The Marker

The Marker

He had had an unusually trying start with the bees this spring, but one by one he had corrected the problems and it was now up to the bees to prosper and prepare for winter.  So he told his wife he was going to do the trip he had planned for several years but was unable to go for health reasons.  She had wanted to join him but work and life seem to get in the way.   He would have preferred her to come as he would miss the wrong directions she was always able to give, but he had bought a new GPS that seemed to be filling that gap.  So he loaded the camper on the truck, packed and stowed his gear and supplies, and loaded the dogs and set off.

He had set her (the GPS) for no Interstate roads or tollways and had planned his route to take Route 6, one of the longest roads in the country, all the way west to Montana to see his friend whom he hadn’t seen in 44 years.   The route took him close to his property in upstate NY and on the way began having second thoughts of the trip and maybe the bees needed to be checked one more time.  Maybe he should just stay and do some work that needed done.  He swung onto the farm as he called it and checked the bees.  They were fine as expected so he did some odd jobs and then retired for the night.  The next morning all thoughts of not going had vanished so he set out early, swinging up into the lower tier of NY and through PA and Ohio.  Nearing dark he knew he had no chance of finding the kind of camping spot he liked in the east so Googled ‘Walmart’ and found one 17 miles away.  When he arrived he found his electrical system for the camper not working and found the new battery he had purchase dead.  To late to find out why, he retired for the night.  The next day he worked his way west and swung low below Chicago so he could avoid the traffic tolls and found himself on route 30, the Lincoln highway, which would take him all the way west.  After what seemed like a thousand traffic lights, he finally emerged from urban to rural America. 

Soon he came to a sign that said, Intersection with I-80 and even though he swore to stay on the blue roads he took the left, knowing that at least there were no tolls out here.   Immediately two semis cut him off, the second missing him by inches so the next exit he got back off, knowing that if he went straight north, he would intersect route 30 again.  He had shut down his GPS because he knew I-80 by heart, having traveled it more than two dozen times, so now he turned her back on.  Apparently she was pissed because the first thing she did was told him to turn left.  Like his wife's directions, he follows, just to see where they go.  Next was to turn right in 3 miles, than left in three miles and he remembered a trip he had taken years before while after visiting his brother in New Mexico he had went north to visit his daughter in Denver.  Along the way he was told to take a secondary road up through the foothills of the Rockies.  He had done so and the road had taken him through an Indian reservation and as he had passed houses with the occupants sitting on their front porches, he could see them looking and smiling as he went by.  After about 25 miles the road came to an abrupt dead end  even though the GPS said otherwise and with only one way in and one way out, he had to retrace his steps.  As he drove passed the same houses, the people who were smiling before, were now laughing and waved to him as he drove passed.  He had laughed and waved back, knowing he had given them some humor in their lives for at least one day.

And so the zig-zag across Illinois continued, and with each turn the roads seem to become smaller and smaller.  Soon he was directed to turn onto a gravel road but growing up in the rural mid-west, this did not phase him, so on it he went.  The next turn was onto a single lane dirt road, this he took also.  The next was a dirt road half the size, off he went.   Then the road turned really small with what looked like 2 farms on it.  He hesitated but went on.  He passed the first farm and the road halved in size but he kept going.  Passing the second farm the road turned into what looked like a tractor path through a field, the grass high in the middle.  He thought for a second before going on, he could always turn around, but she had indicated that there was a real road at the other end, one with a state number attached, so off he went.  Amazingly, the road was the smoothest of the trip so far, ten times smoother than any in his home state of NY.  The end was near and he reached the road in safety, turned right as directed and entering a small town of about 12 homes and one boarded up store, she said “You have reached your destination”  "What the Fu.." He shouted back, then laughed out loud and said “Good one”.  He reached down and reset his destination and she took him on a river road which had an Audubon restored prairie and he stopped and hiked through the tall grass and flowers and trees for over an hour with the dogs.  As a bee keeper he always looks for honey bees and found non, only a few bumble bees and no butterflies either.  Since entering the corn belt he remembers that he has seen few pollinators.  He thinks that we won't have to worry about the bible pushing republicans of the mid-west much more as they will also die off from the pesticides and fracking, thank you Monsanto for your contributions.  So the day turned out great despite.

Traveling on through Iowa and then Nebraska he felt a tap-tap-tap on his shoulder, it was his little Maddie wanting to go pee, so he said “as soon as I can pull over” and she lay back down, knowing he will.  In reality he could pull over anywhere as he has taught the dogs to not go on the road.  Since the beginning of training every time he crosses the road with them he makes them sit and wait, also while walking along the road hunting, when a car approaches he makes them sit.  Not so much for the dogs, but to assure the drivers his dogs will not jump in front of the car.  This came to fruition one day as he was hunting and his dogs jumped a crippled rooster Pheasant.  They chased it round and round this gulley until the pheasant ran up the slope across the road with the dogs hot on his heels.  A car was coming and if the dogs had kept their stride, they both would have been hit, but when they reached the road, they both just sat down and waited.  When he approached they continued the hunt.  He still had concerns for the pup as she sometimes will chase birds when the get up and if they fly back over the road she may chase.  So he looks for side roads to let them out for their runs.  Sometimes Maddie gets so excited about the tall new grasses and hunting them, she forgets to pee and when back on the road again there’s a tap-tap-tap on his shoulder.

Route 30 swings south close to Colorado so he thought he would stop off and see his grandson and figure out why his electrical system wasn’t functioning.  Getting late and horribly hot he decided he needed air-conditioning and started looking for a camp ground.  Normally he detests them with their sardine like parking and leash requirements, but being so hot he had no choice.  He found a RV site not too far away and told the manager he had dogs and could he put somewhere quiet.  He was placed at the end next to a small tow behind.  As he let the dogs out to hook-up the camper, he heard screaming from a woman walking her dogs and his were just trying to say hello.  He called off his dogs and she continued her ranting about telling the office.  He replied with an FU bitch under his breath and took the dogs for a walk.  Upon his return, her dog was off leash and he yelled “get that dog on a leash”, it was hustled inside.  He slept cool that night despite the 103 degrees.

He continued on to his Grandsons, who was away at school as a full time student at CSU and found the electrical problem and fixed it, then spent an evening with him and his wife and daughter and as they were way too busy with their own lives he left the following morning after coffee.  He went north back to route 30 through Wyoming, than in Utah headed north into Idaho.  He had planned to fish the Salmon River so that evening he found a camping spot along the river.  The Salmon is no small stream and he found out why they call it “the river of no return”.  Its non-stop rapids from beginning to end, dropping about 40 feet per mile.  His dogs ran to the edge and jumped in before he could stop them and were immediately swept down-stream.  He called and the two who can hear swam back to safety, but his old Chip just kept going out further, being swept closer to the next big rapids.  He ran frantically along the shore, waving his arms as he knew yelling was useless.  Finally Chip saw him and swam to shore and climbed up on the bank with what looked like a grin on his face.  He moved to a different site.

Giving up on fishing, he decided to continue on, stopping at the Nez Pierce Battle ground and contemplated why, because of gold, we had tried and failed to obliterate these people from the face of the earth.  He was so glad it failed.  He eventually found the Lewis and Clark trail which he wanted to follow back across the Rockies.  It led him up the Clearwater canyon and near the top, camped by a little steam where the dogs could frolic in the water.  He had stopped early enough to build a fire, but the mosquito’s drove them back inside.  He topped the Lolo pass the next morning early, his friend living not to far now, was much too early to stop.  So he decided to drive the 80 miles down to Salmon ID and see the spot where Lewis and Clark had actually viewed the river for the first time.  They had wanted to follow it but the natives told them it couldn’t be done so had went north instead.  Looking at the steep stone cliffs he could see why.  All along the route he was amazed at the endurance of these explorers and what they had to endure.  Having satisfied his curiosity he back tracked to his friend’s house and after spending  several days there reminiscing of times and friends past, talking about their lives since and after coffee on the third day gave them both a hug and agreeing forty years is much too long to wait to visit again and headed back east.

He was now traveling along the trail on US 12.  One of the myriad of roadways that crisscross the US from east to west and north to south that were replaced by Eisenhower’s interstate road systems of the 50’s.   They are now referred to as the blue roads.  The roads he prefers to travel.  They are slower with much less traffic, hell, sometimes no traffic at all.  Every small town has a 25mph speed limit, hoping someone will stop. He loves to have breakfast every morning at the local cafes, the ones with the parking lots full of pickups, just to eavesdrop on the local problems.  Seldom do they talk of politics.  Americana at its best.

He had left his friends at 10:30 that morning and it was now approaching 8pm, the time he usually begins to look for a camping spot.  Soon the highway crosses a small stream and he looks down and sees a well-used campsite, slows and finds the trail down, drives to the end and parks.  He lets out the dogs and takes them for a walk, partly to let them burn off some of the pent of energy they have accumulated throughout the day but mostly to get back some circulation in his clot prone legs. 

20 Minutes later he returns to the camper, it’s hot and he thinks that if he can figure out why the generator crapped out on the trip he may get some air tonight.  He pushes the start button and the starter cranks but no spark.  Then he remembers he had shut off the propane tanks because he had smelled gas.  He moves around to open them when a man driving an ATV above on the road drives past very slowly, all the time peering intently down on him.  He shrugs it off as rural curiosity, not unlike his own.  He opens the tanks and after testing for fumes, tries again, still nothing.  Probably empty tanks he thinks and tries to light the stove.  “Shit” he says to the dogs,” I guess its peanut butter sandwiches for dinner”, his first of the trip.  He makes one for himself and another which he divides in thirds for the dogs, he hates to eat alone.  Getting dark he lets the dogs out one more time, checks all the screens to make sure they are closed, tops off the feed and water bowls, calls in the dogs and crawls up to sleep.

He is gazing up through the skylight, watching as the twinkling stars begin to appear one by one and drifts off to sleep.

“Hello, is anyone in there”

Startled the bolts awake, hitting his head hard on the skylight trim and putting a deep rug burn in his forehead from the headliner. “God dam” he says out loud.  That was some dream he thinks, as the dogs haven’t stirred, they always raise a ruckus when someone comes to the door, and if they say Hello, it’s ten times worse.  He has learned not to use that word even answering the phone.  He begins to lie back down.

“Can you help me” a young girl asks.

Looking out the screen door he sees a figure standing in front of the door.  If this is a dream, it could get interesting he thinks.

“Give me a minute” he says and climbs down and finding his cloths and shoes puts them on, grabs the flashlight and goes out the door.  He is still bewildered as to why the dogs are sleeping through all of this.

“What help do you need” he asks.

“I can’t get home” she says

“Where do you live “he asks?

“Over in that farmhouse” and she pointing to a farm about a quarter mile away with it’s yard light gleaming. Weird he thinks but asks “why can’t you just walk home”

She answers “because I’m trapped”

This dream has reached another plateau he thinks.  He has heard of apparitions appearing along roads seeking help.  He believes in ghosts.  While having a fish fry in Skagway AK, (a place with much death from the building of the railroad during the Gold rush era), for his staff and some of the locals the subject had turned to the eerie sightings and strange music which came from abandoned building in town and while living in a 1700’s farm house in New Hampshire his former wife had actually seen two hovering over their sons bed, then disappearing into a room the kids would never go into because it seemed 10 degree’s colder than the rest of the house.  So yes, he did believe, but never in a million years did he think he would see one. 

Somehow, maybe because he thought this a dream, he remained eerily calm and asked “Where are you trapped, can you show me?” And she began to lead him through the tall prairie grass. When they had gone about fifty yards or so she stopped and pointed.  “Here” she said.  He shown the flashlight around and everything looked the same, except for the several dead little tree’s which had tried to grow from the spot she pointed. Nothing it seems had been disturbed in at least 10 or 20 years

He thought, dream or no dream I have to mark this spot so I can find it tomorrow.   So he looked around and found a small stick to act as a marker which he placed among the dead trees.  She said “I have to go now” and just dissolved in front of his eyes.  Stunned he walked back to the camper, the dogs still quiet.  Holy shit he thought, this is some dream,  then the stinging of his forehead returned and reaching up and touching it with his sweaty hand made it worse.  “Or was it” he said out loud, looking out over to the farmhouse with the gleaming yard light.  Only one way to tell and reached for his phone, “shit” he says, as there was no service.  Looking again at the farm house he sees the lights are still on, late for the mid west, and rouses the dogs and says   “come on, we’re going for a ride”.  He puts the dogs it the truck and closes up the camper and heads to the farm.  He drives up the long driveway and turns toward the house, his headlight illuminating the ATV parked by one of the farm sheds.  He parks and walks toward the house and nearing the porch an older women asks “Can I help you? Are you lost?”

“No, no, I’m not lost, you see, I was camping down by the creek about a quarter mile up the road and a young women”, and when he said young woman, the woman’s eyes had grown large with fear and as her hand went to her mouth she gasp for breath and collapsed on the floor of the porch.

Holy shit, holy fucking shit.  It real, it’s fucking real, he thought.  And as he went up the steps to aid the woman he thought, Why me, why in apparently all these years has she choosen me to be her savior, to be the one to allow her to finally come back home.  Then kneeling along the ladies side he realized, too late, just as everything went black that they were not small trees, but other markers.