Nature Girl

by Jane Kelley

  “Why are you?” he says.

  “I have to get to Mount Greylock,” I say.

  “But why?” she says.

  “It’s something I have to do. It’s my Hodgkin’s Hike,” I say.

  “What kind of hike?” he says.

  “The kind where you keep going no matter what,” I say.

  “People are very worried about you,” she says.

  “I know. I didn’t plan that part. And I’m sorry. But it’s just like how you have to keep drawing that same tree. I always used to quit. My parents always tried to teach me not to be like that. Only they couldn’t. I had to do this hike to learn that the only way to fail is to quit.”

  “That’s what you always tell me,” she says to the man.

  “I know,” he says.

  I stare at them. I’m not going to be a beggar like Arp. I’m just going to stand there calmly and confidently until they let me climb Mount Greylock.

  “She’s so close,” she says.

  “But her parents,” he says.

  “I think they’ll understand,” she says.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I hate to be responsible.”

  “And I hate to keep her from finishing her trip. She’s come so far. I mean, look at her,” she says.

  He looks toward Mount Greylock. Then he looks at me.

  “We’ll be watching the news. If you haven’t made it by tonight, we’ll come looking for you,” he says.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make it,” I say.

  They give me all their food and their water. The woman hugs me, and then she shakes my hand like I’m an important person.

  Arp and I walk toward a blue splotch on the far side of Mount Fitch. As we start going down, I turn back to wave. “I really like that drawing,” I call to her.

  She smiles so happily that I don’t tell her the real reason I like it. Her tree looks like the Hundred-Year-Old Maple.

  18

  Mount Greylock

  The Trail is a huge long thing. It stretches all the way from Maine to Georgia. That’s practically all of America, if you’re going from top to bottom. (Well, duh, I guess that’s why they made it like that.) Anyway, that huge long thing is so much bigger than you are, and bigger than anything you can imagine, that at first hiking it seems impossible. But when you’re actually walking on it, you realize that this whole huge thing is just step after step after step, oops don’t trip on that root, hmm wonder what that ugly plant is called, ouch that bug bit me. Step after step, some up, some down, some easy, some hard. And that’s how you get it done. One little bit at a time.

  The end is in sight.

  Well, actually the end WAS in sight when I was standing on top of Mount Fitch and feeling powerful and wise. But as soon as I go back on the Trail and climb down Mount Fitch, Mount Greylock gets hidden by the leaves. Going down seems like such a total waste of energy because obviously we’re only going to have to climb BACK UP again. And while I’m on the subject of climbing up and down a million hills, the next time somebody makes a long trail that stretches all across the United States, maybe they could put it in a FLAT place!

  And oh, by the way, it starts to rain.

  At first it’s just a few drops. Just a few wet splotches landing plop on my hat.

  “Maybe whoever is in charge of the weather will take pity on us since we’re so close,” I say to Arp.

  But obviously nobody is in charge of the weather, because then it really starts pouring. Oh great. Now what are we going to do?

  I start to run. But then I stop. Where do I think I’m running to? I mean, it’s not like I can go inside. I have a choice of trees to stand under. That’s all.

  I’m desperate enough to get out the rain poncho. By that point, I don’t care if I look like a nerd. But even after I put it over Arp and me, the rain leaks through. I’m getting more and more miserable. And don’t you dare say, Well, at least the rain chased away the mosquitoes. Or, You shouldn’t complain; you’ve been really lucky with the weather so far. Or, What do you expect? Do you think you’re hiking through a desert? And please do NOT be like my dad and give me a whole long lecture that ends with the saying “Into each life some rain must fall.”

  There isn’t anything to do except keep going. Actually there is one good thing about the rain. We’re the only ones crazy enough to be out hiking in it.

  Of course, I have to carry Arp. I can’t even bribe him with the rest of those bagels because there’s no way to tell when we’re going to get to the store on top of Mount Greylock. I can’t see it anymore. Huge clouds are sitting on top of the mountain. Meanwhile, the rain is turning the Trail into a river of mud.

  My hike is falling apart. In fact, I’m starting to fall apart too. I mean, it was bad enough being tired and hungry. But now I’m wet and muddy AND tired and hungry. Instead of doing the last few miles in total awesome triumph, I’m sloshing along. I can’t even think about how close I am to Lucy. Or whether she’ll be glad to see me. All I can think is, I’ve got to make it up this last mountain.

  After we share a soggy bagel for our lunch, the Trail starts going up again.

  “This is it, Arp. This is Mount Greylock. For real this time.” I put him down. “This is the end of our journey. You have to do it on your own four feet.”

  The rain has mostly ended, but we still get showers when drops fall off the leaves. We pass under trees that tower over us like wise old giants. Everything feels solemn, except the birds are really chattering away. Maybe they’re just glad the storm has ended and they can eat the lovely mosquitoes that will soon be swarming around again. But it seems like the birds are saying to me, “You did it!”

  And you know what? I did do it. The girl who thought she couldn’t do anything, who always quit, who hated the Woods—that girl hiked all the way from Vermont to Massachusetts, with just her little dog and not nearly enough food and all kinds of worries. But she didn’t let anything stop her. No matter how dark it got or how lonely and hungry she got, she kept going.

  And somehow or other I SURVIVED!

  When Arp and I come out of the Woods, we’re on top of Mount Greylock. But we don’t rush right over to find the store. I think we better scope out the situation. So I feed Arp the last bagel while we hide in the bushes at the edge of a carpet of grass. Yes, real grass that somebody actually cut with a lawn mower. In the center of the grass is a tall tower made of gray stone. Its sides curve in as it rises into the sky. On its top is a huge sphere that looks like it could send signals to outer space. I feel like they built that huge monument just for me.

  The sun is setting. But this time I’m not worried about the dark that’s coming. This time the color is just part of the celebration.

  I’m here. I’m finally really and truly here.

  You’ll never believe what happens next. A car drives by.

  Excuse me? A CAR? On a ROAD?

  I know people do drive up here. How else could they have a store? Besides, I can see a few other cars in a parking lot that’s way off to the right side of the grass. But still, it doesn’t seem right that someone just drives up in a car after I nearly KILLED myself hiking to get here.

  That person turns out to be a Park Ranger, which makes me nervous, since Rangers are like policemen. I very quietly pick up Arp and slip deeper into the bushes.

  The car stops near a family that’s sitting on the grass in little camp chairs. The Ranger leans out the window and says, “The park closes an hour after sunset.”

  The park closes? I have to cover my mouth so I won’t burst out laughing. Give me a break. How can they close the park? What are they going to do? Put away all the trees? Roll up the carpet of grass? Will the animals take off their fur suits and go home?

  The mom says, “We better start packing up then. Go buy your ice cream.”

  The kids run over to a cute little stone house next to the parking lot. That must be the souvenir store. They tug at the door, but it won’t open. So they run back.

 
“It closed at six, Mom!” one of the kids says.

  “Oh, well. Get in the car. We’ll stop someplace else on the way home.”

  Can you believe it? After all those days and nights of hiking, I’m too late! I would be really upset, except that my stomach is way too nervous for eating anyway. I take a big drink of water from the bottle the tree-artist woman gave me. Then I stare at the stone house. On the wall is a pay phone. Luckily it’s outside, so I can still call Lucy.

  I check my watch. It’s eight-fifteen.

  I know that Lucy, Alison, and Mrs. T. are done watching TV. This summer they all watched this one show Alison liked. They had a whole ritual for watching it. First Lucy brought big pillows so they could all sit up in Alison’s bed. Then Mrs. T. brought the snacks, because she’s like me. TV commercials make her feel starving, since they’re always about food and they always show the food in particularly yummy ways—you know, with the cheese all melty and the chocolate chunks really huge. Of course, the snacks would not be pizza or chocolate chip cookies. The snacks would probably be fruit and other healthy things. Even though Lucy wasn’t not-eating anymore, she insisted on eating things that are good for you. As you know by now, Lucy is like that. She always does what’s right. Anyway, Lucy, Alison, and Mrs. T. all snuggled together and watched Jeopardy.

  Now I had never heard of the TV show Jeopardy. I didn’t even have a clue what the word meant, so I asked Dad. He told me to find it in the dictionary because looking up words is a skill I’m supposed to learn. But I couldn’t find the word, because I was spelling it wrong. (Maybe you can tell me what’s the point of putting that o in there.) So Mom helped me.

  Jeopardy means DANGER. EXPOSURE TO IMMINENCE OF DEATH.

  That sounded like a TERRIBLE show for Alison to watch. Unless, I thought, it had a superhero character who always showed up at the end of the episode to save somebody from whatever jeopardy he was in that day—snakes or hurricanes or mutant mosquitoes from outer space.

  Now you’re probably laughing, because of course you know what the show is. You’ve seen it, right? Well, before you think I’m a total idiot, let me remind you that I’m NOT allowed to watch unlimited amounts of TV. Even when I wasn’t being punished for almost killing the Hundred-Year-Old Maple, I only got one hour of screen time each day. And believe me, I wasn’t about to waste that hour flipping around to shows I didn’t already know were really good.

  But after Lucy told me about it, I decided to watch it too. Doing what she was doing would be almost like spending time with her.

  Imagine my shock when there weren’t any giant spiders or tsunamis. No heroes with muscular bodies. No superpowers or clever gadgets. Just a doofus in a suit and three other doofuses trying to answer questions. Boy, was I mad about wasting thirty minutes on that! But I watched the whole half hour just in case the good part was coming. It wasn’t.

  When I called Lucy on Saturday, I asked her how she could stand to watch a boring quiz show. She said her mom liked it because there were ANSWERS. Yes, actual answers were written in those little boxes. And what’s more, the little boxes were organized by categories, so you always knew what you were getting.

  Every night, Lucy, Alison, and Mrs. T. wrote down their answers to the final question. Then the TV played that music. When the music was over, you found out immediately if you were right or wrong. Nobody had to wait for test results, which Lucy said always drove her mom crazy. Boy, did I know how she felt. Kind of, I mean. Because I was only finding out what grade I got in math. But the tests she was finding out about really were for life or death. Had the new treatment worked? Had her cancer finally gone away this time? Or was it still there?

  Now I remember that the last time I spoke to Lucy, on the day I fell out of the tree, they were waiting to hear from the doctor. They were waiting for the final Jeopardy answer.

  My stomach is churning so much that I have to sit down in the bushes and hide my head in my hands. How could I have been such a bad friend to Lucy? It was so selfish to want her with me. It must have seemed like I hardly cared about Alison at all.

  And like I hardly cared about my own mom. Or my dad. Or even my sister.

  Arp comes over and licks my hands. Maybe he’s being nice, or maybe there’s cream cheese on my fingers. I pick him up and hug him much tighter than he likes. But he lets me. So maybe it isn’t just because of the cream cheese.

  I pull myself up and carry Arp over to the pay phone. After I set him down in some pink petunias that are planted along the building, I put two of the quarters in the slot and punch the buttons. I hear just a short ring. Then someone answers in a big hurry, like she’s been sitting right by the phone, waiting and waiting for someone to call, hoping and hoping for good news. Hoping that it will be life, and not death.

  “Hello?”

  “Mom?”

  “Oh, Megan, thank God,” Mom says.

  Then I’m crying and Mom is crying and calling to Dad and Ginia. I hear them shouting in the background. We’re all so happy—even Arp, who’s gobbling up a hot dog he found in the petunias.

  19

  Journey’s End

  I hang up the phone. I let out a huge sigh of relief. My family will be here in about an hour. That seems so strange. I mean, it took me five days and four nights to get to the top of Mount Greylock. Actually it took my whole life to get to this place.

  Only I can’t celebrate yet. I still have to make another phone call. I want to call Lucy more than anything. But I’m nervous too. I’ve been gone for so long. What if Alison got sicker? I sigh again. That would be awful. But there’s only one way to find out and that’s to call.

  Unfortunately, just when I’m going to put in my last two quarters, I hear a car. Doesn’t that Ranger have anything better to do than waste gas by making loops around an empty park? It probably won’t matter if he finds me now, but I pick up Arp and slip back into the Woods.

  It’s getting dark. But darkness doesn’t bother me anymore. I can still see the stone tower, since it’s a lighter gray than the sky. While I’m waiting, I draw a picture of it, with me standing on top, of course. Then I add Lucy.

  Arp barks.

  “Be quiet. I’m going to put you in the picture,” I whisper. Before I can figure out where to squeeze him in, he runs off into the Woods.

  “Arp!” I hiss. I can’t believe he’s gone after another rabbit. Hasn’t he learned by now he’s never going to catch one? I almost hope that he finally does; this is the last chance he’ll get.

  After a little while he trots back to me. His tail is wagging, like he’s really proud of himself. Only he doesn’t have a rabbit. He’s bringing Trail Blaze Betty! It’s too dark to see her face, but I recognize her bent legs and her orange hat.

  I’m stunned. How could Arp do this to me?

  I get to my feet, but it’s too late to run anywhere. All I can do is apologize. “Look, I know I lied about my parents being with me on the Trail. I don’t have eight people in my family, so I shouldn’t have taken eight brownies. I shouldn’t have eaten them all at once either. I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back for them. I have ten dollars.”

  Trail Blaze Betty holds out her hand. At first, I think she wants the money. But instead, she grabs my hand and shakes it.

  “You did it, Girl. Had my doubts sometimes. But you did it.”

  Arp is jumping up against her legs until she bends down to scratch behind his ears. “You too, little fellow. You hiked the whole way.”

  I’m going to point out that actually I carried him for a lot of those miles. But I don’t want to spoil the moment.

  “You set a tough pace this last stretch. Mind if I sit down?” she says.

  “Oh no.” I sit down too.

  She slips off her pack and then lowers herself to the ground. She grunts when she plops the last few inches. She takes a water bottle and a package out of her pack. She opens the package and takes out a thin brown strip. She offers it to me. “Go on. It’s pemmican.”

  I am suspicio
us because of my recent tofu experience. But I take a nibble. It’s hard to chew, but it’s not too bad. “Thanks. What did you say it was?”

  “Dried buffalo.”

  I nearly choke. “Are you serious?”

  “Native Americans eat it. I left in such a hurry I couldn’t get any decent food ready. Had to just take whatever dried food I had. Here. Have some water.”

  She offers me the bottle. I take a drink. Then I give her back the bottle. “So why did you leave in such a hurry? Did you follow me because you were mad?”

  “Angry? No. Crazy maybe.”

  “Crazy?”

  “To let you do this. But if I was going to let you, I figured I better keep an eye on you. Got really mad when you left the Trail those two times. Thought for sure you’d get lost. But you found your way back.”

  “Thank you for letting me.”

  “I only let you because it seemed important for you to do it.”

  “It was.”

  I’m afraid she’ll want me to say how or why or something. But luckily she isn’t the kind of grown-up who thinks it’s necessary to TALK about stuff after you’ve already done it. She scratches Arp’s ears. Then she says, “I had a selfish reason too.”

  I remember what she said when I met her. “You want more kids to hike?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, more kids should!”

  “But not on their own.” She points a stick of dried buffalo at me.

  “Oh no. I wouldn’t go alone again.” It’d be much more fun to hike with Lucy. We could even start a club at school and get lots of kids to go. I bet if Patricia Palombo went hiking, she might actually become a girl you could like.

  “The next time there’s an Appalachian Trail meeting and the old people are worried that kids hate hiking, Arp and I will come and prove that we don’t. Right, Arp?”

  Arp is napping. He opens one eye when he hears his name. He doesn’t seem excited. But he will be. I know that when we get back to New York City, he’ll miss the days when he could run after rabbits whenever he wanted.