bear tracks
Sun 10.9.23
I watch through the window as the van pulls into the driveway. He's completed the necessary work and we load up my twelve gauge shotgun, his thirty ot six, our provisions and clothes. We have been talking about this for days. A quick, last minute tour of the house, I check to make sure Hermine has enough food for the four days, then I close the door and walk over to the van where Matthew and his black lab, Penelope, are waiting. I pause at the open door and hesitate . . .
"I just can't leave Hermine alone in the house for four days." I tell him.
"Jeez . . ." he looks at me, puzzled. After we talk it over for a few minutes it's decided that the cat is coming with us. Back in the house we trudge for Hermine, the kitty litter box and some cat food. In the dark, fall evening, skeletel deciduous trees look ominous. We drive in silence till we reach Richmond where I suggest we stop to take a sauna, like the Indians did, to purify themselves before the hunt.
I’ve practiced twice at the sandpit before this trip and rate myself reasonably accurate with the shotgun, but will have to watch a tendency to veer left. It is not as powerful as the thirty ot six and lacks range therefore I will have to get closer to my prey. My old friend Johnnie got me a day-glo vest and I’ve bought myself a similar hat. Johnnie’s spirit will guide me. The sauna is a perfect start, we both feel relaxed and lazy afterward. Being the last customers, Dick, the owner, offers us a glass of wine before we leave and we all toast the upcoming hunt.
The night is cold and black; we drive another two and a half hours before deciding to find a place off the highway to bed down for the night. I am not able to fall asleep at first, surrounded by darkness, I focus on the starry skies.
We’ve arrived in the Stratton-Kingfield area. Just getting to the campsite was quite an adventure. We travelled deep in the woods on a road that was completely washed out and gutted in several places. Matthew had to go out and rebuild some areas with nearby rocks and logs. I drove the van while he pushed. Watching him dragging logs in front of the path to make a strong bed in the muck for the van to cross over I realize, I could never make this trip on my own. I'm not physically capable of getting the van out of this situation and I always avoid similar circumstances. Matthew has adventures that are closed to me. I’m not comfortable with this thought.
We are living inside the vehicle. It is fixed with a bed, a kerosene stove for heat which obliges us to leave the window open a bit so we won't suffocate, and there’s a Coleman to cook on. I’ve brought enough provisions to last a week. Though cold, it's not unbearable.
I have thought about the bear since I got here. For the past two years, I’ve dreamed about it on occasion; always in fear, trying to hide from it. The bear pops up in several of my poems too, stealing the show. I must have the right attitude for the hunt; not sure what that is. Maybe like being with a big dog; it mustn't sense my fear and weakness. The bear is very powerful, I must feel strong in myself when I go hunting tomorrow. Everything I do may be known to the animal. It surely is smelling our cooking odors, the odor of my body as I step outside the van, even my urine on the ground. I am sure it even knows I am female. I want to hunt bear to incorporate its strength and power in me.
We have a fight on our first morning. It is a small matter that mushrooms out of proportion. We awake at the site off the highway to a crisp sunny morning. I step outside to relieve myself; the grounds are beautiful, there is even a stream nearby. I suggest we make coffee before leaving. Matthew will not hear of it, he becomes upset, wants to get started right away. There are heated words, but no coffee. Hermine is acting bizarre. The van is too confining for her. She sticks to high ground on the bed while keeping a close eye on Penelope. She is at pains to cross the floor less she get too close to the dog. The wilderness seems to upset her, she sits on the dashboard looking out with eyes bugging out of her head.
Sitting by the kerosene stove eating humus and taco shells; I went hunting today. We started early in the morning; first order of business was crossing the river that separates us from the mountain we want to climb. Difficult trek; there was no place to walk across. I had to jump across a wide expanse and hope to christ Matthew would catch me if I fell in the swiftly moving current. I seem to find myself in that situation with him on occasion. When placed in similar situations, Matthew will not trust me to have his back.
Before starting up the mountain we make an offering to the bear, had spoken about it the night before and decided to offer a prize possession - our small cache of marihuana. I threw mine in a small stream, he let his be carried off by the wind. We speak to the bear’s spirit and pay our respect to the bear we are about to hunt. It takes a couple of hours to climb the mountain; hard, tiring work, especially carrying shotgun and rifle. But after we get on level ground the hunt begins in earnest. I see many, many tracks. There appears to have been a battle in one area. I can feel animals nearby; a jay lets out a piercing shreik in the sky to warn them of human presence. It occurs to me that I would probably have a heart attack if I saw a bear.
Matthew and I spoke in the morning. I reiterate my feelings and we are still at an impasse. I don't have warm feelings towards him and I don't want to be close to him. Apparently he feels the same. It was a stupid argument that seems to have touched off deeper feelings of distrust and pride between us. Matthew has been gone all day. It is pitch dark out and Hermine has not come back. I’m worried about her and don't want to think of the possibilities. The cat is used to having its way, being able to come and go as it pleases. It is too confining for it in the van.
Hermine has not come back in a day and a half. I am alone now, he has gone hunting. We've talked again this morning and he wants to rent a house about a hundred miles from my home. Penelope sleeps by the fire. Even she, arthritic as she is, did not want to be in the van last night - she slept out. She sits so close to fire her fur singes occasionally. She is very tired and reminds me of my friend Johnnie, in her allegiance to Matthew. Johnnie's love for me kept him going the last few years of his life when there was nothing left. It wasn't enough though. The van is charged with psychic energy, the same energy I felt in the woods where we found the animal tracks.
I watch him dress to go hunting in the afternoon. Red suspenders, bushy red beard, carefully arranging the spectacles round his ears. I don't know him, he looks old, old in the wisdom of men, strong and menacing too. He lives in a world I don't understand. He puts the chain hung compass round his neck and he draws me a map of the trail he plans to take up the mountain. After he leaves a party of hunters crosses my campsite, five rifles pointed to the ground. They look in the van, i do not acknowledge them or talk to them but wonder if the shotgun is loaded. I clean up the van, make myself some popcorn and take out th typewriter. The story is taking its own direction and I write about courage. It has something to do with being vulnerable, acknowledging that and yet not being overwhelmed by it. The bear in the woods knows I have a gun and can kill it and it is scared too, but not undaunted.
Matthew comes back in a few hours, empty handed. I prepare dinner, the first real meal since they've gotten here; a pot roasted chicken with rice stuffing, baked potatoes and broccoli. He watches as I mix and stuff the chicken with my bare hands, the tension is gone. He steps outside to work on the carburetor. I can hear him calling Hermine's name. All of a sudden Matthew is saying "Hermine is back! Hermine is back!" This is incredible! Sure enough, I can hear the cat crying in the bushes. The cat is so frightened it won't move; I pick her up and bring her in the van. This surely is a sign. We uncork our special bottle of champagne and have a fine dinner.
On the morning we pack our gear and get ready to head home. Crossing over the tracks we made coming in, we stop a little way from our site, get out of the van to an area that is all flat rock edged by the swift river. Each of us goes to our respective corner and give a loud call to the bear. I face the mountain and give a shrill, high pitched Eeeiiyyyaaaahhoooeeh!
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MANHATTAN SEERESS NOW ON EBOOKS
Eight o'clock Sunday morning, the police arrive at her apartment in Greenwich Village, "How long have you been living here?" The roommate Elizabeth, after having accepted her half of the deposit money and rent for their new apartment, has called the police.
New York City doesn’t open its arms to welcome her, but she’s arrived and the adventure of her life is about to unfold. She’s come from Maine with an invitation from Sarah Lawrence College to participate in the graduate writing program.
How one becomes a seeress is what this memoir explores. Stories have been specifically selected to illustrate, from the sublime to the practical, a spiritual journey introduced in each chapter by an atout, the Tarot’s major archetypes. From the Fool, to The World, our human journey with its risk and folly unfolds. There is also an artist here alive to her new world seeking inspiration among artists on the Lower East side, learning the ways and foods of her Chinese neighbors, falling in love.
