The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcomes it. John 1:15
Yep. It is urine.
Dehydration and the highest level of exhaustion in my lifetime wreaks havoc on my body.
No one notice. Please no one notice. I beg the room to turn me invisible.
Silently I blame the numbness and pray no one smells this new discovery.
Ted leans against the front door frame. I remain seated in a puddle. He says, “Well. Get some rest and just shut this front door good–both tonight and in the morning.”
Sunshine assures, “Oh, we absolutely will.”
“Ok. Good night.” Ted grins, then saunters toward the porch stairs to head back to The Creel House. Rain continues pouring beyond these old walls.
For now, we leave the solid door open. A screen door allows the flow of outside air and the sounds of drenched nature. I thank God for a bit of wind outside.
I take off boots and socks. I place the socks under my bottom.
Mentally I inventory what is left in my pack that could be useful. So much stuff is back in the bear box at Big Meadow. I have a pair of shorts that will work to sleep in overnight while my pants dry. I have a change of underwear and two pair of clean socks. Oh, and “Wilderness Wipes” to clean numb girl parts.
I miss out on the bliss happening four feet from me. Three fourths of the Steam Team glow pure joy through their sweat and dirt.
SunFloJo filters water from the creek. Stalker C and Sunshine eat and smile regarding our salvation. I hear Sunshine giggle words through cracker chewing, “Remember when Surrender was totally relaxed walking along the ridge and then snapped when we thought we were lost?!”
They mock together in unison, “We shouldn’t have crossed that #*&%@%^ river!” Laughter fills the tiny cabin built for a Prime Minister.
I half smile to blend in. No one can believe how lucky we feel right now as even more thunder and lightning fill the sky. Someone says, “We get to be dry tonight!”
Well, they may soon be dry.
I am not so sure about my situation. There will be no food for me until I recover. What should be easy to clean up is excruciating. My body shoot pins through my muscles every time I move an inch.
My socks are yellow. I roll them up and manage to stand. We do not have a sink to rinse anything, so I make my way along the wall, around the girls without getting too close. Surely by now their noses are consumed by their own body smells. A girl can hope.
Flip flops are near the top of my bag. I grab them. Out on the porch, I walk to a railing near the flowing creek below–one of the creeks that empties into the now infamous river.
Thank you, God, for this rain that acts as a faucet. I hold out the socks and wash them as best I can in the rain. The rain is so heavy that this is not a bad solution. Isn’t it interesting that the very thing (rain) that was a burden minutes ago is now the exact thing I need to accomplish a task?
Oh, my. Do I need to pee again? I think so. Man, I am messed up!
After rinsing and wringing multiple times, I determine that the best place for the socks is outside the cabin tonight. I leave them stretched on a wooden bench farthest from the door. Hopefully, that does not attract animals. Or maybe my scent will keep them away?
I hold up my hands to rinse them in the rain. I take the steps down to gravel and enter a path that leads closer to the creek. I wonder if Ted is watching from a distance.
Oh well. I cannot worry about him in this moment, and I cannot risk ruining these pants. I need to wear these on the hike tomorrow. Shorts might be good for dryness overnight, but pants in the deep woods is best. I stress about not falling off balance. My legs are weak, but my determination is strong.
I ponder the power of my Boy Scout pants. I think they will dry quickly. I thank God for fabric made for outdoor living.
SunFloJo comes outside for similar reasons. I go back inside and pause to keep the screen door from slamming. I observe there are three total rooms to this building other than some doors that have locks on them which may be closets.
I move my backpack to the room adjoining the main room. I dig out a Ziplock bag of clean underwear, new socks, and my shorts. I also grab the pack of Wilderness Wipes.
Walking into the main room where they still are eating, I announce, “I’m going to the back to change.”
“Ok.”
In the back room, I eye small cameras overhead in the corners of the room. Hmmm.
I put a clean sock over each camera—just in case. Perfect!
The white wooden windows have no curtains, but there are many evergreen branches touching the glass from the outside. I pull off clothes being careful to put dirty underwear inside a plastic bag. I read the instructions on the Wilderness package, clean up and put the used wipe in the plastic bag too. I remember “Leave no trace behind, aka leave no garbage. What you pack into the woods must come out of the woods, etc.” I do what I can with deodorant and accept the result.
Ahh, I feel a little better. My numbness may be awake again. The rest of me aches as if beaten by a baseball bat.
I return my belongings to the red backpack, thinking of Amy who allowed me to borrow it. She is among the friends and family who think we are out in the middle of the woods right now. Well, I suppose we are, just inside a building inside the woods. I wish I could tell them so they do not worry.
I stuff everything back in the pack except leave my pants out to dry. Surprisingly, the pants aren’t wafting any obvious odors. Thank God.
Finally, I can eat something.
“My Houdini needs attention,” Stalker C mentions. We giggle of course.
“Wilderness Wipes,” I offer.
“Me too,” say the other ladies. “Hygiene matters.”
We make a body cleansing station right on top a President Hoover history placard shelf. Team members take turns in the back room. Each time someone notices the socked cameras, we hear giggles. “Genius,” says SunFloJo.
Sunshine and SunFlo begin to tour the museum pictures and read signs in each room. I have been observing as well.
“Lou Henry Hoover was ahead of her time,” Sunshine says.
“Yes, she was. Looks like she graduated from Stanford with a Geology degree in 1898,” says SunFloJo.
“That’s where she met Herbert Hoover.” I chime in and read, “She was an avid outdoors person. She oversaw the design of Rapidan Camp and she spoke proficient Mandarin Chinese.”
Stalker C says, “What an amazing woman.”
“Check out some of her quotes,” SunFloJo points out. We read:
“The independent girl is truly of quite modern origin, and usually is a most bewitching little piece of humanity.”
“I majored in geology in college but have majored in Herbert Hoover ever since.”
“I was a Scout years ago, before the movement started, when my father took me fishing, camping and hunting. Then I was sorry that more girls could not have what I had. When I learned of the movement, I thought, here is what I always wanted other girls to have.”
“The independent girl is a person before whose wrath only the most rash dare stand, and, they, it must be confessed, with much fear and trembling. “
I think about how Lou Henry Hoover probably stood where we stand tonight. And how she helped lead the way for girls to earn college degrees long before the four of us in the room pursued our own education.
The lights in the three cabin rooms have motion sensors. If you sit still in the front and back rooms the lights will turn off. The small side room light where Stalker C’s and my stuff is; however, stays on no matter how still you sit.
Sunshine Rat and SunFloJo lay out their pads and sleeping bags in the front room.
“We technically should go in the back room,” I think out loud as we lay in the bright light.
Stalker C says what I also think, “Seems secluded back there, though. I’m afraid of the mice Ted hasn’t seen in a while.”
“Me too.” And I shouldn’t have added, “I’m afraid of why those mice are missing.”
Stalker C shivers, “Surrender.”
She sighs, “Darn snakes in the rafters next door. Wish Ted hadn’t mentioned those!”
“Exactly.”
“I can sleep with the lights on.”
“Me too.”
I look toward the front room where Sunshine and SunFloJo settle in to sleep. They practically cocoon. They know how to make the most of this roof and walls. My sleeping equipment won’t allow such a full body and head wrap like them. Even with an extra-long sleeping bag I do not fit all the way inside comfortably. I eye the wide hardwood planks and decide which location I will try to place the useless small mat to meet part of my body.
We may have walls, but they are old walls. I see the cracks and holes big enough for a mouse to enter. I hear the rain smack the porch wood about three feet from me. I lay right next to what I assume is a storage type room. A padlock and a light under the door are inches from my nose.
Stalker C lays next to me. On the other side of her is the doorway to the front room. We hear SunFloJo get in rhythm with dreamland Zzz’s. Sunshine and SunFlo are physically still long enough that their room light goes out.
Stalker C and I squirm to get comfortable in the light and harsh floor. At our feet is the door to the back room. The light goes out back there. We should try to sleep in there. But I just can’t.
Stalker C and I look at each other. I suspect we share the same thoughts. Something about that room isn’t quite right. She looks toward the back room, then at me and shakes her head “no”. I agree with a nod.
My eyes dart to the storage door next to me and then at the no longer used second porch door behind my head. My backpack sits near the unused door. I pull a brown buff up over my face. If something crawls on me, it is not touching my eyes, nose, ears, or mouth.
“Good night,” I muffle.
1:30AM-ish
I see light through my buff.
And I hear something.
Don’t move.
Eek. It sounds like a small animal is walking around or inside my backpack.
Like, a mouse. Or a rat!
I wait. I listen.
Scurrying continues. Buff still on my face, I contemplate the number of inches between the top of my head and the backpack. Not many. 25 inches. Maybe.
Is the scurrying inside only? Or are there paws moving around outside too?
Listen.
Still listening.
Lord! Help me! There is something on the outside wall. It sniffs and walks back and forth.
AND I hear the inside movement. Maybe. I am not sure if something is on the inside or just outside on the porch.
Whatever it is, is it going to get us?
US! I remember. Stalker C is still sleeping.
Stalker C told me once months ago that she cannot hear well out of one of her ears. Maybe I should not bother her. Or maybe she would want to be bothered so whatever it is does not crawl near her.
My heart pounds.
The fear takes over.
I sit straight up, buff still over my eyes.
My hand raises straight up and straight down onto Stalker C’s leg. I whisper through my buff, “Something. Is. Behind. Us.”
Thanks for reading. To listen to my podcast, please subscribe to Surrender On The Trail on your favorite podcast platform.
© Copyright 2016 Surrender On The Trail – Glenna S. Edwards
Glenna S. Edwards 