The Furious Spinner

Linda isn't certain how much longer she'll be able to walk, so she's looking for someone to help her on the farm. Looking for a mechanical way to get around. Today she sat outside in the sun. I talk with her on the phone for a while. We start arguing about something. Which side of the Cascades Klickitat County is on. (Who cares?) In the middle of the discussion, I think, what am I doing? I don’t know how to extricate myself from the argument without her noticing. She wouldn't want me to treat her any differently than I did before she was so sick. But I can tell I am exhausting her. Why can’t I learn to keep my mouth shut?

Mario and I had a whole day planned. Writing, movie, walking, work. But I don't feel good. Been feeling sick off and on for days. So we drive out toward Falling Creek. Feeling the need to ground. To kiss the Earth. Feel the rough skin of something wild beneath my hand. Past Carson, we see two cop cars, one at each end of the High Bridge over Wind River. One officer is walking across the bridge, near the railing, and looking down. Across the road from him, we see a pile of clothes: brown boots, green and white jacket, dark green watch cap. Had someone jumped? Man, that would be a long way down.

We keep driving. Into the Giff. Snow blocks the road to Falling Creek. Since I'm already nauseated, we decide walking up and down and up and down on the wet snow isn't a good idea. We turn around and drive south again, deciding to go to Panther Creek. Just before we pass a dirt road that’ll take us to Panther Creek—a way we seldom use—and I say, “Let’s go up here.” He turns the car left. Evergreens crowd the road. Just as the car straightens, and we start up the hill, a bald eagle flies right in front of our little blue Honda and lands in a tree at the side of the road. Mario stops the car, I grab the binoculars, even though I don't need them. The eagle is plenty close, and it is gorgeous. Clean white feathered head and tail, milk chocolate-colored wings and body, hooked yellow nose and yellow feet and claws. Its beak is open slightly as it looks around.

"Can you tell the difference between males and females?" Mario asks as he looks through the binoculars.

"The females are bigger," I say. "This one looks small." For an eagle. "So maybe it's male."

We watch silently. The sky is bright blue, the road all blond dirt, the trees shiny with sun. It feels like summer. We breathe the same air, the three of us: eagle, man, and woman. I think of the dream I had years ago about a bald eagle, a dream I had been thinking about only hours earlier. In the dream I am outside my car, the blue Honda. Inside is an eagle—who is also a young woman. At one point, the bald eagle stands on top of the car seat, looking around. I am awed. She looks at me and bumps her head on the window to indicate she wants to be let out. I open the door and let her out. I ask her if she knows the way home, and she says yes, but she points in the wrong direction. She is wearing my clothes. When I remember the dream later, I am certain the eagle woman is a healthier better me.

We watch this eagle. Her feathers look so soft. Perfect. Healthy. After a while she flies away. Mario and I look at each other and grin.

"I'm glad our day didn't work out the way we planned," I say. "This was worth is."

We drive up the dirt road until we get to the Panther Creek campground. We park and get out. It's colder here than at home, but there's no snow. The road is wet. The trees and hills block out the sun, and it feels like winter again. We start walking down the Pacific Crest trail. I do a little dance, then let my water bottle drop to the earth, and run down the trail. Fast as I can. I can't remember running through the forest since I was a girl. I run and run. It feels fine. Then I stop and turn around, walk back to Mario. He's smiling and swinging my water bottle at his side.

“Good thing there weren’t any panthers around,” I say. “I forgot running triggers their predatory instinct.” Or something. I imagine the mountain lion munching on my head. The run was almost worth it. Wish I could do it here every day.

The trail dips, and I stand in the place where Linda, another friend, and I stood two and a half years earlier just after we found out Linda's cancer had come back. We danced in the sweet autumn light coming down through the trees and howled and asked for healing. When we stopped, we heard coyotes in the distance, singing along with us.

Mario and I head toward Panther Creek. The last time I was in these woods with Linda we had a fight. That was the last time we had walked in the woods together. It may have been the last time we ever walked in the woods together. After so many years and so many walks. Shit. And it ended with a fight. Why did I have to argue? Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut and nod, whether I agreed with her or not. I thought if I didn't speak up always then I was letting "evil prevail." That rule didn’t really apply with Linda. She was never evil. So I should keep my mouth shut and just let things go...

The water in the creek is low. It should be flooded with snowmelt. Or near flood stage with all the sunshine we've been having. Mario and I cross the bridge and go up the switchback trail. Up and up. Doesn't feel like winter. We talk about story ideas. The other day someone asked me to follow her car. I wasn’t sure what her car looked like, so I followed the first car that stopped by my car. For a few minutes, I was afraid I had followed the wrong car. After all, I had never seen her face. I assumed it was her because she had stopped and waited for me.

"So I thought that would be a great beginning to a story," I tell Mario. "Only I don't know where I'd go from there."

"But you'd know right away if you were following the wrong person."

"No," I said. "I mean I didn't know where I was going the other day, so I just kept following this car. Luckily I was following the right person. But imagine if you were following a friend to a new house. Or a real estate agent to some property in the country she was showing you. You wouldn’t know if you were following the wrong car for a long time.”

"OK. I can see that."

"So what would happen?" I ask. "If you followed someone out here, you could get in some deep trouble. You could stumble upon drug dealers, Nazis, militia members. And I'm not really interested in a story like that. What if someone followed a red truck into the woods. The truck stopped and a man got out. He bent down, shapechanged into a coyote, and ran into the woods."

Mario nods. We walk down the trail and across the bridge again.

"I don't know where I'd go from there," I say. "I want to write something that isn't fantasy. But I don't want it to be so mystical that it's muddled. I want it to be real. What if in real life you followed someone and they got out of the car and turned into a coyote? What would you do? Would you believe it?"

"I would believe it," he says. "I would want to investigate. I'd probably go over to the truck."

"You'd go over to the truck?" I say. "Wouldn't you be afraid?"

"I don't think so," he says. "Maybe a little concerned I had discovered something others might not want me to know. What about you? Would you believe it?"

"No," I say. "I'd think I was going crazy or something was in my eyes. I'd be driving away as fast as I could. Wouldn't want to see that. I should write a character like you. Someone who isn’t afraid."

We walk through the empty campground. Suddenly a coyote darts out in front of us. It runs away quickly. Mario and I laugh. We've never seen a coyote this close before—not in the Pacific Northwest. Today it seems the world is alive with wild things. May it always be.

Mario and I return to the car and drive away. Over High Bridge, we note that the pile of clothes is gone. We figure someone came and picked them up. No suicide. Just high spirits. Maybe even a prank. I lean my head against Mario’s shoulder and yawn as we head home.

“Thanks for the walk in the woods,” I say.

“You’re welcome.”

Some days it takes a while to see the shape of things. Things are always changing. 0 comments

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