The leaves are beginning to turn so the foliage peepers cram the trails and jam the single-lane road. I don’t know how they stand the crowds. Enjoying nature isn’t possible if you’re surrounded by people and cars. Misses the entire point of losing oneself in the wilderness.
I’m not fit for other humans today. Deciding to take the shortest route back to my truck, I leave the trail and walk alongside the road.
My foul mood has nothing to do with the fact that it has been almost a week since I hung out with Daphne. I assume she’s well and recovered.
A white NPS SUV passes me, slows, and pulls to the shoulder a few yards ahead. After the bear destroyed her car, Daphne said she’d be driving an official vehicle until she could get something else, and I quicken my pace, hopeful she’s behind the wheel. The passenger side window is down when I approach and I lean in, expecting to see her face.
“Afternoon, Odin. Mind if we have a talk?” Griffin flashes a friendly smile.
I don’t mask my disappointment as my mood sours further. “Guess not.”
“Hop in.”
Griffin Lee is probably a nice person but the last I knew of him, he was a class clown who never took anything seriously. Now he’s a ranger and law enforcement within park boundaries. Someone even decided it was a good idea to let him carry a gun—not that I’m saying he would be irresponsible with a firearm. I’m sure he passed all of the tests with flying colors.
Life is strange. If I’m proof that people can change, I guess nothing should surprise me about anybody else.
“How’s the farming?” he asks.
“Fine. Harvest is almost over and most of the field is getting prepared for winter.” I scratch behind my ear. “How’s the ranger business?”
“Good. Busy now, but come November things will really quiet down.” He glances out the window and back at me. “Must be nice to have some more free time on your hands.”
I nod, confused as to the point of this chat.
“I know we grew up together and share kin in common, Odin.” Bringing up family doesn’t comfort me. “So it was important for me to be the one to question you.”
“Does your aunt marrying my uncle even make us kin? Being cousins through marriage won’t change anything, will it?”
“Depends on you.”
“Care to elaborate?” I refuse to give him a confession when I’m not certain of my crime.
“Want to tell me what’s in the backpack?” He points to the floor by my feet.
“What do you think I have in there?” Yes, I’m being an asshole, but I’m also curious. I’m guessing he has no idea.
“Come on, cut me a break and open it.” He rests his elbow on the steering wheel as he twists to give me his full attention. “The sooner we can be honest, the quicker this can be resolved.”
If Griffin were a different man, a Hill instead of a Lee, I’d think he might be open to a bribe. Everyone has a price and I wonder what it would take for him to look the other way.
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“Hopefully not.” He doesn’t sound optimistic.
“Issue me a citation?” Definitely a possibility. “Fine me?”
“Open the bag.”
Lifting the pack, I rest it on the console between us and challenge him with my eyes. “Go ahead. See for yourself.”
“Stubborn as always.” Muttering, he reaches for the zippers at the top. “Nothing in here is going to bite me, is it?”
“Really? You’re bringing up the kitten? How old was I? Four? Five?” He’s being too dramatic about this whole ridiculous situation, so I unzip the bag for him. “Look.”
“Please don’t let it be pot,” he whispers before peering inside.
I have to admit, I am still shocked to be sitting in Griffin’s official NPS vehicle, being questioned about illegal activities on federal land. Seriously never saw this moment coming.
“What the fuck?” I jerk back, pulling the pack with me. “Why would I be out here with a bag filled with drugs?”
“Are you growing or dealing marijuana within park boundaries?” His voice is so ridiculously serious, I laugh.
“Jesus, Griffin.” Dipping a hand inside, I gently pull out a handful of the bag’s contents and show him. “They’re mushrooms. Fungi. They’re not even the psychotropic kind.”
“I know what a turkey tail looks like” He widens the opening and sniffs.
“Why the hell would you think I had drugs?” I carefully return the cream and brown striped, fan-shaped mushrooms to the backpack.
“We’ve had reports.” He doesn’t make eye contact. Instead, he twists his head to stare out the driver’s side window. “People don’t all come to the park to commune with nature in the ways you’d think. We have our own microcosm of crimes. Unfortunately, being a national park doesn’t mean we exist in an enchanted land of happiness.”
“Are you telling me the animals don’t talk and help clean tiny houses for vertically challenged miners?” I scoff.
“For the record, I didn’t think you were walking around with a bag o’ weed.”
I laugh at his phrasing. “You could’ve asked me directly instead of acting out this law enforcement shakedown.”
“Better family than a stranger.”
“We’re not blood kin.” Changing my mind, I shake my head. “Never mind. I guess I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“Nah. We’re good. I’ll clear the report.”
“Want to weigh the mushrooms? Make sure I’m within my personal limits?”
“Why? Are you planning on selling those?” He eyes me with suspicion.
I have a quick, internal debate about lying to my “cousin” and decide to tell the truth.
“Maybe I’m hoarding them all for myself.”
“What are you going to do with so many mushrooms?”
“Honestly?”
“Sure, let’s go with that for a change.”
I don’t miss his sarcasm. “I’m freeze-drying them for medicinal purposes.”
“Seriously?” His eyes hold doubt.
“One hundred percent. Mushroom extracts can heal whatever ails you.”
He purses his lips. “Not sure about that.”
“Suit yourself.” I pat the bag. “Appalachian grannies have been using fungi to address health issues for generations.”
“You know there are laws about foraging on federal land for commercial purposes.”
“Is there any regulation about gathering mushrooms that aren’t on park property?”
“Not that I know of. My jurisdiction doesn’t extend past the boundaries.”
“Good to know.”
“You collect these on private property?”
“Pretty confident I did.”
“Well, that’s between you and the owners.”
I give him a blunt nod. “Then let’s say that’s where I found them. Has anyone thought about buying some orange spray paint and creating a clear boundary line between what’s federal land and what is private?”
“That sounds like something I’d come up with.” He chuckles.
“You’re welcome for the tip.”
“I’m sorry I thought you were the Pablo Escobar of the Smokies.”
“In a weird way, I’m flattered you believed me capable.”
“You’ve never given yourself enough credit for everything you’ve done. Some folks would give their front teeth to be a fancy chef in the big city. Fame, money, traveling the world—”
“All meaningless if you’re miserable.”
“Guess we have different definitions of the word. I’d rather be unhappy in first class than in a middle seat that doesn’t recline at the back of the plane next to the bathroom.”
“That’s pretty specific, but you make a good point.” I finish zipping the bag closed. “We all good here?”
“Yep, as long as everyone is observing the rules and regulations of the park.”
“Deal.”
“Want
a lift back to the cabin? Or wherever you’re going?”
“I’ll take a ride to pick up my truck.”
After a few moments of comfortable silence, I ask, “Can you tell me who filed the report on me? Visitor? Park staff? I’d like to know who’s spreading these rumors.”
“There wasn’t an official report. More of a concern about suspicious activity.”
“And my accuser came to you directly?” I’m making a list in my head like a less generous Santa.
“I’m not going to tell you. No point since they were under the wrong impression.”
Pretending he answered my question, I continue my inquiry. “Was this in an official capacity or as a friend?”
“Can we let it go?” He gives me a sidelong glance.
“Am I sitting in an official government vehicle, subject to search of my personal belongings?”
I swear he pales.
“Don’t put it like that. We’re having a friendly conversation. Better me than one of the other rangers. Not everyone would give you the benefit of the doubt.”
He’s basically admitting another one of the rangers has a gripe with me … interesting. Wonder who it could be.
“Meaning guns and drug dogs in a raid at dawn? Jeez, thanks for saving me the embarrassment of being dragged out of bed naked.”
Cringing, he gazes out the window. “Thanks for the visual.”
“You brought that on yourself with your own imagination.”
“I’m just doing my job.” He shifts his attention back to me. “Maybe if you weren’t such a weirdo, people might hold you in better regard.”
“What people think about me is their own damn business, not mine.”
“Suit yourself.” He offers a shrug. “We’re here.”
My truck sits alone in the lot at the trailhead.
“Can’t say it’s been enjoyable, but it’s been memorable.”
He grabs my arm before I hop out of the vehicle. “Hey, don’t hold a grudge. We’re all overlooking your walks with Patsy.”
“Very magnanimous of you. We stay off the official trails the majority of the time, even though there’s nothing specific about pigs in the park. The wild hogs are wreaking more destruction around here than she ever could.”
“Agree. There are also guys out here with their guns, all jacked up on chew and Dew, excited about shooting a boar. They may not verify Patsy’s pedigree before firing.”
His words unsettle me. “Okay, okay. You made your point.”
“Good.” He flashes his classic smug grin.
My own smile is less enthusiastic and less toothy. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Any time. Don’t be a stranger.”
“Right,” I say, distracted.
The phrase reminds me of Gaia’s words the morning of Daphne’s bear incident, the day after she asked me about my backpack.
I have a very good idea who’s likely behind Griffin’s interrogation. Might be time to have a conversation with Ranger Baum and set her straight.
As far as she knows, I run a small farm on some family land where I grow weird vegetables. All of that is true, but it’s not the entire truth.
Does Green Valley need another orange carrot or red radish at the farmers’ market? No. A green bean is a green bean, unless it’s purple when raw and magically switches to verdant green when cooked. Magic. Fucking. Beans.
That’s why I farm as well as forage. Why have a plain radish with a red skin and a white interior when you can have one swirled with both colors throughout? Purple carrots with bright orange middles. Japanese turnips that go from spicy to sweet as the seasons change. Daikon radishes that will make both your mouth and your eyes water. Tiny Thai chilis red as a stop sign and scalding with concentrated heat. Life is too short for boring, uninspired food when nature is more creative than we could ever imagine.
Foraging is more interesting, an adventure.
Back to the land in the most primitive way.
Generations before white settlers claimed land in these mountains, Cherokee lived among the hills and valleys, foraging and hunting, living off the land while respecting Mother Earth. They understood the cycles of life and death, fertile and fallow, when to plant and when to harvest.
There is wisdom in waiting and reward in trusting the timing.
Chapter Eighteen
Daphne
I’m out of sorts, living in a constant state of frustration. Everything makes me bristle.
Could be PMS, but I think it’s deeper than hormones.
At the end of work yesterday, Griffin told me he spoke to Odin and confirmed he wasn’t doing anything illegal. The turkey tail mushrooms in his possession were well under the daily limit.
Why anyone would want an entire backpack full of fungus is beyond me. No less strange than apples.
Nothing about that man makes sense.
He took care of me when I took too many antihistamines and also smelled like a disgruntled skunk.
I’m bothered I was wrong about him being up to no good, and that bothers me.
I need to change the channel in my brain. Some people might meditate or practice yoga or go for a run to work out the bad energy. I am not among those people.
Tired of being in my own head, I set my alarm extra early Friday night so I can have some time before my Saturday shift. After I make tea in my travel mug, I head out on foot from my cabin, following a familiar route into the woods. As the white steeple appears between the trees, I exhale some of the tightness in my chest. Whenever I’m struggling, I return to the chapel to clear my mind.
This time I triple-check that the door is closed behind me before slipping into a pew.
Inside, time pauses as a quiet peace settles over me. I bow my head and breathe.
Unbidden, the words of the Lord’s Prayer flow through my mind. Like a mantra, I repeat the lines from memory. When I get to the part about forgiving others and ourselves for our trespasses, I pause.
Our debts. Our sins. Our mistakes. Our ignorance. I often substitute another word for trespass because I’ve always imagined the most straightforward definition of unlawfully being on private property and felt it didn’t apply to me.
Until today.
“Ha ha. Thanks for being obvious.”
Me sitting in this church, using it as my personal sanctuary isn’t quite the same as breaking the law, but it could be considered against the rules. I’m not doing any harm by sitting here.
Neither are Odin and Patsy, no more so than the donkey, and less than many tourists who clomp along the trails.
Beyond the obvious interpretation, I shouldn’t let some random, unsubstantiated information on the internet change my opinion of Odin. We all have a past and actions we’d prefer to forget.
“Okay, I get it. Message received. Thanks.”
As much as he’s the town weirdo, I doubt Odin thinks he has conversations with the divine in an empty old chapel.
Feeling better, I fold my hands in prayer and say, “Amen.”
This time there’s no echo, no open door when I look up.
I pick up my mug and take a moment to listen to the stillness, confirming to myself that I imagined the second amen last time.
After work on Sunday, I find Odin Hill sitting on my porch steps looking like he could throw thunderbolts with his eyes.
I put the SUV’s engine in park while we lock stares through the windshield. My heart does its trout-out-of-water impression and my pulse kicks into fight-or-flight mode. He looks angry and intense, slightly dangerous, which only makes him sexier.
His messy hair is loose, not contained by a cap or ponytail holder. That combined with his untamed beard, gives him a wild appearance, and I think I’m more nervous about him than I was about the bear.
He doesn’t move to stand. Simply sits there, waiting for me with his broad shoulders hunched and his hands clasped between his knees.
After a few moments of staring at each other, me feeling more and more like I’m trapped
in this vehicle, he lifts up a paper bag from beside him. “I brought a peace offering.”
If either of us should be apologizing, it’s probably me. I’m the one who ratted on him to my colleague. I’m the one with the suspicious mind.
“You can’t stay in there forever, Daphne.” He bends his finger toward himself. “Come on out.”
Alarm bells go off in my body as I contemplate fleeing. Instead, I find myself unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the door. Once out the car, I hesitate near the hood. “How are you?”
“Good. You?” He doesn’t smile.
“All’s well. Allergies are better. Happy it stopped raining. Work’s been busy. Doing more school programs. New bear attacks remain at zero.” My words crowd together as I try to fill the space of his silence. “Everything is A-OK.”
“That’s …” He doesn’t finish his sentence.
“Good?”
His head bobs. “Can we talk?”
“Okay.” I remain where I am.
“Maybe inside?” He stands, rising to his full height. “If you don’t mind.”
Do I? I check in with myself. If we’re going to have a come-to-Jesus conversation, I’d prefer it not be out in the open with a potential audience of witnesses.
Silently, I pass him on the stairs, and he waits for me to open the door. I turn the key in the lock and motion for him to go ahead.
“Odin?” I touch his arm.
He stares down at where my hand rests on his forearm.
I wait until he lifts his gaze to mine before speaking. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry I asked Griffin to investigate you. It was before we met in the woods and you took care of me. I don’t want you to think I was ungrateful for your kindness.”
The fire in his eyes dims. “Thank you for being honest.”
Chapter Nineteen
Odin
I wasn’t anticipating her apologizing and owning up to what she did, nor was I prepared for her gentle touch on my arm. Hesitant yet firm, I believe it’s the first time she’s touched me, not counting the finger jabs when she was hopped up on Benadryl. If I’m being fair, I know shouldn’t I hold her actions that day against her.
Stranger Ranger: An Opposites Attract Romance (Park Ranger Book 2) Page 13