Spring Scout on Salt Creek

23 April
Morning mist swirled through the trees as I silently placed one foot in front of the other along the trail. My destination, the Story Inn and Ordinary was not far ahead and I was looking greatly forward to a cup of hot coffee. Though the days past had been unnaturally warm, the predawn chill and rain  reached its bony fingers deep inside my coat and left me shivering. Suddenly, through the trees shrouded in the fog my destination loomed darkly before me. No warm glow to meet me, no delicious smell of hot coffee, only a thick door solidly bolted against visitors in the night, or apparently the darkest hour of the day.

I shuffled my feet and hrumphed a few times hoping some generous soul inside would perhaps hear me and come to throw back the bolt and welcome me out of the rain. Once I realized my shuffling and hrumphing was to no avail I addressed myself to a chair upon the porch, huddled into the blanket I'd pulled from my bedroll and commenced to wait. Wait for the proprietor, wait for my friend Captain Jim Jacobs, wait for the other fellows who had determined to join this adventure, wait for any sign of life on this cold morning. I'd not long to wait since I'd set my standards so low; a large  and seemingly well fed black and white cat slunk upon the porch and promptly launched it's substantial girth into my lap. Normally, I'm not overly inclined toward felines, however this one was warm and willing to rest upon my lap allowing me to warm my hands by petting her silky fur. Clearly, this was no scavenger reliant upon her own devices. Her purring covered the growl in my stomach.

An hour passed slowly as the cat and I kept company and the sky began to transition from blackness to a lumpy gray. The rain slackened off to a fine mist once more and just as my eyes began to feel impossibly heavy I heard the crunch of stone beneath Captain Jacob's foot. The cat leaped from my lap as my head jerked up and I wobbled to a stand, horrified I'd been caught napping. Fortune and fog was on my side and I met Captain Jacobs and Mr. Terry Perkins alongside the road, them none the wiser to my catnap.

The Captain greeted me stoically as is his habit and informed me the rest of the men were assembled but a few miles ahead. Together, we three bemoaned the fact the innkeeper had not seen fit to rise with the sun to provide us with warmth and coffee. Nothing could be done, so we set off for the banks of the Salt Creek.

Shortly we arrived in the company of the others who had chosen to accompany the Captain in his spring expedition. My dear friend Mr. Jay Henderson reclined aside a small fire cooking a side of bacon in a small pot, Mr. Jay Babcock and Mr. Bob Burke were similarly relaxing and enjoying coffee. Mr. Perkins quickly landed a pot of chocolate laced with only a taste of coffee.  I was certainly glad of the fire, the coffee and a bite or two of the fine offerings. Soon, the captain brought forth maps and we began a study of our surroundings and our destination.

It was determined Misters Henderson, Babcock, Burke and Perkins would travel the waterway, whilst Captain Jacobs and I were to journey afoot. Meeting points along the way were chosen and rapidly the remains of our early morning repast were stowed in bedroll, pack, and seabag, and we set forth.

Our pace was rapid and the captain and I made excellent time as we made our way through the marsh bottom lands. Conversation was relatively scarce as we each took in the scene around us. Spring had been well sprung in this lush area, flowers, green buds and even leaves were in full bloom. Being a farmer when not on expedition, the captain was a fine companion and had a ready answer to each and all of my queries. On we walked until we came upon the first of our meeting places alongside the creek.

Afore long our water faring companions arrived. Mr. Babcock and the others climbed to our level and we briefly discussed our next turnings and trails. It was agreed Captain Jacobs and I would remain on land but were we not to arrive at the next meeting place we would return to this location an await the return of one of the boats to ferry us to the next passage.

Again, Jim and I set a steady pace, until we were forced into what I can only describe as "the hells along the creek."

To be continued... in an upcoming edition of On The Trail Magazine.

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The Pursuit of Happiness

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness"

Indeed, we hold these truths to be self evident, yet for one exception; the exclusion and omission of women in this congressional declaration. For certainly, women are equally endowed by our Creator with these self same Rights. It was the sole intention of a small group of like-minded and unconventional women to take delight in Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness in the manner of a short scout in the wilds of Kentucky. 

Months were spent quietly planning and preparing. Letters were exchanged, concerns raised, fears addressed, and a few of the women who initially planned to join the adventure found themselves unfortunately unable to make the journey.  The remaining six of us gathered blankets,dried foods, smoked meat, made moccasins, and counted the days.

March 23

Finally, unburdened by men or children, we six hearty souls came together on the edge of the civilized world and swiftly departed for savage lands. Our small party was comprised of two Metis women; Ete deLavonde (Summer Chriswell) and Christina Langstein, three Daughters of Liberty; Beth Ehlert, Jill Frost and Lisa Jo Crews, and myself.

The Metis women had traveled far from the furthest western reaches of any civilization from places with the strange and foreign sounding names of "Colorado" and "Utah." I cannot begin to imagine such places, but if these women are examples of what one might expect, I feel certain they are fine places indeed. For these women, excusing the curse of their Indian influences, seemed quite civilized and capable in the woods.

Ah dear me! How could I possibly leave out our best and finest companion, dear little Rowdy who was brought by Lisa Jo. A mere pup of eight weeks, she was a sweet and entertaining darling dear we all  took great pleasure in! Her constant antics were a source of great amusement for us, particularly in the morning hours when she tempted fate and jumped unbidden upon covered heads!

Together, our party of adventurers set off along a trail I had traveled a time or two before and knew to be strenuous but well within our means. Carrying our  possessions upon our backs we carefully made our way through the wooded land, with ever a watchful eye upon the clifftops, the game trails, and of course our back trail to be certain no man nor beast should take us unawares. 

A cursed rain dampened belongings, wool cloaks, Metis matchcoats and even my beloved Lucky, our primary source of protection against molestation from any four or two legged kind. Though we found ourselves quite soaked, our spirits never dampened for a moment and the sound of laughter surely protected our small company from any four legged creatures. Indeed, there were no creatures but ourselves to be seen in this downpour, the rest of the forest's many inhabitants surely stayed hidden well nested in their homes. 

Yet, still we slogged on through the rain, knowing a fire, some warm food and a bit of Mistress Crew's famous blackberry bounce and my rum punch were in our future. 

Though the trail had begun quite easily, soon we found ourselves making a steep ascent causing each of us to take a necessary rest. As we ascended the highest clifftops, I made the decision to cache a few of our belongings in a well covered outcropping, allowing us the use of both hands as we climbed the treacherous rocks. Knowing there were two paths ahead, I asked if the ladies if they wished to take the shorter but much more strenuous climb or the longer but easier path. To no one's surprise, the group unanimously agreed upon the shorter climb. Ahhh, now that was a choice only made once! 

The climb along the clifftops was steep, slick with rain, and far more difficult than perhaps the ladies had anticipated, yet without fail, each of us managed unassisted, well satisfied with ourselves.

Our skills had been much tested! The rhythmic pounding within our hearts matched the quaking of our winter softened muscles and each of us were grateful beyond compare when the last rock ledge was summited and we arrived safely but out of breath at our destination. I believe it is fair to say each of these fine women had their breath quite taken away as they surveyed our temporary housing, fine as it was. The collective "Ooooh's" and "Ahhhs" were greatly satisfying to me as the leader of this little expedition. All were well satisfied and perhaps even impressed with the living conditions I'd prepared for our small group.

To call this a rock house is a severe disservice, perhaps rock castle or rock palace would better describe the  magnificence of our shelter. Further, knowing full well our paleolithic sisters had once inhabited this very space was nearly overpowering. The sleeping areas were well defined, shelves and niches perfect for our small accouterments were abundant, as were seats carved out of the soft sand stone. 

But perhaps the most stunning remnant left for our discovery by our ancient sisters was the existence of a "hominy hole" burrowed into the large table rock. I imagined a woman from ancient times, grinding corn day in and day out, deepening the hole with each time she crushed the corn to feed her family. T'was almost a mystical connection to our past and I daresay t'was felt by all of us. 

Once we'd established our "rooms," divested and stowed the majority of our belongings it was time to begin exploring the glory of our surroundings. We left Mistress Crews and Rowdy well ensconced within the palace to keep watch over our small accouterments while we made the journey down to retrieve our cache of items left behind on our initial ascent. Of course it nearly goes without saying the rain had not let up, yet we were neither perturbed nor deterred.

Our explorations led us to many natural beauties. The most magnificent of which was the unexpected appearance of a stunning double rainbow. The rain and clouds cleared off and the remainder of the afternoon was lovely. We encountered any number of odd and unusual flora we could not identify but found most intriguing.  Not knowing the possible dangers of such bounty we did not collect any to eat, but it surely was time to eat! We returned to Lisa Jo, Rowdy and our lovely rock palace just before the sun set. 

Christina easily laid a hasty fire in the fire ring and t'was not long before we had plenty of coals to heat our fine meal. We had provisioned well and had plenty to share amongst ourselves. Later, beside the crackling fire we looked out over the tree tops and admired a million twinkling stars. The entire night sky looked for all the world as if God had flung a million diamonds into the sky simply for our pleasure. Many stories were told and laughter rang out late into the night whilst the bottles of wine, rum punch and bounce were freely passed from one to the other.

Comfortable in our home we relaxed, but remained ever watchful aware danger could come upon us at any time. 

Night wore on and the peals of laughter seemed to subtly fade away as the stories turned from school girl humor to tales of ghosts past and present. Each of us pulled her wool blankets to her chin and flatly refused to admit the tiny hints of fear which crept upon us. 

But all were deeply frightened as the first and completely unexpected flash of lightning filled the entire rock palace with its blinding light. The clap of thunder which followed was mind numbingly loud as it filled the furthest recesses of our shelter and bounced back out over the canyon, echoing the sound over and over and reverberating with such intensity we felt it within our very bones!! 

Grateful were we of the tiny light of our candles and the fire to bring us some small comfort as the storm raged just outside our magnificent palace. Nary a drop landed upon us as we snuggled closer to one another or under our blankets. Flashes of lightning seemed to strike mere feet from our perch over the trees and there is no doubt our heads were filled with dire possibilities: hurricane force winds pulling all of us out into the night; complete cave collapse flattening us all, or any number of other nightmares.  I worried the next strike of lightening would be the last we'd ever see! But I can honestly assure you one and all; not once did I or my fearless sisters give voice to our thoughts. Not one peep escaped tight lips, and not one scream escaped through the long storm. Sleep came and went like a forbidden lover throughout the long night leaving each of us wishing for more. 

TO BE CONTINUED in an upcoming edition of On the Trail Magazine...

The author would like to thank each of these fine women for being fearless in their pursuit of happiness! 

Mistress Winter

Mistress Winter hath carelessly thrown her glistening white cape over hill and dale. Tiny black eyes of woodland creatures slowly blink as each sparkling flake tumbles to the ground. This lovely blanket of Mistress Winter's choosing is snugged over nest, branch and grass.

Through the misty morning a ray of sunlight is cast upon a lone rabbit's tracks, and deep below the bows of a cedar his mate awaits his return.

The day hath quickly passed and now the wind howls and trees moan, I clutch my blanket to my chest and regret most sincerely this night I shall be alone.

 

The candle wavers nearly extinguished, yet rather in my mind's eye I see a tiny cabin filled with firelight. Shadows dance upon the walls, together my love and I. Whispered words, a laugh, a sigh. Sweet memories held close to warm me until once again together we shall be. 

The shutters smash into the glass, the pleasant reverie hath passed. Another blanket I pull to chin as I lie in my bed, alone again.

And deep below the cedar tree, a single pair of eyes slowly blink while her fur ruffles in the wind.

The Lost Scout

Darkness came on fast that November night. Stars began to twinkle in the night sky even as the sun’s last rays winked into oblivion. Autumn was fully upon us with its shortened days and unpredictable weather. The day which had just been extinguished had held reminders of summer’s sweet warmth, particularly in sunny patches of the forest. Yet, with the setting sun all such reminders had been whisked away, replaced by a deep chill which promised a long night.

I continued to hurry-scurry down the unfamiliar trail hoping against hope I’d not miss my friends entirely. Captain Jacobs had been clear in his instruction; we were to assemble at the appointed area at five of the clock. We would launch for a temporary camp along the creek Friday night, hunt Saturday morning and move on to a station camp Saturday afternoon. Yet, if my pocket watch were to be trusted, five had been gone round entirely and the hands were now closer to seven. I knew the main party of the expedition would have gone on without me, all but Mr. Egener who had graciously promised to await my arrival, regardless of the time. Although I felt horrible for holding him back, I was especially thankful for his kindness as I trudged through the dark night. 

Time and darkness seemed to be turning against me, as did the map. My eyes, which had once been keen even in the dark, had begun to blur with age and now I found I could barely read jumble of lines and words. Regardless of how close to my face or how much I squinted, I simply could not make out the path I was to take. Frustrated, I began to question why I had done this to myself, let alone to my friend who was (I hoped) patiently waiting.

A few more miles and my doubt and frustration doubled, I squinted again at my map and discovered a turning I had surely missed! For heaven sake, it seemed I could not see far away either! Age is a great betrayer, aided and abetted by my failing eyes! I turned to retrace my steps, this time with my pathetic eyes peeled even more widely. Ha! There it was! The turn onto Crooked Creek Road which I’d missed. 

I carried on with a watchful eye. Good thing too, for it wasn’t another mile afore I chanced upon a gent walking the road toward me his riflegun clubbed, gamebag empty. I clutched my own firelock, checked the prime and began to whistle a tune, thinking not to startle the man and cause my own demise.  The gentleman doffed his hat and admonished me for tarrying upon the path in the darkness. I assured him of my intent to meet with a party of hunters and inquired if he hadn’t come across them himself. As a matter of fact, he had passed a lone gentleman with a pirogue, not even a mile back. I thanked him for this bit of good news and bade him a good hunt of his own.

True to the gentleman’s word, less than a mile later I came upon my friend Dan Egener and his well stocked boat. Ah, a happier sight I’d not had in some time!  Much relieved to have found him, I immediately settled myself and my small belongings into his pirogue and we set off in the direction Captain Jacobs had indicated. Had I thought it dark before? T’was nothing compared to the darkness of the creek bottom!  My tired eyes were open wide and my ears strained for any sound of our friends. There was little talk between Dan and I as we concentrated upon our task. 

Less than a mile into our journey things began to go badly. The pirogue, laden down with our supplies scrapped bottom on numerous occasions, causing us to pole the thing along more oft than paddling. Traveling became treacherous though there was no fear of turning over in the cold water which was at times only a few inches deep.  Silently we struggled, each considering our folly and neither wanting to put voice to our fears. An hour slipped past, yet we had only traveled a tiny distance. 

Finally, my voice broke the silence and I asked if perhaps I should signal with my firelock to see if our friends were nearby. Dan readily agreed and I balanced myself to fire the long gun. The rifle's crack nearly blinded and deafened us when my dear Lady of the Woods riflegun discharged. I reloaded and fired again, hoping for the immediate response of Captain Jacobs.

Silence once more enveloped us, there was no response in the dark night.

We carried on as best we were able until once more the dread scrape of the bow upon the shoals brought us to a complete halt. We sat. Grounded. He, no doubt, wondering why he’d foolishly waited for me. Me, hating myself for being the cause of such a mess. Both us, wondering how it could have been possible for the others to navigate through the shallow water? Heaving mightily we struggled together to back the little vessel off the shoals.  Finally, we began to float mere inches above the mud. There seemed no other course than to turn around and return to the launch point. Thus, we put our backs and arms to the task, and as another hour slid into dark oblivion we arrived back where we’d begun.

Ironically, even though we’d literally gotten nowhere, we regained a positive outlook and determined to make the best of the situation. Back on shore we pulled our bedrolls and foodstuffs from the boat, laughing at the folly of trying to navigate in the dark. Soon a tiny crackling fire yielded bit of warmth and tea as we laid our plans for another attempt in the morn.  After a very late night meal of jerked meat and hardboiled eggs, we bid each other sleep well and each turned in to our bedroll. Though the fire, laughter and pleasant conversation had warmed my spirits, afore long a chill set in which refused to leave for the days to come. Throughout the cold night I barely slept, my ears strained to hear the crack of Captain Jacob's firelock or even a hint of voices carried over the water, yet I heard nothing. 

To be Continued in a future edition of On the Trail Magazine.  

Death, Forgiveness, Strength, and Power

Mark McCarter who left too soon. Photo by Ron Roundman Gholson

My thoughts of late have been rather influenced by the passing of too many souls. Some gone too soon, others who passed near the natural end of their days, and some who have been gone a long while and yet are still missed as though it were but yesterday. Eulogies seem to fall from our lips like rain from the sky. Too many words too oft spoke.

"Coming Home No More" painting by John Buxton
The loss of Anne's beloved first husband, Richard Trotter

Though some time has passed, our dear friend Hester Purefinder has been on my mind of late. She gave us all so much and her story keeps expanding.  It is hard to believe she has been gone for over three years and still the stories of her life carry on. In life she gave me a glimpse of what could be done in a non-traditional role, and upon her death she reminded me how short our time on this earth is and how important it is to forgive those who have hurt us.  I can not guess what my life would be like had I not attended her memorial service. Her ray of light touched me that day and she granted me the strength to reach out to someone whom I did not intend ever to speak with again. Her death truly made me realize how everything can change in an instant. Thanks Hester, I owe ya one, and every time I tell my story I am trying my utmost to pay you back and to pay it forward.

Colleen "Hester Purefinder" Gilbert from the Book of Faces - Steven Young Caudill

More recently, a good man tossed off the mortal coil and reached high to the heavens to be with his beloved. Gathered together, his friends and loved ones were much dismayed. Whispered questions flew. "By his own hand," they said. "God's choice not ours," they stammered. "Why?" they questioned. Yet, who are we to say, "It was too soon." "He had no right," or "How dare he?" How dare WE judge such matters?

Days are like gifts to some and pure torture to others, none of us can know the depths of another's soul. My friends, I am much humbled by this good man's act, and reminded to give thanks and forgiveness generously, for we know not the weight of our words and deeds. Each kind word, smile or gentle kindness given today may be that which is necessary to grant another but one more hour or one more day. Give gifts of kindness easily my friends and I beg you, give the kindest gift of all, readily, easily, and without being asked; Give the gift of forgiveness.

I remind myself of that word, forgiveness, as my thoughts turn to another sweet angel who carried the light from her mother's eyes up into the heavens. The only comfort I seem to be able to take in this loss is in knowing she is now in God's company, surrounded by those who have gone before. Yet, fury hot and loathsome burns still within my soul. For this dear one was snatched away as surely as a dove caught in the clutches of a horrendous and heartless boy. Tortured until she flew free at last away from hands which hurt her.

Fury burdens my soul for all of the helpless and the hopeless. Forgiveness does not figure easily into my heart in this matter and I can not resolve this anger, even knowing full well it only grants another power over me. For there in lies the secret, doesn't it? By allowing another to cause us anger or fear, we give them the very thing they most desire. I try to breathe deeply, and reach into the depths of all I have been given, all I have been taught, and all I believe in, and I ask God to help me and the many others who struggle with this kind of loss. I ask Him to help us to regain our strength, indeed to make us stronger for our loss

I truly believe He has set His angel free, she has gained her wings. Let her be an angel of God by our side, a guardian dear, reminding us she has been set free of all our mortal strife. She has much work ahead of her to light and guard, to rule and guide her little one, and all of us who need a guardian angel.

Abigail Parmer - Angel of God and Guardian Dear

September

"September

It rained in my sleep

And in the morning the fields were wet

 I dreamed of artillery

Of the thunder of horses

In the morning the fields were strewn

With twigs and leaves

As if after a battle

Or a sudden journey

I went to sleep in the summer

I dreamed of rain

In the morning the fields were wet

And it was autumn"

Poem by Linda Pastan, from Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems 1968 -1991 ©W.W. Norton & Company, 2009

Friends, 

Thoughts of fine and shining times fill my mind on this eve of September, for not all which surrounds us is madness, war and the battle cry. There are moments of grace and beauty in the everyday if you but look to see.  Look dear ones! Look upon children at play, a simply set table, a soft and comfortable place to rest, a basket of fresh eggs, a letter from a dear friend. A garden fresh with life, a harvest of much needed meat. Oh, my friends you’ve only but to look!

Original Painting by Mark Selter

Look in the everyday, the mundane, the simple, t’is there we find the clarity we seek.  Glimpse my friends, at the many small and varied blessings which are bestowed upon us daily.  Butterflies upon flowers, nature in all her glory, or a cool mountain stream.  Look!  Truly look upon your surroundings for t’is the simplest of these which grant us the necessary strength to carry us into battle.  Is it not for these smallest treasures we fight?

The days shall surely soon grow colder, the savages shall surely make war upon us, and the nights will become long. But for this moment be well, be blessed, and please my dear ones, be thankful.

May all beings be happy and blessed.