Rest

The coldest time of the night is actually in the early morning hours, right around five a.m. I remember, it was black as tar and my body was nearly rattling with shivers when I felt its welcome warmth on my chest.

Do you remember the time the cougar showed up outside the cabin door in the middle of the night? I think you were there that night, Beanie. Remember old Cinnamon? How that dog froze under the bed, so terrified, and Jack had to coax her out with a piece of bacon the next morning?

Well, I’ll never forget the cry of that cat, the way it screamed out into the night, blood-curdling cries. I remember Jack whispering in my ear that maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so thrifty in his choice of building materials. He was terrified that cat was going to claw its way right on through the walls and tear us apart!

Well, sometime in the early morning hours, when it was absolutely the coldest it was ever going to get, my body started shivering uncontrollably. I was aware of it, yet not, at the same time. I was so cold, every inch of my body ached, and my teeth chattered. I remember a shiver running through me that I thought would cause the end of me. It was so violent, and I was so cold. And just about then, when I felt I would probably die of exposure, I had the strangest encounter with the most unlikely creature.

Now, I know this is questionable, but there I was, drifting in and out of sleep, shivering and rattling like the old bag of bones that I am, when the strangest thing happened.

I felt warm breath on my face, and whiskers tickled me. I heard the soft humming of a cat’s purring as it nudged my face with its own. There was no strength in me to so much as lift an arm and scratch its ear, but the cat didn’t seem to mind. It just kept nudging and purring like a little motor.

Next thing I know, there’s a heavy fur blanket stretching out on me, right down the length of my body. It was so wonderfully warm, and it kept purring as it pushed its face against mine over and over. I know I was supposed to scratch its ears. After all, that’s what cats like best, but I was unable to so much as lift a finger. So, I just kept drifting in and out of sleep, enjoying the welcome warmth and weight of this big ol’ cat.

I thought about Ollie, Stan and Willie’s cat I’d seen in the rocker on their porch earlier that day. Had it been the same day? It was hard to know, hard to imagine. Well, I wondered if this big ol’ cat lying on me, purring away, was Ollie. Could The Good Lord have sent Ollie up the old logging road to keep me from freezing to death? Well, anything is possible, but Ollie was just a little house cat. I may have been dreaming, Beanie, but this cat was no house cat. I do believe I was grinning from ear to ear! How many people have a big old wild cat keep them warm in the bitter cold of the early morning hours?

I slept, the cat and I did. Every now and then I would feel it move just a bit, the purring never ending. And then it was daylight. The cat was gone, and the sun was coming up.

I was so confused, not knowing for sure if I was dead or alive. I couldn’t feel the cold any longer. But I felt the earth, and I could smell the richness of the soil. And I could hear voices somewhere in the distance, people hollering. It didn’t occur to me that it was a strange thing to hear people’s voices in a place where I was the only human being. I was so tired. I closed my eyes and drifted in and out for a while.

You remember that old log cabin across the road by the community center, Beanie? Did I ever tell you about the little girl that lived there?

Well, I’ve felt such guilt over that little girl. You know, back in those days, people didn’t interfere with the way children were raised. Calling child protective services was unthinkable. In fact, I don’t even know if there was child protective services back then.

Anyway, for some reason I got to thinking about the little girl living in that old log cabin and the man that was always there with her. I suppose he was her father; I don’t know. But he was always so drunk. Just falling-down drunk, and the girl’s mother was never to be seen. I think maybe she went to work every day, and the poor little girl was left in his care. How any mother could do that is beyond me. He was a horrible man.

I wanted to pick up that child and run off with her every time I saw her. He’d yell at her to get in the house and do this and do that, and then he’d holler at anyone walking by. He’d say, “What you lookin’ at?” and “You got no business here.” I often wonder whatever happened to her, Beanie. Whatever happened to that child?

I got thinking about your crazy uncle, too. How he had that lady friend living with him with the flaming red hair and those yappy poodle dogs she took everywhere with her.

Do you remember how he and your grandpa would go out fishing early on Saturday mornings and catch a bucket full of perch? They’d bring ’em back and clean ’em and then dip them in a batter of flour and salt and pepper. Then they’d fry ’em up in butter and onions and bacon, and we’d eat every last one of ’em.

Do you remember how delicious those little fish were, Beanie? That was always the best meal of the week for me. Those wonderful little perch with the sweet tender meat and all the bones I was afraid you kids would choke on. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the wonderful aroma as it crept up the cabin stairs and into our bedrooms, invading our sleep.

For some reason, these were the kinds of things that were passing through my mind that morning, all the while people’s voices were calling out in the distance.

And then my thoughts moved on to you and that old tank and the valve your shirt got wrapped around. I thought about what a freak accident that was, and then I got to wondering why it happened in the first place, and what was the purpose of it all?

The voices seemed to be growing louder, coming closer, yet my mind drifted farther and farther away. I couldn’t hold myself in the present.

I was looking at a tiny snail on the bark of the tree I was pressed up against. It crept ever so slowly, hardly moving at all, yet leaving a tiny trail behind. My face was so close to the bark of the tree that I could smell everything about it. There is a difference between bark on a tree that is still living and the smell of bark from a fallen tree. It’s barely noticeable, but it is definitely there, and it caught my attention somehow that day. It brought to mind changes, so many changes we are given no choice but to accept as life moves forward, towing us along.

If the bark had been on a living tree, there would still be the scent of green, even if it were an old, old tree.

But a fallen tree has richness to the scent, like a wine that has been aged to perfection and speaks of being fully ripe. Not in a bad way, you see, but in a regal way. A way that says the massive ropey roots did all they were expected to do. They held up the mighty trunk and anchored it firmly in place for the time allotted by the earth.

The bark protected what was vulnerable and grew in thick, sticky layers so the tree could climb higher and higher, offering its branches as a resting place for birds, a home to many.

I inhaled the scent of the bark, my nose pressed up against it, and was filled with the realization of a completed existence. My, but how the earth provides in every way.

The sense of smell is such a beautiful sense. You know the scent of a newborn baby? That sweet fragrance that only newborns have. I don’t even know how to describe it, it’s so wonderful. I lay there by the tree, lost in the scent of a baby’s tiny head, the soft fuzziness and the intoxicating smell. Just breathing it in made me feel so happy and so warm.

I could still hear voices in the distance, but they were farther away now. So far away, but I didn’t care. There was nothing as wonderful as the scent I was inhaling all the way down to the bottoms of my feet. Nothing like babies. So soft and warm and pure. Not a trace of the world on ’em in those first few months. Just sweetness and innocence and goodness like nothing else God ever made.

I felt each one of my children in my arms, lying on my chest, snuggled up under my chin. I inhaled their perfume and laid my cheek on their delicate little heads, gently rubbing my face over the fuzzy little hairs, smiling, happy as I’ve ever been. I vaguely remember being relieved that the voices were gone. They would surely ruin this perfect memory.

The snail was almost next to my eyes, only inches away. There was a time when the boys and I would walk through the forest after a summer rain for the simple purpose of finding snails such as this one. They came out from under the leaves and pine needles and all their hiding places after a good summer rain.

The shape of their shells was so intriguing. We never stopped wondering at the beauty in the tightly wound swirl that made up a shell. And how the snail itself could completely disappear into its home with barely a trace, fooling us into thinking the house was empty.

Yet, there was always evidence of its existence. You see, the snail leaves a tiny trail of slime behind as it goes throughout its life. A nearly invisible trail, but a trail all the same.

You can follow the travels of each individual snail by what they leave behind.

I believe each creature, no matter its size, leaves behind something useful to the earth and its inhabitants. I have no idea what the purpose of the snail’s slimy little trail is. Maybe it’s food for some insects or some such thing. But it was a challenge to see how far a trail could be followed before it was lost in the busyness of the forest. Not far, I’ll admit, but far enough to wonder where it had come from and where it was going.

It was a very simple example of legacy. We all leave a trail behind as we wander our way through the maze of life, only to discover in the end how our actions, our attitudes, and our judgments affected those whose path we shared. Who could have known a lesson could be learned from something as simple as a snail?

The snail faded away, as did the bark of the tree. Soon, I could only see what was in my mind’s eye.

Adeline continues next week with Chapter Eleven.