by David Kersey
CHAPTER EIGHT – Mountain wilderness
Van checked his watch…..seven a.m. his time, ten a.m. local. Convinced that he was alone in the rustic wooden cabin, he stripped and turned on the water in the shower, which was no larger than a phone booth. The warm water felt good, and he was surprised at how alive he felt, a vibrancy that trumped his concern that he would feel somewhat hung-over and in a fugue state. Quite the opposite. He was invigorated. Given his bent toward the couch potato coterie, he was surprised to find himself running in place in the tiny bathroom. The aberrant energy burst was as if some ripped and always ready exercise freak had taken control of his body and was making him smile into the mirror. He hadn’t felt this way in, what, twenty years maybe? Thirty years?
The morning sky did not match his exuberance. Low flying dark clouds raced southward, the billows tickling the crowns of the mountain pines. He was thankful he had brought a long-sleeved flannel shirt just in case. For the third week in June this was nippy, but it felt refreshing and was an added contributor to the spring in his steps toward the barn.
“It’s about time, sleeping beauty.” Adele was seated with Joshua in the Arabica enclosed lounge. She had not lost her affinity for sarcasm which was thinly disguised behind a wide smile.
“Come sit. There’s coffee and a breakfast croissant,” Joshua added. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Stimulated. Like I want to floor the gas pedal. I’m feeling as racy as a gazelle.”
Joshua smiled and looked at Adele. “We have been talking about that while waiting for you.” Joshua poured his homemade java into Jamison’s cup. “Before we go for a walk I want to ask your opinion. Namanda will be arriving in about four hours. Van, are you familiar with the Purkinje cells in the cerebellum, or rather with the consequences of the failure or loss of those cells?”
“If I said anything at all it would expose my ignorance; but yes, I’ve read a little about them. And by the way, this coffee is excellent.”
“Adele and I have been questioning the ethics of letting Namanda absorb the NIL. Adele tells me she possesses one of the most beautiful minds in the world. Is it ethical to try to change that gift? Would it have been a service to humanity to alter the mind of Einstein, Henry Ford, Van Gogh, Mozart, Thomas Jefferson, Mark Twain, or the many others who displayed the symptoms of what would later be labelled autism? I don’t fear that the boost of energy would prompt a seizure. My concern would be the creation of new neurons that would activate the Purkinje cells and thereby possibly, in the long run, “normalize” her. What are your thoughts?”
“I remember you saying that the parents, and Namanda, were fully apprised and therefore were supporting the visit, which would include the introduction of the NIL. Didn’t I hear you say that?”
“Yes, you heard that, but it was Adele who said it. The question becomes, ‘Should we?’ Let’s go for a walk, Adele wants to show you her tiny secluded forest.”
Van understood the not so disguised dig. It was obvious the two had been talking about him and his perception of their big picture. The thought, “Mr. Gorbacev, tear down this wall!” mysteriously emerged from his own memory cabinet. And there was a wall, his years of accumulated science had built it bulkhead strong. He resolved that on this day he would attempt to understand the obliqueness being presented to him. He owed that to his hosts.
The three walked toward the rising slope to the east side of the barn. During the approach, Adele said, “Van, Namanda has a high functioning ASD, which you know is autism spectrum disorder. She has nearly normal motor skills. What you haven’t been told is that there is a child who lives close to here, a twelve year old girl who had the low functioning motor skills of a six year old. Autry gave the parents a small batch of the NIL three months ago and those parents have begged Autry on their hands and knees for more. They’ve noticed small incremental improvements in Peggy’s advancement in coordination and communication skills. She now can string together many more sentences. She doesn’t lose her balance as often, and she doesn’t look away from her parents when speaking, at least not all the time. It’s like she has advanced two years in three months’ time.”
“There is no known cure for autism, you know that.” There was that wall again, so he added, “But I’m listening.”
“Good for you.”
The slope had increased to a steeper incline which made the footing slippery due to the bed of slimy carpet of last winter’s mildewed leaves. There was still a considerable distance to the crest.
“Van, despite Joshua’s desire to keep himself out of the public eye, the word is getting around out here in the boondocks. It won’t be long before this tiny secluded forest becomes the focus of a broader awareness.”
There was the dig again. “I suppose that does seem inevitable.”
They reached a grassy plateau but not before Van’s ears had popped. There was still more climbing to do as they turned southward on a fairly well-worn narrow trail through the pines. Once they had scaled the remaining incline the trail levelled out along the top of the ridge. After a few hundred more paces Jamison stopped and caught his breath in awe. They had reached a clearing which provided a view over miles and miles of rolling hilltops that imitated the swells of an angry sea. Far below his feet, five hundred feet perhaps, was the Cumberland River, lazily oozing southward before bending to the west out of view. Jamison imagined how majestic the scene would be in the explosive color of October.
“Let’s keep walking, there is quite a way to go before we make a full lap back to the barn. When we come to the turn to the west, there are some chairs where we can take a momentary rest. Van, what would you say is the state of mental health care in this country?”
“It is disappearing because of neglect and lack of funding. No one that I know is voicing concern. Is that your understanding as well?”
Van, as well as many others in his discipline had deep concerns about the incongruity between the decline of the availability of mental health care and the rise of the incidence of mental illness, especially among the young. Rarely a day passed without hearing of a school shooting, or mall shooting, theater shootings, or horrific stories of dead parents.
“In the last six years, funding provided by the individual states for psychiatric care has shrunk by eighty percent. The number of beds available to the mentally ill in psychiatric wards has been reduced by a similar percentage. The outcome is that people gravely in need of immediate care are turned away….not admitted…or relegated to an emergency room where appropriate care is unavailable or unqualified. So the mentally distraught are turned out, then the news of a death, or multiple deaths, soon follows. Why do you think this tragedy exists?”
“Oh, two reasons I can think of. One would be the money. Since insurers won’t cover patients unless they are in imminent danger of ending their own lives, the hospitals and clinics can’t afford to offer free beds. The second reason is that, just as in the case of autism, the overall belief system in this and other countries is to push mental illness out of the scope of awareness, almost like it doesn’t exist. After all, there are more pressing needs, like profits and providing war funds.”
“Van, I have lived that life. I know it to some degree. I never became violent or suicidal, but I witnessed daily the sneers aimed at my direction. Another homeless bum. Passersby would shake their heads in disgust and scurry away from me rather than reach out with a caring heart. But it gets much grimmer than my own experience, with teenage suicides and homicides of family members increasing at an alarming rate.”
The trail along the ridge turned to the west. “You’ll want to watch your step along this side of the mountain. There are sheer drop-offs at places.”
“Uh, ok. I’m not real fond of heights. Adele, you haven’t said a word.”
“Don’t you mind me, Van. While you two have been squawking, I’ve been watching the deer following us. Up yonder is the overlook, so you’d better prepare for a nosebleed, you California surfer-boy.”
>
“Really, deer?” Van looked back over the trail they had travelled. It was empty of any animal, but then he saw the innocent face of a doe standing between two trees on the slope abutting the trail. It occurred to him that there stood a creature freed from mental torment.
“Ok, we’ve reached the halfway point. Van, if you have vertigo, don’t look over the edge. It’s a sheer drop for two hundred feet. Let’s take a seat and enjoy the view.”
On the rocky outcropping there were several boulders set back from the precipice. Adele hopped atop one of them and so Van selected a boulder seat for himself. The view directly south was spectacular. Magnificent, yet imposing, just feet away from stumbling to certain death. But, like the fly being drawn to the web, he just had to see the precariousness for himself. He neared the drop and sank to his knees, then crawled so that he could peek his head over the rocky edge.
“Oh……my……God.” The rock facing below him was absolutely vertical, and it was one hellacious long way straight down to where the mountain slope resumed its way to the river’s edge. Wiley Coyote wouldn’t survive such a fall, well, yes he would. Dizzied, he slowly pushed his was back from the terrifying sight which would surely ingrain into his long term memory.
Joshua and Adele were smiling since they both had done the same exact thing in times past. “We call this Dead Man’s Bluff. See that tower off in the distance?” Joshua pointed to the southwest. “That’s right at the Tennessee/Kentucky border. And if you haven’t noticed, there’s patches of blue in the sky. The view is better in full sunlight. Now look behind you.”
Van turned and saw the rear of the barn off in the distance and the valley below where he had first seen Joshua. “So do you think Daniel Boone actually did roam these areas, or is that all fantasy?”
“It’s true, Van. I wouldn’t doubt that, at one time or another, he sat where you are right now, only it would have been two hundred years ago. Due west and not far from here is Wayne County. That’s where he settled down and lived for quite a while, but he roamed all over the territory, setting up temporary encampments.
Are you familiar with wild ginseng, goldenseal, or the ginkgo tree, or wild yams, Van?”
“Well, I’ve heard of them, of course, as sources of energy, but I wouldn’t recognize the vegetation.”
“Jack and Adele found a gold mine here. Wild ginseng cultivation is highly regulated with stiff penalties for growing or harvesting plants without permits and licenses. Mature ginseng plants, meaning at least five years old, can produce roots that can sell for as high as five hundred dollars per pound. For that kind of money it encourages illegal poaching and significant jail time if caught. So we need to keep quiet about the hundreds of mature ginseng plants on the property. It’s been said that it was Daniel Boone who planted them some two hundred years ago, but no one knows if that is actually true. It takes just the right composition of shade and soil conditions for the plants to prosper, and the soil here and large population of shade trees made this an ideal place to cultivate ginseng. Boone would have recognized that. Jack negotiated in the lease that he could use the seeds from the ginseng to plant new crops, but could not uproot any plant. The same with the goldenseal, ginkgo trees and the yams, supposedly planted by Boone or the Shawnee tribes that preceded him. Speaking of vertigo, you could pick off a leaf from the ginkgo, chew on it to release its oils, then spit it out, and supposedly you will lose the sensation of vertigo. Not only that, but you’d also have a burst of energy and mental clarity for up to three hours just from chewing on the leaf. The yam provides energy too, so because all four energy producing vegetation are found in close proximity, it just might have been Daniel Boone who planted them because he was quite the horticulturist in addition to being a hunter and trapper.”
Adele broke the ensuing contemplative silence. “We’ve got the answer, Van.”
“The answer to what question?”
Joshua interrupted. “Wait, we’re not there yet. So you know, I am toying with taking out the peyote and limpet from the formula. I can replace the feeling of relaxation the peyote provides with a slight boost in the kava and the hemp. And I am thinking that an increase in the concentration of garlic may partially ameliorate the eventual loss of the limpet. That won’t soften the blow of losing the properties of the limpet, and that’s why we’re not there yet. We can still use it until, and if, radiation levels surpass the allowed maximum. The maple fungi is not the answer, though Adele your lab rats were close to the truth, but the mold doesn’t contain hemocyanin, which is what we are losing with the limpet going away. I can buy fucoidan, which has some similarity to hemocyanin, from Indonesia or Okinawa, but the expense would be prohibitive. I’m working on that. So we’re close, and it has worked wonders with quite a few folks suffering from one thing or another. Van, I haven’t shown you the lab yet, have I?”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Let’s move on to the western slopes and we’ll be back at the barn in less than twenty minutes. Even without the limpet, there is enough efficacy in the remaining therapies to take on the mental health dilemma and win some tough battles. Let’s walk. Just around the corner ahead is where Adele hopes to build one day.”
The three made the right hand turn onto the northbound path. There was an absence of a dense tree line that would have prohibited views to the west, so the entire trail length provided wondrous views of the mountains to the west and the river snaking away. They came to a mesa that was flattened into an approximate hundred foot square.
“This is it, Van. Wonderful view, huh?”
“Indeed it is. This would make a wonderful spot for a mountain home. I hope your dreams come true.”
“We’ve put a lot of thought into it. We figured out a way to access it, get water up to it, and so forth. We hope to terrace the slopes down toward the valley behind the barn and grow our own goldenseal and ginkgo for resale. I’d like to investigate growing the hemp also. We have some money saved to build a greenhouse in the valley, so we’ll grow what we eat. It will be a simple life, and a healthy one.”
Joshua added, “Speaking of health, that is our niche. There’s not a lot we as individuals can do about terrorism, or cyber-attacks, or data fraud, or unemployment, or global weather changes, or food crises, or the mismanagement of government. But we can make significant strides in the well-being of our citizens, here and abroad. And if people have changed attitudes and behaviors because of what we are doing, maybe the things we can’t change will start to improve by themselves. It would be worth the entire effort to have prevented the Sandy Hook massacre, don’t you think? We would like you to catch our vision and help us, Van.”
“What would that entail?”
“Come, let’s go sit in the lab and I will show you the blueprint of our plans to date.”
+ + + + +
“Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
Irene stepped inside the room. “Hi, Mrs. Peterson. Congratulations on your beautiful new baby girl.”
“Thank you. You’re new, aren’t you?” The new mother was at rest in the hospital bed, watching Dr. Oz on the obligatory wall mounted television.
“New to the maternity ward, that’s for sure. I work in the oncology wing. I came down to say hi when I learned you were from McCreary County.”
“I sure am. Do I know you? What’s your name?”
“Irene Ralston, but I don’t have family over there. I just came to ask you something.”
“Ok.”
“Have you heard of something called NIL? The reason I’d like to know is that my sister’s son is seriously ill, and I’ve heard some good things about the NIL from my cancer patients.”
“Of course I have. All the expectant mothers in the birthing class were using it. I’m surprised you’re asking about it. Don’t you have it over here?”
“Not yet.” Irene fibbed, but she wasn’t lying about Jimmie, her nephew who is battling testicular cancer.
“I’ve go
t some with me. There’s not much left but you’re welcome to it. I can get more tomorrow when I get back home.”
“That would be a God-send. I would be forever thankful.”
“My purse is sitting on the chair. Bring it over to me and I’ll give you what I have.”
Mrs. Peterson fished through her purse, produced a lipstick container, opened it, and pulled out a glass vial. “We were told to keep the vial inside the metal to keep it from breaking. Good idea, huh?”
“Super idea.” Irene wondered if that was the real reason.
“Take it. It’s so good for you. I hope your nephew gets better. Cancer is so awful.”
“What did you name your baby?”
“Jeanne. Jeanne Autry Peterson. Isn’t that cute?”
“Certainly is. Autry, that’s an unusual middle name.”
“I know. But we just love the Sheriff. He’s the one who hands out the NIL. Shhh, don’t tell him, he doesn’t know we named her that yet.”
“What’s his first name, the Sheriff?”
“That is his first name. His last name is Kane. Wonderful man.”
“God bless you, Honey. I’ve got to get back to work, but I appreciate this more than you know. Can I pay you something for it?”
“And God bless you, Nurse Ralston. Glad to help, but no, it’s free to everyone, so I couldn’t charge you a thing. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Irene left the room in a daze, for nothing ever is free. FREE? On the ride up the elevator she pulled the container out of her scrubs and smelled the contents. Peppermint more than anything else. She put her finger over the opening and turned the vial upside down, then put her wetted finger to her tongue. Nothing distinctive. She put the items back in her pocket, still astonished at the word FREE. Free doesn’t add up.