An Adventure Plus One

“There are a lot of adventures out there that need to be stirred up.” Keep’s grandfather sat pensively in his recliner. A smoldering pipe dangled from his mouth; above that, his silver eyes looked downward, slightly closed. Evidently he was in good thought. From the window, a stream of grey light bathed him where he sat. Keep, his granddaughter, sat cross legged on the rug with her back facing a crackling fire. Her cat, Justus, was asleep in her lap. She had been listening intently to her grandfather speak of his many endeavors in life: sailing around Iceland, fighting in World War I, going tiger hunting in Asia. “You just wait,” he continued, nodding at Keep, “one day you’ll have better adventures than I did.” Grandfather rose silently from the chair, but hesitated before leaving the room. He looked down at Keep, still with those sagacious eyes that seemed to know how to solve all problems. “You could start anytime, you know,” he said. “Use your imagination, Keep. You’ve got a big one.” He left the parlor and entered his own bedroom across the hallway. Closing the door, he allowed one more hidden smile to pass over his face. Once the knob set into place it was apparent that he preferred privacy. Keep looked under the crack of his door to see the shadow of his feet pass. Seconds later the creaking of his rocking chair was audible which probably meant he was reading the newspaper or his book, a classic that had surprisingly remained untouched by his literary hand: Don Quixote. Keep turned back around and gazed out the window to see the snow hurling down as if it were being dumped in bucketfuls. Wind whistled through the various cracks of the house as if trying to challenge the fire’s heat. The trees outside shook and wavered as the wind twirled itself around them in a snowy veil. The parlor, however, kept Keep considerably warm, and when one has a pleasant cat to add, sufficiency meets perfection. Thinking of what Grandfather had said, Keep stroked Justus’s head. His soft purrs lofted to her ears like the sound of a tiny motorboat. Rolling over on the floor, the cat exposed his glossy red backside while obscuring his frosty gray stomach. Thinking it safe to let the animal be, Keep stood up and arrived near the window where she stared at the outside world with interest. Their dog, Rex, was chasing snowflakes in the yard. Across the snow bitten street, Mrs. Polly’s house stood illuminated with Christmas lights. Through a window Keep caught a glance of the plump lady cradling a mug of hot chocolate in a fireside chair. Looking either way down the avenue Keep was met by walls of grayish white. The neighborhood was bound in snow. Suddenly a powerful gale swept over the street. The flaming columns of wind fled over the house like an invisible sheet. A touch of the frigid air whistled through a fissure in the log cabin and chilled Keep where she stood. Easily compelled, she sat back down next to the fire where the persistence of the dancing flames snuffed out the cold and she was warm again.

An adventure. The word came as electrifying in the young girl’s mind. Who would ignore an exploit such as this when the temperature was below 10? When the wind howled like a mad wolf and the snow fell like bullets? If she dared not embark on such a journey then regret would gnaw at her for days afterward, and if she did not step out that fateful door that day she knew that from then on temerity would be difficult to regain. These thoughts and questions seemed to nag at Keep like a parasite to its host. The more she pondered over the subject the more she found that an adventure would be wonderful. It would be difficult, of course, tramping through a blinding storm, but what qualities would she remember it by in the years to come? The pleasant, convenient sunshine or the casual green grass? Of course not! Now was the time to see what the world had in store for her. An adventure had to be exciting, daunting, and as Jack London would have it, grueling. At last it was settled. Keep would have the adventure. It was too heavy to ignore, too powerful to escape. She left the parlor, tiptoed past Grandfather’s room and silently entered her own. Arising from a restful nap, Justus followed her with panache and nonchalance.

In a moment Keep was garbed efficiently in her cap, turtle neck, cotton coat, long john underwear, denim trousers and her leather hiking books. This left only a visit to the kitchen necessary. “Let’s see,” she told herself once she had invaded the pantry. She was careful to remain quiet, for what good is an adventure when your guardian knows you’re doing it? “I’ll need bread, peanut butter, and maybe an apple…” Once this paraphernalia was put into her knapsack she dedicated one last object to survival. Her mountain lion whistle. This item had been given to her as a gift from Grandfather. Supposedly it frightened the large animals, but mainly prestige was held inside the whistle—it was a trustworthy thing to boast over at school since it seemed so outdoorsmen-like. However, there were mountain lions in that area, so it didn’t hurt to take precautions.

With the mountain whistle around her neck, Keep stole out the back door and under the porch awning. There Rex the dog sat, shivering from the cold. Evidently he had sacrificed his winter activity so he could resign to the little comfort under the porch. Keep, who always reserved pity for the poor dog, gave him a cordial pat on the head before finally taking her first step into the yard as a mark of her commencement. She sank into the snow just past her knees, and considering the precipitation that was steadily increasing it would be up even higher in the hours to come.

Luckily the wind had calmed down a great deal, but the snow still came down thickly, like a swirling white dance before blanketing the earth. Visibility was limited. Keep was headed toward the woods behind their house and behind that, Keep’s Mountain, which served as the source for the girl’s name. She trudged slowly through the two feet of snow. The stuff came down swiftly, intermingled with traces of sleet that stung her face. Nevertheless, she pressed on. Her goal was to reach the top of the mountain where she would eat her peanut butter sandwich and apple. It was then she began to doubt her ability. Her stomach was already growling.

She battled her way into the forest by using a broken branch to swipe down the brush that lay tangled before her. Justus leaped past her and landed into a drift of snow where he disappeared in an instant. Covered in white the cat crawled out of the hole he had created, and like a Sherpa guide of the Himalayas he began to intricately weave through the thick trees. Keep followed resolutely behind.

A white blanket was spread before Keep and her cat. Silently it lay, like a white veil over a cold, frozen undershirt. It seemed to be substitute for the ground that was so deep in slumber. It covered it, protected it, until spring would come once more and allow the snow to melt deep into its midst. From there it would rise up again and fall from the sky to replace the sleepy soil with a new blanket, marking the repetition of season and the routine of nature. It seemed to be a story, the way it worked like a clock. It was controlled by God, perfectly, intertwined in the core of nature. The flakes came down like white flower petals, each attributing to the mounting mass of white. Keep stopped a moment to admire the scene. Her brown eyes blinked less and her hands stood still at her sides. It’s beautiful. Pristinely the woods seemed to exist. The trees were like unscathed brown carvings scraping the grey sky that was so full of snow. If she had seen only a photo of this scene it would have engraved warmth in her heart. With a breath of satisfaction, Keep moved forward through the pine trees. She kept on for nearly ten more minutes, long enough for her outer sweater to disappear. At each step she was growing more confident with herself and at better ease than when she had begun. She wasn’t nervous any longer. Rather, a growing confidence began to spur her, like a friendly voice in a dark, strange place. However, when serenity had just started to permeate her, there abruptly came a piercing crack of a gunshot that nearly shook the snow off the trees. Justus hissed and headed half way up a tree, while Keep froze in her tracks, her eyes wide. It came again like the sharp snap of a firecracker not a hundred feet in front of her.

There was no mistaking. It was the sound of a .22 rifle. Keep didn’t know exactly what to do. Clearly it was dangerous for her to remain motionless. On the other hand, perhaps it wasn’t wise to start running, or walking, whichever her nerves permitted. The human eye looks for movement. However, before she could do anything, a boy of about twelve stepped from behind a thick pine tree with the .22 held in his gloved hands. He had hunting boots on as well as a denim jacket and pants. On top of a tousled mop of brown hair a red cap was anointed. “Hey,” he said, speculating Keep curiously. Keep didn’t answer soon enough, so the boy added, “What’s yer name?”

John Mark On a Walk Through the Forest 

“Keep Muskogee.” Her voice was rough and audibly nervous, mainly because of the rifle that was almost leaning toward her. The boy gave a wide grin and set the gun against the tree. “The name’s John Mark Harrison,” he said, rather proudly she thought. “I’m out looking for chipmunks and squirrels and the like.” He leaned his head forward slightly and said, “What are you doing around these dangerous woods?”

“I’m on an adventure,” replied Keep, a little more boldly. Justus, meanwhile, descended from the tree. John Mark peered at the cat in suspicion but then replaced it with a smile when he realized it was a cat, not a large red squirrel. “I’m off to Keep’s Mountain,” he chortled. “You can come along it you wanna. Liable to be purty scary up there though. This ain’t even the worst of the storm.”

“I was going there anyway,” replied Keep. “I’m going to have lunch up there.”

John Mark gave another grin and laughed, “You’re brave for a girl. A mite purty about the face too.” Before Keep had time to blush properly he continued, “Well, it’s off to the North Pole! Christmas ain’t too long away, you know.” John Mark snatched up his gun and started to tramp off through the woods, hollering, “C’mon, Miss Muskogee!”

Keep, glad to have found a companion who was as hungry for adventure as she, trudged after him as the snow kept falling…falling……falling……

Stave Two

John Mark stopped under a tree to escape the snow about a half mile where he had collided with Keep. He extracted his compass, a ragged wooden thing that seemed to have endured years of use. Pensively he observed it, and before pocketing it, declared, “We’re heading directly north.” After this instrument was put away he studied his wristwatch for a time until he decided that it was twelve o’clock. He turned to Keep and said, “I live past Hickory Lane and then some to the east. That gives me about five hours to get up to the mountain and back. You see my Ma wants me back by five. What about you, Keep? Where do you live at?”

“On Church Avenue about a mile behind us.” John Mark nodded, his eyebrows knitted. His lips moved in silent figures until finally he said, “It’ll take you three and half hours, figurin’ to get there and back. You see I’ve been to the top before and I’ve been to Church Avenue and it’s taken about that long.” For no apparent reason John Mark revealed a long hunting knife, drove it into the ground and put his ear to it. Wistfully he waited as if for a sound, but presently he lifted his head with a sigh. “Shucks,” he said. “No moose stampeding today. Well, let’s go Miss Muskogee. We’re on a time limit now!”

They went swiftly through the forest. As they walked, both realized that the air was growing thinner and the trees fewer, almost sparse. They were at the foot of Keep’s Mountain. “There’s an old north trail that criss crosses this side of the mountain,” explained John Mark, ducking a branch. “If I can find it we’ll have a much easier time going up. Otherwise it’ll be slip and fall.”

Sticking his .22 into a leather bag that strapped to his back, John Mark began to search the surrounding trees. “I left marks on them,” he explained. “So’s to indicate the trail. They’ve got my initials. Hey, you and your cat look for some.” Keep (though Justus chose to skip the operation) scanned nearly five of the trees until she saw one with the initials crudely embedded in the bark. “Here!” she called. John Mark arrived by her side and gave a smile. “There she is,” he said. “Harrison Trail, the pioneer path.” He grabbed his .22 in order to take on the appearance of a true frontiersman; from there he traipsed boldly forward through the deepening snow. Keep covered her ears with her cap. The wind was picking up again.

As they trudged along, Keep began to notice John Mark’s habits, but one in particular stood out above any other. Periodically John Mark would fire into the snow just to watch the powder shoot up like a geyser. Each time he did this he howled with laughter and jammed another bullet into the gun, halfheartedly looking for squirrels. Keep followed at a safe distance; she had never truly liked guns although Grandfather collected them. It seemed to her that they disrupted places that were meant for peace. Obviously John Mark knew nothing of these ethics and never bothered to question Keep whether his shooting was disturbing or not. Unfortunately, however, Keep was still too shy of John Mark to ask him to shoot the gun less. John Mark must have taken notice of this, because when he looked back to check on her progress, he let the gun rest in the crook of his arm and took the privilege to speak to her. “I ain’t got any food for the peak,” he said. “If you give me a slice of your apple I’ll let you shoot my gun once.”

“It’s all right,” Keep returned. “You’ll have half the apple, without me shooting your gun.”

“You just being nice,” he said, looking down at the ground. “Fact is everything about you is nice. Sure, I got sisters at home, but none of them is this quiet as you. Wish’t you could come by Hickory Lane one of these days. Ma would be more than happy to cook supper for ye.” He took of his cap and fingered it absently.
“Haven’t you got any father?” Keep asked after a hesitation. John Mark seemed happy that she asked. “Sure do!” he replied. “He’s in the Navy and works submarines. But he ain’t home much.”

They continued for a short time in silence until John Mark’s patience was fully spent. He reared his gun up and fired into the snow ahead of him, watching the powder make its ascension, its dramatic zenith, and then its fall back to the ground where it partially filled the jagged hole the bullet had created. “Yes, sir,” he sighed, jamming another bullet into the panting rifle. “I’m a hunter. I can feel it.”

By now the trees populated the slope sparsely, and when they did appear, their branches were bare and ragged and contained no beauty. Generically however the broad perspective was to be taken with respect, almost fear. The enormity of Keep’s Mountain was clearly revealed to the children. During the spring and summer the mountain was the key spot to enjoy a family picnic due to its lush forest complexion. The streams, then, were rolling and swollen and fell swiftly past the green meadows that were stock full with mule deer, and, to John Mark’s certain envy, chipmunks and squirrels. Now the mountainside was a cold, barren dome, swirled in a haze of snow. It seemed to frown down at the two small children as if to suggest a cruel authority over them. It was only then that Keep saw the challenge that faced them. Slowly she felt a growing fear knot in her stomach. John Mark, however, wasn’t contaminated. His only reaction to the clean, white face of the slope was, “A real fixer upper. C’mon, Keep! Let’s break my trail open.”

For the first time since the beginning of her adventure Keep felt unsure and unsafe as they continued to trudge across the slope. For a while she didn’t realize her own fear, but when she did it was wiped away indignantly.

This is an adventure. I can’t be afraid. She told this to herself over and over until eventually courage held dominance in her mind.

The snow and wind seemed to increase with every step the trio took. There were no trees to protect them any longer. Now the rain of wind swept freely across the naked mountainside, like an invisible army descending to battle. Their coats lost warmth, even the one Justus had. With chattering teeth and trembling knees they pressed on with indifference to the cruel wall of the storm, equipped only with the care of reaching Keep’s Mountain that grew ever closer.

John Mark looked back into the wall of grey with a hand shielding his face from the snow. He couldn’t see Keep. The snow had worsened since they had begun their climb. “Sheesh,” he muttered to himself. “What a day for a gal to take an adventure.” Drawing up his voice he shouted, “KEEP!” He listened to hear the faint but certain reply of his comrade, “I’m okay, John Mark! Keep going!” John Mark turned back around after deciding to leave their words in tacit understanding. The storm was relentless. Motion was growing more and more difficult as they struggled upward. Much of this was because of the snow, but also because of the wind that blew savagely against them. Walking turned to trudging, and eventually trudging led to snow swimming. The snow was piling over three feet which came easily to John Mark’s waist. For Keep it meant a soggy chest and for Justus it meant tunneling through the snow like a field mouse. But, from any way it was perceived, one aspect was sure. The peak was very, very close.

Though it took a great deal of trouble, John Mark found his compass. “We’re heading northwest! Time—” He glanced at his wristwatch and declared, “Two thirty and running. C’mon, posse!”

With more vigor than ever John Mark shoved through the snow, his teeth clenched and his .22 rifle clutched high in his hands. Very frequently he would give a cry of determination to show how resistant he was against the storm. In response to the boy’s fury, the gale overhead screamed and descended like a wraith, flooding them with chills. John Mark took out his temperature gauge and gasped at what he saw. Negative 15 appeared true in his eyes. Nevertheless, he fought back like a roaring lion against an onslaught of hyenas. Keep peered ahead with frozen eyelashes to discern the vague outline of John Mark thrashing through the snow with his .22 rifle. Seeing his willpower she too began to fight the storm. She battered the snow before her with her gloved hands and pushed forward with all her might. One last time the path turned the opposite way. John Mark spun in his tracks to make the final attempt to the peak. “Almost…..there,” he panted as he stumbled over an invisible stone. He could now see the top of the mountain with certainty. They were less than twenty feet from it. The mountain rose ever so slightly before it presented its zenith. John Mark stopped before it to speculate, then with a howl of a rebel, attacked the final white hillock with an unfaltering resilience.

Stave the Last

 John Mark stood upon the peak, tired and weary, but undoubtedly victorious. Presently Keep arrived by his side with Justus the cat shivering in her hands. “We made it,” he informed her. Keep, too worn to answer, extracted her lunch and almost ravenously began to eat. As promised, she handed half of the apple to John Mark. Together they enjoyed a “peak feast” which John Mark later dubbed as a meal on the mountaintop. As they ate, the weather lightened. The wind was reduced to a cold breeze and the snowfall decreased exceptionally. What was once a white, blinding quilt turned into a clear, translucent veil. Vision returned graciously to both children. For the first time in the last hour and a half, it was totally silent. “Wow.” John Mark gazed over the landscape to see their home village Jaden, far below, and behind that, the rugged line of Rockies that belted the horizon. Above them a light grey awning served as a roof. “I can see Church Avenue,” cried Keep excitedly, pointing below them. Mrs. Polly’s lighted house was easily visible against the white ground, and across from it stood her small, logged home. A column of thin smoke rose from the brick chimney. Grandfather was probably next to the fire reading Don Quixote.

“So, Miss Muskogee,” said John Mark, “how was this adventure of yours?” Keep smiled widely. She knew the answer and she had no trouble saying it. “It was the most delightful thing I’ve ever done.” With one more bite of her sandwich her goal was accomplished.

Keep didn’t mind indulging in the happiness of reaching a goal. Although she was replete with fatigue, she had never been so relieved. Battling against such a storm with only determination to fuel the soul was no small success. To her it was a landmark of her upbringing; a medal of courage and honor. Already it was a story she could pass down to her children, and who knew? Perhaps this adventure wasn’t yet over?

Happily, Keep asked, “What time is it, John Mark?”

“It’s three fifteen,” he replied. “We’ll get you home within the next thirty minutes.”

Keep paused. Knowing how long it had taken to climb the mountain, she doubted they could go down so fast. But she said nothing. John Mark was a young outdoorsman. How could he not be expected to exaggerate adventure?

Contrary to their climb, they used little energy. The path they broke going up made a passageway for the way down. Meanwhile, John Mark boasted over his second trip up the mountain while Keep simply savored the feeling of encompassing a true adventure. It wasn’t on TV, or found in a comic strip. It was an adventure, and it belonged to her.

“Yes, sir, that was a fine trip,” said John Mark. The boy continued to speak as a warrior does when a skirmish is won. His round, red face was glowing under his tousled brown hair as his voice rang out almost in a melody. Keep listened to him speak, amused by his cheerful mood, but suddenly her eyes caught something other than the vastness of snow. It was a quick movement of something large, something brown. Like a wisp of a passing cloud it had appeared, then vanished as quickly as it had come. She stopped and peered in the direction she had seen it. John Mark stopped soon after her and asked, “What’s wrong, Keep? Cold got to you?” Keep didn’t answer but kept her eyes trained on the spot. Abruptly the figure appeared again, this time in full effect and in full view. Keep’s heart quickened and she let a small cry emerge from her lips. Through the deep snow lumbered an enormous mountain lion. John Mark’s eyes widened when he saw it. “Jehosophat!” he breathed, stressing each syllable. He thrust a finger into his pocket, searching for a bullet, but discovered that he had used the last one shooting at snow drifts. Stricken with fear the two children could only watch as the cat walked directly toward them. It seemed that both of them were literally frozen in their tracks. John Mark thought about using his hunting knife, but after further viewing the cougar he opposed the idea. The animal was a giant. John Mark could see that its paws beat the size of his mother’s frying pans and that its tail was thicker than his forearm. It stopped but ten feet in front of them, its green eyes almost wise as they speculated the two children. It dropped its head low to reveal massive shoulder blades, licked its paw affectionately, but suddenly tensed its muscles and growled so deep in its throat that it was barely audible. It began to charge the children like a freight train while the growl advanced to a shivering scream. Keep could only watch as the cougar coiled its legs and released them as if they were loaded with springs. Flying through the air the lion stretched out its claws to reveal them as white daggers tipped with ice. The children both bawled blatantly and fell to the ground with hearts charged a hundred times over. In horror they expected to feel harsh claws plunge into their faces. They felt nothing, however, but heard a thump behind them and the patter of swift, running feet. For a moment they lay motionlessly; fear had crippled them. John Mark listened keenly to still hear the soft feet dancing over the snow. Cautiously he turned his head. Once it was completely revolved his mouth dropped. “Look!” he cried.

 Keep threw her head backward to see the mountain lion chase a small buck around in circles to the point of sheer exhaustion, until at last it sank to the snowy floor in subjection to the cougar’s strength. The enormous lion drove its teeth into the animal’s throat and dragged it down the mountain until it was obscured by a tuft of snow.

It was then that Keep recalled her mountain lion whistle, but of course by that time it wasn’t necessary. Thunderstruck John Mark moved his mouth, but no sound came out. Surprisingly Keep was able to speak once her heart started beating again.

“This has been…..more than an adventure. An adventure plus one, perhaps.”

John Mark nodded silently. “You just wait until I tell Ma ‘bout this,” he said in broken phrases. “She’ll jump to the ceiling.” Presently John Mark gathered his bearings. He allowed a long and suppressed sigh escape from his mouth, then he stuck his .22 in his leather bag and continued down the hill. Keep and Justus followed him.

************

The two children parted in Keep’s backyard where three feet of newly fallen snow covered the ground. Before saying their goodbyes, John Mark said, “Remember now, Hickory Lane. You come over sometime and we’ll climb that ol’ mountain again sure as shoelace.”

Keep smiled and replied softly, “I’ll do that real soon.” With this being exchanged, John Mark stole into the darkening street and made his way toward Hickory. It wasn’t long until he blended into the color of the night.

Keep faced the house to see that only Grandfather’s room was illuminated. Keep wondered what he thought of her being gone for all those hours. Considering it had been a true adventure, however, she escaped the fear of being apprehended. She could see that Rex was asleep on the porch despite the freezing conditions, as well as a silent cluster of birds that populated their small maple tree. Glad to be home, Keep cut through the sheet of snow as a pair of scissors slices through a bare white sheet. She thought if she could find an entire white field, unscathed, then she could have the possibility of drawing all over it, as if with a large black marker. Presently she arrived on the porch. She kicked off her boots with some difficulty and was compelled to quickly enter the house because of her soaked and frigid socks. The warmth of the house shocked her. She hadn’t realized that she had become immune to the cold. Shedding off layers of clothing Keep made her way to the kitchen where she spotted a small cupcake on their coffee table. A note was lying beside it. It read:

There’s nothing quite like going out into the world and seeing what things you can scrape up. I’m proud you are so outgoing, Keep, and I am proud to be your grandfather. I love you and God bless you. 

Keep’s lips reached upward in a smile as she finished reading the note. Grandfather knew where she had gone and was obviously greatly pleased she obtained the bravery to do it. Recalling the day’s events, Keep expelled a satisfied sigh, ate the cupcake in two bites, and crept into her room with the note clasped tightly in her hand. Wet, bedraggled, but happy nonetheless, Justus followed.

the end