Sowing on the Mountain

≈ 6 ≈

The owners of the lodge were nice: Sam was a rotund figure in faded jeans with a beaming, weathered face and Arlene a whippy brunette with a harried expression. As she tucked into a thick burger, she'd asked about Deirdre and they looked at each other and then rolled their eyes.

"You mean Princess Dee?" Arlene said. "This is her second season up here and she made quite an impression last year. Her husband's a decent guy, though."

"They've got the guard station done up like a summer cabin, with a ratty bunkroom upstairs for the hired help. I guess I can sleep in the hay barn."

"There's an old Forest Service line shack in the Opening. Maybe you could clean it out and stay there."

"Didn't see it driving up."

"It's hidden in the woods. As you go south, about a quarter mile from the fork, look for a two-track striking off left. Where it splits go right. There's a wire gate. You can see the shack from there. Don't think it's been used for some time."

"Cool! Thanks. I'll stop by when I head into the backcountry, to see what's going on."

She fed Gris the last scrap of burger and loaded him up, then drove south and made the two turns. The wire gate had a Forest Service lock on a chain. She could see the shack up the hill, half hidden by lodgepole pines. The road looked rocky, so she let Gris out and walked up.

It was a CCC building, with tongue-in-groove board walls and a shingled roof. She'd seen others around the Forest, mostly decrepit. This one looked spruce on the outside, with the regulation barn red paint and white trim. There was a concrete stoop with 1937 inscribed in one corner. She opened the screen and slipped her key into the tumbler lock, which turned grudgingly, and stepped inside.

It smelled mousy, a piss-musty odor that rose from nests and droppings. There was a window on each side, with a single glass-paned door, a two-plate coal stove, a sink, a cupboard with a fold-up table, a propane refrigerator, a four-burner gas range, and the usual steel army bunk. Mice had burrowed into the mattresses and extracted wads of stuffing, which were strewn and heaped in the corners. She could be happy here, if she could get rid of the stink.

Gris was roaming outside and dashed up to her, muzzle wet. So there must be a nearby stream or spring. Judging from the sink and faucet, there was probably a springbox, but she'd bet the pipes were rusted out.

She started a list: bucket, broom, mop, scrub brush, dish soap, cleanser, some sort of deodorizer, waterpail, dipper, mattresses— she'd seen a bin-full in the warehouse in town. She lifted a plate on the coal stove to see if wood could be burned in it. It would have to be loaded through a top plate, which would smoke, but she wouldn't need it in summer anyhow. She had two more work days and then three days off before starting her hitch, so she'd get what supplies she could at Dutch Joe and pitch in tomorrow. She had another training session at the office on Monday and could get mattresses then, along with a grocery run. Sam and Arlene had invited her to the Lodge tomorrow for breakfast, and she had some canned stuff and noodles, besides the food for her wilderness hitch, which she could stash up here.

Before leaving she peered into the main cupboard which, as she hoped, showed no evidence of mice. Under the sink was another cupboard and a heap of ancient mousetraps. She went to the car for a spoonful of peanut butter and baited about twenty, slipping them into nooks and corners.

There. She looked out back for a spring and found it, draining to a little creek. While Gris lapped cold water, she scrubbed her hands with glacial grit to purge the mouse taint. The lid for the springbox was covered with moss and had plants growing from it. She managed to pry it up and found the box filled in with silt— it would have to be completely replaced to get water into the pipes, which she couldn't even see. Probably filled in with silt and rusted. A place that wasn't lived in went to hell pretty quickly.

At Dutch Joe, she parked behind the shop, out of sight, and tethered Gris back in the woods. Arlene had cautioned her about Deirdre's penchant for carrying tales to the front office so it was better to keep the dog unseen for now. She decided to scrounge up what she could here and drive back up to camp by the little shack. No point in carrying her stuff upstairs.

In the shop closet and shower house, she found most of what she'd need, including some cleanser and window spray. She went to the station to let Deirdre know she wouldn't be staying, and grab her duffel. Princess Dee was boiling the fresh pasta and stirring a pot of aromatic sauce. Her warning glance, and the lack of an invitation to dinner, convinced Mary that the kitchen would be off-limits for some time, maybe forever.

"I'll be camping up the road until I start my hitch," Mary said, and hurried out. As she pulled out, with Gris huddled on the floor, she could see sharp eyes peering through the kitchen window. Trouble, she thought.