“Our task must be to free ourselves... by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature and its beauty.” ― Albert Einstein
Ten days later, Evan met us at the trailhead leading to the Light House, having politely declined to make the long drive into town to pick us up. “The animals need feeding and I want to be sure the place looks its best,” he said. “D would want that.”
Knowing how meticulous D was about appearances and first impressions, I knew Evan was right. Still it stung that he felt he needed to make things presentable for me. Me who was privy to many of D’s most unpresentable moments. Moments built on vulnerability and trust that formed the backbone of our friendship. More than anything I regretted not being there at the end where the last thing on anyone’s mind would have been appearances. Still, none of this was Evan’s fault and it was kind of him to care how the Light House looked, so I merely said, “Sure, we’ll probably need our own car anyway. I’m still working on getting Faith’s permission to bring Casey,” I added. “But expect three of us.”
Now Evan appeared walking down the trail with the early afternoon sun behind him looking as I’d always imagined Sasquatch would look - sun-burned, covered in painful looking scratches, bug bites, and a layer of mud that partly obscured his tattoos. He was dressed in a t-shirt that was more holes than shirt and filthy jeans. “Who the hell is that?” I heard Nigel say behind me. But Casey wasn’t fooled.
“Uncle Evan!” he shouted, racing past me and flinging himself into Evan’s arms. The force of their collision made Evan take a few steps back, but he grinned and tousled Casey’s red-gold curls. “How you been buddy?” he asked, holding Casey at arms length so he could look at him. “Grown another two inches I see. And those teeth. Are they ever going to be straight?”
“I get em off in six months. Why do you stink?” Casey asked, wrinkling his nose.
“That’s the sweet grass you smell,” Evan said. “It keeps mosquitoes away. I’ve been working in the woods clearing brush.”
“You look like you fell in a mud hole,” I teased. “Evan let me introduce you to my good friend, Nigel. We’ve known each other since high school. Nigel, this is Evan, Richard’s brother.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nigel said. “I’d offer to shake, but well, you know,” he added, gesturing towards Evan’s muddy palms. One of the things Nigel and D had shared was an almost obsessive concern for cleanliness. Nigel always carried wet wipes and small packets of travel tissue, and I knew he must be itching to wipe the smudge of mud from Evan’s cheek.
“No worries,” Evan said. “How was the drive? Did you find the turnout okay?”
“Yes, your directions were good, thanks,” I said. “So this is the start of the trail that leads to the entrance?”
“Yes, let’s grab your gear and get going,” Evan said. It’s about a 20-minute walk.”
After the descriptions in D’s second letter I was expecting the trail to be an overgrown mess of poison ivy, spiky blackberry bushes, and potholes. But when I saw only a smooth, sandy pathway lined with wildflowers and crab grass, I had to ask. “Where’s the no trespassing sign with the bullet holes?”
“The what?” Evan asked, looking puzzled. I told him about D’s descriptions of the sign and trail. “Oh, all that was long before my time,” Evan said. “Richard and D put a huge amount of work into fixing the place up. There’s not a sign with bullet holes in sight these days.”
“I was thinking more about the people who fired the guns that made the holes than the actual sign itself,” I said.
“Oh, I see what you mean,” Evan said. “Well people still hunt around here, but it’s mostly during deer season. And all the folks I know eat everything they kill.”
“Well that’s reassuring I guess,” I said. But before I could ask about deer season, our conversation was interrupted by Casey shouting, “I found one, I found one!”
“We’d better see what that’s all about,” Evan said, striding off up the trail.
“I just hope he didn’t find a snake,” I heard Nigel wheeze behind me.
“You okay?” I asked, stopping and turning back to check on my friend. I knew Nigel had asthma that could be triggered by exercise. Today his face, beneath the floppy sun hat he’d chosen for the occasion was red and splotchy and he was moving slowly.
“Yeah, I’ve got my inhaler if I need it,” he said. He stopped and pulled a white handkerchief from the back pocket of his white khaki pants. As always he was immaculately dressed, pressed, and ready for anything. I just wasn’t sure that white was the best color for what we had planned.
“You carry a handkerchief?” I said.
“Sure, don’t you?” he asked with a wink. “You’ll thank me later when you need one,” he added. “Come on let’s keep going. I want to see what Casey found.”
What Casey had discovered was a cairn - a small tower of stones built at the side of the path. I’d seen them on previous hikes with D who explained that hikers often built them to mark trails. Subsequent research had taught me that cairns could have spiritual significance as well. I made a mental note to ask Evan if they were part of Cherokee tradition. Casey was completely focused on adding a stone of his own without toppling the whole pile. We watched as he added a small, flat river stone to the top then slowly withdrew his hand. When the tower didn’t move, he stepped back, raised both of his arms over his head and shouted, “Yes!”
“Well done,” Evan said, clapping Evan on the back. “Let’s keep moving. We’ve still got a ways to go.”
With Evan and Casey leading the way, Nigel and I fell into as easy pace that allowed us to admire the wild flowers growing on either side of the trail and the bees who were busy collecting pollen. “D would have known the names of every single one of these plants,” I said.
“For sure,” Nigel agreed. “Remember that botany field trip we took with him?”
“I still feel bad about that,” I said.
“It wasn’t your fault Mr. Homophob took the class too,” Nigel said.
“He sure got more than he bargained for didn’t he?” I laughed.
“Yeah, that comment about faggots got him into a whole heap of trouble,” Nigel agreed. “The look on his face when D asked if he’d heard about the female lizards that reproduce without males.”
“Or the Clownfish that change sex,” I added.
“My favorite was the deer that have a third gender.”
“Oh the velvet horns,” I said. “I love them too.”
“Then D told him he had to do a presentation on hermaphrodites if he wanted to pass the class,” Nigel chortled.
“Hey you two!” Evan called from further up the trail. “Are you coming or what? We’re almost there.”
“Coming!” I shouted as we picked up our pace.
Less than five minutes later we topped the crest of the low hill we’d been ascending. What we saw was both unexpected and breathtaking. Stretching away before us was a narrow, u-shaped valley with a sparkling ribbon of water running down its center. At its widest point, a small pond full of cattails, water lilies, and rushes had formed. Thick stands of old growth forest stretched all along its banks. A wooden gate with a gabled roof and two hinged doors had been built at the edge of the pond, and a sturdy, six-foot, lattice top fence stretched away as far as the eye could see on both sides.
“Wow,” I said, unable to do anything but stare.
“It’s stunning,” Nigel added. “What’s beyond the gate?”
“The river,” Evan replied.
“What happened to the chicken wire gate and barbed wire fences D told me about?” I asked, finally finding my voice.
“Oh, that’s long gone,” Evan said. “It was one of the first things the guys replaced. “That’s all recycled cedar you see. They bought it from old buildings that were being torn down.”
“What’s behind the gate?” I asked.
“A surprise. I promise you’ll like it.”
“Well let’s go before Casey has a meltdown,” I said. Beside the gate Casey was rattling the padlock holding the two doors closed and waving for us to hurry up.
When we reached the gate, I pulled the key D sent me from around my neck where I’d hung it on a leather thong for safe keeping. Evan had already produced his own key but when he saw mine he gestured for me to continue. “You should do the honors,” he said. I stepped up to the gate, lifted the padlock, and inserted and turned the key. There was an audible click as the shackle released. I slid it out of the bar holding the doors closed.
“Bout time!” Casey said, pushing the doors open and stepping through onto the wooden deck behind them.
Tied to the deck via a sturdy nylon dock-line was a brown-and-white rowboat. “Check it out Aunt Maddy. You’ve got a boat!” Casey said. Then, with the assurance of a tightrope walker he stepped up onto the gunwale and hopped down into the bottom of the boat. “Come on, get in!” he said, offering me a hand. “It’s easy.”
“Um,” I said turning to look at Evan.
“Oh go on don’t be a chicken,” Evan teased. “Even if you fell in, the water is only a few feet deep here. You can swim, right?”
“Yes, of course I can swim,” I replied indignantly. “I just wasn’t expecting a boat ride, that’s all.” I reached out, took Casey’s hand, and stepped carefully into the bow of the boat, which rocked alarmingly until I took a seat. Nigel was next, followed by Evan who untied the rope from the cleat on the deck and took a seat at the oars.
“Can I row this time, Uncle Evan?” Casey asked.
“Not this time, buddy. I need you to be in charge of the poem.” He put the oars in the oarlocks and pushed off from the dock. The stream’s current immediately took hold and began pulling us towards the mouth of the stream.
“Oh right!” Casey said. He climbed over me, opened the hinged lid of the back seat, and pulled out a waterproof pouch containing sheets of paper in clear plastic sleeves. “Which one, Uncle Evan?”
“How about ‘Little Sister Pond,’” Evan said, as he began to row.
“Okay, cool,” Casey said, pulling a sleeve from the pouch. “Who’s gonna read it?”
“I nominate Maddy,” Nigel said with a grin.
“Nominate me for what?” I asked giving Nigel a dirty look.
“It’s something Richard and D would do to pass the time. One of them would row and the other other would read a poem or two out loud.”
“I like it,” Nigel said.
“Me too,” Evan agreed. He was already a little breathless and covered in sweat from the effort off rowing. The sweat running through the dirt on his arms made his tattoos look like they were melting but his movements were rhythmic and strong. He’d clearly done this many times before.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Give me the poem.” Casey put a transparent plastic sleeve in my hand. Inside was a sheet of paper with the words, Long Afternoon At The Edge Of Little Sister Pond by Mary Oliver typed at the top. I gently slid the paper out of its cover and read it over quickly before clearing my throat and starting to read aloud.
As I read, I caught glimpses of wildlife - a great blue heron, otters, and butterflies - out of the corner of my eye, but mostly I was caught up in the words. I knew D would have loved this poem and asked to have it read over and over until he had it memorized.
I was just finishing the last stanza when the boat slid smoothly and snugly against a short wooden pier where a family of ducks was pacing up and down, obviously hoping for a handout. I slipped the poem back into its protective cover, handed it to Casey, and looked up to see a house made almost entirely of glass towering over us. The late afternoon sun was reflecting off the glass making it look like burnished metal, and Bentley was standing beside the front door panting and wagging his tail furiously. “Bentley!” I exclaimed as Evan helped me out of the boat. “Come Bentley, come!”
It took Bentley all of three seconds to bound down the front steps, jump up on my chest, and start licking my face. I’d forgotten how big he was and how hard it was to keep him from destroying your clothes when he was excited. “Good boy, Bentley,” I said as I petted him. He wiggled and squirmed and danced in circles around me. “Good boy. I’m happy to see you too!”
“Looks like you’ve already met our welcome committee,” Evan laughed. Welcome to the Light House.”
Copyright 2024 by Jena Ball. All rights reserved.
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Lovely!
Well, now that I've gotten a first taste of the SL build, the story is even more intimate and engaging, with evertying so visually alive, so real. I am also starting to feel a sense of dread, knowing what's to come, and knowing how D's story is going to end.