The Ferry Woman and the Whale

I had a lovely voyage aboard the Calabar. It was largely uneventful, aside from a near miss with a ship called the Dead Man’s Revenge, which seemed to think we were a pirate vessel (well, she wasn’t on this trip anyway). I whiled away the trip by telling tales and listening to others tell theirs, falling asleep each night to the motion and sound of the ship cutting through the waves. I enjoyed the smell of the sea, and the hot-tar scent of the sun on the wooden decks. The crew was good to me and kept me well fed.

 

We sailed into Duwamish Bay at sunset. The waters of the Bay were calm, reflecting pink and orange. I have always thought sunset was a magical time of day, and it was a perfect time to come to Duwamish. All the little buildings were stained pink and orange and the boats were all neatly moored – the day fishermen were back in and the night fishermen hadn’t left for the evening yet.

 

Mothers were calling children home for dinner, and sea birds were just now swooping down to the bay for one last drink before they nested for the night. The fertility carnival that I had heard about had paused for the evening meal. Everything was peaceful in that suspended moment between day and night when it is neither. The clouds in the deep middle of the sky changed to dark purple and then the boats of the ferry women came home to roost, steering into the harbor from all their various destinations. As I stood on the quay, I could see their outlines on their ferry boats, darker against the darkening sky. As the sky on the edge of the horizon shaded to deepest pink, I listened to the slap of the waves against the pilings and breathed the fish-salt smell peculiar to docks.

 

Hoisting my backpack on to my shoulders, I went in search of a place to stay for the night, and a place to eat- the lovely food smells from the carnival were making my belly rumble with complaints.

The good hosts of the Duwamish Bay Inn had a room for me, and a satisfying dinner. While I was eating, several of the ferry women came in to have some dinner before they began their night trips over to the Isle of the Ancestors.

 

I said hello, and one of them came over to sit with me.

 

“So, another seeker, eh?” she asked.

 

“Yes, I am.” I answered.

 

“That’s a good thing. We all need to seek, to find out what’s in ourselves.” She nodded approvingly. “I was a seeker once, myself. It was long ago, of course.” She smiled.

 

Frankly, I thought it couldn’t have been all that long ago. She didn’t look very old at all.

 

She caught the look on my face and laughed heartily. “Looks can be deceiving, love! I’m as old as time itself some days and others I’m only as old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth! I wasn’t too terribly old, though, until the day of the whale.” She shook her head, reminiscing. “Ah, yes, the day of the whale.” She looked at me again, and asked, “Would you like to hear the story of the day I met the whale?”

 

Of course I would. I’m always up for a good story. I signaled the innkeeper to bring us a pitcher of the best beer, to keep her throat well oiled and mine relaxed and happy, and the ferry woman settled in to tell her tale.

 

“Now you know, don’t you, that whales are very old and wise creatures? They lived on the land once and then saw what a fine thing the sea had been and went back to it. They perform ballets and concerts in the deeps, just for the pleasure of it, and don’t worry about leaving their mark on the world. They just live and love life, for the most part. But sometimes, something goes wrong. A whale just loses heart, doesn’t want to go on free and open in the sea. He thinks living on the land again is what he wants, so he can live like a man and worry all the time about this and that and what’ll he do that’s great that others will know him for. Then the whale goes and beaches himself, grinds himself right up on the shore, like he thinks he can just walk back out on land and take up where he left off.” She shook her head. “It’s a sad thing, it is. The thing about the whales, is they’re old, like I said, and they carry all that time right inside of them. When a whale tries to go back to the land and beach himself, all that time catches right up with him. Now, people think the whales die because they’re out of the water, but that’s not all of it. No sir, one of the reasons they die is all that time that they carry without trouble in the sea when they don’t care about it. Once they try to live on the land again, all the worries and cares of the land make all that time come crashing down on them and they just get old and die right then and there.”

 

“Well, one day I was out on my ferry, coming back to Duwamish, to be exact, and I spied a whale. He was all by himself, floating along, not diving and playing like they like to do. He was just lying there on top of the water, mist coming out of his blowhole as he breathed, not doing anything. I was a little worried, because he wasn’t acting normal, so I pulled alongside of him, and asked, ‘Whale! Are you all right?’

 

Well, he didn’t answer right away, so I asked him again, ‘Whale! Hey, you! Are you all right?’ 

 

This time he answered me. ‘I am thinking.’ Now, whales do think, but usually, they think way down deep in the sea, where it’s quiet and dark. I was a little bit worried about this fellow thinking right up here on the surface.

 

‘Oh!’ I said, ‘Might I ask what you are thinking about?’

 

‘I am thinking that I have done nothing with my life, Ferry Woman. I have made no mark upon the world, and it will have nothing to remember me by.’

 

Well, I knew we were in trouble now. The next thing you know, he would be finding some stretch of sand to beach himself on, trying to go back to the land. I knew this wasn’t good. If anything, we should be more like the whales; they shouldn’t try to be more like us. We do enough worrying for all the creatures in the world for all times just in one day!

 

Any how, I thought to myself that I needed to put a stop to this before it went any further.

 

‘Whale, why would you think that?’ I asked, “You have a fine and wonderful life under the waves. You live and love and dance and sing- why I happen to know you even tell tales to each other. You care for one another; you create for the joy of it. What else is there that anyone could want in this life?’

The whale moaned softly. ‘I don’t know. It just feels like I am missing something,’ he said. ‘Men do things that other men will remember them for. They make stashes of things, like that strange money stuff, and they and others think they are better for it. Shouldn’t we all want this?’

 

I replied, ‘Whales do things other whales remember them for,’ I reminded him. ‘You tell about it in tales and songs and dances. You may not collect things, but you are rich in lore and in time. Men have no time because they waste it all on worry and fuss about abstract things like money and fame and power. Trust me whale, you have the right of it. Stay with your sea, your dances and songs and companionship. Your life is the better of the two. I can say this, I who am a woman - yet I live on the sea, keeping my way of life as like to that of you whales as I can.’

 The whale ducked his head under the water and then blew a plume of spray into the air. ‘I will think on what you have said, Ferry Woman. Bide with me while I do.’

 

So I drifted there, a night, a day and a night, and yet another day, while the whale thought.

 

Finally he said, ‘I think you have the right of it, Ferry Woman, I have had the better life all these years, and I would have thrown it all away. I thank you.’

 

‘You’re welcome, whale. I am very glad I could help.’ And I was, for I believed every word I had spoken to him to be true.

 

Then the whale spoke again. ‘I fear that I owe you an apology, though. In my thinking and worrying, I allowed some of my time to get loose, and it tried to catch up with me. Because you were here, concerned for me, you took it instead. Fortunately, it wasn’t a lot, but you may be a bit older than you were.’

 

The whale was very embarrassed over this, but I thought about it for a minute or two, and then said, ‘Whale, I have never been vain about my looks, so it won’t bother me on that score, and then, I have always thought wisdom comes with time, so that isn’t so bad either. My body feels as strong as ever, so it hasn’t damaged me like that. I think I will be fine. And if I can live like a whale and not worry over silly land things, well, that I may be able to hold much of that time in me like a whale does, and that is a good thing. Now I have a reason to live like you do!’ I laughed delightedly and so did the whale. ‘Well met!’ he called out and dove, waving good-bye with his tail. I continued back to Duwamish Bay.

 

Everyone here wanted to know where I had been, and I just told them I had been visiting with a whale and left it at that. Sometimes I still see him, and he always dances around me for a while before he leaves again. As for me, I try to live like the whales do, live and love and create, and do all of these for the joy of it. And do you know, it must be working, because that time, I’m still holding it in me, and it’s been years now!” The Ferry Woman smiled, finished her beer.

 

I was thoughtful after her story. This was something to ponder. The Ferry Woman got up to leave and told me to that if I wanted her to take me somewhere, just look for the ferry called the Song of the Deep. That one was hers. I thanked her and she went off to join her companions.

 

 

Posted by She Wolf

Fertility Plea

Water fire earth air

Maiden Mother Crone

Maiden lies deep

In the past

Mother’s days dwindle fast

 

Can I keep some fertile

Aspect of Mother as I

Climb my way to live in the

House of  the Crone

 

Wise woman, juicy crone

Can I hold the fertility

Of Mother in my soul

 

Can I always keep this

Light shining in my heart

 

That lets me create?

 

Posted by She Wolf

Dead Man’s Detail- A Pirate Story

  I took my cue from the coloring picture story starter of the pirates burying their treasure. I wonder if there will be more adventures? I think there may be!

 The fine pale sand shifted under his feet as Jake staggered down the beach. It was searing hot under the leathery soles of his bare feet, but he was so dazed he hardly noticed it.  The bandana tied around his head had dried out again and the sun beat down heavily on his head. His skin, already a deep brown, showed signs of reddening in the relentless glare. Finally he veered off towards the sea and plunged into the shallows. The cool water revived him, but the salt made the gash in his scalp burn like hell. He had to remind himself not the drink the salt water. He had seen more than one man go insane after doing that. Instead, he lay in the water, letting the small waves wash over him until he felt his body begin to cool down and then he was up and off again, still staggering, but not quite so unevenly.

   He knew there was no point in it- no matter how many times he went around the little island, he would find no sign of his ship. The longboat that he had arrived on had long since been rowed away while he lay unconscious on top of the mound of dirt by the cove on the other side of the island. Still he peered at the horizon, hoping in vain for a sight of the ship he had known as home for most of his adult life.

    Every man on the ship knew that this day might come. When the captain decided a man had outlived his usefulness or a man just couldn’t pull his weight anymore, that man would be left behind somewhere- on Dead Man’s Detail. Usually the blow to the head killed him, or so the crew thought. Apparently this was not necessarily the case. There were a few jokes about the men left behind the guard the buried treasure but no one really liked to talk about it. Most of the men thought it was bad luck to talk about those left behind and it might even bring them back to haunt the ship. According to the captain, Dead Man’s Detail was an honor, reserved for the senior and most loyal members of the crew, but everyone knew it was just a convenient means of disposal for the old, infirm and rebellious.

   Jake never thought his day to guard the treasure would come. He had thought he would die in battle, taking some rich treasure ship, or at the very least in some sleazy bar fighting over cards or a woman. He hadn’t thought his bones would wind up bleaching in the sun on some forgotten beach with no one to drink to his death.

   Finally Jake came back to the cove where the treasure was buried. It could have been worse, he thought, as he collapsed on the mound of dirt in the shade of the palm trees. He could have been the man in the hole left to sit atop the chest forever, buried under all that dirt. At least he was still breathing, thanks to a skull that he had always said was the hardest on the seven seas. Although, if he didn’t find some fresh water soon, he might just start envying that man.

   Sighing, Jake got to his feet again. He hadn’t looked at the center of the island yet but things weren’t looking hopeful. On all of the circuits he had made of the island, he hadn’t seen any signs of fresh water flowing towards the sea- not so much as a streamlet.

The going was rough as he went inland. The ground sloped uphill slightly and there was a lot of thorn filled underbrush. He added scratches and cuts to his injuries as he forged ahead. Everything would be futile if he didn’t find fresh water soon.

   The water found him first. One minute he was pushing through some thorny tropical version of hell and the next he had plunged into an ice cold pool of fresh water in a deep sinkhole. He surfaced spluttering and then stayed where he was, treading water while he gulped mouthful after mouthful of the stuff. It tasted clean and sweet; at this point a flux brought on by stagnant water was the least of his worries.

   Finally he drank his fill and paddled around looking for a way out. The pool was small, no more than ten feet across, but he could feel no bottom beneath his feet anywhere in the pool. The lush undergrowth went right down to the edge of the pool and overhung it in places. Finally he found a vine hanging down and used that to pull him self out of the water. Refreshed, he made a small clearing and sat down in the shade to rest and take stock of his options.

   Water- well, that was taken care of.

   Food- there were all the fish in the sea to spear and catch. He might get tired of fish, but he had seen no sign of any sort of animal, either small or large, on the island. There were sea birds, though. He could eat those and raid their nests for eggs. He knew there were coconuts and he had seen several other plants he knew were edible- enough greenery to ward off scurvy. Food wouldn’t be a problem.

   Fire- well, he had his flint and steel on an inside pocket where no one had thought to look when his shipmates had looted his body before they left. There was a small knife in the same pocket, too, so he had that as well. Beyond that, he had the ragged clothing on his body and his bandana. His former friends had taken everything else.

All in all, things could be a lot worse. He decided to make a shelter close enough to the buried treasure to keep an eye on it, but far enough away that he wasn’t visible to the casual gaze.

   He lay down on his belly and drank a little more of the water which was as cold and sweet as it had been in the first mouthful. Finally he set out and explored the rest of the little island. He found one more sinkhole, although not quite so suddenly so he didn’t go for another unplanned swim, and a lot more trees, vines and bushes, but still no signs of animals or other humans. He did find a bird’s nest and raided it, taking two of the four eggs it held while the parents looked on and screamed imprecations at him.

   By nightfall, he had made a shelter from small trees and big leaves and had a fish roasting along with the eggs and a few edible roots.

   Over the next few days, he slept a lot, letting his body heal from its various injuries. When the gash on his head looked like it wasn’t going to get infected and his bruises felt better, he improved his shelter, dried some fish, and made some water containers from shells and gourds. His life was a bit boring, but he kept busy improving his living conditions and finding better sources of food.

   Sometimes he though he saw sails on the horizon, but it always turned out to be nothing more than clouds. He didn’t really think anyone would come back- he had never known the captain to return to the site of a buried treasure chest in all the years he had served on the ship. Frankly, he wondered why the captain even bothered to bury the chests- he never seemed to want them again. Maybe he planned to dig them all up in one big orgy of treasure-finding, when he decided to retire from his career of mayhem and theft on the high seas.

   Jake thought about his own life, too. He remembered being a child, playing with his brothers and sisters and having his mother tuck him in at night after a supper of bread and milk. He remembered being a cabin boy on the ship he found work on, when he was ten or so- that made one less mouth to feed for his widowed mother. His dad had gone to sea, and even though he had never returned, Jake had felt the need to follow in his father’s footsteps.

   That job as cabin boy had proved to be unfortunate. The ship was returning from a profitable trading trip when it was beset by pirates. Most of the adult crew had been slaughtered, either in battle or afterwards for being too cowardly to fight to the death. A few had escaped overboard and were left to the mercy of the sharks. Jake had been trying to defend himself and his ship with a sword far too big for him when he was hit from behind and knocked out.

   When he came to, he found himself aboard the pirate ship. The captain gave him a choice of joining the crew or being tossed overboard. Jake chose life, even if it was the life of a pirate. The crew had never babied him or coddled him; they taught him with cuffs and curses. He had felt the lash a few times for not hopping quickly enough. He learned to fight with sword, cutlass and knife, and to load and fire a flintlock pistol. He learned to pack the cannons and fire them well enough to hit a target. He did his share of cooking and cleaning and polishing the brass and earned his way on the pirate ship.

   He thought about what his good God-fearing mother would say. He knew that she thought he was dead, and it was better that way. The Jake she knew was long dead. He took the life fate had dealt him and lived it. He had never gloried in the murder and robbery, but neither had he backed away from it. It was his life, and the only one he knew.

    He had served aboard the pirate ship for more than twenty years, now. He had never been injured badly in battles and was not infirm in any way. He was not ill-tempered and the men seemed to get along with him well enough. In fact, many of them even looked up to him. He was still young, in the prime of his life.

   But then the captain wasn’t. The captain had grown older along with Jake and was no longer in his prime. Since the men looked up to Jake, it was possible that the captain saw him as a threat or a rival. That would explain why Jake was chosen for Dead Man’s Detail, guarding the treasure chest.

   Jake had plenty of time to reminisce over the next few weeks. He remembered whittling as a small boy, and took to carving small figures out of bits of wood and decorating the useful items he made with carvings just to pass the time. And every day, rain or shine, he spent part of his time gazing out to sea, looking for sails on the horizon.

   The day the ship showed up it took him by surprise. It had come in the dawn, before there was light enough to look out to sea. Jake was up and stalking a birds back to their nest to raid it for eggs when he heard voices on the beach near where the chest was buried. Quietly he slipped back through the brush to see who had come to the island.

   It was still dark enough that he couldn’t see who it was, but several of the voices were familiar. He crept closer so he could hear what was being said. “There’s no bones ‘ere, boys, so ‘e musta lived. I ‘eard that Jake was the one the ol’ man was goin’ ta leave ta guard the treasure this time. ‘E ‘as a ‘ead as ‘ard as a piece of granite, so the whack on it prob’ly dint kill ‘im. Fan out and see if ye kin find ‘im or some sign of ‘im, at least.”

   Jake waited until the men had gone off into the underbrush and then, arming himself with a sharp stick, crept up behind the man who had been giving the orders. As he reached the man, the man turned and Jake got the surprise of his life. It was Big Arnie. The last time he saw Big Arnie was when he had been rowing away with the captain to bury the treasure on another island ten years before.

   “’Ello, Jake. I thought you’d be along soon. I sent the boys off so we could ‘ave a little chat, just the two of us.” Big Arnie smiled genially and gestured at the ground, indicating that they should sit down.

   “I figgered that if anyone could live when ‘e went on Dead Man’s Detail, it would be you. I been makin’ a point of pickin’ up the fellers that was still alive when I got the treasure chests from where the ol’ man buried ‘em. I got ears set about ‘ere an’ there an’ I keep an eye on the ol’ man, an’ when I find out ‘e’s buried a bunch o’ swag, I go where ‘e’s been, but far enough be’ind ‘im that ‘e don’t know I’m there. Then I pick up the man ‘e left, if there’s anything left o’ the man, an’ take the chest for meself an’ me crew.” Big Arnie laughed loudly. “There ain’t been a man yet what didn’t want to join Big Arnie’s crew after the ol’ man went an’ left ‘im fer dead.”

   Jake was starting to smile. “So you survived when the captain left you for dead, and now you’ve made a crew of the other men he left for dead, too?”
   “Aye, an’ a few others I’ve picked up ‘ere an’ there. An’ a good an’ loyal crew they are, too. Grateful, they are, an’ we share the loot even-like. We don’t need to go about fightin’ and such. We just live on what we takes from them that does the piratin’ and tried to do us in. We figger fair’s fair an’ all.” He grinned. “So, Jake, will ye join us then?”

   Jake didn’t even hesitate. “When do we leave?” he asked.

   When the men had filtered back, they dug up the chest. “Ah, poor Simon. That bum leg he got in the last raid did him in,” said Jake as they reached the body that lay atop the treasure chest.

   “Yeah, real fine way th’ ol’ man ‘as of inspirin’ loyalty, ain’t it?” Big Arnie snorted.

“Come on, let’s git this chest up an’ back to the ship. I don’t want to ‘ang around ‘ere any longer than we need to.”
   The chest was raised, Simon was decently interred with a stick cross on his grave and a few words from the Bible said over him, and the party returned to the ship. Jake looked at the name painted on the stern: Dead Man’s Revenge, it said. It was a fitting name for the ship, crewed as it was by men left for dead.

   Jake was surprised to find a nice sleek fast little ship with a contented, if a bit motley, crew aboard it. There were more missing body parts among that crew than Jake had ever seen before in one place.

    The treasure from the chest was parceled out publicly amongst them. Some of it went into a couple of extra chests down in the hold. Jake looked questioningly at Big Arnie and Big Arnie told him, “I tole ye I ‘ad eyes an’ ears set about ‘ere an’ there. Well, this is their share. We don’t stiff our crew mates even if they ain’t Johnny on the spot when we dig up the treasure!” Jake was about to inquire as to who else was in the pay of the Dead Man’s Revenge when Big Arnie shook his head. “No one but me knows ‘oo they be; it’s safer fer them if no one else knows. You know a secret’s only safe if you an’ me knows it an’ you is dead, eh?” and then he laughed his big laugh.

   When they came back up on deck, the little ship had already set sail for a port in the opposite direction from where Jake’s old ship would have gone.

   Things went along well for a while, and Jake settled into the crew. He was made a mate in short order; all the men agreed that he was best for that position. There was time in a fair little port, with bars and women and good times, and time at sea with the good wooden deck rolling under his feet. They rescued a few more men and treasures, and were too late for a few others. These men they buried as they had Simon, with a cross made of two sticks and a few words from the Bible.

   One day as they headed for port with a fresh chest in their hold, Big Arnie called Jake to his quarters. “Lad, I’ve a proposition fer ye. Ye know I’m not a young feller any more, an’ I’ve ‘ad just about enough of roamin’ the seas in my lifetime. I’m thinkin’ I want a little ‘ouse on the shore an’ a floor that don’t roll under me feet. In short, I’m thinkin’ o’ retirin’. I talked it over with some o’ the lads, an’ they’re thinkin’ like I’m thinkin’ that yer the man to take over me job. I’m offerin’ you the job o’ bein’ captain o’ the Dead Man’s Revenge.”

   Jake was dumbfounded. “There are lots of men who have been here longer than me. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Some of the men might not like this!” He swallowed hard at the thought of what those men might do to him for jumping over them in position.

   “Nay, lad, they was all agreed. Yer smart, an’ yer fair, an’ yer brave. Yer the one man in the crew they all like an’ look up to. Yer the one, lad. Take the job.”

   It took a little bit longer, but Jake gave in. When he and Big Arnie came out onto the deck again, all the crew was standing, waiting, with serious expressions on their faces. When Big Arnie smiled and nodded, they all broke into cheers. Someone hauled out a cask of the best rum, Cook brought up special treats, and Jake got slapped on the back until he was bruised black and blue.

   For the rest of the voyage, Jake acted as Big Arnie’s apprentice in the ways of being a captain, and by the time they made port, he was comfortable in his new position. When they made port, Big Arnie had some other news. He came back from his favorite hangout and called Jake and the first mate for a meeting.

   “I jus’ got word, from one o’ me eyes an’ ears, that our ol’ ship ‘as ‘ad a bit of a setback. She was almost beaten in a fight with a ship ‘oo was ready fer ‘er.  Now she’s down crew, an’ she limpin’. She’s took off fer a port ta git repaired in, but she’s movin’ slow. Now, Jake, yer a young feller. Do you an’ the crew want a little revenge, like? I ain’t never ‘ad no desire ta fight no more, so alls we ever done was ta pick up men an’ treasures, but I know more than one feller would ‘ave liked ta go after a ship er two. An’ if ever there was a time ta do it, that’s now.” Big Arnie paused and looked expectantly at the men. Jake was getting a very big grin on his face. So was the first mate.

   “Ah, I see ye like the idea. Fine now, let me give ye the details.”

   For the next hour or two, they planned out the attack. Any man who didn’t want to be in on it could wait in port with Big Arnie, and no one would think worse of him. The men pooled their knowledge of the old ship, and with the information that Big Arnie had been given they soon a solid plan was in place. Big Arnie stopped Jake on the way out. “One last thing, feller-me-lad. Don’t ‘urt the cook on the old ship. Ye never know when ye’ll want a good meal.” And then he winked. Jake went off whistling. Now he knew who the “eyes an’ ears” belonged to on the old ship.

   The Dead Man’s Revenge did a quick re-supply and sailed with the outgoing tide. A few days later, sail was sighted and the men assembled on the deck, ready for battle.

   “We’ll take the ship- any men who surrender will go in the brig, the booty goes in our hold, and the first mate here will captain the prize back to port. But the captain, he’s mine,” Jake grinned wolfishly.

   The old ship never even had a chance. It was an older ship, and badly damaged with a hole in her hull and a broken main mast. The crew was down in numbers and demoralized even with treasure in the hold – they rarely saw more than a little of it, any way. The crew of the Dead Man’s Revenge overwhelmed them in short order. Many of the crew of the old ship insisted on fighting to the death – that was just the way they thought. Jake made sure the cook was safe, along with the newest member of the crew, a little cabin boy no older than he had been when he was kidnapped by the pirates, and then went looking for the captain. The captain had been conspicuous by his absence during the battle. Jake found him down in the hold.

   The old captain was doing something over near where the damaged hull was patched. Jake called out and the old man stood up and looked at him. Jake noticed that while the old man was not much into middle age, he looked, well, dissipated. “Jake! I know I left you for dead. What are you, a ghost with a crew of ghosts, come back to take revenge?” He laughed bitterly.

   “No, I’m as real and alive as they get. But I have come to take my revenge!” Jake replied. He sneered at the old captain. “You should have volunteered yourself for Dead Man’s Detail long ago. Look at what a pitiful specimen you’ve become!”

   The old captain reached for his cutlass and the two went at it. Jake was by far the superior physically, but the old man knew dirty tricks by the boatload. They fought up and down the hold, which was empty because of the leaking patch in the hull. Jake was soon covered with cuts that would hurt later, after the fight was done. Finally, when the old man took a chance and slashed at Jake’s throat, Jake managed to disarm him.

  “Well, go on, finish me, you coward!” the old captain roared. Jake started towards him, ready to strike and then thought better of it.

   He tossed his own sword aside and came after the man, fists swinging, bellowing, “I’ll drag you out of here by the scruff of your evil neck, you scurvy cur! I’ll take you to an island and hit you over the head and leave you on Dead Man’s Detail, just like you left so many of us!”

   The old man was full of dirty tricks here, too; he grabbed a board left from patching the hull and managed to belt Jake square in the mouth. Jake spit out a front tooth, and grinning a new gap-toothed grin with blood running down his chin, went back at the old man with a will.

   All the time they were fighting, they had been moving away from the damaged portion of the hull. Now the old man was moving back that way and Jake quickly saw why. There was a lit fuse running to a bundle of gunpowder set by the badly patched breech in the hull, and it was almost ready to blow.

   The old man saw where Jake was looking, and grinned evilly saying, “Aye, Jake, I’m denying you the pleasure of taking my ship as a prize. If I can’t have it, then no one will! At that point, the powder exploded. The ship rocked, and Jake was thrown to the floor with splinters of wood piercing him. As the sea rushed in, the old captain laughed maniacally and did what Jake would have sworn he couldn’t have had the strength to do. He bulled his way through the pouring waters, disappearing through the gap.

   Jake ran back up the ladders and emerged on deck, calling for everyone to abandon ship, because she was going down fast. The remaining crew from the old ship either threw down their swords or jumped overboard, and Jake’s crew made quick work of clearing the valuables.

  Again and again Jake looked over the sides for the old captain, but couldn’t find him anywhere. He liked to think the old man was dead, but somehow, he just couldn’t quite convince himself of it.

   They headed back to port with a mixed sense of victory.

   Jake gave the rescued cabin boy a share of the treasure and bought him passage on a ship going home. He told the boy to find a nice trade on the land and take care of his mother; the sea just wasn’t a safe place for a little lad.

   After thinking for a while he put together another packet, with some money, a small carving and an unsigned letter in it, and gave it to a captain headed for the port Jake had called home when he was just a little lad himself. The letter and the packet were addressed to his mother, should she still be alive.

   The cook joined the other cook in the galley and some of the captured crew joined his own crew. The Dead Man’s Revenge settled into port while several bad storms hit one after the other.

   One day, as Jake and his friends were sitting around in their favorite tavern by the harbor, a strange man came in. He was dressed in fine silks and held a scented handkerchief to his nose. He looked very, very unhappy to be there. He peered around the room, asked a question at the bar, and then made his way over to where Jake was sitting.

   “Captain Jake?” The man had a fancy accent, too.

   “Who’s asking?” replied Jake.

   “The governor wishes to meet with you. Your presence is required tomorrow at 10 AM at the official residence. Be there.” The man dropped an envelope on the table, sniffed haughtily, and quickly left with his nose in the air.

   Jake and his mates looked at each other and started laughing. Eventually, they quieted down and Jake reached for the envelope on the table. Reading it quickly, he said, “This says about what the snooty lackey said, but it does say something about a mutually profitable business arrangement. Hmm. I think I’ll talk this over with Big Arnie, get his take on it.” Jake paid up the tab and left.

   Big Arnie thought it would be worth investigating, so the next morning, Jake and his top crew members put on fresh clothes and showed up at the Governor’s residence promptly at 10:15. “Can’t have the man thinking we’re just a bunch of lapdogs to come when he calls, now can we?” Jake grinned.

   The Governor made them wait in turn, but finally the men were shown into his office. He was not as foppish as the lackey who had delivered the letter. He was an older man, shrewd looking, dressed in a suit rather like a military uniform.

   “Captain…Jake, is it?”

   Jake thought for a minute. He had been just Jake for most of his life. He thought back to when he was small, to the name he remembered his mother calling him. “Puckett,” he stated, “Jacob Andrew Puckett.” It felt strange to have a real, whole name again after all these years.

   “Captain Puckett, men, I am glad you came. Let’s get right down to business. I have a proposition for you.” He paused. Jake and his men waited silently.

   “I heard a rumor that someone took care of a certain pirate ship that has been causing trouble for me for quite some time,” the governor continued. “Naturally, I don’t know who this could have been, but your ship looks like it could handle certain tasks along that line.” Jake his men remained silent. “My proposition is this: I would like to have someone willing to do that sort of thing on a regular basis. Troublesome pirates who prey on our ships would be taken out of commission - naturally those doing the work would keep the spoils - and my ships would be kept safe. If the occasional ship from another country with whom we do not get along were to be taken by mistake sometimes, well, mistakes do happen.” The governor sat back and looked at the men.

   Jake looked him in the eye. “And what’s to stop the navy from taking care of the ship that’s doing this - by accident, of course?”
   The governor smiled dourly. “This.” He slid a package wrapped in brown paper across the desk.

   Jake pulled off the string on the package, and opened it.

   They all stared at the contents. It was a flag- an official flag of the sort flown by naval vessels.

   Jake and the men looked up at the governor.

   The governor said, “No strings, no conditions. But remember, those who get greedy find that accidents do happen and mistakes do get made. That will be all, gentlemen.” He got up and went to the window, dismissing his guests.

   Jake and the crew members looked at each other. They grinned suddenly. Jake picked up the package with the flag and they left. The Dead Man’s Revenge had work to do.

 Posted by She Wolf

The Garden

I decided to take a slightly more literal approach to Lemurian Greening, and write a story about a garden and the wonderful person who worked in it.

Mrs. Roberts had always had a garden. It had always been a well loved, well tended garden. She said that gardening was good for the soul. She weeded, mulched, fed and watered her garden. She also sang to it. She liked old folk songs best, but she threw in a lively hymn or two sometimes. She said that singing was good for the soul too, and that putting the two things together, gardening and singing, was the best of all.

 

Her neighbors loved to hear her out in her garden, working and singing. She had bumper crops of vegetables- huge zucchini, giant tomatoes, cucumbers the size of most folks’ zucchinis, and salad makings of all varieties. She kept the whole neighborhood supplied with veggies all spring and summer. Her flower garden, too, was a sight to behold. The colors of the masses of flowers with the butterflies floating above them had inspired more than one person to plant a garden of their own.

 

It was with great regret that Mrs. Roberts left her garden to move to a senior citizens’ high-rise across town, but there was no help for it. She could not handle a big house and yard by herself anymore. The new apartment was nice, but it seemed so sterile and empty. Even when all of her favorite things and the pictures of her family were there, it just didn’t feel like home. She hung plants in the windows, put herbs in the kitchen, and African violets on every window sill, and that helped a little. But it still didn’t feel right.

 

One day at the store, Mrs. Roberts saw a nice big planter. She realized that if she filled it with potting soil, she could grow some nice lettuces for salads right out on her balcony. She went home with four planters, soil, and seeds for lettuce, carrots, marigolds and tomatoes. The next day she went back and got planters and seeds for beans, petunias, daisies and sweet peas. By the end of the week, her little balcony was empty of the iron table and chairs that had been on it, and full of planters. By the end of the month, it was green, and by the end of two months, flowers bloomed and vegetables flourished.

 

Soon she was supplying all of her neighbors with the fruits of her little garden again. She sang to her plants as she worked in her little garden, and her neighbors grew used to the songs that accompanied her gardening.

 

You could tell which was Mrs. Roberts’ balcony from the ground. It was the one with all the green on it. Some of the other tenants in the high-rise thought she had a good idea, and they started growing gardens on their balconies, too. Most stopped with a few pots of flowers, but some had almost as much as Mrs. Roberts did. Theirs didn’t grow quite as well or produce quite as much - Mrs. Roberts said it was the love she gave her garden, and no one could deny that her garden was well loved. She said they should try singing to their gardens like she did, but most of them were too embarrassed to try.

 

Mrs. Roberts began to start small pots of flowers and vegetables to give away. She made sure that the pots were full of the recipients’ favorite flowers or vegetables and soon even more balcony gardens were growing.

 

And always, every day, Mrs. Roberts sang to her plants, singing with joy as she gardened because singing and gardening were both good for the soul.

 

One day, as she stepped outside with her watering can and little garden fork, she thought she heard someone else singing. It was a strange, lilting voice, and she couldn’t tell what the words were, but it was very compelling and beautiful. Mrs. Roberts was delighted that someone else was singing. So she listened for a little bit, and then began to hum along with the voice, eventually making up words as she went along. The gardening was even more pleasant than usual that day.

 

Soon she began to hear the other singer almost every day. Together, they formed harmonies and while the words the other voice was singing were never clear, the results were beautiful. The garden flourished as never before and Mrs. Roberts did, too.

 

In fact, Mrs. Roberts was feeling wonderful. Her arthritis wasn’t bothering her very much, she was sleeping better, and she just had more energy. She and her garden were both very happy. Her neighbors beamed when they saw her in the halls. “How well she looks,” they said to each other.” Maybe there is something to all this singing and gardening.” More of them went out and bought planters and soil and seeds for themselves.

 

One day, however, Mrs. Roberts took a fall. It was just as she stepped back into the living room from the balcony. She turned as she was shutting the sliding glass doors, and tripped over her own two feet. She tried to catch herself, but down she went, with her leg getting caught in a chair by the door. She fell into a table which crashed on top of her, with the lamp from the table landing on her head with a thump and her leg going snap as she fell. Mrs. Roberts lay there in the middle of the mess, out cold, with her leg at a very nasty angle.

 

Sometime the next day, Mrs. Roberts’ neighbors noticed that she had not been out on the balcony singing and gardening since early the day before. By the day after that, they realized that no one had seen her in the halls and no one had found fresh veggies by their doors for several days. They tried to call her, but got no answer. Worried, they got the manager to unlock her apartment.

 

When they went inside, they got quite a surprise. Mrs. Roberts was lying on the floor by the balcony doors, with an ugly lump on her head and her leg at a nasty angle. Of course she was in pain, but there was something strange about the scene. The odd thing was the small pile of tomatoes and cucumbers beside her, and the trailing bits of vine that snaked in the crack where the sliding door wasn’t quite shut. The vine plants had come right in and made themselves at home, with fruit growing right where Mrs. Roberts could reach it. She wasn’t hungry or very thirsty; the vegetables beside her had taken care of that. It was odd, though, because those plants were on the far side of the balcony, and the vines had apparently come inside and produced fruit in the span of a day. The neighbors decided that Mrs. Roberts must have been having them grow inside for a while.

 

Mrs. Roberts was taken away to the hospital, where they put her leg in a cast and said that for someone her age who had been lying there for three days with a lump on her head and a broken leg, she was doing remarkably well. They sent her home with a wheel chair the day after that, which was several days earlier than usual. Mrs. Roberts was delighted to get back to her home. The neighbors chipped in and helped with the shopping and all the little household chores she couldn’t do in a wheel chair. They said that she had been helping them with their gardens and giving them vegetables and flowers and now it was their turn to help her. Many of them sang while they helped in her apartment and Mrs. Roberts beamed at them.

 

Soon her neighbors were hearing her sing again as she gardened. It was strange, though, she always sounded like she was harmonizing with someone when she sang out there on her balcony, but no one else was singing. And she had said something strange when they had found her, too, but her neighbors thought it must have been that bump on the head.

 

She had said that wasn’t it lovely, all this time she had been taking care of her garden, and now it had taken care of her, too.

Posted by She Wolf

A Meeting in the Faraway Tree

A Tale of My Meeting with Dame Washalot in the Faraway Tree,
based on Week 10’s travels on the Grand Lemurian Tour.

The scrubbing brush, a coarse bristle hand brush and pale yellow in color, looked to be a fearsome thing. Its bristles were sharp and left red marks upon any skin it scrubbed. And that skin was soon to be mine. Not that I didn’t deserve a good scrubbing. I did. And Dame Washalot claimed she could scrub all those nasty wrinkles right out of my life. And who wants to sport a mass of wrinkles? Certainly not me. Why, those life wrinkles were getting deeper each day. So did I want to choose living with those gully wrinkles or enduring the scrub of a lifetime?

I thought it over a millisecond, turned chicken and scrambled to my feet to climb down the Faraway Tree, but not before Dame Washalot reached for my arm. “You’re not leaving now, are you?” she asked. “We’ve barely begun. Take off that first layer, Dearie. Get rid of those old clothes. They’re full of old memories and nasty ones at that. I mean to scrub you clean of niggling thoughts, all those needless worries that you carry everywhere, those ’should a done’s’ and ‘could a done’s.’ But I can’t scrub off those ancient, creeping memories that surround the air you breathe. I can burn them away if you wish, but you must first let them go. They’ve taught you nothing useful, nor will they ever.” I squirmed under her gaze as I fiddled with my buttons. She gave me a more determined look and stamped her foot. The tree leaves surrounding us quivered and a few dropped through the thick branches. “No more fussing, Dearie. Hand me your clothes. Why, they’re tattered with memories. Into the fire, they’ll soon go. You go ahead and jump into my tub; relax in that warm, comforting water. Think pleasant thoughts and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

I hesitated, her words whirling in my mind. “Pleasant thoughts? I haven’t any pleasant thoughts to think, have I? I haven’t had much practice…” Yet I leaned my head against the bath pillow, perfectly anchored on the edge of the tub. I was working hard to fill my mind with pleasantries, when the Faraway Tree was jarred by a whoosh near the blazing fire. Looking over, I was surprised to see Dame Washalot dancing by a tiny, enclosed hearth with a roaring fire and smashing little darts of flames which were escaping the blaze. “Whoosh! Whoosh!” She snapped at the flying embers with her wash rag, snapping them into oblivion. Then suddenly I no longer saw the raging fire. I only saw the Dame standing over me with her yellow scrub brush.

“There, there now, Dearie. All gone, that terrible pain you’ve carried. All gone. But you must help me with the next ones. Think about those thoughts that come visiting too often on long afternoons or dark nights. Those thoughts that force feed you guilt and sadness. Quick, now. Give me a thought. Just throw me the first one that comes to mind.”

Suddenly, there were jagged thoughts stabbing my consciousness and I couldn’t wait to pull out the sharpness. “My mother. My sister. I worry about them all the time. I know I should be taking care of them, keeping them safe and comfortable. I could make enough space, let them live with me.” Tears began to sting my eyes.

“Ah, yes. That’s a big thought you slung off, first. A mighty big thought.” Dame Washalot scrubbed and scrubbed, bubbles gurgled and surfaced and floated through the leaves and out of sight. As she scrubbed, she whispered a few words in my wet ear. “Your mum and sister, they’re happy for now. They like being on their own, and they’re okay. So let them be happy and independent as long as they can be.” She patted my arm and went on. “When it’s time, there’ll be decisions to make, but never ones you’ll need to make alone.”

“But those decisions!” I wailed, nearly sliding underneath the tumbling water. “I’m so afraid of those decisions. I’ll need to take care of them or put them away. It’s my responsibility.” I sniffled as the tears tumbled down my cheeks.

Dame pulled me half out of the water and shook me a bit. “Your responsibility? Seems I remember you’ve been told to take care of yourself. That’s your responsibility and it’s plenty enough for you to handle. Let your mother and sister do for now.” Dame wiped the tears from my face, and gave my streaked cheeks a scrub or two.

“But I’m the only living relative they have…”

“You want them to continue having a living relative, don’t you? Then don’t use the bit of strength you can muster trying to care for yourself and them, too. Listen to your doctors, your husband. The answer’s been staring you in the face, but you’re too busy looking over your shoulder for the shadows. Let me know when you figure out what to do.”

In a show of uncertainty, I shook my head. But I really did know the answer and Dame Washalot knew I knew. She nodded at me and then towards the gauzy sky. “Oh, all right. I’ll give you a hint. Let those worries fly away. Only you can let them go.” She scrubbed and scrubbed down to my very bones. And soon I watched large bubbles float above the forest breezes and pop on the very tops of the pointed evergreen trees.

By now, I’d had some thinking time, and everyone’s advice was beginning to make some sense. So I gave it a try, speaking my own mind. “Maybe I do understand. I know the course I should follow. I need to use what strength I have, prudently and wisely. Am I right?”

“Yes, quite right. Listen to your advisers’ opinions, think on it carefully, then the final choice is yours to make.” I then noticed she was watching me closely, but I couldn’t read the look in her eyes. She eyed me from the tip of my soaking wet head to the tips of my pruney toes.

Puzzled, I felt dizzy and was thrown quite off my feet. The tree branches jigged underneath me and shook me hard. I felt different, somehow. Maybe a little better than before. Finally, my neurons connected. “Dame Washalot! The weight on my shoulders is lessening!”

“Indeed it is. Let me scrub awhile over there, Dearie, while you tell me a bit more. Out comes your next thought…”

So I fretted and stammered once more. The Dame was right. I did have another big worry, but I didn’t know what she could do about it. After all these going ons, I was still a Doubting Thomas. What could she do about the persistent nagging deep in my heart, the one I’d never shared with anyone. After all, I thought, she was only a wash woman.

The Dame spoke sharply to me for the first time. “Careful now, Dearie. I can read those thoughts of yours.” In a brief fit of pique, she banged her scrub brush on a thick branch, and bruised its bark. Realizing what she’d done, she immediately turned repentant, scrubbed the bark gently, and gave it a light kiss. Finally she turned her attention back to me. “Sorry about that bit of temper. Dames aren’t 100% perfect, though we like to think we are. Now about the rest of those worries. I can’t scrub them away quite yet. You must tell me about them, acknowledge that they’re unwanted lurkers, and swear you’ll tolerate their presence no longer.”

“But, Dame Washalot, I’m not sure I can.”

“No, buts. I will not listen to anymore ‘buts’ from you. Those trapped ideas feed your guilt with extra fodder. And why? What are they nagging you about?”

I knew the ideas of which she spoke. I heard them constantly berating me, and I did wish for them to disappear. Still, it was hard to deal with more guilt, even though I felt like exploding. “Because. Because. It’s because I’ve been such a terrible mother. When my children were young and in need of a mother’s touch and love, I wasn’t there for them. I am a selfish and self-centered woman. I don’t deserve to be a mother.”

“You surely have a really bad case of guilt; I’ll need to scrub you even harder. By the way, you don’t listen to your guides, do you? Once again, let me tell you. You weren’t acting selfish or self-centered. You were doing the right thing. Before you learned to take care of your babies, you needed to learn how to love yourself. And you fought for both your health and your life. You fought that battle, not only for yourself, but also for your family. And you threw out your demons using a large serving of Mother’s Love, the strongest kind of love there is. Can’t you see? You won!”

“Then why do I feel I’ve disappointed them.”

“Dearie, maybe I need to scrub inside your ears. Listen up! Are your children happy? Fulfilled? Independent? And do they show you their love?”

“Hey, you’re scrubbing too hard.” I was skilled at procrastinating when I didn’t want to play her game.

Dame Washalot, however, wouldn’t let me skulk away. She was on a mission. “I’m scrubbing as hard as you need, and as hard as I can. Now answer me!”

“Okay! Okay! They’re happy and fulfilled and independent. And I guess they love me.”

“So let your guilt fall away. Freedom from guilt, that’s what you need most of all.” She swiped her hand through the tub water and churned her fist in the dirty, scrubbing muck.

Hundreds of bubbles broke away from the suds. They floated towards the heavens and I heard tiny explosions as the bubbles popped. When I finally looked into the water, the surface was clear. And it was hard for me to trust what my eyes were seeing. I saw my loved ones’ smiling faces. All my family who I felt so guilty and worried about. They were smiling and waving, and I heard them say over and over, “We love you. We love you. And we know that you’ve always loved us and cared!”

That last bit they said? The caring bit? That finally did it. The guilt that was still trapped in my heart floated away through a tiny hole. And then that hole stitched itself closed so well, it didn’t even leave a scar. I hollered then, smack dab into Dame Washalot’s right ear. “My family loves me! They’re telling me so.” I hollered those words over and over, as I stared at the faces in the water.

“Hmmmph.” She finally looked over at my rejoicing family and snorted. “Well, my job’s finally done. Looks like you’re all spruced up now, pure as a newborn, but I’ll give you one of my spare brushes just in case. You start carrying that nasty stuff on those shoulders of yours, I want you to scrub it away. Hear me?”

“Yes. Yes, I hear you. And I want to thank you so much.” I nearly curtsied, but held myself in check, and simply pumped her hand up and down.

“Well, Dearie, you can thank yourself. You did all the work. You knew the answers well enough.”

A fantastic thought came to my mind. “I’m just like Dorothy in Oz,” I said, a bright smile on my face. “And you’re my Glenda.”

Dame Washalot gave me a strange look. “Dorothy in Oz? Glenda?” She snickered into her fist before she gathered enough presence to speak without spurting out her words. “Why, Dearie, don’t you think you’re getting your children’s literature quite mixed-up?”

Then the good Dame and I laughed together ’til we nearly choked and we rolled about until we slipped through the leaves and landed on the forest’s cushioned earth. Oh, it felt so good to laugh hard like that. I tumbled about with joy and abandon. And when I stood up, I stood straight and proud. That is, until Dame Washalot gave out another loud “Hmmmph.”

“I would suggest,” she said, all prim and proper, “if you plan on prancing through this part of my forest, you might put these new clothes on. You’re carrying about bum naked.” She pointed her finger at me and I blushed everywhere I could possibly blush. Then I snatched up those clothes and nearly jumped into them. As I hit the ground running on the familiar path toward the Manor’s back door, my face was bursting with the biggest smile, ever.

And do you want me to tell you just one more thing? I haven’t stopped smiling yet.

A Dame and Her Tub

I was standing at the base of the Faraway Tree, looking up. I don’t like heights, but it looked so interesting up there, that I thought I might give it a try. Just as I reached for the first branch, a voice behind me said, “Uh-uh, not so fast, young lady!”

I turned around and was about to reply that really, young lady hadn’t been accurate for quite a few years, when I saw who was uttering those words. This had to be the famous Dame Wash-a-lot. Drat. I had thought I could get by without seeing her. Well, I almost did, but she saw me first. Maybe I could bluff this one out. I really didn’t want a scrubbing.

 

“Hello!” I said brightly. “I was just going to climb up the tree a bit!”

 

“That’s fine, but you get scrubbed first.”

“I had a shower just this morning, and I really didn’t get too dirty on the walk over here,” I said desperately.

 

“Doesn’t matter. In you go!” she said, pointing with her scrubbing brush at the bubble-filled tub that had somehow appeared on the ground beside her.

 

I gulped. I had heard that her scrubbings were very, very thorough. I winced at the thought of those bristles and the strong yellow soap she held. Still, I wanted to go on more adventures, and the only way to do it was to allow Dame Wash-a-lot to have her way with me. Ouch.

 

I sighed. Moments later, I was in the tin wash tub (my, it was a large tub!) and Dame Wash-a-lot was scrubbing away at me. The scrubbing brush’s bristles weren’t as coarse as I had thought. They didn’t exactly tickle, but they didn’t hurt, either. Still, I could feel them reaching down through layers of thoughts I had held fast for a long time, and ideas whose times were past. Then she started in on the inhibitions that kept me back so often. She grumbled as she scrubbed at these. “Why’d you ever let anyone tell you to think this way? You’ve got thoughts a-plenty of your own, and there’s never been any reason to let others tell you what you can and can’t accomplish. You’ve the sense to know what’s moral and right and these inhibitions don’t have a thing to do with that! Get rid of ‘em, I say!” With that she wielded the brush more fiercely, and this time it did hurt.

 

“Ouch!” I cried, “That smarts!”

“It’s for your own good, and all,” she replied, “you’ll feel better once it’s done, I promise you!”  All those “but I could never accomplish this” and “I could never do that” sorts of ideas were floating away in their own little bubbles.

 

At this point, I wasn’t so sure. I had kept that shell of inhibitions around me for so very long, as a protection against the world. If I didn’t push out beyond them, I would stay safe- no one could get to me in my little shell. And here was Dame Wash-a-lot, saying that I was better off without it and just scrubbing it away, as if it were dirty and harmful. Well, maybe it was, but it was mine, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe a lot of it wasn’t mine at all, but thought others had given me that I had accepted as mine. Maybe the good Dame was right. I sat back in a thoughtful daze and let her scrub away.

 

I could feel the water around me growing thick with scrubbed off bits that I really didn’t need anymore, but still the good Dame scrubbed. Finally she dumped a jug of cold, clean water over me as a rinse. I looked at my skin, surprised to find it still intact. I could have sworn she was going to scrub me right down to my bones.

 

“There now, isn’t that better? You’ve been good, and let me scrub you. Here’s a sweet for you, for a reward!” She handed me a candy wrapped in printed paper.

 

“You’re done, for now. I’ll be watching for you, though, and if you build up a dirty layer of mucky thoughts like I just scrubbed off you ever again, I’ll come hunting you down, and scrub ‘em right off again! You just bet I will!” She nodded emphatically, dumped out her tub, picked it up, and strode away. I was left standing there in my squeaky clean skin, with my clothes over my arms and my mouth hanging open. I felt naked, but not so much because I didn’t have my clothes on. It went deeper than that. I heard a giggle above me, and there were my friends the fairies.

 

“How long have you been there?” I grumbled, getting into my things.

 

“Long enough to see that Dame Wash-a-lot hasn’t lost her touch!” they said. “Don’t feel bad, she does this to everyone. Your scrubbing wasn’t the first, or the worst, we’ve seen. Now hurry up, so we can climb up the Faraway Tree! It’s wonderful up there!”

 

Just then I remembered the sweet in my hand. I looked at it. On the paper wrapped around it were the words “You can do whatever you choose” over and over again. I unwrapped the candy and put it in my mouth- it was sweet and flavorful, just like life should be.

 

I was surprised to find that not only did I still want to climb the tree, I had an energy and enthusiasm for it that I didn’t have before. I knew that I could go right up that tree, and my adventures there would be wonderful. As I reached for the first branch, I called out over my shoulder,”Thanks, Dame Wash-a-lot!”

 

Posted  by She Wolf

A Map of My Heart

I mapped my heart today

In black and white

A list, a simple formula

Of my life

And found with surprise

A pattern therein

A pattern of lights and darks

Valleys and peaks

I traced each path

I saw whence it came

Where it went

I found where the fears

Tied knots round my heart

I tried to loosen them, but

My fingers could not yet

Work loose the knots

But I found them

There in the dark times

Holding part of me hostage

I saw the climb into the light

The joy, the good times

I saw that my path

Wound back up

Into the light here and now

I must use this light

Here and now

To see the dark knots

And loosen their

Grip on my heart

To leave it free and open

Once more

 

Posted by She Wolf

In the Grove

I walked amongst the trees

Giant Live Oaks

Dripping moss

Time personified, aged masters

 

Tall tall Pines

Spears to the heavens

Taking our prayers

Straight up

 

Cypress

Soaking in the

Waters of Life

Knees sticking up

 

Cottonwoods granting

Quick shade

Finding water

In dry lands

 

Orchard trees, peaches and pears

Nourishing the body

Telling tales

To nourish the soul

 

Still I looked

I found Maples

Running with sweet memories

Each spring

 

Magnolias taking the breath away with

Sweet scent

Willows touching fingers

To the ground

 

And then I found

A river of trees

Running together in a pack

Like the wolf

 

Slim
Aspen with trembling leaves

Bright green leaves

Paper white trunks standing

In hosts together

 

They spoke of

Being one in the face

Of the world

And all

 

They spoke of knowing that

Together we can

Survive that which alone

We cannot

 

They spoke of the

Joy

Of being

Together

 

So I sat listening

Beneath

The
Aspen trees

In the Golden Grove

 

And they spoke to me

Long and sweet

Of being close

To those we love

 

Posted by She Wolf

 

Enchanted Woods

After returning to Riversleigh and planting my dream seeds, I spent a few days just hanging around. I visited other people’s rooms, chatted a bit, but did not do any real work. Finally I decided to get out a bit and take a walk in the Enchanted Woods.

 

The woods were deep and shady; walking through them was like a draught of sweet fresh water for my soul. I spied small flowers hiding at the base of huge trees, and listened to the birds chattering and playing overhead. A little creature that looked something like a chipmunk bounced along on the limbs overhead for a while. The path I followed wandered around the woods and crossed several small streams; I found myself wondering if any of these fed the

River of
Creativity.

 

When I sat down to rest on a large rock beside on of these streams, I discovered I was not quite as alone as I thought I was. First I felt something tugging on my hair. I thought I had caught it on a twig, so I reached around and batted at it, to get it loose. My hair wasn’t caught on anything. Then I felt a bug crawling up my neck. I brushed at it quickly, but again there wasn’t anything there. This was a little bit irritating, but I decided my imagination was too busy, feeling tugs and bugs where there weren’t any.

Then what felt like a cup of ice cold water from the stream went pouring down my back. I jumped up, shrieking, and turned around. Not only was there nothing there, but my back was dry. I heard a giggle, a very tiny giggle, coming from behind me.

 

Now I suspected I had company. I sat back down, as if I hadn’t heard anything, grumbled out loud to myself about my imagination, and waited. Sure enough, someone decided to try another trick. I felt tiny, busy fingers at my collar and turned around rapidly. I found several large and unhappy ants suspended in mid-air right where my collar had been.

They fell to the ground as a busy set of wings buzzed away from me.

 

“It’s no use; I caught you in the act!” I called, “Come on back and talk to me!”

 

I heard a giggle from behind me again, and then another one in my ear. Then something landed gently on my shoulder.

 

“You’re no fun, She Wolf,” said a tiny voice. “You’re not supposed to catch us until we’re ready to be caught!”

“Well then, you must have been ready,” I replied. “Because I caught you! You seem to know who I am, but I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced.”

 

“We’re just some of the fairies that live here in the Enchanted Woods. We come over to Riversleigh sometimes, but we just hadn’t gotten around to visiting you yet. When we saw you out in the Woods, we thought we’d come over and say hi!”

 

The slight weight on my right shoulder had been joined by one on my left shoulder and another one on top of my head. The one on top of my head began to pick up small sections of my hair and play with it.

 

“Hey, no fair making elflocks out of my hair!” I said.

 

The only reply was another giggle, but the sensation stopped.

 

“Do you want to come with us and see some of the magical and wonderful places here in the Enchanted Woods?” the fairy on my right shoulder asked. She seemed to be the spokesfairy for the group.

 

“Sure, why not. I’m always up for a little adventure,” I replied.

 

So with the guidance of the fairies, I explored the paths in the Enchanted Woods. The little chipmunk-creature ran around over head as I was shown the paths to the Gypsy Camp (this looked like fun), the Golden Seed Grove and the

Temple of
Solace which I had already visited, and the path to the Faraway Tree. The fairies told me not to go there quite yet. I would be visiting it soon enough.

 

We were on our way back to Riversleigh when I heard a small sad voice crying piteously somewhere off the path. The fairies darted away in the direction of the crying and I followed after them.

 

The fairies were tiny and fast and were quickly out of sight, but the crying was easy to follow. I came into a small glade and there were the fairies swirling around a larger being, about the size of a toddler. It was wizened and wrinkled and crying loudly, as if its heart were about to break.

 

“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” I asked as I ran over.

 

“My, my baby,” she sobbed. (The being was obviously a she, now that I was close enough to see her through the surrounding fairies.)

 

“What about your baby?” I questioned.

 

“She’s lost, and I can’t find her…” the little mother trailed off in a wail.

 

“We’ll help! We’ll find here for you, Old Mother! And the She Wolf will help us, too!” chorused the fairies.

 

“Sure we will!” I said. “What does she look like?”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know!” cried the woman.

 

“Huh? What do you mean you don’t know what she looks like?” I was truly puzzled.

 

“She likes to look like different animals! I don’t know which one she was today!”

 

I had a feeling I knew. “Is she quite curious? Curious enough to follow a stranger all over the Enchanted Woods all day long?”

 

The mother nodded.

 

“You know, I would be willing to bet that if you were to say something very loudly about it being time for dinner, and about not being angry if someone were to be a little bit late if they showed up right now, that your problem would be solved.” I was pretty sure I knew where her daughter had been all day.

 

The mother creature did as I suggested, with the fairies still buzzing around excitedly, and sure enough, there was a crashing sound in the branches overhead and a small chipmunk-like creature landed in a heap at our feet.

 

“I thought as much!” I said. The fairies burst out laughing.

 

The mother creature grabbed the little one in her arms and sobbed loudly. “You’re home, oh, you’re home! I thought I had lost you forever! Oh my, oh my!”

 

The fairies and I thought this was as good a time as any to make our exit. As we left, one of the fairies whispered in my ear, “She loses her daughter at least once a week! We’re always going off looking for her, only to have her turn up on her own a short time later.” A tiny sigh accompanied the words.

 

We were soon back at Riversleigh, and the fairies accompanied me to my room. They hovered around the dream seed pot for a few minutes and then darted around the rest of the room quickly before flying away through the open window. “We’ll be back!” they called as they left.

 

I tended my dream seeds, which were beginning to sprout, and went to see about some supper.

 

 

Posted by She Wolf

George the Donkey- The Lost Episodes

 I needed to bridge a few gaps in my journey-journal, especially regarding George the donkey! So- here are the lost episodes of George the donkey.

 

When I went out of Lissa’s house to go up to the mines, George was already out front waiting for me. In fact, he had made himself quite at home and was helping himself to some of Lissa’s garden. “George! What do you think you’re doing?” I shouted. “This is Lissa’s garden!”

“I’m having breakfast,” he replied calmly, taking another bite of the garden. He brushed past a large sunflower as he lifted his head up, getting a nose full of pollen. He snorted loudly, spraying me liberally with chewed-up green bits.

 

“George!” I yelled, “Watch what you’re doing!”

 

I heard a giggle behind me. Lissa was watching, her eyes sparkling and her hands pressed over her mouth. When she saw me turn around, she gave up and burst out laughing.

 

“I’m sorry, but it’s so funny!” she gasped. I tried to brush some of the green bits off of my clothes and then gave up and started laughing too. When she could speak again, Lissa said, “I always lose some of the front garden to the donkeys when I have a guest. They just can’t resist the nice fresh greenery. I gave up a long time ago, and just started planting things I knew they like to eat. It was easier than fighting it!” She smiled and told George, “Be careful, or I’ll plant nothing but thistles!”

 

“Hah. You know that I’ll eat them if I have too, but I much prefer this other stuff. If you plant those, I’ll just move to the back garden and see what I can find there.”  He brayed a laugh.

 

“Oh, you.” Lissa shook her head. “Go on and take She Wolf up to the mines. She’s had her breakfast too and she’s ready to go.”

 

So off we went, up into the mountains and to the mine. At the entrance, George reminded me that I would need to slough something. Then he said, “You need to slough those pieces of chew-up plant, too, because they’re still clinging all over your front!” And with that he brayed another laugh and trotted off to a green patch nearby.

 

As I went into the mine, I realized that I had forgotten to be nervous, thanks to George’s distractions. Once again, he had done his job.

 

 

That evening, as Theo and I were walking back and talking, George hung back and let us talk. As we approached the gate to Lissa’s house, I turned to George and said, “You’re awfully quiet this evening.”

“I don’t think I really need to say anything right now,” he replied. “You’ve done well, though, and I’m really proud of you.”

 

I never knew that a compliment from a donkey could feel so good.

 

 

When it was time for me to head back to Riversleigh for a few days, George showed up, packed and ready for the trip. “You’re coming with me?” I asked.

 

“Sure. Knowing you, you’d just manage to get lost between here and there. I know the way. Besides, don’t you want the company?”

 

“Of course I do. It wouldn’t be the same without you,” I told him. So I had a traveling companion for my trip back to Riversleigh.

 

We walked a long way in silence. Then, quite suddenly, I felt tired. I saw a shady spot beside the road, and sat down. George stopped, too, and asked, “What’s the matter, She Wolf?”

“I don’t know. I just got tired. I sat down. Now I don’t want to get up for a while.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” George wandered off into the plants alongside the road and began to graze.

I fell asleep in the warm shade. I finally woke myself up with a start, snoring. George was gazing at me interestedly. “You know,” he said, “ That was almost as impressive a noise as my braying!” He ducked when I swatted at him. “Let’s go find a place to camp. I don’t think we’re going to get much more traveling done today.”

 

I started to protest, but he stopped me. “No, you’re obviously tired. Look. You came to Riversleigh and had no more gotten settled in there when you took off again to do the Lemurian Tour. Then you went mining, which is hard work. You’ve done a lot in a little bit of time. Take some down time, write in your journal, refresh yourself. It’s okay to be tired sometimes. Just don’t let it become a way of life.” As he talked, we were walking deeper into the forest, away from the path. I could hear the sound of a stream babbling to itself nearby, and the air smelled fresh and sweet. Finally, we came to the place George had been looking for. It was a small clearing, grassy and smooth. The trees overhead were solid and strong, old patriarchs of the forest. I sat down feeling as if I had come home, so welcoming was the little clearing.

 

“Ahem,” said George, twitching his withers under the packs.

 

“Oh! Sure, George! I’m sorry!” I leapt up and took all the gear off of him, and he rolled in the grass gratefully. “Hold on, and I’ll get the brush out and give you a good brushing,” I told him.

 

After he was brushed and the camp set up, I boiled water from the talkative little brook to make some tea and George and I chatted.

 

“You probably could have stayed a few more days with Lissa, or just gone straight back to Riversleigh to get some rest, but I think you need to be away from folks for a few days to refresh yourself. Everyone needs a little solitude now and then, but some folks need it more than others, and you’re one of those folks.”

 

I nodded. “Yes, I do. Sometimes I just forget how much I need it. I’ll rest here until I feel ready to go on again, once I have assimilated some of the knowledge I have gained in the last few days. It probably won’t take too long,” I added, “I’m not that fond of sleeping on the ground!”

 

George brayed a laugh and went back off the graze on the fresh greenery.

The little interlude proved to be just what I needed, and soon we were on our way back to Riversleigh again. We crossed the

River of
Creativity again, and I plunged back into those exhilarating waters with a will. It was still a bit hard to steer through the currents, but oh, what a ride!

 

When we finally walked up the driveway at Riversleigh, I was more than ready to see my own room again. But first, I took George out to the stables and made sure he was unpacked and brushed with fresh water, oats and hay. He told me, “If you ever need a donkey, just let me know. I’ll be delighted to travel with you again.”

“Thanks George,” I replied. “I can’t think of a better traveling companion than you’ve been.” And I gave him a hug.

 

Posted by She Wolf