With loving strokes, April Heatherton brushed aside sun-parched fir needles from the old grave stone. Then she placed on it a bouquet of velvety pealed gold-brown daisies. Her Mason jar made a perfect vase. She stared down at the flat three-cornered rock surrounded by white stakes and a simple cross made of mossy sticks. Dappled sunlight flickered through the towering Douglas Firs as the July breeze whispered overhead. Suddenly the rustling of footsteps close by startled her. "Man alive! Look at those firs. They'll give us at least twice the board feet we got up north," a husky voice proclaimed. Heather's stomach dropped. Loggers...undoubtedly the ones from the neighboring town of Silton Pass nestled deep in the foothills of southwestern Oregon. Word had it they'd soon be clear-cutting the entire forest that blanketed North Creek Hill. The pit in her stomach grew deeper as realization took hold: her beloved hideaway--the unmarked pioneer grave--was alarmingly at risk. Why, in possibly only a matter of mere weeks, one more tract of forest would lay in shambles, downed timber scattered like pick-up sticks, the hillside carelessly gouged and barren! Instinctively she drew back into the shadows, hoping the undergrowth would hide her. She would confront the loggers, but not just yet, not until she'd had a chance to hear more of what they were saying. "Yeah, what a loggin' show," a second man said. His voice was mellow, not at all gruff like his partner's. April peered cautiously around the side of a stump, scarcely daring to breath. She caught sight of the two men as they stood, squinting up at the mammoth evergreens. The younger man, in his late 20s, she guessed, ran his hand through wheat colored hair, pushing back an unruly lock from his forehead. He was clean shaven. His black tee-shirt, cuffed at the sleeves, exposed his taunt, masculine biceps. "It's a cinch we'll get that contract," the older man said. About mid fifties or so, he had a dark stubble of beard, wore a red checked shirt, denim jeans and boots that came just below his knees. "Jake Thornburg told me most of the other companies were already backing out," he went on. "They're too small to hack the county's new land management requirements." "Right." The first man turned to meet the other's gaze and broke into the most engaging grin April had ever seen. Even white teeth flashed against tanned skin. "I heard Thornburg say he planned to check out this hillside in the whirly bird today. I bet he'll like what he sees." With that the two turned and began sauntering away. "Wait! Stop! Destroying the forests is wrong." April couldn't contain herself any longer. Her voice was filled with desperation as she lunged after them. "What the--" The younger man stopped mid-stride and tossed a look over his shoulder. "Well, looks as if we've got company," he drawled, his face splitting into a smile once again. His blue eyes flashed mischievously, his chin dimpled. "A bunny-hugger, no less. A good looking one too!" April flinched at the sound of the all-too-familiar term, a name many of the locals had tagged the environ-mentalists. "Don't call me a bunny-hugger!," she said hotly, new determination fueling her on. I'm merely taking a stand! The timber here on Northcreek Hill is one of the last old-growth forests in the entire coast range. In no time all our ancient forests will be gone. And most of all, there's the..." She broke off abruptly, her sentence remained unfinished as she gestured helplessly back at the grave site, well out of view. How could she make them understand? They'd only accuse her of exaggerated female sentiment. "We've heard all the arguments," the older logger said. "Salvage the dwindling salmon, protect the spotted owl....the list goes on and on.." He hitched his thumbs into his belt loops. "But you gotta know, lady, we're talkin' jobs here. Logging's been our bread and butter forever. And many of us, we've got wives and young 'uns to feed." "Yes, but it's high time to start thinking about our future." She drew in a ragged breath. The issues were complicated, posing a two-edged sword and April knew there were no easy answers. After all, the loggers were only doing what many of their fathers had done, and perhaps their father's fathers. "See ya later," the younger guy said, obviously eager to let the entire issue drop. He winked. "And try not to tangle with too many bunnies." She felt her cheeks flush with indignation as she turned to leave. Bunny-huggers indeed! Who had ever come up with such a stupid comparison? Well, one thing she knew for sure. She must--no matter what--protect the unmarked grave of the pioneer woman and the beauty of the surrounding woodland. This 100 acre tract of the Ramult County Forest bordered the back side of her family's property where her grandparents had settled to build their first home and plant a lucrative filbert orchard. Ever since she'd been a little girl, April had found every excuse imaginable to steal away about a half mile deeper into the forest to her own special retreat, a place where she was free to day-dream, write poetry, and muse about nothing in particular. Some of her friends had had their tree houses. Others found their special places in musty old attics. But every chance possible, April always returned to the pioneer woman's grave. For as long as she could remember, she'd brought with her bouquets of wild flowers, especially in late summer. During the golden days of autumn, she would often gather succulent Chanterelle mushrooms that grew close by. In winter, empty-handed, she'd brush away the brown parched leaves from the gravesite, much as she'd just whisked away the sweetly scented fir needles. April turned and began trudging towards home. A blue jay shrieked, sassing a crow. Breathing in the woodsy smells, she felt the tension flow from her body. She glanced at the sun as it slanted over the crest of the hill. Shadows were falling, making the dense slopes appear even darker. A bluish haze hung over them. She glanced down at her pager she'd clipped to her belt loop, then quickened her pace. The sight of it always served as a poignant reminder. She was a volunteer firefighter, and took her responsibilities seriously. And if she didn't hurry right now, she might chance showing up late for tonight's drill at the fire station--and subject to further razzing from the firemen who had been convinced she couldn't complete the rigorous training. At the beginning of the summer, shortly after her twenty-sixth birthday, April had sucessfully completed her training at the local department and now claimed the distinction of being the second woman in the history of Wolf Hollow to have done so. Her best friend, Donna Walgren, had been the first. April came to the fork in the trail that led to the bottom of the hill. The firs gave way to sparse groves of madronnas, dotted with occasional oaks. The Heatherton home--which she'd eventually inherited from her grandparents--was a large clapboard structure with a day-light basement. It lay wedged against the eastern slope of North Creek Hill. April, an only child, had been raised by Gram and Gramps after her parents had been killed in a motorcycle accident when April was only 3. Grandmother had always held fast to a solemn reverence for the natural earth and her belief in a simple way of life. April would always treasure the memory of sitting with Gram, especially the rare times her grandmother had accompanied her to the gravesite. There she'd recited stories about the forests and animals, plus the settlers who had journeyed on the Oregon Trail. As April grew to be a young woman, she pursued a teaching career, with a double major in biology and American history. What better way to pass on the ideals that bonded the past and the present, she'd decided. What better way to honor everything the unknown pioneer woman exemplified. Now the late afternoon sun sweltered unmercifully as April approached a clearing. Perspiration ran down her face in rivulets. She paused to lift her long auburn hair and allow the breeze to fan her neck and face. The sound of the rushing creek close by tempted her to stop and dangle her feet in the refreshing spring water as she'd done so many times before, but she knew she must keep moving on. In less than thirty minutes the department fire drill would begin. All summer the weather had been hot and dry, and the risk for fires at an all time high. At the previous meeting, Joe Sampson, the fire chief had underscored the importance of near perfect attendance. In the distance the drone of a helicopter broke into her thoughts. She jerked her head back, shading her eyes with her hand while the copter hovered like a giant mosquito above the treetops. She recalled the men talking about the logging company's plans to check out the hillside by air. Once again the realization jolted her. It was definitely going to happen: soon they'd be clear cutting North Creek Hill. She swallowed hard against the rising lump in her throat. With a whir of the silvery blades, the copter lowered momentarily, long enough for her to read the inscription on its side. Johnson Brothers Logging. Then, almost as quickly as it had appeared, the copter lifted and vanished over the next rise. |
