It rained for the first time the other day. I guess it was four days ago. I hadn't written since the night before the rain. Every last drop was a blessing from above. There is a new smell, like one that comes in a cellophane wrapper in the shape of a Christmas tree, Mountain Rain. The good news was that my roof is decent. Some water got in, but not too much. Also, it was warm. That, mixed with the rain was so refreshing. The bad news, when the wind shifted the rain sideways, it pounded through my walls. The inside of the hut got soaked as if there were no walls at all. Taking advantage of the rain, I mixed up a mud hole. The mud, I used to patch holes in the walls. This took up a lot of my time over the past four days. It's incredible how time consuming that can be. By the time I'd finished mudding my walls, I had a four foot deep hole, two feet in diameter. I've got plans for that.
I've spent a lot of time, after dark, just sitting by the fire, braiding bark. Yesterday morning, I finished my second ten foot rope. I managed to tie up my bed, hanging it from the rafters. I wrapped the ropes around the rafters, hanging about four feet down, two sections at either end. I then tied each to a corner of my bed, and hung it hammock style. It was nice to get off the ground for once.
Last night, I was more comfortable in bed than any night since I got here. Although I don't know where, exactly, here is, I've adapted and realized that, until further notice, here is home. I had another vivid dream last night. Not one that I'm not sure if it was real, but one that has me questioning if it was a memory. It was all so familiar, and I was certainly in the moment.
It was that woman again. The beautiful one with the blue eyes that cared so much. There was a boy, quite a bit older than the one she was nursing the last time. They were out, working in a garden. It was a vegetable garden with rows of carrots, peas, beans, tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers, onions, peppers, and who knows how many other wonderful looking plants. The were harvesting what was ready. She, with her delicate, but worked, fingers, was picking tomatoes off the vine. He, at only three or four, picking and eating pea pod after pea pod, bush after bush. All of the sudden, the sky darkened. A storm moved in as if triggered by one pea pod being picked. She grabbed the boy, Scotty, I think she called him, grabbed her basket, and ran for the house. She had one hundred yards to cover, and was scrambling frantically to beat the imminent rain. She got about halfway when the skies opened up. It started pouring, and it began hard. By the time she reached the house, the rain had turned to hail, golf ball sized hail. She covered the boy's head to protect him, sacrificing her own well-being, and the freshly picked produce. The wind was picking up, whipping violently through the windows. I notice that I'm watching all of this from a pantry with no windows.
"Stay close, Scotty," she said, lowering him to the floor. "I don't want you near the windows. We need to find a safe place to hide out." She looked panicked.
I saw myself motioning to the boy, calling him towards me. Willingly, he came. Predictable, she chased him, basket in tow. When she was safely in the pantry, the door slammed shut. The wind continued to scream. The hail pounded on the roof and walls. We were safe. Hours passed in seconds, taking the storm with them. When all was quiet, she opened the door. What a beautiful sky. Straight above, it was clear blue, like her eyes. Off in the distance, the storm clouds had dissipated into remarkable whisps of clouds, dancing on the raindrops. There was but one problem with the view, she wasn't supposed to have it. She was standing in her kitchen, except she was standing on earth. She spent minutes marvelling at that fact. Here she was, standing in the middle of a wide open field seeing only her pantry and her garden. Hours earlier, there was a house surrounding the pantry, and a house to the left, and another to the right. Come to think of it, this was a busy street with hundreds of homes, and now, not one. Just a solitary room that I'd called her son to, and she followed, getting locked in in the process.
This was miraculous, without explanation. Fortunately, this was only a dream. It needed no explanation. It must mean something, having multiple dreams about a woman I don't remember. Like the last dream, I awoke wondering if this was a memory. Unlike the last dream, there was no direct communication between her and I. It's been an interesting week or so.
I am at the point where I don't really know what to do with myself. I've got a solid shelter, plenty of food, and a new friend. I go check the traps regularly. There's nothing in them, which is okay, since I'm pretty well stocked for food. I am starting to run a little low, though. On that note, I saw some deer signs the other day. They bed off the broken trail just past the brook. The strength and accuracy it would take to kill one would be remarkable. I'd be better off finding one dead already. Although, is something's going to kill a deer, I'll need to kill that.
I've been toying with the idea of making a bow an arrow again these past few days. The arrows are a simple concept, find a branch, whittle it down to size, make sure it's straight, apply a tip, add feathers. Scooter has been leaving a few floating around lately. I'm certain that I could successfully form a bow, as well. my problem is finding something to make the string with. I've considered using much finer pieces of bark, maybe white birch only. That would be increasingly tedious. I've even considered using some of the goat hair that I still have, but I'm not sure I'd have enough. I wonder if it would work if I could get a few long strings from my clothing. I've got a jacket that I haven't needed yet, and this polo shirt I've been wearing is a little long.
It's always easier to be resourceful when you have extra materials. In this instance, I don't. I may need to sacrifice a comfort that I currently have to get a necessity for survival. The thing that makes this choice difficult is the fact that I don't know where I am, and I don't know what time of year it is. Those two facts in combination make it difficult to judge what kind of clothing I'm going to need. The other thing making me nervous is that I'm not sure how to separate a single strand of string from my clothing, nor do I know if it will work.
It is possible that there are other options for how to capture food. I am clearly not a hunter, though I seem comfortable in the process. I am learning on a curve, gathering information I need when I need it. Who knows, maybe something will fall out of the sky for me today, eliminating my need to search for a new way to hunt. Obviously, I can't count on that happening, so it'll be another day of exploration.
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Day Eighteen
I didn't write yesterday. I really needed time to collect my thoughts. I talked to Scooter for a long while, trying to sort out the mass of information I had collected, or invented, over the previous twenty four hours. Really, I was just trying to clear my mind. After what must have been an hour and a half of carrying on, Scooter got up and flew off. I took that as a sign to go out and make something of my day.
I ventured off, down towards the brook, without much purpose. When I got to the brook, I decided to look around. I followed it south for a while. About a quarter mile downstream, it branched off in two directions - one to the southeast, one to the west. I decided to continue to the southeast. It just seemed and easier trail. There was no path, though, just less thick brush. Eventually, the trees began to thin out, and to my great surprise, the brook started to flow a little stronger. Soon, I could see a clearing. There was literally nothing ahead. It was getting much louder, too, like running water. I almost reached the clearing as I saw what was causing the extraordinarily loud noise. The brook, which had reconvened into a river, had reached a fifty foot cliff, and was pouring over into a large lake below. Even from the top, I could tell that it created quite a sight. I found a spot that I was able to climb down, and did so rather swiftly. The view from the lake was even more breathtaking.
Needless to say, I stripped down, and jumped in again. I swam as far out as I could, just to turn around and take in my location. As I assumed, there was a mountain. And, it was majestic. The woods went on, and on, and on. I'm pretty sure that if I managed to walk all the way through these woods, I'd end up in more before I'd ever reach a clearing. The river, even at its broadest point, was barely distinguishable. Quite impressive, the woods. I spotted a family of otter, and a few beavers swimming around, collecting supplies.
It was beginning to get dark as I emerged from the water. I knew I'd have to make good pace to make it easily back to camp tonight. I quickly got my pants and shoes on, and started climbing. Oddly, I haven't encountered and mosquitoes here. That's nice. As I approach the top of the cliff, I've planned to use the setting sun as my guide. I know I need to get northwest for a while, then continue to follow the water to where the brook is. If I can do that, I can make it safely home. I keep the sun to my left, while walking in the general direction. Eventually, keeping the water to my right, and trying to follow my own path of destruction, I make it back to the brook. Another hour, and I should be home. I took a short break for water and berries. Something smells strongly of garlic. Perhaps it's growing wild?
I made tremendous time getting back from the brook. I decided to forego building a fire, as it was already late. Besides, Scooter was already in the hut waiting for me. As I laid there in my bed, I pondered the previous twenty four hours. What I saw today proves that I may not be alone out here. However, I saw no evidence of anyone else. But, this place is vast, and there is plenty of room for many people. Did I dream up my guests? Are they he ones that I thought I'd heard around camp before? So many questions, and I don't even know where to start looking. I wish Scooter could speak.
I ventured off, down towards the brook, without much purpose. When I got to the brook, I decided to look around. I followed it south for a while. About a quarter mile downstream, it branched off in two directions - one to the southeast, one to the west. I decided to continue to the southeast. It just seemed and easier trail. There was no path, though, just less thick brush. Eventually, the trees began to thin out, and to my great surprise, the brook started to flow a little stronger. Soon, I could see a clearing. There was literally nothing ahead. It was getting much louder, too, like running water. I almost reached the clearing as I saw what was causing the extraordinarily loud noise. The brook, which had reconvened into a river, had reached a fifty foot cliff, and was pouring over into a large lake below. Even from the top, I could tell that it created quite a sight. I found a spot that I was able to climb down, and did so rather swiftly. The view from the lake was even more breathtaking.
Needless to say, I stripped down, and jumped in again. I swam as far out as I could, just to turn around and take in my location. As I assumed, there was a mountain. And, it was majestic. The woods went on, and on, and on. I'm pretty sure that if I managed to walk all the way through these woods, I'd end up in more before I'd ever reach a clearing. The river, even at its broadest point, was barely distinguishable. Quite impressive, the woods. I spotted a family of otter, and a few beavers swimming around, collecting supplies.
It was beginning to get dark as I emerged from the water. I knew I'd have to make good pace to make it easily back to camp tonight. I quickly got my pants and shoes on, and started climbing. Oddly, I haven't encountered and mosquitoes here. That's nice. As I approach the top of the cliff, I've planned to use the setting sun as my guide. I know I need to get northwest for a while, then continue to follow the water to where the brook is. If I can do that, I can make it safely home. I keep the sun to my left, while walking in the general direction. Eventually, keeping the water to my right, and trying to follow my own path of destruction, I make it back to the brook. Another hour, and I should be home. I took a short break for water and berries. Something smells strongly of garlic. Perhaps it's growing wild?
I made tremendous time getting back from the brook. I decided to forego building a fire, as it was already late. Besides, Scooter was already in the hut waiting for me. As I laid there in my bed, I pondered the previous twenty four hours. What I saw today proves that I may not be alone out here. However, I saw no evidence of anyone else. But, this place is vast, and there is plenty of room for many people. Did I dream up my guests? Are they he ones that I thought I'd heard around camp before? So many questions, and I don't even know where to start looking. I wish Scooter could speak.
Day Sixteen
Last night, after jotting my entry, I heard scuffling in the nearby brush. As I watched to see who, or what, was making the noise, Scooter dropped in, almost directly in front of the intruder. Fearing a fox, or even something bigger, I grabbed my spear and leaped into action. I shouted to Scooter to get into our shelter. Right at that moment, I saw a flash in the woods. Panic flashed, and my pace picked up. I was running full force towards the sound. As I got within a few steps of the treeline, a man steps out. I stopped dead in my tracks. Next thing I know, there's a woman by his side. I'm just standing there, gape-mouthed, staring. Nothing is said for quite a while.
"Who are you? What are you doing at my camp?", I finally stammered. "How long have you been watching me? Where are we?" I just kept going with the questions. They remained silent as I rambled, "What are you doing here? Did you kill someone, too? Do you have a camp nearby?" By this time, I think I might have been just talking to keep them from acquiring power. "What do you want? Why are you here? What were you going to do to my duck?" Finally, I ran out of breath.
Calmly, the man responds, "I am Peter."
"And, I am Theresa," the woman continues. "We saw your campfire going, and decided this was the best time to approach you."
"We first saw you two weeks ago, and have checked in a few times," continued the man. "Where we are is not important."
"You'll find the answers as you need them," the woman picked up as if on cue. This all seemed very scripted. She continued, "We are just watching over you."
"We mean you no harm. And, no, we haven't killed anyone," he chimed right in. "I'm certain that you haven't either."
"We do have a place up the mountain," she sounded almost welcoming. "But, we do not want any visitors."
"We just want to ensure your safe passage," said the man.
"Yes, we are here merely to give you guidance so that you can find your own way home." By now, she sounded like she was trying to sound mysterious.
Then the both laughed, "We mean no harm to your duck," said the man. "Scooter, was it?" I nodded. "we only wanted to speak with you."
Her face turned suddenly serious, "We just want to help you find your way home. You're a good person, but you're confused. You can find your way. You will find your way, but you need a light. We can help you. Just keep in mind what we've told you, and we will cross paths again."
At that, they both turned and headed out, through the trees, heading north. I finally caught my breath only to have Scooter flying right at me. I raised my arms just in time to cover my face. As he collided with my arms, I woke up. Yes, he was coming straight for my face, but I'd been asleep. There were no visitors. The Guardians of the Mountain didn't exist. I'd merely dreamed them up, perhaps just to ease my conscience. Either way, I've changed my mind. I may be here to be punished, but I'm being tested. It's not Job-like yet, but it could get there, and I'm prepared. The good news is that I don't have to be a wife beater or a murderer. I can wait to figure all that out. Like they said in my dream, I'll find my way.
Who are Peter and Theresa, though?
"Who are you? What are you doing at my camp?", I finally stammered. "How long have you been watching me? Where are we?" I just kept going with the questions. They remained silent as I rambled, "What are you doing here? Did you kill someone, too? Do you have a camp nearby?" By this time, I think I might have been just talking to keep them from acquiring power. "What do you want? Why are you here? What were you going to do to my duck?" Finally, I ran out of breath.
Calmly, the man responds, "I am Peter."
"And, I am Theresa," the woman continues. "We saw your campfire going, and decided this was the best time to approach you."
"We first saw you two weeks ago, and have checked in a few times," continued the man. "Where we are is not important."
"You'll find the answers as you need them," the woman picked up as if on cue. This all seemed very scripted. She continued, "We are just watching over you."
"We mean you no harm. And, no, we haven't killed anyone," he chimed right in. "I'm certain that you haven't either."
"We do have a place up the mountain," she sounded almost welcoming. "But, we do not want any visitors."
"We just want to ensure your safe passage," said the man.
"Yes, we are here merely to give you guidance so that you can find your own way home." By now, she sounded like she was trying to sound mysterious.
Then the both laughed, "We mean no harm to your duck," said the man. "Scooter, was it?" I nodded. "we only wanted to speak with you."
Her face turned suddenly serious, "We just want to help you find your way home. You're a good person, but you're confused. You can find your way. You will find your way, but you need a light. We can help you. Just keep in mind what we've told you, and we will cross paths again."
At that, they both turned and headed out, through the trees, heading north. I finally caught my breath only to have Scooter flying right at me. I raised my arms just in time to cover my face. As he collided with my arms, I woke up. Yes, he was coming straight for my face, but I'd been asleep. There were no visitors. The Guardians of the Mountain didn't exist. I'd merely dreamed them up, perhaps just to ease my conscience. Either way, I've changed my mind. I may be here to be punished, but I'm being tested. It's not Job-like yet, but it could get there, and I'm prepared. The good news is that I don't have to be a wife beater or a murderer. I can wait to figure all that out. Like they said in my dream, I'll find my way.
Who are Peter and Theresa, though?
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Day Fifteen
The last three days have been enlightening. I caught two raccoon, three rabbits, another chipmunk, and another fox in the traps, all on the second setting. I did try the fox. I will not be eating that by itself. It's a bit too gamey for my taste. However, mixed with chipmunk and some herbs, mainly ferns it's tolerable. Like I said, I refuse to waste these animals. I feel bad about killing them, I need to use as much as I can. I'm guessing that the flavor of the coons is not going to please me. I'm hoping that it is better than the fox, or at least no worse. I skinned the raccoon, and, after some thought, determined that I could turn the hide into fishing nets. I cut holes in it, about one inch square, to let the water flow freely through. Then, I smoked it to give it some girth. As for the new fox hide, I figured that it was about the right size for mittens. I don't know if I'll need them, but I'd rather be ready than caught red-handed.
The next day, I took my spear and my coonskin fishing net, and went on a hike along the river. I cut through my logging path. I did not reset my traps, although there were numerous fresh tracks. I'm hoping to find a new food source as I'm not overly keen on killing these little animals that already have little chance for survival. I made my way to the river, about one hundred feet north of the blockade that cuts it down to a trickle. Using some of my new braided vine, I tied off the fishnet to a nearby tree. I checked every two or three minutes for about twenty or thirty minutes without success. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. When I finally convinced myself to walk off and let it set, I realized that in two weeks here, I hadn't bathed. So, I went down by the natural dam, disrobed, and climbed in. It was so refreshing. I'm sad to report that I'm no David. I don't actually have a chiseled muscle on my body. The water was clear and clean, made me feel alive. I can't say that the cold water took anything away from the experience. After spending some time in the water, and admiring a couple of deer in a pasture on the other bank, I happened to look back towards where I'd left my clothes. There he was, standing there like he owned the forest. It would have been intimidating if not for the compassionate look in his eye. My duck friend returned. Just then, as if I was destined to know, I remembered the species - he was a young Surf Scoter. I decided to name him Scooter, mostly as a reminder, but partially because when I realized what he was, and mentioned the name, he scooted nearer to me. When I got out of the water, and re-dressed, I started to head back home. Suddenly, Scooter swoops around me, nearly knocking me over. I stood there, astonished. Then he scuttled back toward the river. I almost left him, then realized that he was breaking for the coonskin. I followed him back, only to find the net stocked with a multitude of fish. Just as in my dream over a week ago, there were perch, a few trout, at least one bass that I could see right off, and there, deep in the net was a salmon. This was quite a haul. I brought them back to camp, and cleaned them all off. Then, I put them back in the net and hung them from the rafters inside my new home.
That night, I had the oddest dream. there was a woman, maybe thirty, drop-dead gorgeous, brown hair, blue eyes, with the aura of a new mother. Even though I was unconscious, I felt a connection. She was running around, frantically searching for something. I tried yelling to her, to try to help, but she couldn't heat me. She continued to search, panicking more and more. She seemed afraid. Again, I tried to help, and again, she didn't hear me. All of the sudden, she stared crying. She just sat down and started sobbing. Tears poured out of her clear blue eyes, down her pale white cheeks. Her sobbing was real, as if she'd lost something important, dear to her heart. I wondered if she'd lost a child, but just then, the cry changed. Her's didn't stop, but another joined in. It was a child, and infant. She drew him in and said, "I'm sorry, Scotty, I want to give you the world, but I can't even feed you. I love you so dearly. I pray to God that I can give you what you need."
With that, I reached out and touched her softly on the shoulder. I was on the verge of tears myself. I thought, "Give him whatever you can, and he'll be alright."
At that moment, she opened her blouse, exposing a breast, which she offered to the child. He started to nurse, and the tears vanquished. Everyone was happy, mother providing, baby feeding.
I woke early yesterday. The sun was still at rest. Usually, when someone rises before the sun, they are either a farmer, due at work, or just troubled. I was none of the above. In fact, I was completely at peace with the world. I felt as though I'd made a difference. I know it was only a dream, but it felt as though I had given hope, and even life, to someone. As I sat in my hut reflecting and absorbing this feeling, Scooter had helped himself to a breakfast of perch. Even that didn't bother me.
After a while, I made my way outside. It felt good to actually notice going outdoors. In hindsight, I'd done it for a few weeks, but this was the first time I had really noticed. Outside, I laid back and looked at the stars, yeah, it was still that dark. They were magnificent. There was no moon, which accentuated their majesty. Laying there, I started to wonder, do I know the woman in my dream? Who was the child? Was this a repressed memory? I'd dreamed before, since I've been here, but only about this place. Maybe this woman and child were the people I thought I'd heard. While deep in thought, I noticed a shooting star, then another. I was up for this reason, I convinced myself. For five or ten minutes, this marvelous display continued. I soaked it in, hypnotized by it's wonder.
Later in the day, I made the connecting trek from my bathing hole to the brook. As it turned out, it is much quicker to go via the river than it is by the path. I found a small bamboo patch about halfway between the two. Seeing the bamboo triggered some sort of memory where I saw people using carved out bamboo stalks for a shovel. So, I returned to camp for my axe. It really is a great feeling when you realize that you are being both resourceful (out of necessity) and innovative (also, out of necessity, I suppose). I decided, after finding the bamboo patch that I'd give myself a day off. I brought with me, back to camp, an eight foot stalk of bamboo. I worked five feet of it into a shovel, although, in reality, it was more of an over sized scoop. With my next foot or so, I mad a cup for me to both transport and drink water. Until I find some fruit, that is all I will be able to drink. The last few feet of bamboo, I plan to attempt to make a pot with. It would be nice to be able to cook up a stew instead of simply slabs of meat.
I've been making some sold progress on my rope. Using various barks, and now soaking them prior to steaming, I've been able to make a pretty sturdy braid. I've managed to tie one end off to the roof of the hut. I hope to be able to put another up within the next few days. It'll be good to get up off the ground. I mixed up some coon eat with some trout. The fish was fantastic, nice and fresh, falling right off the bone; the raccoon gave it a bit of a spicy, rugged taste. It was actually better than the fox. Still, I'm going to hope, and search, for more conventional game. If I mix it up, I shouldn't disturb the ecosystem. Shortly after dinner, I fell asleep, which was refreshing. I awoke this morning, this time well after the sun, feeling well rested, undisturbed, and ready to go.
Evening, the fifteenth day
Solidarity, or isolation, is a funny thing. This morning, I was ready to go and embellish on the life I've worked on here. I searched around, collected some fern and some berries, huckleberry, I think. I roasted the fern, and ate it wrapped around the berries. Another "whip it together and hope for the best" meal. Actually, those are melding together much better lately. Anyway, solidarity. Over the past few days, Scooter and I had been nearly inseparable. When I finished my morning meal, he was gone. He was being a wild animal, I felt no obligation to track him down. I sat and waited for a while, and while I waited, I thought. It occurred to me that for the first time on this adventure, I'd be deserted. It felt odd, although there was no necessary loyalty. I thought of what my life would might have been, and why I was here, alone.
What I cam up was this. I was an only child, my father having left us when I was young, was out of the picture. That left only my mother and I. There was a male influence, perhaps an uncle, who helped me through scouts. That explains why I am so comfortable out here with no supplies to speak of. I went to college, probably a community college, and studied biology and some sort of mechanics or engineering. That would explain why I've yet to be poisoned by anything I've eaten, and how I've been able to construct the tools I've needed for survival. In college, I met a girl, perhaps the one from the dream. We were married at a lake, the week after we graduated. Only our closest friends were there, my mother, her parents, and her two older brothers, too. Our honeymoon was more of a week long party with family and friends at the lake, where her family gifted us a cabin.
Looking at myself, I'm assuming I'm about thirty, give or take two years. I figure that means we've been married for seven or eight years. They've been rough. She wanted kids, many kids. I wanted to focus on career, build a solid foundation for our life, then think about children. The wife and I fought a lot, about this and other normal things. One day, it escalates too far, I raise my hand to her, and the unthinkable happens. I strike her, then again, and again. Next thing I see, she's on the floor, and I'm kicking her, my eyes filled with rage, my heart with hatred. I storm off to the door, grabbing the keys to my pickup. I hop in the pickup, and blindly floor it, heading for the road. By now, I'm in a blind rage. Thump, thump! The truck jolts. Did I just hit someone? Was it her? I slam on the brakes, jump out, and go check. It's not her, thank God. But, I did hit someone, and he's still moving. I don't recognize him, but I see my wife in the window sobbing, seemingly for him. I give him a swift kick in the gut, hop in the truck, and peel out. Next thing I know, I wake up here, without anyone. Alone, as I deserve. I can think of no more deserving fate to give to a man than complete and utter isolation. Of course, I can't validate that scenario, and I'm not entirely sure I'm violent enough to do any of that. Nor do I know if I'm the type that would marry. But, that's the history I created for myself, and I'm here to be punished. At least, until I hear a better explanation.
The next day, I took my spear and my coonskin fishing net, and went on a hike along the river. I cut through my logging path. I did not reset my traps, although there were numerous fresh tracks. I'm hoping to find a new food source as I'm not overly keen on killing these little animals that already have little chance for survival. I made my way to the river, about one hundred feet north of the blockade that cuts it down to a trickle. Using some of my new braided vine, I tied off the fishnet to a nearby tree. I checked every two or three minutes for about twenty or thirty minutes without success. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. When I finally convinced myself to walk off and let it set, I realized that in two weeks here, I hadn't bathed. So, I went down by the natural dam, disrobed, and climbed in. It was so refreshing. I'm sad to report that I'm no David. I don't actually have a chiseled muscle on my body. The water was clear and clean, made me feel alive. I can't say that the cold water took anything away from the experience. After spending some time in the water, and admiring a couple of deer in a pasture on the other bank, I happened to look back towards where I'd left my clothes. There he was, standing there like he owned the forest. It would have been intimidating if not for the compassionate look in his eye. My duck friend returned. Just then, as if I was destined to know, I remembered the species - he was a young Surf Scoter. I decided to name him Scooter, mostly as a reminder, but partially because when I realized what he was, and mentioned the name, he scooted nearer to me. When I got out of the water, and re-dressed, I started to head back home. Suddenly, Scooter swoops around me, nearly knocking me over. I stood there, astonished. Then he scuttled back toward the river. I almost left him, then realized that he was breaking for the coonskin. I followed him back, only to find the net stocked with a multitude of fish. Just as in my dream over a week ago, there were perch, a few trout, at least one bass that I could see right off, and there, deep in the net was a salmon. This was quite a haul. I brought them back to camp, and cleaned them all off. Then, I put them back in the net and hung them from the rafters inside my new home.
That night, I had the oddest dream. there was a woman, maybe thirty, drop-dead gorgeous, brown hair, blue eyes, with the aura of a new mother. Even though I was unconscious, I felt a connection. She was running around, frantically searching for something. I tried yelling to her, to try to help, but she couldn't heat me. She continued to search, panicking more and more. She seemed afraid. Again, I tried to help, and again, she didn't hear me. All of the sudden, she stared crying. She just sat down and started sobbing. Tears poured out of her clear blue eyes, down her pale white cheeks. Her sobbing was real, as if she'd lost something important, dear to her heart. I wondered if she'd lost a child, but just then, the cry changed. Her's didn't stop, but another joined in. It was a child, and infant. She drew him in and said, "I'm sorry, Scotty, I want to give you the world, but I can't even feed you. I love you so dearly. I pray to God that I can give you what you need."
With that, I reached out and touched her softly on the shoulder. I was on the verge of tears myself. I thought, "Give him whatever you can, and he'll be alright."
At that moment, she opened her blouse, exposing a breast, which she offered to the child. He started to nurse, and the tears vanquished. Everyone was happy, mother providing, baby feeding.
I woke early yesterday. The sun was still at rest. Usually, when someone rises before the sun, they are either a farmer, due at work, or just troubled. I was none of the above. In fact, I was completely at peace with the world. I felt as though I'd made a difference. I know it was only a dream, but it felt as though I had given hope, and even life, to someone. As I sat in my hut reflecting and absorbing this feeling, Scooter had helped himself to a breakfast of perch. Even that didn't bother me.
After a while, I made my way outside. It felt good to actually notice going outdoors. In hindsight, I'd done it for a few weeks, but this was the first time I had really noticed. Outside, I laid back and looked at the stars, yeah, it was still that dark. They were magnificent. There was no moon, which accentuated their majesty. Laying there, I started to wonder, do I know the woman in my dream? Who was the child? Was this a repressed memory? I'd dreamed before, since I've been here, but only about this place. Maybe this woman and child were the people I thought I'd heard. While deep in thought, I noticed a shooting star, then another. I was up for this reason, I convinced myself. For five or ten minutes, this marvelous display continued. I soaked it in, hypnotized by it's wonder.
Later in the day, I made the connecting trek from my bathing hole to the brook. As it turned out, it is much quicker to go via the river than it is by the path. I found a small bamboo patch about halfway between the two. Seeing the bamboo triggered some sort of memory where I saw people using carved out bamboo stalks for a shovel. So, I returned to camp for my axe. It really is a great feeling when you realize that you are being both resourceful (out of necessity) and innovative (also, out of necessity, I suppose). I decided, after finding the bamboo patch that I'd give myself a day off. I brought with me, back to camp, an eight foot stalk of bamboo. I worked five feet of it into a shovel, although, in reality, it was more of an over sized scoop. With my next foot or so, I mad a cup for me to both transport and drink water. Until I find some fruit, that is all I will be able to drink. The last few feet of bamboo, I plan to attempt to make a pot with. It would be nice to be able to cook up a stew instead of simply slabs of meat.
I've been making some sold progress on my rope. Using various barks, and now soaking them prior to steaming, I've been able to make a pretty sturdy braid. I've managed to tie one end off to the roof of the hut. I hope to be able to put another up within the next few days. It'll be good to get up off the ground. I mixed up some coon eat with some trout. The fish was fantastic, nice and fresh, falling right off the bone; the raccoon gave it a bit of a spicy, rugged taste. It was actually better than the fox. Still, I'm going to hope, and search, for more conventional game. If I mix it up, I shouldn't disturb the ecosystem. Shortly after dinner, I fell asleep, which was refreshing. I awoke this morning, this time well after the sun, feeling well rested, undisturbed, and ready to go.
Evening, the fifteenth day
Solidarity, or isolation, is a funny thing. This morning, I was ready to go and embellish on the life I've worked on here. I searched around, collected some fern and some berries, huckleberry, I think. I roasted the fern, and ate it wrapped around the berries. Another "whip it together and hope for the best" meal. Actually, those are melding together much better lately. Anyway, solidarity. Over the past few days, Scooter and I had been nearly inseparable. When I finished my morning meal, he was gone. He was being a wild animal, I felt no obligation to track him down. I sat and waited for a while, and while I waited, I thought. It occurred to me that for the first time on this adventure, I'd be deserted. It felt odd, although there was no necessary loyalty. I thought of what my life would might have been, and why I was here, alone.
What I cam up was this. I was an only child, my father having left us when I was young, was out of the picture. That left only my mother and I. There was a male influence, perhaps an uncle, who helped me through scouts. That explains why I am so comfortable out here with no supplies to speak of. I went to college, probably a community college, and studied biology and some sort of mechanics or engineering. That would explain why I've yet to be poisoned by anything I've eaten, and how I've been able to construct the tools I've needed for survival. In college, I met a girl, perhaps the one from the dream. We were married at a lake, the week after we graduated. Only our closest friends were there, my mother, her parents, and her two older brothers, too. Our honeymoon was more of a week long party with family and friends at the lake, where her family gifted us a cabin.
Looking at myself, I'm assuming I'm about thirty, give or take two years. I figure that means we've been married for seven or eight years. They've been rough. She wanted kids, many kids. I wanted to focus on career, build a solid foundation for our life, then think about children. The wife and I fought a lot, about this and other normal things. One day, it escalates too far, I raise my hand to her, and the unthinkable happens. I strike her, then again, and again. Next thing I see, she's on the floor, and I'm kicking her, my eyes filled with rage, my heart with hatred. I storm off to the door, grabbing the keys to my pickup. I hop in the pickup, and blindly floor it, heading for the road. By now, I'm in a blind rage. Thump, thump! The truck jolts. Did I just hit someone? Was it her? I slam on the brakes, jump out, and go check. It's not her, thank God. But, I did hit someone, and he's still moving. I don't recognize him, but I see my wife in the window sobbing, seemingly for him. I give him a swift kick in the gut, hop in the truck, and peel out. Next thing I know, I wake up here, without anyone. Alone, as I deserve. I can think of no more deserving fate to give to a man than complete and utter isolation. Of course, I can't validate that scenario, and I'm not entirely sure I'm violent enough to do any of that. Nor do I know if I'm the type that would marry. But, that's the history I created for myself, and I'm here to be punished. At least, until I hear a better explanation.
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