Yet, for all her quirks and seclusion, my Grandmother and the other ladies from town absolutely adored her. Come spring and summer, you’d hear talk of Adel’s gatherings – tea parties and lunches held right out on her land, tables dressed impeccably with fine linens amongst the rambling gardens. She had a way, they said, of making everyone feel utterly special and welcome in her little slice of paradise. It was a side of Adel we boys didn’t often witness directly, adding another layer to the fascinating mystery of the woman at the end of the road.

Adel must have been somewhere comfortably past sixty when my friend Justin and I were maybe eleven or twelve, that age where you’re halfway between building forts and noticing girls. She had this shock of silver hair that she often wore pinned up with things that glittered – sometimes actual clips, sometimes things that looked suspiciously like fishing lures or stray chandelier crystals. Her laugh wasn’t a giggle; it was a gushing cascade that started in her belly and erupted outwards, making her blue eyes sparkle like she’d just pulled off the world’s best prank.

And maybe she had. That was the thing about Adel – she had been a magician’s assistant in her younger days. Not just any magician, mind you, but “The Great Alistair,” whose faded posters she still had tucked away in her attic, featuring a much younger Adel in sequins, seemingly floating beside a man with an impressive mustache and a turban. She didn’t talk about it much, not in a braggy way, but sometimes, little hints would slip out. She could tie a knot that would vanish with a flick of her wrist, make a quarter disappear from behind your ear (and reappear in your pocket). She always seemed to have an endless supply of brightly colored silk scarves tucked somewhere on her person – pockets, sleeves, sometimes pulled improbably from her handbag like a clown car.

Justin and I were fascinated. While other neighbors might offer cookies (which Adel also did, usually strangely shaped or unexpectedly flavored – lavender shortbread, anyone?), Adel offered... mystery. We’d watch her gardening, convinced she was whispering secrets to the roses, or see her walking her fluffy white dog, Fluffernutter, talking to him like he was plotting world domination with her. She was just… interesting. Different in a way that felt exciting, not weird.

So, on one crisp Saturday morning in January, with the world blanketed in perfect, fluffy packed snow, Adel popped her head over the fence and asked if Justin and I wanted to go sledding. We were interested, for sure!

“Got my niece Sarah visiting,” Adel announced, her breath pluming in the cold air. Sarah was a quiet little thing, maybe seven or eight, who usually hid behind Adel’s legs when we saw her. “Bit shy, the poppet, but she needs some fresh air and thrills! What say you, boys? Care to join Operation: Avalanche Adventure?”

Justin and I looked at each other. Sledding was always fun, but sledding with Adel? The possibilities felt endless and slightly dangerous in the best way.

“Sure, Mrs. Finch!” I said, trying not to sound too eager.

“Excellent!” Adel beamed, clapping her mittened hands together. “Bundle up! Bring your fastest sleds! Meet at the Purple Palace in twenty minutes. And,” she winked, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “prepare for the unexpected!”

Twenty minutes later, Justin and I stood on her porch, our trusty plastic sleds under our arms. The door swung open, and there was Adel, looking like a Technicolor yeti. She wore a bright pink snowsuit that looked slick, almost plasticky, a rainbow-striped scarf that seemed impossibly long, and mirrored sunglasses despite the overcast sky. Beside her stood Sarah, bundled in pale blue, clutching a classic wooden Flexible Flyer that looked older than my Grandpa’s truck.

“Right then, adventurers!” Adel declared, ushering us towards her ancient station wagon, a boat of a car she called “The Periwinkle Peregrine.” “All aboard for Mount Mayhem!”

Getting into the Peregrine was an adventure in itself. The back seat contained a jumble of blankets, empty birdseed bags, a stray gardening glove, and what looked suspiciously like a rabbit puppet. Adel cleared a space for us with a grand sweep of her arm, sending a cascade of sunflower seeds onto the floor. Sarah squeezed in between Justin and me, swallowed by fluffy blue mittens and a hat like she'd lost a fight with a cotton candy machine.

The drive to Miller’s Hill, the best sledding spot in town, was... eventful. Adel hummed opera off-key, punctuated by sudden pronouncements like, “Did you know squirrels can remember up to 3,000 burial spots for nuts? Fascinating!” She also seemed to believe traffic lights were mere suggestions, though somehow, we avoided any actual collisions, perhaps thanks to a protective bubble only visible to former magician’s assistants.

Miller’s hill was buzzing with kids and parents, a burst of colorful winter gear against the white snow. We piled out of the Peregrine, Adel producing four steaming styrofoam cups of hot chocolate seemingly from nowhere, handing them out with a flourish. She knelt beside Sarah, adjusting the little girl’s scarf with a gentle touch. ‘There you are, poppet. Warm and cozy, just like at one of my tea parties.’ Sarah smiled shyly, sipping her drink.

“Liquid courage!” she announced. “And sustenance!” She then produced a bag of cookies shaped like snowflakes but tasting faintly of peppermint and… something else we couldn’t quite place. Possibly sawdust, Justin whispered later. Still, we ate them gratefully.

Sarah looked overwhelmed by the crowd, her eyes wide. Adel knelt beside her. “Now, poppet,” she said softly, adjusting Sarah’s hat. “The first rule of adventure is a brave heart. The second rule is… well, there are lots of rules, but mostly, have fun! Stick with your Auntie Adel and these fine young gentlemen, and you’ll be grand.” She gave Sarah a quick hug, and I saw a tiny smile flicker on the little girl’s face, a sign of the warmth Adel seemed to effortlessly generate.

Our first few runs were pretty standard. Justin and I zoomed down on our plastic torpedoes, shrieking with exhilaration. With Adel giving her a gentle push, Sarah went down her wooden sled cautiously, letting out a small “eep!” as she slid to a stop near the bottom. Adel, surprisingly agile in her pink snowsuit, trudged back up the hill, pulling Sarah’s sled, her rainbow scarf trailing behind her like a triumphant banner.

But this was Adel Finch, and standard wasn’t really her style. I had a feeling the ordinary part of the day was over.

On about the third run, as Justin was starting down, Adel suddenly pulled one of her silk scarves, a vibrant emerald green one, from her sleeve. “Needs more flair!” she declared, and with a flick of her wrist that was pure stagecraft, she somehow tossed it so it fluttered down and landed perfectly draped over Justin’s head as he shot past. He yelped, momentarily blinded, veered sharply left, and ended up in a soft snowbank, emerging sputtering and covered in powder, the green scarf askew like a bizarre turban. Adel roared with laughter from the top of the hill. Even Sarah giggled a small, sweet sound.

Then, it was my turn. As I launched myself, Adel shouted, “Hold on tight, Peter!” Adding a little… acceleration! I have no idea what she did. Maybe it was just the power of suggestion, or she gave my sled an extra-hard shove, or she whispered an ancient incantation for speed she learned from The Great Alistair. All I know is I flew down that hill faster than I ever had before. The wind stung my eyes, the snow blurred past, and I swear the sled felt like it lifted off the ground a couple of times. I skidded to a halt at the bottom, heart pounding in my ears, a grin plastered on my face despite myself.

“See?” Adel called down, hands on her hips. “A touch of magic!”

Things escalated from there. Adel decided Sarah’s wooden sled needed “aerodynamic improvements.” This involved tying several more silk scarves (where did she keep them all?) to the back like streamers. The scarves flapped wildly on Sarah’s next run, making her look like a tiny, bundled comet streaking down the hill. She was laughing openly now, a joyous sound.

Then came the “synchronized sledding” attempt. Adel somehow convinced Justin and me to try to go down side-by-side while holding onto opposite ends of her giant rainbow scarf. “Balance! Teamwork! Panache!” she instructed. It lasted about ten feet before Justin hit a bump; I swerved to avoid him, the scarf went taut, and we both tumbled into a tangle of limbs, plastic, and rainbow fabric, laughing until our sides hurt. Even from the snowy heap, I could hear Adel’s booming laughter joining ours.

Adel, meanwhile, decided to demonstrate her own technique. She sat primly on Sarah’s wooden sled, adjusted her sunglasses, and pushed off. Instead of just sliding, she seemed to… wiggle. A strange, rhythmic shimmy that somehow propelled the sled forward with surprising speed and an odd, weaving trajectory. Halfway down, she produced a small, glittering object, maybe a mirror? – flashed it towards the sun (which had peeked out momentarily), created a brief, dazzling reflection, yelled “Ta-da!” and then promptly slid sideways into the soft snow near the trees, disappearing up to her waist. We rushed down, worried for a second, but she emerged laughing, brushing snow off her pink suit. “A minor miscalculation in the flourish!” she announced cheerfully. “Happens to the best of us!”

The absolute peak of the chaos was the “Sled Train.” Adel declared we needed a grand finale. She produced a length of rope (again, from where? Her pockets seemed to be portals to a hardware store/fabric shop/snack bar). Ignoring the dubious (and perhaps slightly horrified) looks from other parents, she tied Sarah’s sled to the back of Justin’s and Justin’s to the back of mine.

“I shall be the conductor!” she announced, positioning herself behind my sled, hands firmly on my shoulders, ready to give us the starting push. Sarah was giggling nervously in the front sled, Justin looked resigned to his fate in the middle, and I just gripped my sled handles, bracing for impact.

“All aboard the Adel Express!” she bellowed. “Next stop: Victory Lane... maybe!” And then she pushed. Hard. She started running behind us, trying to give us extra momentum, her rainbow scarf flying. But the snow was slicker than she anticipated. One foot slipped, then the other. With a surprised “Oomph!” she lost her balance and pitched forward, landing flat on her stomach right behind our fledgling train.

Now, that pink snowsuit? It wasn’t just bright; it was slick. Like greased lightning slick. Instead of stopping, Adel became a human toboggan. She started sliding, arms outstretched like Superman, sunglasses still firmly in place.

“Whoa, Nellie!” she yelled, a plume of snow spraying behind her.

Our sled train had a decent head start, jouncing and swerving down the hill. Sarah shrieked with delight; Justin yelled something that sounded suspiciously like, “She’s gaining on us!” and I risked a glance back. Sure enough, there was Adel, a pink blur against the white, rapidly closing the distance and sliding effortlessly on her belly. The sight was so unexpected it made me laugh out loud, even as I tried to steer our wobbly train.

Then, the commentary started. Even while sliding face-first down an icy hill, Adel couldn’t resist.

“And Adel Finch makes her move on the inside!” she shouted, surprisingly clear over the rush of wind and snow. She slid past my sled. “She’s passing young Peter on the left! Incredible speed from the Pink Comet!”

She drew level with Justin’s sled. “Justin holding steady in second, but here comes Finch! She pulls alongside! Look at that form! Aerodynamic perfection!”

She zipped past Justin. “And the Pink Comet takes the lead! Sarah in the Flexible Flyer is giving chase, but Finch is opening up a gap! Unbelievable!”

She continued her play-by-play as she approached the bottom, arms tucked in for maximum velocity. “She’s into the final stretch! The crowd goes wild! Can anyone catch her? It doesn’t look like it! It’s Adel Finch for the win!”

She shot across the flat area at the bottom, finally skidding to a stop in a spray of powder maybe twenty feet ahead of where our tangled sled train eventually piled up. She sat up, pushed her sunglasses back up her nose, and beamed at us, completely unfazed. The sheer audacity of it all was breathtaking.

We disentangled ourselves, staring at her with awe and utter hilarity. Even the other parents who witnessed the spectacle were laughing out loud now.

Adel brushed the snow off her front as if it were a bit of lint. “Well,” she declared, standing up and striking a pose. “That was unexpected! But a win is a win! First place goes to the Pink Comet!” She bowed dramatically.

We were soaked, freezing, and utterly exhausted, but none of us could stop laughing. Sarah, her earlier shyness completely forgotten, recounted Adel’s slide with wide, amazed eyes. Justin was shaking his head, muttering, “Only Mrs. Finch...”

As the afternoon light faded, painting the snow pink and gold, Adel produced thermoses again, this time filled with warm apple cider that smelled like cinnamon and cloves. We sat on overturned sleds, sipping the cider and watching the last few kids leave the hill. The chaos had subsided, leaving behind that warm, comfortable feeling of shared fun, the kind that sinks deep into your bones.

“Good adventure, team?” Adel asked, nudging Sarah gently.

Sarah nodded enthusiastically. “Best sledding ever, Auntie Adel! You won the race!”

“It was… definitely memorable, Mrs. Finch,” Justin managed, still chuckling.

“It was brilliant, Adel,” I said, and I meant it. It was chaotic, nonsensical, and probably broke several unspoken rules of sledding etiquette. Still, it was pure, unadulterated joy, with a side of eccentric magic and an unexpected human toboggan race. It was the kind of day you knew you’d remember, the kind of memory that would bring a smile to your face years later.

On the drive back, squeezed into the Peregrine amidst the lingering scent of peppermint cookies and damp wool, Sarah fell asleep, this time in the front seat, leaning against Adel’s arm. Justin and I were quiet, tired in that happy way only a day of snowy absurdity can make you.

Adel hummed softly, a different tune this time, something gentler. As she pulled up to my house, she turned in her seat. The mirrored sunglasses were off now, and her blue eyes looked kind.

“You know, boys,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Life’s a bit like that sledding hill. Sometimes you go fast, sometimes you tumble. Sometimes, you even end up sliding on your belly unexpectedly.” She paused, looking from me to Justin. “The trick is to find folks willing to ride the crazy sled train with you, laugh when you fall, especially when you’re the one falling – and share hot cider at the bottom.” She winked. “Never forget the hot cider.”

We thanked her and climbed out, watching as she carefully readjusted a sleepy Sarah in the car. She gave us one last wave, a flash of colorful mitten against the twilight, before the Peregrine rumbled away, leaving Justin and me standing there on the sidewalk, cold air on our faces, the echo of Adel’s laughter seeming to hang in the air.

We didn’t see Adel’s niece Sarah much after that winter, but Justin and I talk about that sledding day even now. It wasn’t just the funny falls, or the scarves, or the human toboggan incident. It was Adel herself – her refusal to be boring, her ability to inject wonder and chaos into a simple Saturday, her kindness peeking out from behind the glitter and the jokes.

Before Adel, being different felt awkward, something to downplay. But watching her embrace her quirks, even sliding down a hill on her stomach, made us realize it could be a source of joy and connection. And, like she said, finding people willing to ride with you, who laugh with you through the tumbles and unexpected triumphs – well, that's a rare kind of magic. The kind that keeps you warm long after the snow melts, a heart-warming memory on a cold winter's day. =]:)

In the heart of pine-scented mountains, vast and evergreen,

A rustic cabin stood, a shelter snug within.

Inside, there dwelled a rancher and his cherished wife,

Their love, a steady flame, to weather the storms of life.

The winter unleashed its fury, a blizzard's savage might,

Whipping snow like phantoms, dancing in the fading light.

Silence, broken only by the cabin's lonely groan,

As the rancher, a beacon of resolve, donned his coat alone.

His eyes, a steely glint that pierced the swirling storm,

Burned with determination, to keep his loved ones warm.

For lost within the blizzard's icy, chilling grasp,

A tiny life lay trembling, a fragile, whimpering newborn calf.

Their foreheads came together, a silent understanding passed,

Her eyes, like embers warm, against the icy blast.

No sounds of words were spoken, yet a promise filled the air,

A vow to face the storm, a burden they would share.

He buttoned up his weathered coat, the horse pawed restless at the door,

Each gust of wind, a whispered threat, a challenge to explore.

A final touch, a lingering glance, he mounted his loyal mare,

And vanished into the white abyss, she mouthed a silent prayer.

By the windowpane she stood, a sentinel in the gloom,

Her breath, a ragged rhythm, echoed in the room.

Each tick of the clock, a hammer blow upon her breast,

As minutes stretched like eons, stealing her fleeting rest.

The storm unleashed its fury, the wind a mournful cry,

A primal fear took root within, a tear welled in her eye.

The storm grew ever fiercer, and the trees began to moan,

She knew she could not let him face, this tempest all alone.

Driven by love's fierce fire, she saddled swift and bold,

Plunging into the blizzard's heart, her desperate search unfolds.

Mounting strong, resolve ignited, her lantern's glow a guide,

She rode into the white abyss, courage flowing by her side.

Her spirit, a burning ember, cast a defiant light,

A beacon in the darkness, piercing through the night.

Not fate would decide their destiny, but love's unwavering hand,

As she searched the wild expanse, across the storm-swept land.

As frosty breath betrayed her, she called his name aloud,

And in the distance, faintly, she heard a familiar sound.

Onward still she pressed until, at last, she found her love,

Huddled, strong, and steadfast, with the heavens vast above.

The rancher, battered and weary, held the calf snug to his chest,

His strength near gone, a fragile hope was all he had possessed.

Tears welled in his eyes for the wife he held so dear,

She had found them, now safe from harm, banishing all fear.

Together, hand in hand, they braved the storm's fierce tide,

Their devotion, a steady flame, forever their guide.

Back home, within their cabin, they warmed beside the fire,

Their love a fierce reminder of the strength in their desire.

For in this tale of ranchers, fate has a hold no more,

The storm could not extinguish the passion they had forged.

In moments dark and trying, love's light will guide the way,

A bond that conquers tempests, to bring forth a brighter day.

© 2024 Peter Noah Thomas

High up in Wyoming's Bighorn Mountains lies the Medicine Wheel, a mysterious and ancient stone circle. This National Historic Landmark holds deep significance for many Native American tribes, who have used the site for centuries as a place of spiritual connection and cultural practice.

Formed by massive limestone boulders, the circle surrounds a rocky meadow. From the center, where a large mound of stones stands, twenty-eight spokes of smaller rocks extend outward like rays. Over centuries, visitors have added to the central mound, leaving tokens of their respect and prayers.

Archaeologists believe the Medicine Wheel was built by prehistoric Native Americans before 500 CE. While the exact purpose remains shrouded in time, different tribes, like the Crow, Cheyenne, Lakota, and Shoshone, have passed down their own unique stories about the site's significance. Some believe it served as an ancient calendar, marking the passage of seasons and guiding ceremonial observances. Others see it as a place for spiritual journeys and vision quests.

Similar stone circles exist across North America, each holding its own unique story. The Medicine Wheel stands out for its scale and the captivating way it interacts with the natural world. As the sun moves across the sky, its rays cast ever-changing shadows over the stones, aligning with the seasons and equinoxes. In the past, wise elders observed these celestial alignments, gleaning insights and making predictions for their communities.

Even today, the Medicine Wheel remains a sacred place for many Native Americans. They visit to leave offerings like prayer bundles and tobacco ties, seeking solace and blessings for their people. As part of Medicine Mountain National Historic Landmark, the site is protected for all to appreciate and learn from. However, respect remains paramount. Visitors are encouraged to be mindful of the site's cultural significance and refrain from disturbing the stones or leaving offerings.

The Medicine Wheel stands as a powerful symbol of the enduring connection between the Bighorn Mountains and the Native American communities who revere it. Soaking in its majestic presence evokes a sense of wonder and encourages us to appreciate the rich cultural heritage it embodies.

Crystal fragments fall from slate grey skies,

Kissing frozen earth as the north wind sighs.

Bony branches reach from the swirling mist  

That cloaks the woods in silvered amethyst.

Sheltered under scarves of frosted lace,  

The old oak stands in solitary grace.

Bare limbs outstretched in silent appeals,  

To call forth the warmth that winter conceals.

Through whirling snow drifts a hushed refrain,  

That only dreaming ears can retain.  

The woodland spirits whisper promised renewal, 

Beyond this spectral place, the wonder cruel.  

As diamond flakes erase lines of care,  

The way grows dim, the destination bare.  

But faith remains as the pale dawn stirs,  

Conjuring sunlight from ice-bound firs.

Through frozen breath, secrets now unfold, 

Of alchemy, turning silver and ivory into gold.  

As morning breaks, the frosty magic fades,   

The forest thaws through crystalline glades.

© 2024 Peter Noah Thomas

Lie tales of darkness, so hauntingly deep.

A moon cloaked in mist, a chilling wind's wail,

Where spirits awaken, and courage may fail.

Beneath gnarled trees, a graveyard awakes,

Where restless souls wander, their rest at stake.

With hollowed eyes and whispers of despair,

They yearn for release from their eternal snare.

Amongst the tombstones, a figure does tread,

A specter in black, with a cloak like the dead.

Her name is Lilith, the mistress of fright,

With a wicked grin, she conjures the night.

"Oh! Hear my call," she whispers in the dark,

As she weaves her spells, leaving her mark.

Bats take to the sky, their wings spread wide, 

Guiding lost souls, to the other side.

In the haunted manor, spirits do dwell,

Where echoes of laughter turn into a knell.

Ghostly footsteps echo down the hall,

As the present and past collide and enthrall.

The clock strikes midnight, the hour of dread,

When the veil between worlds grows thin, it is said.

Ghosts emerge from their slumber, seeking release,

Their ethereal presence, a haunting caprice.

In the flickering candlelight, shadows dance,

As witches gather, their potions enhance.

With cauldrons bubbling and spells on their lips,

They conjure enchantments, with mystical quips.

Oh! Beware the night, when the jack-o'-lanterns glow,

And spirits arise from the depths below.

For Halloween's magic, a captivating lure,

Where darkness and mystery forever endure.

So, as the moon rises, casting an eerie glow,

Embrace the enchantment, let your fears go.

For on this haunted eve, when the spirits unite,

We celebrate Halloween, in the shadows of night.

But tread carefully, for darkness is near, 

And the spirits are watching, with ghoulish cheer.

Enjoy the thrill, the spook, and the fright,

On this chilling Halloween night.


© 2023 Peter Noah Thomas

Introduction

Meeting Beula

I heard the rumble of Grandpa's truck coming down the road before I saw it. My heart leaped as I swung open the paddock gate. The old blue Chevy rounded the corner pulling a rusty stock trailer. I whooped and hollered, feet flying as I ran to meet it.

The truck rolled to a stop, and Grandpa stepped out, his weathered face crinkling into a smile. "Morning Pete. Ready to meet your new friend?"

I couldn't contain my excitement as he lowered the trailer gate. A speckled grey nose poked out the side, sniffing the crisp morning air. Beula stepped back onto the ramp, her harness jingling. Once on the ground, my breath caught as I looked into her gentle brown eyes.

I extended my hand slowly, allowing her to catch my scent. She bobbed her head and nudged my palm. I stroked her velvety muzzle, whispering words of comfort. Her warm breath tickled my fingers. And once again, she turned and gently nuzzled my shoulder.

Grandpa chuckled, handing me the lead rope. "I'd say she likes you already. Why don't you take her on over to the barn so she can get settled in?"

I walked with her to the paddock, savoring the swish of her tail and the clomp of her hooves on the dirt path. At the barn, I gave Beula a flake of hay and filled her trough with fresh water. She slurped up some water, then turned and bobbed her head in thanks.

I lingered for a while, brushing the dust from her dappled coat and picking stones from her hooves. I spoke to her in a quiet voice about our home and the adventures we'd share. She would interrupt with a gentle whinny now and then as if chatting back.

When chores called me away, I gave her one last pat and whispered, "See you soon, girl." She bobbed her head as I stood, and I knew I had found a true friend.

We grew a bond

I was out helping mend fence posts one sunny morning when I heard the familiar clomp of hooves. Beula appeared, neighing for my attention. As I turned, she grabbed my hat, prancing away.

"Hey now, bring that back!" I called after her. She tossed her head in a stubborn tilt, keeping just out of reach. She finally relinquished my dusty old hat when I produced a carrot chunk.

"You silly thing," I laughed, patting her neck. Though mischievous, I treasured the games she played.

A few days later, I was loading the hay elevator in the barn when Beula stuck her nose in the bales. She sneezed louder than the machinery, and I could hear her through my earplugs, shaking her mane and sending wisps of hay flying. I doubled over, laughing at her startled expression. She looked like a wet cat.

"Itchy, huh, girl?" I asked, brushing stray pieces from her forelock. She bobbed her head in reply, eliciting another chuckle from me. Her lighthearted antics brought me such joy.

One afternoon my friends Mike, Cynch, and Billy came over. We decided to play hide-and-seek in the pasture. As I crouched behind a big old dead hollow log, Beula appeared and began nudging me with her nose.

"Beula, stop!" I whispered. "You're going to give away my hiding spot."

But she persisted, whinnying and carrying on. My friends descended, having followed her right to me.

"Found you!" Cynch exclaimed, her bright laughter filling the field. "Good girl, Beula. She led us right to your hiding spot. She's the best seeker!"

"Some scout you turned out to be!" I teased, giving Beula a playful swat. But in my heart, her seeking me out touched me. I was thankful to have a friend who hated to be apart.

As the sun set that evening, I bid my friends goodbye, and Beula accompanied me on the long walk back to the house. With her gentle nicker and nudge, each step felt less lonely. Before I went in, I made sure my friend had everything she needed for the night. Just like many times before, she gently nuzzled my shoulder.

She watched over me

We had many adventures

Beula began to slow down

I'll always remember my dear friend, Beula

A story of misadventure and understanding

The summer sun slanted through the open barn doors, coating the hay and wooden rafters in a golden haze. As I pitched hay, beads of sweat trickled down my neck, and the dusty air carried scents of dry grass and aged leather.

Mike's boots scuffed up small puffs of dust as he ambled in. "Got a call from Beth's boss, that Bill fella." Beth was Mike's girlfriend. He grabbed a canteen and gulped down the water, droplets rolling down his chin. "He wants to hire us to take him camping."

I paused my work, leaning on the pitchfork. "A camping trip? Can't see that guy lasting one night on the hard ground."

Mike chuckled, his amusement echoing through the rafters. "I know, but Beth says he's determined to experience real wilderness, probably just to brag to his office buddies."

I shook my head, my pitchfork piercing the hay again with dull thuds. Our old truck desperately needed repairs we couldn't afford, but babysitting some arrogant city dude didn't sound too appealing, either.

I wondered if an important guy like him would take kindly to being told what to do, especially from a couple of "hayseeds" like us. Though still, the wilderness may teach him some humility. I smiled slightly at the thought.

"We could really use the money for the truck," Mike added, fanning himself with his hat. His forehead glistened with sweat in the afternoon heat.

I scratched my cheek, deep in thought, considering it. As much as I disliked coddling arrogant big shots who thought they knew everything, we did need the cash. "Alright, I suppose we can tolerate one novice for a few days," I reluctantly agreed.

Mike nodded, his grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. "I knew I could convince you." He slapped me on the back. "See you at Mae's Diner tomorrow, 7 am. We'll drive out to the trails from there."

Before leaving the barn, he turned, wrapped his arms around himself, and said in a goofy-sounding voice, "Just the three of us!" I picked up a dusty old rag from the barn floor and threw it at him but missed. I could hear him laughing all the way to his truck.

I hoped this Bill fellow was ready to get his fancy boots dusty and his clothes soaked with sweat. The mountains didn't care if you were a hotshot executive. Out here, you listened to the land, or you wouldn't last long at all.

On our way to the backcountry

Gravel crunched under my boots as I stepped out of my car, a puff of dust swirling up to greet me. Across the parking lot, Mike leaned against his dented pickup, boots scuffing the stones.

"Howdy there," I called out with a wave. Mike tipped his hat in reply. The low purr of an engine made us both turn. A sleek midnight-blue sports car prowled into the lot like a panther. Letting out a low whistle, I watched as Bill unfolded his lanky frame from the driver's seat, straightening his khakis and polo shirt.

"Gentlemen, the great outdoors awaits!" Bill announced, spraying a mist of breath mints. I caught a whiff of his pungent cologne mingling with the scent of sagebrush and creosote.

Inside Mae's Diner, the sizzling aroma of hashbrowns teased my empty stomach. As we wedged into a corner booth, vinyl squeaking beneath us, Bill immediately launched into a boastful monologue, not even pausing as our waitress, Stacy, poured his coffee.

"You know, I just oversaw the purchase of a 20-story corporate building. Italian marble lobby, floor-to-ceiling windows, private elevators to the executive offices..." Bill droned on.

He prattled on about his lavish vacations and country club memberships as I nodded politely, fingers tapping out a beat on the table. Mike's jaw clenched, eyes distant, as he picked at his eggs. I could tell Mike's mind was a thousand miles away.

I jumped in the instant Bill finally paused for breath. "So, done much hiking before?"

"Of course, I'm practically an expert outdoorsman," Bill scoffed through a mouthful of pancakes, syrup droplets hitting me in the eye.

I wiped the syrup off my face and exchanged a skeptical look with Mike across the table. "Well, even experts can benefit from a few tips for first-timers..."

Bill held up a hand, swallowing loudly. "Please. I'm an executive. You think I can't handle a nature walk?" His lips curled in a wry grin.

I sat back with a sigh, realizing our advice would fall on deaf ears. Was it a bad sign that I'd rather be shucking hay in the barn right now? I wondered.

"So, fellas," Bill said, setting down his coffee mug. "We'll take my car to the trailhead. No way I leave it parked here for someone to mess with."

Mike looked perplexed. "We know the owner of this cafe. Your vehicle will be perfectly safe here."

Bill shook his head. "Just the same, I'd rather keep my baby closer. I brought a cover to protect her out there."

We headed to the parking lot, the morning sun beating down. Bill's sleek sports car glinted arrogantly in the harsh light. Mike and I climbed into the buttery leather interior. As Bill turned the key in the ignition, the powerful engine purred to life, and we pulled out onto the dusty backroads.

Bill's fancy car jounced over the deeply rutted dirt road, spewing up plumes of dust like a spooked horse. Bill gripped the ceiling with a scowl at the first bump, his knuckles white. "Jeezus! This car costs more than your barn," he snapped at Mike.

After one especially teeth-rattling pothole that nearly rattled my fillings loose, Mike finally ordered Bill to pull over, having enough of the fancy car's abuse. Glowering like a scolded child, Bill reluctantly swapped places with Mike.

I leaned back and dramatically flung an arm over my eyes, feigning despair. "Are we there yet?" I groaned. Mike chuckled and elbowed me in the ribs. I sat up straight again, unable to keep a grin off my face. Our mighty executive's pricey vehicle was no match for the ruthless backcountry roads.

Finally, the trees parted, revealing our destination up ahead. I breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Uncivilization at last!"

At the trailhead, Bill struggled to lift his overstuffed backpack, grunting with effort. It looked ready to burst at the seams. "You sure you don't want me to carry some of that?" I asked.

"I've got it," Bill grunted, already red-faced and sweating.

I shrugged and headed down the trail after Mike, pine needles and twigs crunching under my boots. Our overburdened friend would have trouble keeping up. But some lessons you just had to learn the hard way.

Further down the trail, I heard the heavy tromp of boots before Bill stumbled into view. His enormous backpack swayed precariously, resembling an overstuffed steamer trunk.

"Last chance to lighten that load," I offered.

"I've got it covered," Bill huffed, mopping his brow.

"Alright, partner, your call." I hid an eye roll and continued down the trail. I'd definitely get my exercise today, doubling back for him. With a shrug of my shoulders, we left Bill in the dust.

A little summer dip to cool off?

We reached a rushing river, its icy spray raising goosebumps on my damp skin as it misted my face. Mike turned to Bill, having to shout over the roaring water. "I'll cross first with a rope. Wait here with Peter." He eyed Bill's bulging backpack doubtfully. "Hand that over. No way you'll make it across carrying that monstrosity."

Bill bristled, his pride pricked. "I don't need a sherpa," he insisted indignantly, clutching his pack tighter.

Mike's patience was shot, and his jaw clenched in frustration. He grabbed the pack roughly from Bill's shoulders with a dull thud. "Give me that thing before it sinks you!" he snapped, his voice nearly drowned out by the raging river. Grumbling under his breath, Bill reluctantly handed it over.

Mike adeptly crossed the churning blue-grey water, the current tugging powerfully at his legs. He tossed the rope back with a flick of his wrist. I pulled it taut, the coarse fibers digging into my palms.

"Take the rope! The current's too strong!" I shouted urgently over the roar, but my warning went unheeded.

"I don't need floaties," Bill dismissed sarcastically, edging towards the water's frothy edge. Before I could stop him, he plunged heedlessly into the racing river with a splash. Instantly the powerful current snatched his feet out from under him. My heart dropped into my stomach as Bill thrashed in the swirling grey water, arms flailing wildly.

"Hang on!" I yelled, leaping into action. Without hesitation, Mike and I crashed into the raging river after him. I gasped as the shocking cold stabbed through me like icy knives.

I battled furiously against the relentless current dragging me under, my soaked clothes weighing me down like lead weights. Bill's head dipped below the foamy surface before he reemerged, sputtering and thrashing. As we reached him, Mike and I each seized one of his arms, yanking back with all our strength.

Bill came up spewing water, his face bone-white and lips tinged blue from the icy water. Working together, we steadily hauled him toward shore, the angry current constantly threatening to tear him away.

With a final firm pull, we dragged ourselves and a shivering Bill from the water's cold grasp onto the rocky bank. Spying slimy dark river weeds tangled in Bill's drenched hair, I barely choked back panicked laughter, giddy with relief.

"Next time, take the rope," I admonished him wryly, clapping his shaking, soaked back.

Bill looked up at me sheepishly, the slightest hint of a rueful smile touching his blue-tinted lips. "Maybe I should've listened," he admitted begrudgingly, his typical bravado washed away.

"Tricky terrain, eh?" I added lightly.

Bill huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Clearly." Some of the defiance had drained from his eyes.

Though he still wouldn't fully concede we'd been right, I detected a glimmer of humor and humility beginning to break through Bill's usual smug facade.

As the midday sun blistered overhead, I noticed Bill lagging farther and farther behind, his face flushed crimson. I dropped back to check on him.

"How's it going, Bill?"

He huffed, mopping his drenched brow. "Oh, just fine. Enjoying the views."

Bill was struggling, but he wouldn't admit it. At our next break, not wanting to embarrass him, Mike and I pretended our muscles were aching terribly, insisting we rest longer in the shade. Bill gratefully slumped down, although he complained about us being "slackers."

I hid a smile, hoping the day's humbling events were sinking in for our overconfident friend. Out here, you needed to rely on and listen to others, no matter your status or wealth. The wilderness had a way of teaching what really mattered.

At the campsite, finally

It was nearing dusk by the time we reached our campsite, the setting sun staining the sky amber and gold. Mike and I quickly set up our tents, poles clicking into place. Meanwhile, Bill wrestled with his poles and fabric like he was wrangling a steer, eventually becoming hopelessly entangled in the uncooperative fabric.

"Need a hand over there?" I asked, biting my cheek.

"I've got it!" Bill grunted in frustration, practically at war with the collapsed tent.

"I don't mind helping," I offered.

"No," Bill snapped.

Behind me, Mike didn't bother hiding his laughter at Bill's floundering attempts to play wilderness expert. Our executive friend was totally out of his element but refused to accept guidance from a couple of "hayseeds."

As I prepared dinner, the crackling fire warming my skin, Mike wisely stressed the importance of securing leftover food. "We should bury any scraps to keep bears away from camp," he suggested, his face illuminated by flickering firelight.

Bill let out an exaggerated sigh that could be heard across the campsite. "Another quaint cowboy ritual?" he asked sarcastically, poking at the fire with a stick.

I tried explaining that it was crucial backcountry practice for deterring bears, but Bill dismissed me with an impatient wave of his hand. "I'm not digging holes to bury leftovers. I'll be fine."

After eating, I reminded Bill once more to bury or hang his uneaten food, but he brushed me off dismissively. As he unrolled his sleeping bag, I casually approached, making one last attempt.

"Here, let me just quickly take care of your leftovers. I don't mind." I offered in a friendly tone.

Bill recoiled, clutching his pack defensively. "I don't need your help, thanks. You're just trying to make me look stupid."

Whoa. That hit me right in the gut. Had I done that to him? "I've just been trying to help you, Bill."

He pointed to my tent, so I knew the conversation was over. I raised my hands in surrender, knowing further arguing was useless. I shook my head as Bill stubbornly placed his fishy-smelling pack right by his tent entrance, like a steak dinner placed on a bear's front porch.

"That isn't a good idea, Bill," I pointed out, but he ignored me.

"Go to sleep, Peter. We can talk about it in the morning." He abruptly zipped his tent flaps closed.

I settled onto my back in my own tent, too physically spent to do more than briefly hope nothing disturbed us in the night before I passed out cold.

A visitor

I was startled awake by panicked shrieks that cut through my dreams and turned them into nightmares. My heart pounded as I fumbled to grab my flashlight, the cool plastic slipping slightly in my sweaty grip. With a quick flick, a bright beam pierced the darkness as I peered outside to investigate.

The harsh light illuminated a scene of chaos - a curious young bear cub stood just a few feet from Bill's tent, sniffing at his discarded pack, drawn by the lingering scent of leftover food. Bill thrashed wildly in his sleeping bag inside the nylon walls like a turtle flipped onto its shell.

Exchanging an exasperated look with Mike under the dim, dying firelight, we moved slowly and quietly, cautiously easing ourselves out of our tents. The soft crunch of dried leaves and sticks under our boots barely made a sound.

"Easy now... let's move calm and steady," Mike urged in a hushed voice. We waved our flashlights to create flickering beams and made gentle noises to encourage the curious cub to amble back into the dark forest. Mike exuded steady confidence in the tense situation. Eventually, the cub turned and scampered off on quick paws, its footsteps fading into the distance.

With the immediate threat resolved, I had to suppress an ill-timed laugh. Bill still lay tightly cocooned in his sleeping bag, his chest heaving like he had just sprinted ten miles. His eyes were wide and blinking rapidly, a residual effect of adrenaline and fear.

"All clear," I reassured him in a calming tone. Our woefully underprepared executive had received a crash course in essential wilderness protocols.

As Bill freed himself from his sleeping bag, he avoided meeting my eyes, his face flushed with embarrassment. I knew he felt ashamed by his reaction, though his panic had been a perfectly normal response to an alarming situation.

I grabbed his pack. "I'll dispose of this safely for you, Bill." He nodded.

We all settled back into our tents, but the morning seemed to come faster than usual. Bill emerged looking puffed up like a bullfrog, his face still reddened from the night's excitement. He angrily berated us, shouting loud enough to scatter birds from the trees.

"You cowboys failed to warn me about bears!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips.

I took a startled step back, nearly stumbling over Mike's boots. Mike stood rigid as a stump, fists clenched at his sides.

Carefully, I stated, "It was just a curious cub, no harm done."

"Harm done? I could've been killed!" Bill was shouting himself hoarse, face purpling.

I put a steadying hand on Mike's shoulder, feeling his muscles coiled tight as a spring. One careless spark could set him off.

"Hey brother, go gather me some firewood," I said, steering him away before he erupted.

Mike grumbled under his breath but did as I asked, boots stomping into the ground harder than necessary. Once he was out of earshot, I turned to Bill, keeping my voice level and calm.

"Why don't you grab some water while I take down the tents? We all need to just...simmer down."

Bill's nostrils flared, but he snatched up his canteen and retreated to the trees without another word. I stood by the tents and looked up at the cloudless sky, breathing deeply to soothe my fried nerves.

Later, while dousing the fire, I heard a commotion. Bill was stuffing gear aggressively into his pack, nostrils still flared wide.

"Where you off to?" I asked lightly.

"I'm leaving," he huffed. "Don't need cowboy escorts now."

Before I could respond, he turned and marched off alone into the forest. I slumped against a tree, disheartened. "I knew this trip was a mistake. Should've trusted my instincts," I muttered.

"Keep your chin up," Mike said. "His pride will fade once his fancy shoes get soaked. Let's wait here until he comes back."

Lost in the wilderness

An ominous stillness fell over the forest as the afternoon faded toward evening. No cocky laughter or off-key whistling echoed from the trees - only the worried creases lining Mike's face mirrored my own growing dread.

"It's been hours since Bill charged off in a huff," I finally said, voicing our shared concern. "His temper should've cooled by now. He ought to have been back."

Mike nodded grimly, prodding the fire with a long stick. "You're right. Something's wrong. Bill may act as big as a grizzly, but he's got the wilderness know-how of a baby bunny."

"And night's coming quick," I added, glancing at the shadows already stretching across our camp like dark fingers. "His chances out there alone after dark..." I trailed off, stomach twisting as I imagined the worst.

Mike's jaw tightened with resolve. "Then we head out now. Won't do him any good if we sit here twiddling our thumbs any longer."

With a last weary glance at the darkening forest, we moved briskly to gather our gear, spurred to action. That foolhardy hothead's life was on the line. And though he'd scorned our assistance, we couldn't abandon him to the unforgiving dangers lurking in the indifferent wilderness.

As daylight faded fast, shadows engulfed the rugged canyon walls like an approaching tide. Our "Bill!" shouts echoed unanswered through the stillness, save for the nerve-wracking shriek of circling hawks.

I scoured the rocky trails, squinting as the last weak rays of sun slipped behind distant peaks. We were about to turn back, defeated, when Mike called out.

"Here, look!" He pointed to trampled brush and disturbed dirt leading away from camp. "He went this way."

We followed the sporadic boot prints and signs of smashed vegetation that marked Bill's erratic path. He clearly had no idea where he was going, weaving recklessly through the backcountry.

The trail disappeared into a dark, wooded ravine. I was peering down the steep slope when Mike shouted from up ahead. He'd spotted a flash of color through the trees - Bill's signature navy jacket!

We scrambled down to find Bill crumpled in a small clearing, clutching his bloody leg with a grimace. His torn jeans revealed an angry, ragged cut on his shin. Scrapes marred his hands, and a branch lay snapped in two nearby.

"Must've fallen and cut it on those rocks," Mike deduced, examining the injury. "Doesn't look too deep, at least."

Bill grimaced, face pale. "Tripped over that damn root and went tumbling down. Landed hard on those sharp stones." He gestured to the bloodied grey rocks surrounding him.

Working swiftly as the muted light faded fast from the sky, Mike and I bandaged Bill's gashed leg using supplies from the emergency kit. Bill grimaced but, for once, didn't complain or push us away.

With Mike supporting Bill under one shoulder and me under the other, we slowly guided our injured companion up the rocky trail exiting the ravine. Darkness had fallen entirely now, the jagged walls around us lost to inky shadow. Mike's flashlight danced ahead, lighting scattered patches of uneven ground. I kept my eyes glued to the dim trail so we didn't lose our footing.

I glanced at Bill's tense, pale face. He looked drained but determined now, arms gripping Mike and me tightly as if we were his lifeline. And I suppose we were. But together, we'd make it back.

We moved as quickly as we could, half-dragging Bill along between us. He winced with each hopping step but didn't utter a complaint. Somewhere far beyond lurked our campfire's beacon.

Pausing to catch our labored breath, I met Mike's eyes in the flashlight glow and saw my profound relief mirrored there. "Almost home," I said, squeezing Bill's shoulder encouragingly. He managed a weak but grateful smile. Enveloped by the silent darkness, we were finding our way forward step by step.

After what felt like an eternity of stumbling slowly through pitch-black wilderness, our small circle of light finally illuminated a welcome sight - the clearing we'd chosen for our camp. The campfire's flames welcomed us back.

Reflection

Bill sank onto a log by the newly built fire, the tension seeming to drain from his body. "I had no clue where I was or how to get out," he admitted softly, staring into the flickering flames.

"Well, good thing you hired a couple experienced fellas to get you out of that scrape," I said, giving him a gentle, forgiving wink.

Bill managed a small, sheepish smile in return. He watched the dancing flames silently, the day's sobering events playing across his weary face. I could see the hard lessons of the wilderness churning in his mind. There would be time to reflect more after rest and a hot meal.

Meanwhile, Mike knelt to examine the cut on Bill's leg, brow furrowed in focus. "It's ragged but just needs cleaning and fresh wrapping," he reported after a moment. I quickly gathered the first aid supplies and helped Mike redress the injury.

As Mike carefully tended to Bill's leg, I prepared some coffee and food, the rich aromas lifting our sagging spirits. Bill sat up straighter when I offered him a steaming mug, murmuring his thanks.

Huddled around the crackling fire with mugs of coffee and plates of food, Bill shook his head as if emerging from a stupor. "Don't know what I was thinking, going off alone like that."

"Clearly, you weren't thinking at all," I responded lightly, giving him a playful nudge.

"Suppose you're right," Bill acknowledged with a light laugh. "But no more. I've learned my lesson the hard way."

"We all stumble sometimes," said Mike kindly, his eyes glinting in the firelight. "Main thing is we found you."

"Well, thank you again. And I'm truly sorry for how I acted," Bill said earnestly, meeting our eyes with sincerity.

I poured more coffee into his mug and clapped his shoulder. "We're sorry too, Bill. I'm not proud of some things I said either."

As we sat there together, I realized maybe, after everything, the three of us could move forward as friends. Bill had gained some humility and perspective. At first, we struggled to contain our frustration with his arrogance. But our instincts led us to aid him in his hour of need. Seeing his vulnerability up close reminded us that even know-it-alls are human.

We could put aside our differences if he was willing to meet us halfway. We wouldn't ridicule his mistakes, however tempting. That would only push him away. We resolved to meet ignorance with understanding; anger would only breed more anger.

Miles were left to hike on this trip, and I hoped we'd be walking them as a team from here on out. The wilderness reminded us we're more alike than different deep down. Bill wasn't so unlike us, after all. We'd all do foolish things when pride overrules good sense. With effort from all of us, I was optimistic for the future. Over the years since, Bill's become a good friend, joining us on many more camping trips. 

The following morning, as we headed for the trail home, I took one last look over my shoulder at the little clearing that had taught us so much. We left that campsite a bit wiser and a little kinder, ready to lead future newcomers with patience and grace. The wilderness humbled us, then brought us together. =]:)

Maybe you are coming for a visit to Yellowstone, and if you are, here are some facts and interesting tidbits about Fishing Bridge.

A haven for nature enthusiasts:

Located in the heart of Yellowstone National Park, the Fishing Bridge is a historically significant site that is particularly important for fishing enthusiasts and nature lovers. Initially constructed in 1902, the bridge spans across the stunning Yellowstone River, offering picturesque views of the surrounding landscape. 

The history of the bridge:

The Yellowstone Fishing Bridge was aptly named for its purpose: providing a dedicated space for fishermen who could once cast their lines directly into the waters below. Since its inception, the bridge has been rebuilt and renovated several times, most notably in 1928 and 1975. These modifications were to accommodate increasing visitors and address growing concerns surrounding wildlife preservation efforts.

It's uniquely constructed:

Its unique design sets the Fishing Bridge apart from countless other bridges in national parks. The current iteration of the bridge exhibits an arch-like construction made with reinforced concrete. This elegant structure was designed by architect Hiram Chittenden with aesthetics and functionality in mind. Simultaneously delicate and robust, Chittenden's design ensures that the bridge melds perfectly into its surroundings.

Can you still fish off the bridge? No. But...:

The Fishing Bridge remains a popular spot for anglers globally; however, changes to protect aquatic ecosystems have been enforced. In 1973, Yellowstone decided to discontinue angling activities from the bridge due to declining Cutthroat Trout populations. Now, although it's no longer open for fishing directly from its surface, the Fishing Bridge area still serves as a crucial waypoint between Lake Village and Canyon Village – making it convenient for anglers seeking nearby fishing spots within permitted areas.

Wildlife you can see:

Yellowstone National Park is home to an impressive array of wildlife species that are often sighted from the Fishing Bridge itself. Bears, moose, elk, and bison inhabit the area around the bridge, while pelicans, ospreys, and bald eagles soar in the sky above the water.

Nearby attractions:

Besides its inherent natural charm, Fishing Bridge also teems with various recreational experiences. For instance, the nearby Fishing Bridge General Store caters to souvenir shopping and offers an assortment of convenience goods for park visitors. The Fishing Bridge RV Park campground provides a comfortable base for exploring adjacent trails and sites. As a hub of activity within Yellowstone National Park, there's no shortage of exciting adventures in the vicinity.

Make sure it's on your list when visiting:

The historic Yellowstone Fishing Bridge remains an essential landmark in one of America's most treasured natural reserves. Boasting a rich history accompanied by stunning views and abundant wildlife sightings, it stands as a testament to the delicate balance between human advancement and environmental preservation. As you plan your visit to Yellowstone National Park, be sure to take a moment to appreciate this remarkable structure and its storied past. =]:)

If you'd like to learn more about the interesting places to visit and things to see in Yellowstone, I've written a whole slew of articles. You can see them all here: Yellowstone