A great deal of property in the UP is owned by logging concerns. They almost never sell property, but once they’ve used up its purpose to them, they will trade it for something else. That might have to do with capital gains tax, I don’t know for sure though.

The Road Commission was no different. The gravel pit they had used south of us was of no further value to them, so they traded the property to an individual for a different piece, and that individual wanted to sell the 80 acres. This adjoined our 160 acres and was where the new bridge was located. We made the deal quickly, paying the full price, and it never even hit the multi-list ads.

Perhaps two years had lapsed since the bridge went in, and we were more than comfortable with the access. Now, it was OURS… sort of. The bridge itself still belonged to the logger, but the property … and the road access to his land… was now in our control.

There are rights of eminent domain here. If someone used a road across another’s property to access their land-locked parcels, that other person could NOT stop them. However, the logger wanted to sell some of his land, and the new owner didn’t have the same rights. Several months later, I found out that Jake had approached Pete concerning signing an agreement for a right to access, for which he would sign over the ownership of the bridge, to us. A very good deal, if it had been approached in a different manner.

Late that Fall, Jake went to Pete, excluding me from the negotiations. I didn’t have a clue any of this was going on.

Paper work always takes time, and by the time Jake had his lawyers write up a contract, it was past Christmas, and there was three feet of snow on the ground.. And on the road to our house. We had been running the snowmobile for several weeks and had a well packed trail, critical to our transportation and access.

Late one afternoon, I rode the snowmobile out to the car to pick up my son who had come for a visit. I came around a curve, perhaps 200 yards from where the car was parked, only to find someone had tried to plow their way in! The snow was way too deep for standard equipment, and whoever it was tried with just a pickup truck, then just backed out, leaving my trail a mess. There were piles of snow I couldn’t drive over; the turn-around was wrecked. I was very upset!! I stopped the sled just short of the first pile, climbed off, and with my snowshoes (that I always carried!), I started digging. Using one of the shoes as a shovel, I knocked down the worse of the ridge, creating a mediocre ramp. Then, putting the shoes back on, tromped back and forth trying to smooth it out. I had to widen it out more, or risk sliding off the new ramp. In the fading daylight, I carefully drove the sled down onto the semi-cleared road, stopping just before the turn-around, which now had three foot drop-offs, on either end. I walked the little sled out to the cars where my son waited, surveying the rest of the damage someone had caused. While Jason filled the sled with his stuff, I went back to work on the turn-around, doing much the same thing as I did with trail, knocking down the worse of it, making a new ramp.

We tied the little sled to the snowmobile and road to the new ramp. I had Jason get off so I didn’t risk toppling both of us if I slid off, and drove cautiously up. The rest of the ride was uneventful… until we got to the house.

I told Pete what I had come upon, and he slipped, saying perhaps it was Jake, wanting to come to us to talk about legal access. Still quite angry over the destruction, I blew, saying Jake would “play hell” getting me to sign anything after that stunt! Pete walked down to the basement, dressed, and drove out . When he returned, he sneered, saying the trail wasn’t nearly as bad as I professed, and I was once again exaggerating. I was really getting tired of this, and told him that of course it wasn’t bad.. I had fixed it!!!

Every time Pete took someone else’s side against me, even in trivial matters, it undermined our already strained relationship, but that seemed to be his goal. I just couldn’t understand it.

A blizzard later, the trail was filled in again and the situation was dropped until Spring.

One morning, I found a long letter from Pete, explaining all the pro’s to signing the agreement with Jake (which somehow came into his hands…) … also explaining why he waited so long.. that *I* was ‘unreasonable’ during previous attempts. Huh… The rational to accepting the deal was indeed logical, and I still maintain that had I been approached from the beginning, there would never have been an issue. I signed and the bridge became ours.

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Later in June, as I was coming back from a shopping trip to town, and on the long dirt road that led to our private road, I came up behind a very large truck with what looked like bridge pieces on the flatbed. The longer I stayed behind him, the more anxious I became, especially when he turned… into MY road! I followed him to the bridge, just in time to watch a crew use a logging picker pull up all of our hard work, boards and trees, and dump it off to one side. I parked the car, slamming the door, instantly knew who was in charge, and went toe-to-toe with him. My thoughts became words and I asked him what the hell did he think he was doing with MY bridge and didn’t he even stop to think that someone had built that because someone lived here and why hadn‘t I been told?? I was livid, and furious at not being informed about what was going on.

Apparently, this logger owned quite a bit of land up behind us, and needed the road and good access to log. When he had first tried to access his property that year, he discovered the wash out and our temporary solution. He had gone to the county, got the necessary permits to put in a good solid bridge, and was replacing it. This of course was to our benefit, but upsetting that we were not informed so we could be prepared for the six hours of no access. I would have just stayed home.

Much to everyone’s surprise (and unease), I climbed down the bank of the creek, stepped across stones and up the other side. I could hear the guys snickering over the boss being dressed-down by a 5’5” little gal.. a very angry little gal. I jogged up to the house in just a few minutes, told Pete what was going on, and we drove down to the bridge to retrieve the groceries… and so he could see I wasn’t exaggerating about the events.

As we loaded packages and laundry into the truck, another pickup truck pulled up behind us, also now stranded. They had the back filled with wood, bolts to be split later. It was quite common for locals to find the areas that had been logged, and to glean the tops for their personal firewood. The loggers didn’t mind as long as they didn’t get in the way, so it was a win-win situation: someone got free firewood, and the woods got cleaned up. This couple though, weren’t happy either about being caught with no way to cross the creek and go home. We introduced ourselves and invited them up to the house for a beer while the work on the new bridge was completed. Bob & his wife, Tedi, became casual friends, but never good friends. However, 12 years later, after Pete and I split up, the two of them are now good friends of mine, and we still joke about how we met.

It was a delight having the new bridge. A good solid way to cross the creek: welded steel I-beams buried into the banks, 4”x12”x 20’ treated boards, all wide enough and sturdy enough for their logging trucks. I met with the logger, the boss I had yelled at, and apologized for my outburst. Then I asked, politely for one minor adjustment to that new bridge. It seemed they had placed the second layer of stabilizing boards to fit the wide axel of the trucks, and my jeep didn’t ride evenly across them. He was more than happy to add one more row of boards for me. Later, I found out he needed to keep me happy. Another story.

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One morning, I got a phone call on the bag-phone we had hooked up to the 12 volt battery. Jamie announced there was going to be a bring-a-dish party at Buck’s place on Saturday. Bring-a-dish and your own ‘liquid refreshment’ parties were very typical, there was no burden on anyone for the cost of food or beverage, yet offered a good time. Jamie gave me the times, then announced “oh, by the way, Charlie and I are getting married at the party and Buck is officiating”. Huh??? Well, that put a new spin on the day.

Having been a cake decorator and putting myself thru massage school creating wedding cakes, I decided that would be my gift to the new couple. A few phone calls to the bride’s closer friends got me how many would be at the party, what her favorite cake flavor was, and the flowers she would have. I had only three days to pull this off.

First thing on the agenda was to check my supplies for the necessary ingredients for frosting and cake, make a list, and do a quick run to the store. As quick of a run as could be when the nearest store was 15 miles away, and we were still walking across boards over the creek and dealing with washed out roads.

The day of the wedding arrived overcast and a light drizzling rain. Pete packed his camera (he was taking the event pictures), and I loaded the cake, in layers, onto a board that went into the back of the truck for the ride to the creek.. our transfer point. In the rain, I balanced the cake carefully as I made my way across the slippery foot path, and placed the cake tenderly in the back of the jeep for the ride to the party. The cake was a big hit and I was ‘forgiven’ for not bringing a dish to pass when I claimed I brought dessert!

Everyone was amazed at our tales of the wash out and how we were managing. We were ‘anointed’ with honorary local status, since we not only had survived a record breaking winter, but we were staying for the next one… apparently, many new residents left after the first winter…lol.

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Each year, two delegates (one boy, one girl, aged 8-18) are chosen by lottery from each district to compete in The Hunger Games. The Games are held in a different environment each year and are televised to the masses across the country. It is a battle to the death among the delegates. Think Lord of the Flies meets The Running Game.

During the current lottery, Katniss’ young sister, Prim, is chosen. As allowed by the rules, Katniss immediately volunteers to take her place. Katniss knows sending Prim to The Hunger Games is nothing but a death sentence. Her intention in volunteering has nothing to do with wanting to compete. Rather, she is trying to save her sister.

Katniss is a hunter who has spent years learning the ways of the woods–tracking, fishing, trapping, woodcraft. Her mother is an herbalist who has taught her what plants heal and how to use them. To feed her family, Katniss has taken down all manner of wild game. But, can she kill another human being?

The characterization is phenomenal. You feel the emotional conflict within Katniss every step of the way. The other characters have distinct personalities that are realistically portrayed. Some are sympathetic, others not so much. Readers find themselves rooting for certain characters and hoping others are taken down quickly.

The action sequences are well planned and executed. They are both exciting and brutal. These might be kids, but they are kids who want to win at any cost.

I have to say this is one of my favorite reads this year. It is written for the young adult crowd (grade 7 and up or so). The book is the first in a trilogy, with the third book set to hit bookstores in a few weeks.

Highly, highly recommended.

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The next morning, with more blue skies and sunshine, we walked back to the creek, never expecting what was waiting for us. The culverts, weighing more than we could even roll, were up ended. Some of them already washed down stream. ………….and the river continued to roar past us. (see picture)

What we did notice that morning, was the road from the house was almost completely open, muddy but open, and we could drive the truck to the creek, no further of course, but it was a start.

At the end of the second day, our curiosity got the best of us, and we took a late ride down to the creek… the river had receded from overflowing the banks, but was still rushing. Why? The culverts were gone. All of them. Of the five, three were within 50 feet of the crossing, one was almost 200 feet downstream and the final was in between.. Crumpled, like a flimsy tin can. The power of the water was mind boggling. Apparently, so much debris from further upstream had backed up against the culverts that the force of the water just.. Pushed…. Until the resistance was gone. There was this gaping hole in our road and no way to get from one side of the road to the other. At least we had one vehicle on either side…

Over the next few days I made several phone calls. See, the property belonged to the County Road commission.. They still owned a now abandoned gravel pit to our south, and technically that portion of the road was theirs. When I called, and asked about washed out roads, I was told it was the responsibility of the land owner, not the road commission, to fix wash outs. Then I pointed out that the area in question was owned by the road commission … I was met with silence. He then said he’d get back to me and hung up. I never heard another word from them, of course.

We needed to do something on our own.

The first thing we did, was to place several boards from one bank to a large rock, and from there to the other bank and then yet across another to the road. A foot bridge. Then it started to rain…

For several days, for hours and hours, in the rain, Pete and I worked with his come-along, slowly dragging the culverts back into place. It was quite the process, since the winch only stretched so far. We went thru two come-alongs during the process. With the constant, tedious racheting, Pete’s mind started to wander, and he over tightened the cable, breaking the internal gears. Time for a new one. With the new tool, we pulled, inches at time, then move, a few more feet, then move again, until after four days, we had dragged three of the culverts back into place. The furthest was much too far… and the damaged one was useless. .

Now what???

Pete started cutting nearby trees and I stripped off the branches. Slowly we built a log bridge across those three culverts. The final addition was 2×12 boards, in two strips, to give support to the vehicles. I was terrified the first time I crossed, but I knew, that in watching out the side window, that as long as I kept that front tire just inside the edge, at a certain spot, the other tires were fine and would follow….

We had access.

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It was a long a cold Spring, very snowy, so when in mid-May the temperatures climbed into the 60’s, we basked in the warmth!

May 18th, with those warmer temps, we decided to go to town together, since the furnace wasn’t running and didn’t need tending. There was still several feet of snow in areas, so we packed the sled with laundry, donned the snow shoes, and hiked out to the car.

With light hearts, and faces to the warm sun, we made our way down the road and across the swollen creek that coursed thru the five culverts beneath our feet. The snow was wet, soft and slushy, and made the walking difficult. We looked at it as a wonderful thing.. That the snow was finally melting in the woods. The air was clean and warm and held such promise.

Pete and I had a great day in town. We did laundry, and folded clothes side by side as we watched large puddles and rivulet’s forming in the parking lot from the melting snow. We did the grocery shopping together, something we rarely did, as that was my job and my expense. I let him pack the purchases his way, knowing every bit of space counted when it was transferred to the sled. We stopped for a casual lunch and had a rare afternoon rum& coke to celebrate our first really warm day.

The sky was a brilliant blue when we parked the car in it’s snow stall back on our road. I recall commenting how much the banks of snow had gone down during our trek to town, a trek that had lasted only six hours. Earlier on the radio, the excited newscaster had mentioned a rare 85* had been reached that day! This was going to be a wonderful spring, I had high hopes for the coming year with such good omens!

We climbed the snow bank behind the jeep and slipped into our snowshoes, balancing the sled enough to pull it up where we stood, now less than two feet higher than the ground around the jeep… the muddy ground, squishy and soggy with melting snow. As we rounded the first curve of the road, it was obvious we weren’t going to need the snowshoes! There were several patches of open ground on the road, which meant we would soon be driving in! It was a bit more difficult dragging the sled over the mud instead of snow, but manageable and we were excited about the quick melt….. Until we reached the creek.

The water that was under the road was now OVER the road, by quite a bit, as can be seen in the picture, and it was flowing fast, really fast. After taking a few pictures (this was the most excitement we’d had in months!!), we discussed a course of action. Pete went back to the jeep and got some rope that is always packed. Meanwhile, I scouted around and found two long and sturdy saplings and cut them for walking sticks. When Pete returned, we tied one end of the rope around Pete, looping and tying the rope to the sled, and the end of it around MY waist. Pete leading the way across the treacherous gully wash, he stepped carefully only after probing with the walking stick, to make sure there was road under his foot. There was perhaps fifteen feet between him and I, with the sled bobbing in the river between us, as I stepped into the rush of water. The fast current sucked at my boots and quickly washed over the tops and in, soaking my feet with icy sludge.

It felt like forever crossing that stretch, when in fact it was less than five minutes. Safely on the other side, we stopped to empty the water out of the boots, and to ponder what had just happened. We left the cut saplings nearby, in case we needed to cross again. That was not something I wanted to do.

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You have spent a considerable portion of your life in the outdoors, living off the land in a wide range of locations and climates. From your personal perspective, where did you have the toughest time? By that, I mean where did you find it the most difficult to obtain what you needed to survive?

It’s hard to rate one type of environment over another in terms of difficulty of living off the land, as they all present their own unique challenges. Of course, growing up in the Deep South and being accustomed to hot weather and sub-tropical conditions, I’ve found it easier to adjust to places like jungles, tropical seashores and islands and the deserts of the Southwest. For me personally, some of my trips in the high country of the Rockies, for instance, demonstrated that it would be difficult to survive there unless you really have your skills honed, especially in the cold months when you have the constant threat of hypothermia and food is harder to find. On the other hand, many of those cold locations are plentiful with big game, so if you have the means and the skill to take a larger animal and can preserve the meat before it spoils, you could be set for awhile. But these environments are not as easy to just walk into and start foraging and hunting small game as some of the other regions of the country.

I think we can all agree that knowledge/experience will usually trump gear/gadgets. The latest whiz bang gizmo may be all but worthless without the knowledge to operate it and an understanding of the principles behind it. With that said, there are certainly many pieces of equipment out there to help make a bug out situation a little easier. Any recent innovations you’ve come across worth mentioning?

I’m generally against gizmos and gadgets, mainly because they will likely fail when you become dependent upon them. But as long as it’s working, I particularly like things like the compact hand-held GPS units that are now available pre-loaded with detailed topo maps. Such a device can give you a lot of confidence and more freedom to travel in really trackless wilderness with the assurance that you can get where you’re going, even at night. I like the fact that I can locate an interesting point in some swamp or mountain area I’ve never been to at home in advance on the computer, then plug in the coordinates and use the GPS to go right to it.

Another useful gadget I like a lot is my Casio Pathfinder 1500 multi-function atomic watch that has a built-in electronic compass that has proven extremely accurate. The watch is solar-powered, so it never needs batteries, and it includes a barometer and altimeter function.

Another fantastic piece of technology that is incredibly useful for those of us who go to sea in small boats or kayak remote coastlines is the hand-held, reverse-osmosis desalinator, which enables one to drink seawater and has saved many lives of those stranded on life rafts or in similar situations.

You’ve mentioned your preference for a machete over a large sheath knife both in BUG OUT and on your Bug Out Survival blog. I find this interesting as it is a unique perspective in my own studies of survival texts and I tend to agree with you. Could you explain to our readers why you have such a high regard for having a machete in a bug out bag?

Again, having grown up the jungle-like hardwood bottomlands and swamps of the Deep South, I have been around machetes all my life, and have long recognized the need for a blade that is big and heavy enough to quickly cut a path through briars, cane brakes and other thickets that would otherwise be difficult to penetrate. I also spent some time in my younger years working on a land-surveying crew, where we frequently had to cut thousands of feet of sight lines every day through these kinds of obstructions. Then, after that I saw the endless and creative ways the natives of Central America and the Caribbean use the machete and then tried some of these myself. I have found no tool that can substitute for a good machete. It’s lightweight, easy to carry, mostly maintenance free and can double as a formidable weapon.

One of the topics you address in BUG OUT is the fantasy versus reality of living off the land. I feel this chapter should be required reading for anyone entertaining thoughts of heading for the hills in a bug out situation. In your experience, what are some of the most common fallacies people have when it comes to roughing it in the wilderness?

People seem to fall into one or the other extremes: those who think they can head out in the wild like Tarzan with nothing but a knife, or a mountain man with a rifle and a bag of salt; and those who have formed the opinion that it’s absolutely impossible for any modern human to live off the land and without supplies to last months or years survival is hopeless.

I wrote Chapter One to address these ways of thinking and present my opinions. I don’t want to mislead anyone into thinking that a bug-out bag is a guarantee of success and that by having it they will be able to just head for the hills and find the living easy. That’s why throughout the first part of the book I stress skills over stuff, and suggest extensive planning, location scouting, and even trial runs and test trips to sort out the gear in the bag and practice the skills.

But one big reason I wrote the book is to open people’s eyes to just how much uninhabited land there is all around them, even in a heavily-industrialized nation like the U.S. I wanted to present bugging out to the wild as an option and show that it can be done with the right skills and gear, and that there is hope, and you don’t have to just give up if you don’t have or can’t afford a well-stocked retreat somewhere in the countryside. No survival plan can be guaranteed to succeed. But those who are open to all the options will have a better chance than most.

What would you say are the three most essential things to include in a bug out bag?

This can vary with the region you live in, of course, but it’s always helpful to remember the “Rule of Threes”: 3 hours without shelter, 3 days without water, and 3 weeks without food, and plan accordingly.

1. Shelter from the elements – at minimum a parka or poncho – preferably a good tarp and sleeping bag as well.

2. A reliable means of making fire.

3. Enough water and high-energy food to get you through the first part of the crisis and sustain you until you can begin trying to find more of both in the wild.

At the back of BUG OUT, you have a fairly extensive recommended reading list. If you could only pick two or three books to suggest concerning wilderness survival, what would they be?

The one that went with me on all my long kayak trips and many other excursions was How To Survive on Land and Sea, by Frank C. Craighead, Jr. and John J. Craighead, Naval Institute Press.

There are many newer ones that look good too, especially John “lofty” Wiseman’s SAS Survival Handbook.

It will be different depending on your region, but I always suggest a guidebook to the edible and useful plants of the area you will be traveling through or bugging out to.

You have an extensive background in kayaking, canoeing, and boating in general. From a practical standpoint, would you recommend that mode of travel for a bug out situation?

Absolutely, assuming your are already in a region with navigable waterways such as streams and rivers or estuaries and the seacoast. A boat can immediately take you out of reach of the much larger percentage of the population that does not have a means to take to the water, and get you to places where you will be inaccessible to many that might want to cause you harm. The places it can take you will also offer better resources for living off of the land by virtue of their inaccessibility without a boat. The other advantages of course, are that you can carry more stuff, depending on the vessel, and you can use it for hunting, fishing and foraging once you get to your bug-out location.

I’m partial to boats of many types because of my extensive experiences with them and the many miles I’ve traveled unnoticed, even through populated areas. Bugging out by boat is not for everyone, but if you’re willing to put the time in to acquire the necessary knowledge and skills, it could be one of your best options.

Any new books on the horizon? What’s next for you?

I’m working day and night on my next survival-related book right now. It will be published by Ulysses Press as well, and is scheduled to be released in February, 2011. The title as of now is: Would You Survive?: The 13 Deadliest Scenarios and How Others Got Out Alive. The book will be a mix of fictional scenarios that puts the reader in each situation, and real-life accounts of some of the most harrowing survivor’s tales in recent times. The goal is for it to be both entertaining reading and informative at the same time.

I’d like to thank Scott for taking the time for this interview. If you’d like to learn more about him, you can find him online at the following links.

ScottBWilliams.com

BugOutSurvival.com – his survival blog

Scott’s Boat Pages – his blog devoted to boat building, sailing, kayaking, and other on the water pursuits.

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Scott Williams knows from where he speaks. He has traveled throughout the world, practicing survival techniques in all terrains and environments. He knows what works and what doesn’t. In his new book, BUG OUT, Williams not only shows you what you should have on hand to make it on your own, but he explains how to plan your bug out location ahead of time.

BUG OUT is broken into two parts. Part I discusses living off the land, assembling a comprehensive bug out bag, and general information on choosing a bug out location. Chapter 1 – The Fantasy and the Reality of Living Off the Land should be required reading for anyone interested in survivalism and emergency preparedness. Moving into bug out bags, Williams shares his experience regarding what is really needed and what isn’t. From there, the discussion turns to planning for a bug out situation. How to pick a location, how to get there, and what to do once you’re there are all covered in detail.

Part II is where the book truly shines. Williams has broken the United States into eight general regions.

• Rivers, Swamps, & Islands of the Gulf Coast
• Island & Lowlands of the Atlantic Coast
• The Appalachian Mountain Corridor
• Lakes & Big Woods of the North
• The Midwest & Heartland
• Wilderness Strongholds of the Rocky Mountains
• Deserts, Canyons, & Mountains of the Southwest
• Pacific Crest Mountains & the West Coast

For each region, Williams gives an overview of the general terrain, climate, and natural resources (plant and animal life). He then goes state by state listing national forests, wilderness areas, and other public lands. The idea here is few people can easily afford to purchase several acres of wilderness land on their own, so take advantage of the land set aside for public use. Further, get out there now and become familiar with the area. Learn the skills now that you might have to rely upon down the road.

BUG OUT is rounded out with a pretty good checklist for assembling a bug out bag as well as a bibliography/recommended reading list.

This book is extremely useful to those who aren’t sure where they will go in a bug out situation as well as those who are looking for some expert guidance with putting together a comprehensive yet portable bug out bag. Those who have been around the block a few times already will still find a nugget or two worth the price of admission. You can find it here, currently priced around ten bucks.

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Sometimes landscaping just… happens.

The area in the front of the house was cleared of trees and excavated as the septic field, basically as a very large circle (see top picture). Nothing should be done over a septic field, so it was just left.

Since the house was built into the side of a hill, a LOT of dirt and rocks were removed to do that. All that removed dirt … and rocks… was piled off to the side … piles and piles of it… (see bottom picture) I spent a good portion of the second summer moving all that dirt back around the other side of the house, wheel barrow by wheel barrow, across 2×10 planks, to fill in around the basement. Good exercise.. LOL. Some of the dirt, in fact a good portion, went into filling the slope where the new wood shed was built, so the floor was reasonably level for stacking wood. As I shoveled into the wheel barrow, I set aside the really large rocks, figuring there would be some use for them down the line. Little did I know how many rocks I would accumulate!

The yard started with my birdbath in the center, just for a place to put it. But the center of that circle was also the perfect place to build a fire pit, and fires certainly wouldn‘t hurt the septic field. We liked our evening fires. Fire just seems to draw you in, creating a peace in the soul, and this pit saw much use. The birdbath was moved off to just outside the circle and into the woods. The largest rocks that I had set off to the side, were placed in a circle, creating the safety ring for the fire. Oh, it was added to, taken from, when better rocks were found, but for the most part it stayed as it began. The rest were gravitating to edge the yard, with a horseshoe around the birdbath. This also gave me somewhere to start, a focus, for adding more.

As I dug and moved dirt, mostly sand, I included moving rocks to my new projects on a daily basis, as part of the days work. When a rock garden closer to the porch began to develop, I started looking elsewhere for bigger, nicer looking rocks. There was an old quarry on the other side of our lowest 80 which was perfect for my hunt! The trouble came in moving them. This was MY project, and I received zero help in that department. I learned a great deal about leverage and fulcrums that summer, as I maneuvered small boulders into the back of the jeep for the quick journey to the developing yard.

As the base rocks were in place, I began planting: perennial herbs on one side and in front, leaving room behind and between them for the annual herbs of basil, dill and cilantro. I had a cinder block of chives that had moved with me wherever I went, for almost 20 years. Here was it’s final home. …or so I thought. I removed the chives and spread them along a 4×4’ area, then planted creeping thyme right at the edge of the rocks. The thyme grew and draped and covered the rocks so beautifully…. Behind the chives and up into the next layer of rocks, was the sage, and next to that was the oregano. The herbs took and thrived, creating a beautiful collage of flowers and scents, not to mention the availability to me of fresh cooking herbs!

But my sense of color wasn’t done…I needed flowers. Picking a point at the base of the garden and angling up to the edge of the porch where I had placed a rain barrel for watering these new plants, I dug in carefully selected flat stones to form a stairway. This was the barrier between flowers and herbs. Into the flower side I had planted some nasturtiums that eventually cascaded down the steps. The flower beds held a rainbow of colors in iris, plus coral bells, Shasta daisies and daylilies.

The fine tuning of the herbs and flowers took several years, as I added, moved, changed a few combinations. But eventually it became my pride and joy, with colors and scents to greet us all season long.

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When Pete and I met, Baby adored him, the new alpha male in her life, and she quickly became his cat. She moved with me to his house, then with us up into the woods. I’ve found with cats, as long as their human is with them, they do fine with moves. Baby and Muffin roamed freely around the new house and the immediate area outside. Neither of them strayed very far, I do think they understood it was a dangerous area for a domestic animal. Baby was very smart, and had figured out how to open the screen doors and let herself out, too bad she didn’t close them behind her! I even got her to sit up and beg, but most the time she only treated me to one raised paw.

The year I started waiting tables at the café in town, brought disaster. Baby went missing. I arrived home from work, snowshoeing in late, when Pete told me he couldn’t find Baby, she hadn’t come in all day. I was heart broken, and very afraid for her. Yes, I blamed him, she went missing on HIS watch! He was so consumed with his stained glass, that many things were neglected, many things that were HIS responssibility to take care of. We searched in a grid for her, or for signs.. of blood, fur, something to tell us what happened. She wasn’t a small cat, but I knew a large owl could have grabbed her, and that’s what my thought was. In my mind, though, I could ‘hear’ her …pleading with me to come and get her. I would stand at our door, looking out, tears streaming down my face. I had somehow let her come to harm. I had failed her. For weeks she haunted my dreams, begging me to come and get her and I would look for her everywhere I went. Eventually, the pleading stopped. I knew she was gone.

Five years later, I was leaving to meet Pete at the ‘new’ trailer in town, to make ice while he cut the lawn. As I passed by Three Shoes, I ran into a couple walking with their young daughter, my neighbors from on the other side of the road. We were more than a mile in on one side of the road, they were a half mile in on the other side…my closest neighbors! I stopped to chat a bit and we discussed the latest pack of dogs that we both had been seeing, and that led to feral cats. That’s when they mentioned finding one, a stray, but it wasn’t feral. The more Janet described the cat, the more I knew… it was Baby!! I asked her to take me to their home, …. I had to know.

What I was able to piece together, was that Baby had followed me out that morning, five years earlier, as I snow shoed to the car. I had no idea she was behind me, and after I got in the Jeep and left, she was lost since she couldn’t smell her own trail in the snow. She wandered across the road, following the scent of the food my neighbors left in their deer feed pile. Baby lived on donuts for a month, before these kind people coaxed her into the house. When she was safe and warm and loved, is when my dreams stopped. They had taken her to a vet, who confirmed she had been spayed and well cared for. Their young daughter, Amelia, renamed her, and Baby had a new family. Baby no longer recognized me, and my neighbor said she refused to go outside, ever. She would, however, open the upstairs window screen and sit on the roof, watching the stars. Janet was very concerned that I would want to take Baby home, but I knew that would break Amelia’s heart, and I could deal with the pain of loss better than a nine year old.

I was overjoyed that Baby was still alive, but deeply saddened that I really had failed her by not searching better, by not checking with the only neighbors I had. That guilt hangs with me to this day, even though I know Baby is truly gone now… I hope she has forgiven me.

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