Tales From The Woods #4

I don't know the deal with the Ghost of the Forest. Don't know what it is, why it resides where it does, or how far it roams. I didn't notice it last year, when I was working in a patch of woods a few miles to the north. But since I was assigned my current location to sample from, I sense it around me when I'm working. Not constantly, mind you. Like I said, even if its confined to the site I work, we're still talking 1,000 acres, so there's plenty to observe besides me. I wonder if it's as entertained by the pack of horses (there are too few for me to feel comfortable calling them a herd) that roam the hills as I am. There's also bears, bobcats, mountain lions, those devious raccoons, of course, and the snakes and salamanders I spend my time dealing with.

Still, I keep up a running dialogue while I work, in case the Ghost is nearby. It's yet to directly respond, but I know it listens. No, it's never attacked, or behaved in any manner I found threatening, but it likes to play games. This fall, I found a toy in a bucket trap. It looked to be an old Happy Meal toy, from 1993 to be exact. A little Joker, seated in a little Jokermobile. It was cute, and in excellent condition, I might add. Not dirty, the wheels still turned perfectly. Made me wonder if the Ghost had the raccoons hold onto it. The Ghost wasn't around when I found it, but within 30 minutes (and a set of traps), I could feel it nearby. So I said, "Thanks." I mean, I don't understand why it wanted me to have the car, and as usual, the Ghost wasn't forthcoming with answers. But that's no excuse for poor manners, and the work day had been terribly dull up to then. It wasn't even a pretty day, with the total cloud cover, minus any interesting weather conditions like strong winds or rain. Then again, I had enough rain last year in the fall to last me several Octobers.

Sometimes, though, the Ghost of the Forest's methods of amusing itself aren't so amusing to me. In the spring, I came to one of my arrays to find a fence out of the ground. I don't believe the Ghost did it, no. The fences stick up a two to three feet, and it's easy for the wind to catch them like a sail. Then all it takes is sufficient back and forth from wind and gravity, and the fence wriggles itself out of the ground. Just because it's understandable, doesn't mean it isn't a pain. Digging trenches isn't fun, and the hills are annoying with the presence of rocks, rather than alive with the sound of music.

In my favor was my lack of a suitable digging instrument. So I checked my traps, stood the fence back up as best I could, and resolved I'd return the next day, and set things to rights then. There were still two hours' worth of traps to check, after all, and it'd take time to return to the office and grab a pulaski. Having internally justified my procrastination, I continued with my work. Now, my last three sets of traps are along the same dirt trail. I choose to walk the trail because a) I like walking, and b) I don't want to risk my work truck on some crappy dirt track. The higher-ups are unsympathetic to the difficulties we face with these roads when they see the condition trucks are often returned in. I parked my truck at the entrance of the trail and set off. Hour and a half later, I returned to my truck to find a pulaski. It was leaning against the driver's side door, pretty as you please. No sign of the Ghost, but I got this message clearly. I drove back to the unearthed array, and spent the better part of an hour first digging a trench, then trying to scrounge up enough dirt to hold the fence in said trench. It seems there's never as much dirt to put back into a trench as there was to take out. During all this, the Ghost was a constant presence. I could feel it peering over my shoulder, naturally unconcerned with the pointed tool I'm swinging around. Other times I could feel it right in front of me, and I pictured it sitting on a nearby tree branch, watching me with an amused expression on its face.

Oh yes, it never speaks, but after enough time, I learned to recognize a certain vibe it gives off, the way you'd read the expression on a person's face. What I haven't learned, is where it found the pulaski. None of my coworkers reported one missing, so either it traveled all the way to the office (about 7 miles) and back, or it had one of those hidden somewhere. If it was the former, that would explain the coworkers who found their trucks up on jacks, a rear tire inside the cab, one day. At least one of the trucks was even farther from my site than the office, but if distance isn't an issue, then it could have been the Ghost. Fingers were pointed at workers on the other crews, and one person even took credit, but you know how it is. Some people will claim they've done anything that nets them attention.

It wouldn't surprise me either way, but I think it had the tool just laying around. I figure the Ghost has been in those woods a long time, and it collects or interacts with whatever catches its interest. I don't understand its interest in me, unless it's my tendency to talk to myself. Yeah, I said I kept up a running dialogue for the Ghost, but I was talking practically nonstop to myself long before I even had an inkling the was a presence observing me. Maybe one of these days it'll say something back, in a way I can understand.