  After researching various locations on the Internet he settled on Washington or Oregon.  He asked Larry McCue, his boss and a nurseryman with many connections, if knew anybody who might hire him.  McCue knew a man who owned a garden center in Seattle.

            A letter of introduction and stellar recommendation, now here he was, walking through a dense forest in the Pacific Northwest on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

            His plans almost changed.  Two weeks before he planned to leave his grandfather suffered a heart attack.  It wasn’t too severe at first.  But tests were run and it turned out the old man had some serious blockage.  He talked with his family and, never being one to sit around and wait for trouble to find him, he opted to have bypass surgery immediately.

            In this world where open heart surgery has become a routine matter, the old man proved to be an exception to the rule, dying on the table.  The family went into a kind of shock.  From the old man walking to the barn, having chest pains to being dead under the knife took less than a week.  Jeff was a pall bearer.  His grandfather was the first person he’d ever lost that he’d been close to.  He told his family that he’d wait awhile before heading out West but they all said No, go on.  That’s what you were wanting to do.  Grandpa was excited about you getting to go out there anyway.  We’ll be alright here.  You can’t stop living your life just because somebody dies.  He had a good, long life and he’d want you to go on and live yours.

            As the trail grew steeper Jeff planted his heels into the ground as he walked.  His grandfather had shown him that trick once when they were climbing up a steep hill behind his house to fix fences.  “Why you gotta walk on yer heals not yer toes.”  The old man had been a forester, not the kind with a college degree (he only had an eighth grade education).  Instead of planning sustainable lumber policies he fought forest fires with shovels, chainsaws, bulldozers and tractors.  His job also included planting trees after fires to reforest razed areas.   Jeff remembered the big Georgia logger’s boots his grandfather wore.  They had high heels and long studs for holding firm on the roughest terrain.  He smiled at the idea that some of the alternative types today wore the same shoes around town.  Jeff was more of a Timberland kind of guy.  In the summer he wore sandals exclusively.  No socks.

            Looking up at the switchback ahead Jeff saw a pair of scrawny looking brown and white dogs coming toward him.  One paused at his leg not looking up at him.  Jeff rubbed the dog on the back of the neck.  Two ladies walked up together.  They were both pushing forty, one had short hair and was plump.  Lesbians, Jeff thought.

            “Are these basenjis you’ve got here?”

            “You’re observant,” said the woman with longer hair. “Most people don’t have any idea what they are.”

            “I like to watch the dog shows on TV.  I’ve heard they don’t bark, so what sort of sound do they make?”

            “Oh, its like a yodeling sound.”

            “They do it all the time at home.  You have to tell them to shut up some times,” said the woman with short hair.

            “I bet.”

            Jeff walked on and noticed that the light slipping away faster that he had expected. I wish I’d brought Maizy out here with me he thought.  Maizy was a smooth coated collie Jeff had left at his parents’ house in Tennessee.  He planned on bringing her out when he got all settled in.  She’d be good company out here today.

            To the right the forest was more open.  He could tell that it was the shoulder of the mountain.  After two more zigzags in the trail the forest parted into an overlook.  The creek rolled off the mountain to his left and dropped over two hundred feet.  He could see the pool into which the water fell and then he could see the small river he had walked by two and a half miles back.  The river was several hundred feet below where he now stood.  Must be another fall below that pool he thought.  The sun was bright, setting on the ridge between the two snow capped peaks in front of him.  He looked at the mountains, rocky, jagged, snow capped.  That’s a different kind of mountain he thought.

            The mountains he had grown up with were older, steeply walled but flat on top.  In actuality the Cumberland Plateau wasn’t mountains at all.  It was the product of erosion that washed away the surrounding land, leaving stark, blue tablelands that towered 1500 feet above the valleys below.  The Sequatchie Valley where Jeff had grown up was the most beautiful portion of the plateau.  But the beauty is quiet, subtle.  The landscape in front of Jeff now was hazardous, striking.  Mountains thrust up, out of the belly of the earth, high enough to kiss the sky and snag the clouds.  These mountains were not old and worn, they were young and jagged, as dangerous as youth and as untamable as the mighty powers that made them.

            This was the landscape that could inspire a young person, and make him or her feel it necessary to break through the imaginary boundaries that until that point had held them back from whatever it was they were capable of achieving.  There is a reason pictures of mountains are prominently displayed in business offices, art galleries, and churches.

            Jeff thought on these things for a few minutes, standing alone at twilight, overlooking a waterfall.  The last crescent of the sun dipped behind the ridge.  Darkness came on fast now.  Jeff breathed in deeply one time, forming a last image of the scene and then turned around to walk back.

            He walked fast down the trail, past the spindly trees in the great forest of firs.  He didn’t look around now as he had done all the way up.  Besides, the thick canopy above shut out most of what little daylight remained.

His mind inadvertently wandered to moose, bears and wild boars.  He wasn’t sure if any of these animals were present in this area but he reasoned that the Cascades are wild mountains and anything could be out here.  He pulled out his pocket knife.  A Case XX with blue-bone handle given to him by his grandfather two years ago at Christmas. Jeff examined the blade with his thumb to check how sharp it was.  Still pretty sharp. While his grandfather was on the operating table Jeff had sat in his truck for forty-five minutes sharpening the knife on a whetstone.  Back and forth, shiiick, shiiick.  The monotonous sound was as tense as he had been that day.

After half an hour Jeff began to stumble in the dark.  He folded the blade and put the knife back in his pocket.  It wouldn’t do to drop it and loose it or fall on the blade out here.  The trail was completely dark now and as bad as he hated to admit it Jeff didn’t like the dark.  He didn’t mind it when he was with somebody, but alone at night, far off, out in the woods by himself…Jeff wished he could quit thinking about being out in the woods, alone, at night, far out in the woods, by himself…

Once he’d gotten lost in the woods.  He had been out coon hunting with a friend of his.  Most of their “hunt” had been spent drinking beer listening to the dogs run and bay higher up on the mountain.  After a couple of hours Jeff and his friend noticed that their dogs had split up and they could both be heard baying somewhere in the night.  “They both got something treed,” said his friend. They split up to find the dogs.  After what seemed like forever walking up the mountainside, zigzagging back and forth in the dark around rocks and trees and briar thickets, Jeff’s light burnt out and being a new moon, he was left stranded in the dark.  That night he calmly decided to sit there until daylight.  At some point something walked by snorting and grunting.  Later people told him that it had probably been a deer but since that time Jeff hadn’t liked to be out in the woods alone at night.  But I don’t need to think about that right now.  It can’t be too much farther.  Then when I get out I’ll stop and get me a cup of java.  Hot java.  Yeah Baby.  I hope they haven’t shut that gate to the park.  That would suck.

Jeff heard twigs snap and the brush of foliage in the dark woods.  He held his breath and froze in his tracks.  What the hell was that?  Some animal, just out doing its thing.  Keep walking.

Jeff thought about his friend Jesse who had worked with him at the nursery for a summer.  Jesse was from Alaska and had told him about a couple of different times when he’d been chased by moose and once was charged by a grizzly bear.  “Nature is in your back yard up there man,” Jesse had said.  “If you’re going to get out and do cool stuff you just have to be ready for whatever comes your way.  Most encounters are harmless and just make for good stories.”

So that’s it Jeff told himself.  If anything’s out there its natural and everything’s cool.  Up ahead Jeff heard the gurgle of the river running over the boulders.  The trail opened up at this point and moonlight from a rising moon lit the way brightly.  The moon can be glaringly bright when there isn’t any light pollution around.

Walking by the water Jeff heard the sound of motion again in the night forest. This time he felt a presence also.  It must be a throw back to our subhuman predecessors that life can be detected when it is around you.  Some sort of biotic radar that picks up an imminent threat or potential prey.  Whatever the source of this consciousness Jeff knew that something alive was near him.  Even the smell was different.  Not just the musty smell of the woods.  Now there was an animal odor as well.

Jeff stood still for a moment, biting his finger.  It’s got to be a deer or something. Just be ready for it to turn and high tail it out of here when you get right up on it.  I’m sure its just getting a drink of water.  I kind of hate to disturb it.

Slowly he started walking again then he saw something move.  It walked behind one of the large stumps from the forest of mighty trees that had once stood here.  Jeff stopped.  There was no way to get around it since the stump was right beside the trail. The only way would be to walk up the hillside but leaving the trail would be foolish.  The air was too cold to risk spending the night lost in the woods.

After a couple of minutes Jeff thought hell I can’t stand here all night.  Whatever it is I know is likely scared of people so I’ll just go on up there and scare it off.  He started walking.  He walked with forced confidence. He began to yaw and holler and wave his arms as if he were shewing cattle into a chute.  Then the creature stepped out from behind the stump.

For a couple of seconds Jeff froze, amazed, unable to move, not able to scream. Just eyes filled with terror.  In front of him stood a creature seven feet tall with a heavy build and long, wild hair all over its body.

Then the scream came.  It wasn’t the shrill scream of a woman in a horror movie. It was the life-and-death scream of a terrified animal.  The scream an early human might have screamed when taken by a lion or a crocodile.

*                                                          *                                                          *

Jeff awoke suddenly and stiffly.  Panicked, he looked around.  No sign of the sasquatch.  He oriented himself on the trail and walked fast, half running through the darkness.  He breathed shallowly, nearly hyperventaling.  He sobbed and whimpered as he ran.  Through tears and darkness he couldn’t see.  He ran into an overhanging tree limb and fell down.  Muddy with torn jeans and a skinned knee he got up.  He could taste the blood in his mouth from a busted lip. Iron salt taste of blood that lets you know you’re alive.  Life doesn’t get much more real than that.

He collected himself for a moment and then started walking again, now more slowly.  He could already see the opening where the trail widened out under the power lines.  He felt he’d made it.

Oh my God he thought. That was so weird.  That was, holy shit.  He was still having a hard time catching his breath.

When the trail opened up beneath the power lines Jeff jogged the remaining quarter mile back to his truck.  He could here dogs barking in the distance at the dumpy little houses that he’d passed on the way in.  The power lines still hummed.

My god.  He was out of breath.  His mind was racing a thousand miles an hour when he reached his truck.

I hope the gate’s open.  He started his truck and didn’t give it time to warm up.  It died.  He started it again.  This time he let it run about thirty seconds before putting it in gear.  The whole time he flipped through the radio stations.  Lover…wha...boom…baby...I get…wha...buzzzz…wha… love…don’t need you….

The gate was open.

By the time Jeff had driven a few miles and was back on the main highway he had calmed down.  He breathed somewhat normal again and his heart didn’t feel like it was about to explode.  He pulled off the road at a drive through espresso stand.  Rather than drive through he parked and walked up to the window.  He really needed to see and talk to another human being but if anyone had asked him he couldn’t have exactly said why.

“Can I get a large black coffee please,” he said, smiling at the lady operating the stand.

“Sure.”

He looked at the postcards in the stand by the window.  One of them showed a creature walking through deep woods, face turned toward the camera as it passed the photographer.  Except for the face the creature in the postcard didn’t look too different from the one he had just seen.  I SAW BIGFOOT was written across the top in red letters.

“I’d like one of these too,” Jeff said, laying the postcard down on the counter.

“Humph,” the woman gave a little chuckle.  “ Here’s your coffee sweetie.”

“Do you sell many of these?”

“Oh yeah.  Lots of people come through here wanting to know about Bigfoot.”

“I guess so.  He’s one of the things the Northwest is known for.”  Jeff took a sip of coffee. “That’s good.”

“Glad you like it.”

Jeff picked up his postcard.  He turned to walk off then paused, turned around and held up the photo.

“By the way, tell them he doesn’t look like that in the face.”  The woman smiled.

And when the truck had driven away, she felt very alone in the dark night.            

             

Spider Killing Moth On A Coneflower

Spider Killing Moth On A Coneflower, a photo by FreeManWalking on Flickr.

You Withhold Your Love

You withhold your love
when that little thought crossed your mind
of that small deed that would have put a smile
on the face of someone you care about.
Not neglectful, just refusing, you don't
drop that person a little message that let's
them know they are in your thoughts,
that something about their life has touched yours.
You withhold your love
not out of laziness but the need to maintain power
or control of a relationship,
when the too honest little message would
(you think) tip the scales of balance, your power no longer absolute.
You withhold your love so long till finally, through death or loss of interest,
No one cares anymore.