I was born in New York, and lived in Oklahoma for 18 years. However, I have significant formative memories where I had spent my second grade year in a small town called Freshwater, California. Freshwater is a town in northern California outside of Eureka, and there was not a lot there besides potheads, lumberjacks, and more potheads.
For some reason, my uncle had a mid-life crisis and decided he needed to become one with nature. So he packed up his family for the fifteenth time, moved to Freshwater, and immediately began dominating the town by buying the only grocery store and bar. The bar-store also had one of the larger houses attached to it. Even when he's becoming one with himself and nature, he still winds up running the show. He asked my mom to come out with my brother, Sean, and me so she could help him run the store.
We had quite a few people in this house; my Aunt Kathy, Uncle Pete, Pete Jr (fifth grade), Joe (fourth grade), Mike (second grade, like me, but six months older), my mom, my brother (kindergarten) and me. Oddly enough, there was a television show called Eight is Enough on TV at the time, we could relate.
Now on to the story. Pete and Joe were always very competitive for many reasons. This led to a faction of Pete vs. All The Rest of Us, because Joe was our hero. He was two years older than Mike and I, and he would hang out with us as long as we did what he said. Sean always came along too.
Freshwater is located in the middle of the Redwood Forests, and Reader, I promise there is not a better playground for children. All throughout the woods are stumps of trees that were cut for lumber, and these stumps are easily converted to forts. From there, you can have wars with other children. When you get tired, you find a stream and drink from it, and when you get hungry, you eat clovers (or whatever they were called) that have a tangy, sour taste to them. Freshwater is also at the foot of Mount Kneeland, and it's wonders are far too vast for kids with a free Saturday not to explore.
Mike, Sean, and I were with Joe where we met a local kid named Steve somewhere near the base of Mount Kneeland. Like the rest of us, Steve was taken in by Joe. (Incidentally, Joe has always been the natural leader, even now his job is upper management). Both Steve and Joe had the tendency to get into trouble a little; and I think their synergistic mayhem probably caused more havoc in that town than the last time the dealer ran dry.
It was fate that day when the five of us were together in the woods, because in our path were Pete and Jeb (insert evil music here). Pete and Jeb were about the same age, one year older than Joe and Steve, but they probably had just started puberty. They were bigger, if just for a little while. If I recall correctly, someone had found clay pigeons and a war had broken out between Pete and Joe as to who owned them. A mighty battle ensued, pigeons were thrown, and I think this was the last time that Joe did not win the fight between the two. Our ragtag bunch followed Joe's retreat as we ran into wilderness of Mount Kneeland.
The day started off good. We approached a river with brown, murky water. Naturally, as kids who are growing up around a bar know, this must be the fabled Whiskey River, and we all took long drinks from the tepid water. We dared not complain about the taste because we saw the reactions of people to the poor souls that can't hold their liquor. We all drank 'whiskey' until we were good and drunk, and started up the path to the mountain. Looking back, I'm not certain that bar was the best environment for a kid to grow up, but I'll be damned if anyone ever sees me grimacing from a shot of whiskey.
The mountain could be generous. Indeed, as we walked along the path it was the sharp eyes noticed something. Joe shouted,
"A knife!"
There it was, a real hunting knive complete with a scabbard. Joe put the knife on his belt and pressed on.
The mountain could also be greedy. As we rounded a corner, we came to a place in the path that we had to cross. We had no idea until we were in it that we were trapped in quicksand! Actually, it was not the quicksand of the Tarzan movies, this was a bunch of mud about one or two feet deep. The problem was that when you pulled your foot up, your shoes would stay in the mud. Like mine did. Permanently. The others pulled their shoes off in time, but try as we might (and we didn't try long...), my shoe was lost forever. I spent the rest of the day wearing one shoe, and this day had just started.
Sometimes I wonder about the fate of that shoe. Is it fossilized in the mud graveyard? Or did it free itself to experience a life of its own?
We walked on. I remember crossing a road and going down a path (and probably thinking that I would like to go home) near the motorcycle trails. It was the afternoon, and we saw a man and woman walk the other way. That would be the last human contact we would have for at least eight hours, and it was well past noon.
We went down a hill and crossed a motorcycle berm and continued to walk in single file; Joe first, then Steve, then Mike, me, and Sean behind us. Clouds came over, and soon the woods were covered in shades of gray. The mood was ominous and we started to get a little scared. It was this point when Steve mentioned something about the bear. The Bear, I thought. The Great Big Bear. Just what I needed.
We had a discussion about how we would defend ourselves should the bear come. Of course the bear would only come up from behind, so it was Joe who came up with the clever plan. Sean would alert me by tapping me on the shoulder, and then jumping to the side. I would do the same to Mike and limp over to the side, Mike to Steve, Steve to Joe, and Joe would spin in a whirling dervish while pulling the knife from the scabbard, ready to fight for our lives.
Even as a young lad I had a fairly vivid imagination. I pictured the fight between the bear and Joe would be a valiant one, with only one possible ending. Of course Joe would wrestle with it, get on top, raise the knife over his head, and bring it down into the heart of the screaming bear, while the rest of us watched with delight. As an adult, I still have a vivid imagination, but the fight I envision now would have ended a little differently...
Food became a problem. Joe had only two sandwiches left in the knapsack, and all five of us were hungry. Joe had decided that it would be difficult for him to fight the bear if he was hungry, so naturally it made sense that he have the sandwiches. I think he tore half of one off for Steve, because Steve would help. Mike, Sean and I didn't quite know that we were duped that day, but the relief it gave us to not fight the bear made the hunger worth it.
It was almost totally dark, and the weather had a damp feel to it. We were lost and we knew it. Making it even worse, we found out that we went in a complete circle, and we were totally disoriented. After about another hour of walking through the woods (remember, I have one shoe), I think it was Steve who recognized the motorcycle berm.
That was it! We scrambled up the hill, found the path where the lovers were walking, and made it to the road. After about 10 minutes, a car found us and we stuffed all of us inside it. Apparently quite a few of the townspeople were looking for us, and after a five minute ride in a warm car, we were home.
The parents were doting on us, it wasn't ten minutes before we were bathed, clothed, and sipping hot chocolate watching the Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe. We had no problems with lions, after all, we were ready to kill a bear.
Farewell Reader, have a good day,
Hussman
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