Hickory, Granite and Things Half-forgotten

They laughed at the squirrel frantically burying something on the other side of the pockmarked and foot-beaten walking path. It’s hulky body and small hands quickly filling in the hole it made, as it looked around, paranoid, for others of its kind that might want to unearth the mystery in the soft earth it was leaving behind.

“It’s beautiful,” Lauren remarked, her eyes glued to the dying reddish light of the Fall sun as it veered like a shipwreck into the jagged teeth of this stretch of the Cumberland plateau. Christine gazed along silently, her arms languidly hanging on the back of the bench.

Here, out from the city each woman felt the masks of everyday living slip away. Lauren looked not to escape but to adventure. Christine just wanted an excuse for something different. Together they had decided upon a day trip to the forest that became a wonderful vision of a primitive weekend. A sisterhood borne of cowboy coffee and bug bites.

The early summer trip had been pushed back to Autumn due to Christine’s frenetic schedule at a mid-sized law firm. Lauren had quit a high-stress job as a coder for a bio-medical company and was passing her time developing new coding skills at a leisurely but sure pace. And now, after a day of pit stops and a long lunch at an old school diner with a Jetsons like décor, they were here amid the woods.

The leaves of the Hickory trees were a pale jaundiced yellow that hung like loose skin from bare branches. Already great piles of leaves collected around the bases of the trees as far as the eye could see.

In the distance one could make out the Fitchburg Furnace, a blast furnace that had once brought jobs and wealth to the region. Now, it looked like a rectangular skull half buried in a gently sloping rise – according to Christine anyway.

A cool breeze picked up, carrying with it rustling leaves and an inhuman sound not unlike wheezing.

“Must be coming from the furnace. Figures, right? Can you imagine how many of the local area miners or smelters lived, breathing in the dust of coal or iron all day? It’s funny when you think about it, that the furnace could get Black Lung too. Or, at least sound like it.” Christine said as she stretched out her arms and rose slowly to her feet.

“Real funny,” Lauren responded, “should we grab the gear from the car?”

“Sure,” Christine smiled, “and you sure you really want to Cowboy camp? It’s going to be cold tonight. It’s cold already.”

Lauren nodded and stood. They walked back to the car in silence, enjoying unfamiliar sights and the beauty of Fall. They stopped at the trunk of Lauren’s old second-hand Volvo station wagon, still covered in the faded bumper stickers of diners and state parks visited, presumably, by the vehicle’s previous owner.

Lauren opened the trunk and began tugging out their gear, stuffed into two large hiking bags. She set them down softly and leaned them against the car. Lauren grabbed the Cast Iron pot and pan, and hesitated over the tent before pulling that out too. She smiled sheepishly at Christine before saying, “Just because I grew up with rugged outdoors types, doesn’t mean we need to emulate them all the time.”

“It isn’t like we brought air mattresses. Besides we’re hiking in from here. We aren’t betraying anyone’s rugged idealism of classic camping. No televisions, no boomboxes, and no beer. Just us, a book or two, and,” she threw an arm wide, “the great ghost of Daniel Boone to guide us through the forest that now bears his name.”

“What was it called before?” Lauren asked somewhat distractedly as she tied the cast iron to her backpack.

Christine shrugged, “Cumberland National Forest. To be honest, not sure what the indigenous peoples called it. I’ll have to look that up when we get back home.” She picked up her bag and strapped it on. She was about to close the trunk door before realizing she had forgotten her flashlight and the LED vintage style lantern she had just ordered online. She went to grab them, her bag catching on the door, leaving her stuck awkwardly in between door and cab. Lauren laughed for a moment before helping Christine to get unstuck.

Christine said nothing as she put her flashlight in her bag and hooked her lantern on to an unused carabiner dangling from the side of the bag.

Lauren closed the trunk and with a button on her key fob, the car was locked.

“Do we have everything?” Lauren asked as she circled her car one last time, looking through the windows for anything that would be important.

“Pretty sure we do. And even if not, we should probably get headed out. We’ve got about thirty or forty minutes of good light left.” Christine said, “and then after that, the excitement of the night hike.” She sighed and made a dramatic show of bending over and letting her arms dangle, “I should have brought my Brother’s head lamp.”

The two checked each other’s packs to make sure nothing was loose. They began to walk into the forest. A sudden gust picked up and in the distance the furnace building bellowed and wheezed a sirens warning to no one in particular. The tone dull and low like the hum of an old river boat.

A wide well-traveled path disappeared into a huge copse of Hickory trees whose leaves carpeted much of the trail. The two walked, side by side in silence, listening for the distant rustling of squirrels dashing between the trees, the last laughter and song of birds that still made sounds undisturbed by city life, and the sounds of their own breath. 

After about a mile, Christine pointed out a breakaway trail. It was much narrower but seemed to avoid going around the knob or, prominent big hill, they were approaching. “We can probably save time if we cut through here.” Christine said.

Lauren pulled out her phone and opened its map absentmindedly. She was pleasantly surprised to see she still had a single bar of reception. The breakaway trail didn’t show up on the map but headed due East, to their intended camp site. “Let’s do it,” Lauren said, returning her phone to her back pocket.

They broke off the main trail and walked into the side trail. In no time at all, the trail narrowed pushing the two closer and closer before it seemingly ended. Lauren bit her lip and narrowed her eyes to slits, looking carefully ahead of them. Christine watched her and giggled at the expression before doing the same. Christine, saw it first, a small cairn off in the distance. Someone had painted a couple of the rocks a light yellow that had faded somewhat from exposure.

They followed the deer trail in the increasingly dim light, their eyes having trouble adjusting to the contours of the trail as the world lost depth. The world changed from a vibrant realism to a ruddy colored impressionism of an evening painted in broad colors and soon the only guide for the trail were knee-high cairns left thoughtfully by adventurous hikers who had blazed ahead before them.

Lauren was first to fish out a flashlight from her backpack, its sharp glow fracturing the near uniform darkness.

“Maybe we should just crash camp when we get to the next clearing.” Christine suggested. She shivered slightly and unconsciously drew in towards Lauren like the wake of a wave falling back in on itself behind the light – behind Lauren; a search for living warmth.

They rounded a sloping corner with a thick stunted Oak with broad deformed shoulders and branches thrown high with knobby and curling fingers yearning for the moon. Just beyond the tree they finally saw a small meadow.

The pale white light of the moon brought a sense of calm neither had realized was missing until they stepped into it. Lauren took a deep breath as though breaking out from above cold water. Christine sighed softly, letting her anxiety dissipate like smoke in the cool air.

Both set their packs down almost simultaneously. Lauren laced her fingers into her palms behind her and raised them in a wide arc, to stretch her back, relaxing when her back cracked a little.

Christine took off the lantern and clicked it on. The light was a dim copper color that eerily flickered intermittently. Christine held it closer to inspect it. “Aha!” she exclaimed as she pressed in the switch. The light changed to a pale arctic light. She turned the knob and the light grew exponentially brighter, lighting much of the meadow.

Lauren spun around slowly keeping an eye out for a good place to set-up makeshift camp in the meadow. She stopped halfway through her second revolution noticing unusually smooth rocks in an odd dispersion that melted away in the darkness just outside the range of the light.

She pointed her flashlight there and squinted her eyes. Christine looked up from her belongings that had seemingly erupted from her pack.

“What’s up Lauren?” Christine asked. Her eyes followed the keen edge of the light until it petered and failed at the rocks in the distance.

“I don’t know but I’m gonna check it out really quick. Might be nice to find a big rock to lay on in the morning.” Lauren started walking to the rocks. The light seemed to come undone by the rocks, growing neither weaker or stronger as she got closer to them.

The rocks were smooth and they weren’t all the same bone white they had appeared to be at a distance. She ran her hand over the one closest to her. It was smooth, too smooth to match the other rocks in the area. She felt little butterflies rising up in her stomach as she continued in among the rocks. They stood at all angles, some fractured and broken. Most were waist high, a few almost as tall as she was, with pieces missing.

She looked back at Christine who had just started putting up the tent before turning to face the rocks.

Just a little farther ahead there looked to be a large slab. She walked up to it, the light from her flashlight reflecting back off the rock. She ran her hand over the slab, feeling faint familiar grooves. She stopped and tried again, slowly this time, the light revealing nothing. She closed her eyes and traced the grooves on the slab slowly spelling out each letter in her mind – L-I-E-S.

She jumped up. This wasn’t some forgotten quarry. It was a cemetery. The worn stones, a fading reminder of the men and women of the forest, who had come so long before. Their names long worn away, reduced to a whisper on the back of southernly breezes, that played through the native grasses on warm days and now, here, on this cold night.

Lauren ran back to Christine.

“What’s wrong?” Christine shouted upon hearing Lauren’s approach.

Lauren kept running until she was almost on top of Christine. She panted and pointed.

“Those – those,” she took a deep breath. “Those aren’t just rocks.”

“Then what are they?” Christine asked.

“Headstones.” Lauren replied.

Christine stood and looked beyond Lauren to the white rocks, unobtrusive and staid in their places. “Well nothing followed you.” Christine said at last. She returned to setting up the tent.

Lauren stared at her with disbelief. “That’s it?” she half shouted, “You’re not bothered with sharing an evening with the dead over there.” She pointed again. “How does that not bother you Christine?”

“I dunno. I mean I like The Cure and The Nightmare Before Christmas. You know? Stuff never really bothered me. And besides,” Christine added, “I just about got the tent pitched.”

A strong unusually cold gust picked up from nowhere carrying with it the faint sound of wheezing.

They both shivered, staring at each other in silence until the wind died down again.

“Fine,” Lauren replied, aggressively helping Christine to pull the tent up to its completion, ”but we’re keeping your lantern on all night. And no – not one. No spooky stories or, you can stay here yourself. I’ll jog back to the car if I have to,” she threatened.

“Deal. And besides Lauren, if anyone comes knocking, I brought mace. Always got to be prepared. The curse of being a woman in this world and all.”

Lauren grabbed her pack and put it near the entrance of the tent. “Glad I brought something funny to read Christine,” Lauren said, before adding, “Does mace even work on Zombies?”

Christine laughed a deep belly laugh until she tried to breathe and snorted. Lauren laughed too.

The wind picked up again, carrying on it the smell of grass and dead leaves, innocent laughter, and further afield a low moaning from the stationary apparition that had once dominated the land.