“My brother had a rough morning,” Dad said. “He was trying to avoid a moose.”
The man whistled again as he admired the car. “She must have looked nice before this happened. Do you mind my asking what your brother’s planning to do with her now?”
“You’ll have to ask his wife,” Dad said.
The truck driver nodded and smiled.
In a few minutes the wreck of a car was loaded onto the flatbed truck. Aunt Palleta then emerged from the house wearing one of my mother’s old coats. She shook hands with the truck driver, wiped her hand briskly on her pants, and climbed into the passenger side of the cab.
“I hope we can get past all this,” Dad said to her.
“I hope so,” she said without a hint of a giggle, or a hint of sincerity. She closed the passenger door and stared straight ahead.
“We’ll be down to visit him soon,” Dad said, but Aunt Palleta never responded as the noisy truck began to rev and lurch away.
***
Animals began pouring from the woods the moment after the tow truck left. Stomper came up to my dad, lowered his huge head and said, “Hmm, I have spoken with Lobo while you were away, and as a result of hearing his wisdom, I have seen the error of my ways. I should not have chased Chuck with as much vigor as I did. To cause trouble was never my intent. For that I am sorry. M-hmm. If you wish me to depart, I will do so.”
“You didn’t start the trouble, big guy,” Dad said. “But you sure finished it.”
“Hmm, I did not finish it as roughly as I could have finished it, I assure you.”
“I believe you,” Dad said. “And you were sticking up for Ethan,” he continued, giving Stomper a quick pat to his muscled shoulder. “I think he’d be pretty disappointed if you were to leave now, before we have dinner.”
Mom and I said, “What?” at the same time.
“We have no guests for dinner,” Dad said. “At least, we don’t have our usual Thanksgiving guests. So, we’ll just have to improvise.”
***
Dad spoke with Lobo for a moment about his plan. After a brief exchange, Lobo called the animals to attention and addressed them.
“Russell Dewfield has proposed a celebration—a feast—which you are all welcome to partake in,” he said. He paused only long enough for the congregation to mutter softly for a moment, then went on. “Should you accept his kind offer, let it be known that this is not the start of a new way of life. You must not become dependent on humans to provide you with food. You must remain self-sufficient as you are now, and enjoy such gifts only on rare occasions, and only from such people as Earthkeepers. What do you say?”
“Hooray,” said many voices. Everyone celebrated in some way or another, but none with such enthusiasm as Prowler the raccoon. He did several flips before falling over on the ground, kicking and laughing in a state of sheer, uncontrollable delight—sort of like what kids do after opening a very exciting Christmas present.
My mother was a slightly tougher sell on the merits of the feast. Dad kept trying to explain as he led us down to the basement and started removing all the frozen cod and salmon from the freezer.
“Those fish are for the guests,” Mom kept pleading. “You can’t give it all to wolves and bears and whatnot. Russ, you know how expensive that is.”
“We can buy more,” Dad replied casually, wearing a wide smile. “Relax, Ellie. We can afford it.”
Mom sat down on the back steps as Dad passed all the fish out to the wolves and to Berry bear, and as soon as he was finished, he called me to go with him across the road to the barn, where we started carrying out bales of hay for all the deer and moose. We kept hay to line the skating rink with, which served as barriers when the hockey games got serious or novice skaters got to falling. After spreading out eight bales in the back yard, we went back to the basement in search of apples and frozen blueberries and whatever else seemed fitting.
“Peanuts!” said Prowler. He was bouncing up and down by the kitchen door as we returned with the apples and berries. “Where are the pa-pa-pa-peanuts?”
I ran in to the kitchen pantry, dragged out the big bag, and filled my coat and pants pockets for Prowler and Bandit and anyone else who might want some. Upon returning to the back yard I was promptly surrounded and quickly relieved of every last one.
“You know,” said Bandit as he took his share of peanuts. “I have to give you credit, Ethan. I was wrong about you. I should have listened to Prowler last night. You’re a good kid. You made all this happen. I’m grateful to you. Very grateful.”
You’re welcome, I said. And thank you for the compliment.
“Does that mean you’ll stay out of the trash from now on?” Ginny asked him.
“Well,” said the raccoon, clutching a pile of peanuts close to his body, “I wouldn’t go so far as to promise I’ll never check the cans again. But I will try to avoid the temptation. That much I’ll promise you.”
My father then emerged from the house with a bag of sunflower seeds. Rather than filling the birdfeeder as usual, he spread large amounts of seeds in a long row, like a buffet table, for all the birds, chipmunks and squirrels to enjoy at their leisure. By that point Mom had given up resisting the feast. She cut large portions of pie and brought them outside for the three of us to eat while the animals feasted.
After I was done eating, I brought Stomper a few extra snacks. Since he was so much larger than the others, I figured he could use a little more food to help make up the difference. In the end he ate a whole bale of hay, plus half of Eileen’s bale, six apples, seven sticks of celery, ten carrots, a small bite of blueberry pie crust, and one of my mittens. That was on top of the pumpkins and corn he’d eaten earlier. No one dared guess what else he’d eaten before then.
***
That odd Thanksgiving feast was said to be one to remember by all who attended. Dad announced that it would be an annual event for as long as the guests wished. That, agreed everyone, made it all the more enjoyable, because it was merely the first of many to come, and instead of having to say farewells, we could all part cheerfully knowing we would see one another again. As the day passed, Dad and I spoke with as many of guests as we could as they began to file out of the yard.
“Thanks again, Ethan,” Prowler said to me before leaving. He sat back and rested his paws on his bulging belly. It looked as if he was holding a soccer ball covered in fur. “A good nap is all I need now. Hopefully I can still fit into my den. Haw-haw! Oh, owe. Hurts to laugh.”
“My thanks again for the feast,” said Berry bear to my dad, before heading off to sleep away the winter. “And my apologies again for the car.”
“Don’t lose any sleep about it,” Dad assured him. “I sure won’t.”
“Hmm,” groaned Stomper on his way out for a date with Eileen. “I will see you again soon, little Ethan, but for now I must be on my way. There are apples to find. M-hmm. And cows to court. And bad men to chase. A bull’s work is never done.”
See you soon, my big friend, I said. It was difficult not to smile when interacting with Stomper. After a quick shoulder scratch he stomped off on his way.
The last animals to leave were the wolves, and their departure was the only one of the day that made me feel a little sad.
“Again I must praise you,” the great wolf Lobo said to me. “You did your work very well, Ethan. I urge you to continue it as well as you have begun. If you strive to improve your speech with humans, while maintaining your respected status with your wild neighbors, you will indeed grow to be a rare man.”
I’ll try, I told him. I’m very glad you came to help us. I just wish you didn’t have to leave so soon.
“Time is something we Outlaws have little of,” said the wolf. “The struggle of Earthkeeping keeps us always on the run. It is sometimes regrettable, but always necessary.”
I hope we will see you all again someday, I said, feeling nervous of what he might reply. Not because there’s a problem for you to fix, but just to visit.<
br />
“Not soon,” answered the wolf. “I will not mislead you. But someday, I think, you might hope to see us again.”
I stood with my dad on one side and Ginny on the other. We offered our thanks and respect to all of the pack. Then we watched them fan out into the woods, loping in their effortless way over the terrain until they gradually became a part of it. We watched until the last hints of their shadowy movements vanished beyond the trees. As quickly as they’d entered our lives they were gone again, and all seemed eerily quiet. Our big back yard felt empty without their strong presence. Only their tracks remained, until the next snow, to remind us that we had not imagined them and their rare visit.
Not many days passed before we had eight inches of fresh snow on the ground. Ginny accompanied me for a stroll along the trail one morning, and as we walked along the path my father had packed with his snowshoes, we searched the snow along the trailside in meager hope of finding wolf tracks. We found no tracks, but we did encounter a few raccoons and squirrels obsessed with peanuts, and it was not altogether too disappointing. And not many days passed before strange events started being reported by the first wave of the inn’s winter guests.
Mrs. Bennett, sitting bundled on the front porch after a few passes down the hill, kicked back in her chair with a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll. Feeling very relaxed and thankful to be on vacation, she closed her eyes a moment to reflect. She opened them a moment later to find a twitchy gray squirrel on the table by her chair. It was in the process of dunking part of the cinnamon roll in her coffee. It crammed a large amount into its mouth, made a gesture something like a courteous bow, and then scampered away.
Mr. Lewis, sleeping in room #4, a first floor room, awoke one night to a ticking sound on his window. Upon opening the curtains he saw a raccoon tapping its paw on the glass. The animal stared at him for a moment, seemed unimpressed, and moved along to another window.
Mrs. Swanson from room #6 had the most alarming encounter. One morning she arose, wearing very little clothing, and opened the curtains just enough to light the room for her morning exercise routine. Instead of seeing daylight and the backyard pond, she saw, as she later stated, “an enormous peeping moose” with a face half as tall as her entire body, peering through the window at her. When she screamed (as many people might) the moose shook his head and retreated to seek a more hospitable window.
***
So now you know how I met the Earthkeepers, and how I discovered that I myself am an Earthkeeper. You also know more about the Dewfield family and our wild, friendly, hungry, and sometimes obtrusive neighbors. But this is not the end. Many other stories have taken shape here at The Inn at Maple Grove.
Note to Readers
Kids: please do not attempt to ride on the back of a bull moose.
Parents: please do not allow your kids to attempt such a stunt.
Moose: do not allow any kids to ride on your back.
Others: the same warning applies to you too.
My thanks for giving The Earthkeepers a try. It is my attempt at a mild fairy tale that appeals to kids of all ages, blending a few relatable, realistic issues with a little bit of wonder and near magical possibilities. Plus I just like animals and imagining their worldview. And maybe I did watch a few too many episodes of Grizzly Adams as a kid.
In summer 2013 I first began organizing notes for The Earthkeepers, though I’ve been sort of thinking of it (or a story like it) for most of my life. I befriended a chipmunk in my back yard, and was watching him trying to carry a crabapple one day, when I decided to seriously attempt a talking animal story. It was intended only to be a short break from the North Woods stories that would be quick and easy to write (yeah, right) and fun for me to spend several months thinking about.
Well, it has been fun, but it sure wasn’t quick or easy to finish. Much of the fault is mine. In a way I didn’t want to let it go. And the more I lingered with it, the more I wanted to keep lingering with it. All this time later, I hope you’ve enjoyed it half as much as I’ve enjoyed living with it for the past year.
As Ethan’s closing statement suggests, there are more stories to tell from Maple Grove. As of Oct. 2014 I am working on his next adventure—and Chuck’s next misfortune. With some luck I’ll have it ready for Christmas 2014.
As always reviews are hugely appreciated. I read every one. Just don’t spoil it for others by mentioning the twist involving Chuck or the family inheritance. That would be uncool.
For those hoping for North Woods book 4, I haven’t forgotten you or the story. In my mind it’s awesome, but I’ve had a terrible time trying to organize and write much beyond random notes. Someday, somehow, I will do my best to finish it. Until then I can only apologize and compile lists of excuses.
For questions and comments, occasional updates, or if you happen to be feeling very bored and aimless, head over to Facebook.
It’s a real party over there, let me tell you.
Well, no, not really a party.
But I do try to respond to all PM’s and comments whenever possible.
The Earthkeepers Page 16