Post by pannt51 on Oct 10, 2011 23:16:58 GMT -5
“DUSTY”
By: Patricia A. Turner
In the stillness of the night when it is only myself, and the thoughts running through my head, I am finding that my mind has retreated back to the place of my childhood. Growing up in Tucker’s Cove as a child I often would find myself in a world of trouble on those days when I had preferred exploring the cove over doing the chores mama had assigned for me to do.
On one such occasion, as I was prowling about the woods which lay just beyond our farm, I had found myself face to face with one of the most beautiful and majestic creature I could ever hope to encounter. I had often heard the howling of a wolf in the distance at night and wondered just where such a creature could have came from since wolves were sort of a taboo subject with the farmers there in Tucker’s Cove.
Bordering the Cove to the north of our farm was national forest land where wolves had been turned loose to roam as a special project by the national park service to reintroduce wolves into their native habitats, much to the disconcertment of area farmers who had argued that the wolves were a danger to their way of life, which was something I could never understand.
But, on the day when I had encountered the wolf, which I would later name Dusty, my confusion on the subject became even deeper. Why could man and animal not coexist together, I wondered as I watched Dusty from a safe distance that day. Loping along, minding his own business, he seemed so harmless, and a tad bit lonely.
Crossing a grassy meadow, Dusty laid down among the grass and wild flowers, seemingly not even aware that I was anywhere nearby. Yet, I knew better. For a wolf’s keen sense of smell must have given me away. Slowly rising from his place of rest, he turned and headed my way, stopping only a few feet from where I sat perched on a huge boulder at the meadow’s edge.
Eyeing me cautiously as he pranced about I think Dusty wanted to let me know just who was boss out here in his world. Sitting perfectly still for the longest of time, I wanted to communicate to the animal that I meant him no harm. Somehow sensing that I was no threat to him, Dusty lay down at the bottom of the boulder and continued to watch me with pure curiosity.
Little could I know that day that Dusty and I were destined to share a friendship that would bring many anxious moments to my life when, quite by accident, a neighboring farmer had stumbled upon me and Dusty as we were romping together in that meadow down by the creek which was a good three miles from my home.
Going straight to my father later that same day to report to him what he had seen down in Gunter Meadows, Brent Tucker had thrown down the gauntlet that began a war which I was to find myself right smack in the middle of as I battled to save Dusty from certain death at the hands of other farmers like Brent Tucker who wanted Dusty dead.
With a bounty on Dusty’s head I knew that it would be only a matter of time before the wolf was taken down by one of the farmers. So, slipping out of my bed in the middle of the night knowing that I was deliberately going against my parents’ orders to stay away from the wolf, I knew that somehow, someway I had to get Dusty safely out of the cove and out of harm’s way.
Remembering the old cave on the other side of Gunter Meadows where I used to play as a kid, I recalled that there was a narrow gap deep within the cave that opened up into a secluded valley that only a handful of people knew about since the valley was many miles away from Tucker’s Cove.
Located within the boundary of the national forest, it was a parcel of land which had been set aside as sacred ground for a group of Native Americans who had settled that land long before the white man first step foot onto it. Considered sacred ground because of the burial grounds located there, I could think of no other place where Dusty would be any safer than he would be right there among the Native Americans who considered the wolf a sacred animal.
So, risking the fury of my parents when they learned of what I was about to do, I slipped out and went in search of Dusty. Finding him right where I knew he would be, I didn’t realize until that very moment how difficult it was going to be to release my friend back into the wilds from which he had came.
Following me like an obedient child as I lead him through the cave to the other side, I knelt before that majestic creature with tears streaming down my face. How could I let him go knowing that I would never see him again? Sensing that this was to be goodbye between us, Dusty looked into my eyes as if he were searching for answers that I could not give him.
Saying my goodbyes, I gently pushed Dusty through the opening into the land where I knew he would be safe from the farmers and other hunters, with a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart. “Goodbye my friend” I uttered, my voice cracking with emotion, as I watched him slowly yield to my command to go.
Now, many years later, I sit out on my porch there in Tucker’s Cove and often wonder about Dusty as once again the silence of the night is broken by the sad, lonely howl of wolf and I know with a certainty that out there somewhere beyond the peaks of the mountains surrounding Tucker’s Cove that Dusty and his off springs are still roaming that sacred land to which one day soon I will be taking my own child as I tell him the tale of Dusty with the hopes that one day he too might find and befriend such a beautiful creature of the wild.
By: Patricia A. Turner
In the stillness of the night when it is only myself, and the thoughts running through my head, I am finding that my mind has retreated back to the place of my childhood. Growing up in Tucker’s Cove as a child I often would find myself in a world of trouble on those days when I had preferred exploring the cove over doing the chores mama had assigned for me to do.
On one such occasion, as I was prowling about the woods which lay just beyond our farm, I had found myself face to face with one of the most beautiful and majestic creature I could ever hope to encounter. I had often heard the howling of a wolf in the distance at night and wondered just where such a creature could have came from since wolves were sort of a taboo subject with the farmers there in Tucker’s Cove.
Bordering the Cove to the north of our farm was national forest land where wolves had been turned loose to roam as a special project by the national park service to reintroduce wolves into their native habitats, much to the disconcertment of area farmers who had argued that the wolves were a danger to their way of life, which was something I could never understand.
But, on the day when I had encountered the wolf, which I would later name Dusty, my confusion on the subject became even deeper. Why could man and animal not coexist together, I wondered as I watched Dusty from a safe distance that day. Loping along, minding his own business, he seemed so harmless, and a tad bit lonely.
Crossing a grassy meadow, Dusty laid down among the grass and wild flowers, seemingly not even aware that I was anywhere nearby. Yet, I knew better. For a wolf’s keen sense of smell must have given me away. Slowly rising from his place of rest, he turned and headed my way, stopping only a few feet from where I sat perched on a huge boulder at the meadow’s edge.
Eyeing me cautiously as he pranced about I think Dusty wanted to let me know just who was boss out here in his world. Sitting perfectly still for the longest of time, I wanted to communicate to the animal that I meant him no harm. Somehow sensing that I was no threat to him, Dusty lay down at the bottom of the boulder and continued to watch me with pure curiosity.
Little could I know that day that Dusty and I were destined to share a friendship that would bring many anxious moments to my life when, quite by accident, a neighboring farmer had stumbled upon me and Dusty as we were romping together in that meadow down by the creek which was a good three miles from my home.
Going straight to my father later that same day to report to him what he had seen down in Gunter Meadows, Brent Tucker had thrown down the gauntlet that began a war which I was to find myself right smack in the middle of as I battled to save Dusty from certain death at the hands of other farmers like Brent Tucker who wanted Dusty dead.
With a bounty on Dusty’s head I knew that it would be only a matter of time before the wolf was taken down by one of the farmers. So, slipping out of my bed in the middle of the night knowing that I was deliberately going against my parents’ orders to stay away from the wolf, I knew that somehow, someway I had to get Dusty safely out of the cove and out of harm’s way.
Remembering the old cave on the other side of Gunter Meadows where I used to play as a kid, I recalled that there was a narrow gap deep within the cave that opened up into a secluded valley that only a handful of people knew about since the valley was many miles away from Tucker’s Cove.
Located within the boundary of the national forest, it was a parcel of land which had been set aside as sacred ground for a group of Native Americans who had settled that land long before the white man first step foot onto it. Considered sacred ground because of the burial grounds located there, I could think of no other place where Dusty would be any safer than he would be right there among the Native Americans who considered the wolf a sacred animal.
So, risking the fury of my parents when they learned of what I was about to do, I slipped out and went in search of Dusty. Finding him right where I knew he would be, I didn’t realize until that very moment how difficult it was going to be to release my friend back into the wilds from which he had came.
Following me like an obedient child as I lead him through the cave to the other side, I knelt before that majestic creature with tears streaming down my face. How could I let him go knowing that I would never see him again? Sensing that this was to be goodbye between us, Dusty looked into my eyes as if he were searching for answers that I could not give him.
Saying my goodbyes, I gently pushed Dusty through the opening into the land where I knew he would be safe from the farmers and other hunters, with a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart. “Goodbye my friend” I uttered, my voice cracking with emotion, as I watched him slowly yield to my command to go.
Now, many years later, I sit out on my porch there in Tucker’s Cove and often wonder about Dusty as once again the silence of the night is broken by the sad, lonely howl of wolf and I know with a certainty that out there somewhere beyond the peaks of the mountains surrounding Tucker’s Cove that Dusty and his off springs are still roaming that sacred land to which one day soon I will be taking my own child as I tell him the tale of Dusty with the hopes that one day he too might find and befriend such a beautiful creature of the wild.