Herman of the Forest

The sun rose as it did each day, but this time it bothered him. That means he needs to fix the roof today, at least before it rains again. He rolled over and off the hay that he used as a bed. He pulled back the black blanket that covered the window and looked. He heard footfalls. Someone was out there. Someone was nearing his house.

He stared out until he saw them. Three men, all armed with rifles, dressed in camouflage, and all wearing blaze orange hats. One man also had a vest that was a bit too big for him, which made him look like a walking traffic cone.

He was motionless, barely breathing, making no sound. He did not want to alert the hunters to his presence. As they passed his home, he turned a little as they passed, heading towards the lake.

He waited a few more minutes and decided not to start a cooking fire, so he ate the raw vegetables he had found yesterday. He stopped going into town, since too many people ask too many questions. He has money; his VA check is deposited on the first of every month, about $80,000 a year.

There are a few things he does need, but before he goes into town, he needs a shave and possibly a shower. It’s been a few weeks, or is it months? He has no family, no relatives, and one friend, but he lives far away, in another state.

For the last few years, he has lived in this shack, his home. He built and constructed it with his hands to fit the life he wanted to live. He built it five years ago. He got tired of living in the city. Too many people, too fast. He finds food; the animals provide protein once in a while, and a stray cow gave him a pot of milk last week. There are wild fruits, berries, and vegetables all over; you need to know what to look for and what not to eat.

Winter hits hard for a week or so every year. He hunkers down and rides it out. Last year, a family of cats found their way into his home during the worst of it. He gave them a blanket near the fire, and they stayed a few weeks. He found the kittens sleeping on top of him several mornings. Mom cat was not thrilled they were touching a human, but by the second week, they were all friends.

He went out to scavenge for food just after dawn when the sun warmed the forest, and when he returned, they were all gone. Maybe they’ll be back this year, but you never know. He has a few cans of cat food in his home, just in case.

The animals leave him be, but once in a while, a bear likes to see what that smell is. He has a gun, a little Rossi RS22 with a red dot. He uses it for one or two squirrels a week at the most; some weeks, he goes vegetarian. He has maybe 300 rounds of ammunition, so, as far as he is concerned, he’s set for a while.

He did not want to shoot the bear for several reasons. The first of which is, what would he do with all that meat? And of course, a 22 caliber bullet would only piss that bear off, and he would not need to scavenge for food any longer. If he did that, he would not need anything again.

But he does take a few shots into the dirt in front of the bear. That scares him off for a few months. Last time it happened, he hung the casings off the tree. He did see the bear sniff them, and he turned and ran back the other way.

Maybe he’s safe now?

As the air cools off and his roof is water-tight again, he walked away from his home and onto the path most follow. He looked, and his home blends in perfectly with the surrounding brush.

A year before he built this home, he followed an injured dog into the woods. She lay down right about where his home was now. Someone shot her in the hind end. Not bad, but painful.

He brought her to his home in the city and patched her up. When he wanted out of the city, he returned to this brush and dug into the dirt about 8 feet. He put in a wooden floor and covered it with fake grass. The carpet would have gotten nasty fast.

The ceiling was seven feet from the dirt, and he was maybe just shy of six feet. He built a sloped roof from the front to the back and covered it first with kudzu, nature’s shingles.

He needs to go into town, winter is coming, and he is planning. Tomorrow, he would go to the lake and clean up a bit, then head into town. He needs freeze-dried stuff, and his 90-liter backpack is perfect for carrying it all home.

As it was getting dark, he nestled into his makeshift bed and fell asleep. He really was happy living in the trees like some hermit.

“What the hell is that?”

He woke up, and the noise was terrible. “Mom cat, are you back?”

Then he realized she was scared. As he woke up the rest of the way, he smelled it. Fire. Wood. Heat. Flames. Smoke.

His home was about to be destroyed, and Mom Cat saved him. He scooped her up, and her two kittens, and took off towards the city. A few hundred yards away from his home, he stopped. Turning, he watched as it burned, fast, hot. If he were still in there, he could not have escaped. Mom Cat saved him. He owed her his life.

A firefighter found him and ushered him to a waiting ambulance. He brought the cats with him, and they stayed calm and peaceful. They trusted this human; he was a part of their family, and they were a part of his.

The ambulance brought him to the hospital, where he was medically checked, as were Mom Cat and her babies. All got a good report. The Red Cross, a week later, put him up for a few months in an extended stay hotel.

He left the cats in the room asleep and found his bank, showing his ID. He learned he had quite a sum to his name. A bit over $300,000. For the past five years, he lived off less than $12 per month.

Now it’s his turn, he vowed to protect these cats as long as they wanted his protection. There were a lot of questions as to where he was living, and rather than tell them he lived in a home in the woods, he chose to get away from the city; he told everyone he chose to live on the streets. They accepted the story without question.

The place he rented was twice the size of the home in the woods. Mom Cat, and the kids, as he called them, were excellent roommates. Mom Cat was a dark tabby. Kid 1 was similar to Mom, and Kid 2 was orange. He needed to name them, so Mom Cat’s name is Mom Cat. Kid 1 is sleepy for apparent reasons, and Kid 2 is Tangerine.

With the fire extinguished and the area safe to return to, he ventured back to where his home was located. It took a while to find his home, since there were no longer any landmarks, but he found where his home once stood. He saw the floor, still partially intact. He looked at the wall where he stored the dozen cans of cat food in case his roommates returned, and all of them exploded. Overheated and popped from the intense heat of the fire that removed the forest from existence.

He hopped into the home and looked around. He found his rifle, or a part of it. The stock melted beyond repair. That made him think; he looked where he stored his ammunition, and that area was empty. All that remained were small shards of plastic.

“I guess all that ammunition shot all at once. Must have been nice fireworks.”

He looked around for a few more minutes and realized there was nothing left. No mementos, nothing. He headed out of the woods and back to his family. Mom Cat and her babies. They were his world now. He was considered retired.

They lived on the second floor of the building, and at times they sat on the small porch. He had a chair, Mom Cat had a chair, and the kids shared a chair. They all looked to where the woods used to be. One day, the forest would return. It would grow and thrive, and he would go back there and walk around. The woods, his woods. His refuge.

Together, they were the family from the woods. A family that protected each other, survived together, and loved one another. This was not the woods; their woods were gone. They all missed the woods, but something could be said about a warm home, clean food and water, and a comfortable bed.

It was destiny that he would find a place in the forest. His name, Herman Woods, just sounded like he needed to protect the forest, its creatures, and the land. He had three lives he was responsible for; he took that duty seriously. And loved every minute of it.