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.
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