6 Miles With Courage

Home > Other > 6 Miles With Courage > Page 13
6 Miles With Courage Page 13

by LaCorte, Thomas


  Ryan had seen one of these clay pots before. In fact he remembered seeing it at his father’s office in one of the glass cases near the atrium. It most likely was a relic. This one, the one on the tree, looked exactly like the one in the case. Ryan gently lifted it off the nail and holding it in his hands he remembers his father putting the pot into the case. He was only about 9 years old.

  “Daddy what’s that?”

  “That Ryan is a turpentine pot and it is about 75 years old.”

  “Can mommy use it for her flowers?”

  “No because there is no hole in the bottom for the water to drain out” Rob said as he took the pot out from the case. “Here let me show you something about this pot,” Rob said as he handed it to Ryan.

  He held onto the pot firmly as his father explained. “You see that hole on the side near the top?” Rob asked.

  “Yes,” Ryan answered as he nervously held the funny little orange pot with the grooved lines in it—he certainly did not want to drop it.

  “That’s for a nail to hold it to the pine tree. After scrapping the bark off and cutting into the tree they would nail metal strips onto the tree to direct the sap into the clay pot. Then they would gather the full pots and take them to a camp where there was a thing called a ‘still’ where they would make turpentine, rosin, and tar for things like paint and medicines.”

  “Can we go and see the place?” Ryan asked.

  “Oh no, they don’t do that anymore Ryan, they stopped doing that sometime in the 1930’s.”

  “Oh, ok,” Ryan handed the pot back to his father, and went off to join his friends.

  Ryan turned the old pot over and dumping the rotten leaves out of the pot, hung it back in its rightful place.

  He no sooner let go of the pot when the rusty old nail gave out and the pot headed for the ground. Ryan caught the pot just before it would have broken into pieces. He gently set it beneath the tree. Perhaps if Ryan had not come along when he did the pot would have fallen and broken. Which lead Ryan to ask the question, how long would a nail hold a clay pot to a tree before it rusted and could no longer hold the weight? The answer, about 85 years!

  A gust of wind from the approaching front cooled Ryan’s face and snapped him out of his nostalgic moment. He took a bearing and looked around for the next bearing tree. He spotted one on top of the ridge ahead. He ached from thirst.

  Snaking his way towards the bearing tree he weaved through the low palmetto and scrub trees without incident. Oh, he scared up a covey of quail and sent a turkey running, but before he knew it he was standing at the tree on the ridge. He had come a quarter mile with only three quarters to go before Forest Road 77.

  From this vantage point on the ridge he could see for the next half mile and what he saw gave him hope. What lie before him were virgin pine trees like the one he found with the clay pot. Big and beautiful and very old specimen pines. Their branches were gathered high up near the top signifying their age, their trunks tall and straight. Below the pines the undergrowth was minimal, more like grass. This allowed Ryan to nearly see across the entire half mile.

  This was old Florida as Florida was before the palmetto became so prominent. Far in the distance the view was hazy. It was either caused by smoke, rain, or just the dark clouds. For a second, Ryan thought he had seen a cabin in the distance on his bearing. He looked hard but he could not see it again.

  “Most likely an illusion,” he said. Lowering his gaze he noticed a small spring pond just slightly to the left of his bearing and only one hundred yards away! If there was one thing Ryan needed right now it was water!

  Florida springs come in all shapes and sizes. Some are small being just a few feet across and others form lakes. Some are green and some are blue. They can be shallow or they can be bottomless reaching down into the depths of the aquifer. In fact if there is one thing they all have in common it is that they have an upwelling of 72 degree water be it summer or winter.

  The water from a Florida spring comes from an underground river of freshwater flowing deep below the lush sub-tropical landscape. It pushes its way up through the enormous limestone caverns forming ponds, or as locals would say “boils.” A crystal clear Florida boil is a sight to see. It surely was a sight for Ryan’s sore eyes.

  Ryan kept his eyes on the spring pond walking mummy-like towards the cool water. He drags his club and his thorn filled, scraped, and bruised body towards the water’s edge. A good distance from the water he dropped his club, his pants, and then his shirt. He walks across a short sandy area and then into the water where he dropped to his knees. From here he went forward face-first staying under the cool water for at least ten seconds before pushing up.

  He stayed that way, push-up style with nothing but his head out of the water as he looked across at the not too distant shore and the lush vegetation that surrounded it. He watched the reflections of the clouds drifting by in the water. Something under the water caught his attention.

  Focusing intently beneath the reflection he noticed an elongated white object to his left, and about two feet under the water. It was a skull. The skull had belonged to a large wild boar or pig. It wore a ghastly grimace and sported large protruding tusks angling up from its lower jaw. Everything was crystal clear through the pristine water. Ryan could even make out the jagged lines of the skull plates.

  It was fascinating to see, but Ryan quickly lost interest and after taking several large gulps of the cool water plunged his head for a good thirty seconds. He enjoyed every moment of the cool dark silence, and if it were not for the need of air, he would have kept his head under longer.

  Down in the water and on all-fours, he rolled his head back letting the cool water run down his face. Batting his eyes to clear his vision he looked to see the skull once more but he could not seem to locate it.

  Suddenly! There it was but it looked different.

  The skull had hair and a long fleshy snout. The water turned to a bone-chilling cold as chills ran up his spine.

  He adjusted his vision, he refocused his eyes and with that they grew large!

  It was not the skull at the bottom of the pond, but a reflection of a three hundred pound boar hog standing over the skull and the huge beast was right next to him!

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head about his submerged body towards the reflection. Standing just four feet away was a wall of hair!

  Chapter Twenty Five

  It was thick coarse hair like the bristles of a brush. It was so close Ryan could see flies and ticks crawling through it! He wanted to scream and run, but he could do neither.

  Like a great blue whale silently gliding up alongside an unsuspecting scuba diver, this hairy beast simply walked into the pond while Ryan’s head was underwater. And like a scuba diver Ryan searched the side of its body until he found the beady little eye. It seemed to be looking right at him.

  A boar hog has a better sense of smell than eyesight, but at four feet away Ryan felt that surely he must see him. Maybe it was due to the fact that Ryan wasn’t moving that the boar just lowered his head and started lapping-up the cool water like a big dog.

  Ryan watched as the boar hog drank the water through a toothy grimace not too much unlike the skull below. His white tusks gleamed with moisture as he lapped the water. He could rip Ryan wide-open with them if he had chosen to attack. Suddenly the pig stopped drinking, raised its head up and stared across the spring pond.

  A deer had wandered into the pond and started to drink. Unconcerned the pig lowered his head and began drinking once more. Soon several other species of wildlife began to gather at this (now more appropriately called) watering hole, including a raccoon, an otter with pups and a small troop of Rhesus monkeys. Everyone was drinking except Ryan. This drew suspicion from the others across the pond but the pig paid him no mind as he continued his lapping.

  Ryan thought it best to pretend to be drinking so he lapped at the water. This put the wildlife at ease as they too began to drink once more. However the
boar suddenly aware of Ryan’s presence stopped drinking and turned his enormous snout towards Ryan.

  Ryan held still as the snout stopping six inches from his face flared its nostrils and blew. Ryan could smell the stench of its breath. Then the pig inhaled to smell this strange creature next to him. Instead of attacking or wheeling about in terror as wild pigs often do when encountering human scent, it merely walked several yards to the left so as to give itself a little more personal space. Ryan breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  The moments that followed could be considered by some to be enchanted and by others just plain weird. Here was Ryan along with many wild animals enjoying the pleasures of a spring pond. To the human eye the pond appeared to be ordinary. But to the beasts that inhabited it, this was a pond of peace. A mutually agreed upon place where all could come to find the necessities of life as well as a little enjoyment. And the fact that these creatures of the uplands extended this courtesy without hesitation to Ryan truly made this an enchanted moment.

  One-by-one the creatures of the forest walked out of the pond leaving behind Ryan with the troop of Rhesus monkeys. Ryan watched as the monkeys sat in the pond grooming each other, picking the ticks out of their coats of fur. Ryan sat up and running his hands down his legs felt the many ticks that he had gathered while walking the deer trail. He began to pluck them from his legs before they had the chance to gorge themselves on his blood. The monkeys and Ryan watched each other with a wary eye.

  Ryan plucked off the last of the ticks—he counted eleven in all—and looking up noticed he was alone once again. He slipped out of the water and into his clothes, and picking up the club glanced back at the pond before departing the shore. Ryan will always remember this place for it was the place where he gained a new respect for wildlife. He turned and walked the short distance to get back on his bearing.

  Refreshed and back on track he stood at the foot of the tall virgin pines and the grassy understory growing below. Compared to the previous terrain this was truly going to be a walk-in-the park. Once he completed this half mile there would be but thirteen hundred feet to Forest Road 77. That’s one quarter mile to an almost certain rescue. He began to step with a quickened pace as the smell of victory and the impending rain hung in the air.

  His journey through the tall pines was most delightful for Ryan. There were large flocks of turkeys the size of which Ryan had never seen. The deer and quail were plentiful and of good size as well. Pinecones near the size of footballs laid scattered across the grass which had the appearance of a well-mowed lawn. Squirrels ran to-and-fro and huge redheaded woodpeckers hammered on the dead pines, some of which were still holding onto their clay pots from that forgotten period in time.

  And the butterflies! The butterflies were nothing short of astonishing. Ryan was slowing down to take it all in. He had to remind himself to keep to a good pace, and even though the sky was grey it still was a beautiful sight to see, this grassy expanse lying beneath the tall pines.

  He was so preoccupied with all that nature had for him to see, that he nearly banged his shin on the knee-high sign nailed to the wooden post standing right in front of him. The sign read.

  Historical Homestead!

  KEEP OUT!

  This means you!

  Ryan raised his eyes up to see a small rustic cabin in poor shape. The windows had been boarded up; the outside covered in spider webs and wasp nests. The roof and chimney were in equally bad shape. Ryan walked around to the front of the cabin where a sign bearing the same warning stood just a few feet outside the dilapidated wood steps leading up to the front door. There was a trail leading away from the cabin and it appeared to be heading in the direction of Forest Road 77. Ryan pulled his compass out to check the bearing.

  It was leading in the right direction!

  “Ah-ha,” Ryan said with a fist pump to the air. He now knew he could cover the quarter-mile down the trail and be at Forest Road 77 in just a matter of minutes and that there would be no more heavy brush to cut whatsoever! With that Ryan tossed his club to the ground never to pick it up again.

  Ryan turned his attention once more upon the cabin, and now the lure of what was inside the cabin was calling to him.

  No, it’s not an audible voice but an inaudible voice that calls to every young person who feels the need to explore. Ryan had a schedule to keep but he knew he had a few moments to explore and not miss the ranger. He gingerly walked up the creaking steps to the front door. Surprisingly it was not locked and cautiously turning the knob he pushed open the front door.

  A golden beam of firelight spread across Ryan’s face and the rotting steps below his feet. It splashed its warmth outward, even onto the cabin’s unkempt front yard and the trail through the woods.

  The dark grey sky made it seem all the brighter.

  A warm breeze bellowed out brushing across Ryan’s skin as the most delectable of cooking smells graced his nostrils causing them to flare widely. The crackling of a perfect fire in the fireplace and the sound of a bubbling cauldron of stew on an old wood burning stove paralyzed him.

  He stood there on the rickety old steps awestruck at the coziest of cabin scenes, the likes of which he had never seen before. Feeling like an intruder he wanted to shut the door and leave but the allure was just too much, especially after spending as much time as he had in the wild.

  “Hello,” Ryan called out.

  “Anybody home?” he said with a raised voice. But there was no reply above the crackling of the fire and the bubbling cauldron. Ryan stepped inside intending to leave the door open but it closed behind him. He glanced at the door. It did not look locked so he again gazed about the cabin.

  The first thing Ryan noticed was that it was immaculately clean. A mop and broom stood over in a corner next to a bucket. The floor glistened and smelled of oil-soap, like the kind his mother used. Every item seemed to shine; dust was not to be seen.

  Above the mantel was an old rifle like the one Jebediah had, but of course his is at the bottom of Bear Creek. Looking around the cabin there were lots of animal skins hanging about the walls and there was a small table with two chairs and it was very rustic looking.

  The table was set for two and in such a manner that it would seem that the very next dinner was to be of great importance with fine linens and fancy silverware. On one wall was a pantry with glass jars full of colorful fruits and vegetables. Ryan’s stomach grumbled at the sight of the many dried meats and other such delicacies placed neatly in small wooden bins with wire front closures.

  The kitchen sink was made of iron and resembled more of a tub for it had no faucets attached. There was however a bowl and pitcher at the sink. There was neither a refrigerator nor TV, nor lamps, or any other device that would use electricity which lead Ryan to the understanding that no electrical service was present. Oil lamps were in place but were not lit as the fire and wood burning stove cast enough light. Suddenly a fluttering and a rustling sound came from behind, and spinning around he saw an odd spectacle.

  To the right of the front door was a large wire cage and it was full of butterflies! Ryan approached cautiously as the delicate creatures fluttered nervously about. Ryan noticed that several of the species that he had seen in the woods were in the cage. There must have been two hundred of them in all. It was quite a sight to see as he watched them flurry about. He was just about to ask himself why someone would have all those butterflies in a cage when the answer came to him.

  It came to him in the form of a note attached to the cage. Ryan reached for the note and read it.

  “To be released immediately after the ceremony, and before walking back down the aisle.”

  The note sent Ryan’s mind to wondering as he spun around to look the cabin over once again. He approached the table and noticed a note he had not seen before. He picked it up and read it.

  “Do not forget to carry her over the threshold.”

  Shadows from the fire rippling across the walls made Ryan drop the note and he nervously pl
aced it back on the table. He looked around uneasily now as he began to truly feel like an intruder when suddenly a curtain at a far wall moved. Ryan stood in a frozen stance his eyes transfixed on the curtain.

  It moved again!

  “Who is it? Who’s there?” Ryan asked nervously. But there was no reply.

  When the curtain moved again Ryan realized that it was only the air moving about the cabin created by the heat of the stove and fireplace. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to the curtain and gently pulling it back nearly fainted at what he saw.

  There standing next to a four-post featherbed was a headless woman!

  Well, for a split-second it looked like a headless woman but it was merely a wedding dress on a mannequin waiting to be adorned by its owner. Ryan let the curtain fall and turned to high tail-it out of there when suddenly he thought he heard voices coming from outside the cabin. He stopped and listened.

  He was right! There were voices coming from outside. Ryan was drawn towards the sink where above it a window—sparkling clean—looked out into the rear yard. Ryan wasn’t sure what bewildered him more. The clean window in what just moments ago was a boarded up hole! Or the two men, standing in the rear yard under a flower-filled arch at the end on a long white linen walkway! One of them was a minister and he was doing the talking as he pointed around at the setting.

  “I sure like the way you have it all set up,” the minister said.

  “Thank you, I hope she likes it preacher,” the other man replied.

  “Oh, I don’t see how she would not like this, do you want me to bring out the butterflies?” the preacher asked.

 

‹ Prev