Not the best egg layers but resilient. Now, I scope out six big brown eggs, mouthwatering, still warm against my palm. Breakfast of champions. “Much obliged.”
I poise the treasure in the basket, move on to the rabbits.
Bam! Bam!
The bucks’ back legs thump the bottoms of their cages, warning against Bear. They’re not nearly as friendly as the chickens. But then, Bear was raised around chicks, would never hurt one. Rabbits? A decidedly different story.
Inside their enclosure, I check the nesting boxes in the hutches. Great piles of fur move in the wood chips beneath. The sign of healthy babies. All well, all warm. Sometimes, they get too feisty, wander from the warmth of their mother’s nest. Then, I have to warm them on my chest or in my hands. Bring seemingly cold, dead babies back to life. Like a miracle.
Next, I check the hügelkultur mounds sloping in the distance. Corn, beans, squash. Three Sisters crops, my staples. The tall, papery, yellow husks still bear hidden treasures. Cobs that will continue drying in the warm persistence of each late autumnal afternoon.
But now, the focus is on cold-weather greens. Hardy vegetables like arugula, Swiss chard, kale. They thrive on the cooler, northern slopes of the mound. Root vegetables, too—carrots, beets, radishes, onions.
I grab a few tender clumps of kale and sorrel, taking the sour with the earthy. A handful of green onions and a few small yellow potatoes, like gems.
With the salt pork from last year, I’ve got a feast in the making. Good, sturdy breakfast. I can already hear the sizzle in the pan, the pop of bacon grease and smoke. Next to the greens, I add a clump of vibrant orange carrots. A treat for the does and bucks in the rabbit hutch on my way back to the cabin. The hens get the frilled, green tops.
A happy morning, a good morning with everything I could ever want. Balance between comfort and survival is a blade’s fine edge. Enough to keep me sharpened. Focused. Grateful for abundance, true abundance. Not the paper I chased in my twenties.
The woods go still first. Even the birds know when something unnatural comes creeping.
Golden light seeps through the mist and the shadow of the tall pines. Day begins to warm, the cold edge leaving the forest when I see it. A bright light in the distance. Disembodied, harsh, human.
We stalk down to the edge of my property. My stomach knots, fearful of the break in my silence, life from another place seeping into my carefully curated world.
Hot pink yoga pants. A mound of mahogany-highlighted, ebony curls piled in a messy bun, rich as the earth where I grow vegetables. Almond-shaped eyes, acorn brown skin, high cheekbones, sculpted lips. Curves for fucking days. The kind that could make me want more than I should. The kind that could disrupt my life, make tranquility, seclusion unsatisfactory.
She laughs into the stillness of the air. Light, airy, like blades of sun slicing through the dark forest. My pulse trips, traitorous. That sound doesn’t belong in these woods, yet it hooks something inside, tugs at the hollow ache in my chest.
I draw closer. She has no clue I’m here. No self or situational awareness. No sense of the natural world or her place in it. At the bottom of the damn food chain out here. I could be a mountain lion, a grizzly, a pack of wolves. She’d never see me coming.
She stands in front of a tripod, bites her bottom lip, hands shaking, white plume threading her words. Coaches herself to turn the camera on with a small remote. Then, she smiles large. Ring light on, straining against gloom. A camera where her instincts should be. Lord help me. Another city dreamer chasing “peace and purpose.” Never lasts. They all say they’re finding themselves out here—most just end up lost.
“Day three of my cabin restoration project?—”
I clear my throat, and Bear whines, tail wagging, walking towards her.
“Oh,” the woman gasps, eyes round and panicked. Then, a smile hits her lips, artless, brilliant. She’s sunshine in a place that eats it alive. “Hi.”
I grunt. Frown at the lovely woman who puts fire in my blood, squatting down and lavishing Bear in affection. Lucky dog. I whistle for him. He’s reluctant to respond, loving the feel of her dainty hands buried in his coat. Can’t blame him.
“He’s pulling a cart?” she beams. “Well, aren’t you adorable?” she says to him without waiting for my response.
I frown, though something inside my chest starts warming. A something better left cold. She must be staying in the neighboring old Wheeler cabin. Good luck with that.
I call him again, gruffer this time. He wheels toward me, head down.
“Hey!” she says louder, like I might have a hearing problem.
I shrug, flip back around with Bear at my side, cart raking along the dirt trail. Making large strides back toward my property, heavy-hearted at the break in my peace. Not enough rocks and dirt to fill this intrusion.
“You don’t talk much, huh?” she calls after me, voice as sweet as the bird song overhead.
Not when all I have is news she doesn’t want to hear. This little experiment of hers. Whatever she intends to do will only end one way. In tears—or worse. And damn me, I’ll probably be the one who has to save her.
Chapter
Two
