Alone in the woods

“If I get killed hiking on this trail, so be it. At least I can say I died doing what I love to do.”

“That’s not funny! Bite your tongue!”

“Listen, I really appreciate your concern, but there has never been a report of anybody being attacked on these trails. Other people might let fear control them. Not me! I’m never going to buy into the premise that a woman alone in the woods is an assault waiting to happen. Never!”

***

The Indians once dominated the land now called Blydenburgh County Park, a 6.6 loop trail at the end of the Nissaquogue River. The legends, and there were many, would die with the Nissaquag Tribe. “Foolish white man. As if land could be owned like a pair of moccasins!” As the concept of mockery was nonnative, the Chief’s laughter was soft, hearty and uncharacteristic. The others didn’t quite recognize his rugged red face as he laid out the goods traded for the earth having once communed with the souls of his people.

“Look!” He said with pride as his tribesmen gazed upon and fondled the coats, 12 hoes, 12 hatchets, 50 muxes (small brad awis), 100 needles, 6 kettles, 10 fathoms of wampum, 7 pipe bowls of power, 1 pair of children’s stockings, 10 pounds of lead, and one dozen knives. The copy of the deed was dated April 14, 1655, and the same date receipt rested among the goods, although the ink had no meaning to any of them within the skin of the teepee. All except one. Pow Pow, the medicine man. Sensing things they didn’t, and having a penchant for clairvoyance, without understanding the white man’s language, he understood the current tragic reality. Trying mightily to protest, only to be shut down repeatedly; as time passed he was threatened with expulsion from the tribe if he didn’t abandon his rhetoric. How could he leave them at what he knew was their darkest hour? With rage coursing through his viens, he remained silent as he watched with horror his native people begin to die off, one after the other, mostly from disease, the unwarranted, unwanted gift from the white man. As he worked day and night to create an effective antidote, he shared his vexation only with the wind and the great spirits, until he too succombed to the plague. Before his last breath, the spirits wept with him and spoke, “Great medicine man. Do not fear what comes next. We will bring you peace. Release your anguish, for this plague, this plunder, is stronger than man and medicine, stronger than the river’s current at high tide during a nor’easter.” Pow Pow rejected their warmth and vowed with words whispered, lilting off his black tongue, “There will come a day, great spirits when your kindness will not hold me back. Somehow, someway; I will avenge this holocaust.”

***

Spring had sprung along the bank of the Nissaquogue. The trout could be seen splashing as they fervently mated. As she walked lightfooted on the trail at a brisk pace, Judith soaked it all in, the buds on the high oaks, the sound of the tree frogs, the smell of winter’s wane. Rocco, her beloved Doberman, off leash, was in nose down sniff mode, keenly inhaling the sacred fresh earth.

Deep into the woods, as they came upon a clearing, Rocco stopped abruptly, crouching down, squealing in a way Judith had only heard when he was attacked the previous year by a pitbull. Judith knew her dog well enough to know eminent danger lurked. But where? Looking long and wide, listening hard, there was no sign of life other than the natural habitat. Should she have heeded the warnings of her friends and family? The notion briefly entered her mind. Even though Judith was as close to fearless as a baby to it’s mother’s breast, in that moment she felt foolish and vulnerable. Trapped.

“Rocco! Come on boy! Let’s go!” As she turned to retreat, Rocco stayed put, paws fixed to the ground. His squeal was replaced by a guttural growl, when unmistakeably a massive figure of a red skin man appeared, lifting himself erect from the earth with the force of a tornado. If the man was real, why could she see the river through him, if he wasn’t why was Rocco growling? Instinctively Judith rubbed her eyes, and slapped the side of her face. Could she be dreaming? Was her water bottled tainted with a hallucinogen? Judith, Rocco and the figure before them, shaped a rigid triangle. The three entities were perfectly still as if in a standoff. The smell of life and death was all apparent.

Pow Pow would have preferred a white man to be his first victim.