Chapter 2

In the morning I heard the sound of a woman talking, people walking, a lock being unlocked, and a door to a trailer being opened.  I pulled aside my green flower curtains and saw Tammy showing the antique trailer across from mine to a young couple.  The couple both wore jean shorts.  His were cut off and he had a chain wallet hanging from them.  The young woman did most of the talking but after consulting with him, they decided they would like to live in the red trailer on the other side of the camp because it offered more privacy and was closer to the bathroom. 

The couple left, presumably to gather their things and a little while later Fred came down to the camp as he did every day to turn on the radio inside the shelter he used as a Marine’s hangout.  I’d learned that Ted was a Marine drill Sergeant who had been to Vietnam, came back and sought adventure as a unique game hunter going after such prized trophies as the white doll sheep and of course, Bigfoot.  We spoke a bit about the property and his desire to grow a huge cannabis garden for the profits.  His helper, Kenny, was another old Marine, and apparently had connections to sell whatever he grew.  He said he had it all worked out with the sheriffs to look the other way too.  They had done that before.  I told him I had the “prop 215” license to grow cannabis in California as I had acquired it as a necessity to purchase dispensaries in Hollywood, where I had previously been living.  He said I was the only one that had one but that I should tape it up in my window so everything looks on the up and up.  I mentioned that Tammy had brought two people down to look at the trailers earlier.  He got mad saying that only he was supposed to show the trailers because that’s how bad people end up getting in here.  On cue, the new couple came down the trail and into the field towards their new home, the red trailer.  They now had two dogs with them, traveling packs, and garbage bags of stuff.  They introduced themselves as Derek and Mandy.  Derek was thirty with shifty eyes and missing two front teeth.  Mandy was decently pretty but rough and with an inbred looking chin.  Both of their dogs got loose and Derek went off chasing them.  Mandy laughed and Fred along with her as he relished the sound of a female voice.

It was Sunday, so I dressed in a sport coat and went to church at the Willow Creek Church, a single story wooden building on the East side of town.  The Preacher played bass while his wife played drums to some modern sounding hymns.  He read from the book of Revelation, specifically Chapter 17 and then spoke of the problems within the community.  He prayed and asked the small congregation to voice their petitions.  A young girl asked that her brother be cured of the giardia he had contracted from drinking dirty creek water.  A middle aged woman asked for help for her teenage son who was taken to the hospital after being tricked into smoking meth in a cannabis joint that week.  Another middle aged woman asked for help with her cancer.  Another middle aged woman sought help regarding her son’s heroin addiction.  Another, a young woman, pleaded for help with her husband’s heroin addiction as he hung his head next to her.

Following the service, I walked back through town and stopped at the grocery store.  After checking out, I was stopped by Tara, the woman from the Community Center.  “Did you find a place here?”  She asked, surprised to still see me in town. 

“Yes.”  I replied simply.  She looked at my clothes and noticed I was dressed up. 

“Are you coming from Church?”  She asked.

“Yes, I went to the Willow Creek Church.”  I responded.  She told me that she attended a small Catholic Church in the town 12 miles North on a Native American reservation called Hoopa.  She invited me to attend.  I told her I would.  She explained that she sang and played Mass on guitar.  I told her that I was also Catholic and that I also played guitar and had brought one with me.  She insisted I play with her at Mass.  I agreed.  I also told her I’d stop in to the Community Center that week to make good on my promise to volunteer.

I walked back down Highway 69 to the Willow Creek motel.  The Willow Creek Bridge sign had an old coat hanging on it.  Dirty Clothes hung in the tallest branches of a huge tree next to the bridge.  There was litter everywhere.

Back at the trailer camp, I spoke to Fred a bit more about some local physical challenges that  he might suggest.  “You think you’re tough?”  He asked me.  “Then go next door and run the old airstrip ten times.  That’s five miles.  I do it everyday.  You do that and you’re tough.” 

The next morning I went next door as Fred suggested to the Big Rock Park.  The park was the airstrip, partially turned into a parking lot and sparse woods separating it from a river beach.  Next to the park was a quarry storage area with piles of stones and dirt and old highway barriers.  I ran the airstrip then walked back to my trailer passing by the red trailer and Derek and Mandy who were busy doing nothing.  Their dogs were loose and running around the trailer camp.

I got cleaned up then went into town and stopped into the Community Center.  I informed Tara I was there to fulfill my promise to volunteer.  She thought for a moment and then suggested I could go clean up some heavy debris that had been sitting on town property just outside of town.  I agreed.   As I walked out of the Community Center, a man wearing shorts and a straw cowboy hat was waiting for me.  He had heard me talking to Tara inside.  He said his name was Slate and that he knew everything there was to know around town.  He said he could show me where the debris was too.  He led me through town, down the back road that leads to the Kimtu Beach Park, behind the business plaza, and up onto a cleared off hill.  There he showed me some big pieces of metal siding.  Together we moved the siding to the dumpster area behind the business park.  We picked up some more litter together before I returned to the Community Center to report back the completed task.  Tara was both thrilled and surprised that this task had been accomplished so quickly after years of inaction.  I asked her what else I could do for her or the town.  She didn’t think long before confiding about the troublesome and messy transient camps in the woods and that I could perhaps help with that.  I told her that I had seen the litter and the camps and would begin cleaning up the woods tomorrow.  I told her I’d take Slate with me.

When I arrived into town the next morning, Slate was already waiting for me.  He promised to show me all the popular transient camping sites along the Willow Creek.  We walked through the creek side park and to the banks of the creek.  He showed me a few currently unoccupied spots along the creek and underneath the willow creek bridge.  There was litter and camping trash everywhere.  Along the trail, we came to a tent, quivering with an occupant. 

“Is this usually here?”  I asked Slate.

“No, must’ve just went up.”  Slate said. 

A middle aged woman unzipped the tent and came out as she heard us talking.  “Who are you guys?”  She asked .

“We work for the town.”  I responded.  “We are cleaning up the woods.  There is no camping allowed in these woods along the creek.”

“Well, where am I supposed to go?”  She asked like it was her long term home.

“Where’d you come from?”  Slate asked, “You weren’t here yesterday.” 

“I can’t leave.  I have too much stuff to carry”  She said.

“We can help you carry your stuff out of here.”  I said.

“No, I can do it myself!” She said. 

“Ok.  But we will come back to check.”  I said.

“What does that mean?  I don’t know.  If you guys are out here who else could be?  Fine.  I’ll leave.”  She said.

“Do you need us to help you carry your stuff?”  I asked as Slate was already breaking down her tent. 

“No, I can do it myself.”  She loaded her stuff onto a little wire cart and wheeled it along the trail and out of the woods. 

Slate and I continued on the trail.  The end of the trail brought us to the Willow Creek Beach opposite Fred’s trailer camp.  Slate pulled an apple out of his cargo shorts pocket and held a lighter to it then offered it to me.  I declined but him some buds which he put into his apple pipe, lit up, and puffed into a cloud into the woods.  He said he’d remain in the woods and so I went to the Community Center to again report the completed task to Tara.  I asked her again if there was any more I could do.  She mentioned that there were large dangerous transient camps deep in the woods that had been a problem for the town for years.  I told her I had seen these camps and that I would go there tomorrow.  Before returning to my trailer, I stopped at the small thrift store located in the business park where I purchased a metal hand bell which I painted black. 

The next morning, I dressed in a simple uniform which I would wear to patrol the woods consisting of a button down black shirt, black jeans, black canvas combat boots, and a black cap with a white buffalo on it.  I met Slate in town and informed him of our mission to confront and clear the camp deep in the woods.  We walked together the mile to the woods and then back through the trail I had visited earlier that week.  After another half mile on the wooded trail, we came to the encampment which was active.  There were numerous tents with people zipped up inside and others lounging on the dirt furniture.  I rang my black bell indicating that we were approaching but meant no harm.  A tent unzipped revealing two young men and a woman inside.  They came out of the tent to greet us with another young man who appeared from behind a tarp wall.  The other tents shook from the people inside straining to get a look or hear what was going on.  I informed them that these woods were being cleared and that all camps were being taken down.  I explained that the creek they were overlooking and draining into was the drinking water source for the town.  I pointed out some of the piles of waste nearby and explained that this was being carried into the creek by rainwater.  I explained that they too had drank this water.  The young men showed concern and whether feigned or genuine, they insisted that they had only been brought to the camp by others recently and did not make it.  They said they were willing to leave but needed a few days to figure out where to go or to find work.  I agreed to three days but told them I would come back in the night. 

Having completed our task for the day, Slate went back into town, leaving me in the woods to clean up the trash I had seen on our tour the previous day.  I spent a few hours and carried loads of trash and debris out of the woods and up to the highway near the trail all the transients use.  On a large piece of debris I wrote in black marker “All Camps on the Willow Creek have 24 hours to clean up and move on.  I will come in the night.”  I made a similar sign on paper and posted it to the board at the bus stop in town.  I once again saw the three young men from the encampment now lounging in the downtown park. 

At 3am the next morning, I left my trailer, walked across the street, up the mountain, down the driveway, across the split tree bridge to the waterfall beneath the cliff where the encampment was located.  For a few agonizing minutes I rang my bell frantically so it could be heard through all the woods and especially at the encampment on top of the cliff. 

The next day, I stopped at the Community Center to check in with Tara.  She said that a group of young men had stopped in so they could get garbage bags for cleaning up the woods and to look for job leads.  “Are there any jobs here?”  I asked.

She laughed.  “Not the kind of job they’re looking for.”  Tara explained.  “These people camping in the woods are here to try to get jobs trimming on the farms but there’s no trimming until September or October.  That’s harvest season.”  She further explained that transients and farmers used the town as a temporary employment center.  Transients would camp in the woods and hangout in the town during the day until a cannabis farmer would come to hire them to trim and process their harvest.  Usually the farmer would transport the trimmers to his farm where they would live until the end of the season then the transients would leave the area with money and weed.  The camps in the woods of Willow Creek had been a problem for years as the property adjoining the town land was owned by a corporation that did nothing to manage it.  Where previously transient trimmers would temporarily camp in the woods at night until they got picked up and taken to a farm, the occupants of the camp deep in the woods had become more permanent and were ruining the town by dirtying up the streets and parks during the day while camping on the creek at night and polluting the water and woods year round.  These unregulated camps attracted bad people who were responsible for bringing in the heroin and meth that was plaguing the community.  I told her I was working to remove the camps from the woods and that the young men were campers at the large encampment.  She shrugged and laughed at my enthusiasm but was appreciative.

                 When I returned to the Willow Creek Motel, I found a new neighbor moving into the trailer across from mine.  He introduced himself as Michael and explained that he was a shaman and a cannabis grower with many years experience in the area.  He said planned on growing a small garden next to his trailer this year.  I confessed my desire to do the same thing and my lack of experience so we arranged to attach my small growing operation to his, whereby I would pay him and he would get me the same plants, soil, and nutrients he was using and he would lead me through the process.  I told him that my personal smoking supply was running low as it had been over a week since I’d purchased some at a dispensary on the coast.  He said he’d be back and within minutes, he returned, told me to open my hands, and dumped a pile of dried cannabis buds into them. 

                            That night, I decided I would begin a regular patrol of the woods.  I drew a map of the wooded areas around the Willow Creek with markers on the specific campsites that Slate had shown me.  I planned to visit all of these sites each day and make sure they were empty of campers and clean.  I collected some pieces of heavy bark and painted the image of an eye on them.  The next morning I began my patrol by checking on and cleaning each of the sites.  After each site was clear, I climbed a tree and hung up an eye as a marker for me and a deterrent for future transient campers.  I saved one for the large encampment that I planned to put up after it was clear.

                            I went into town where I spotted the young men from the encampment lounging in the park next to the museum.   Without speaking to them, I immediately went back into the woods and to the encampment.  When I arrived at the site, I saw that most of the tents were gone.  The tarps, blankets and trash remained.  The clothes and belongings of the young men were strewn about.  The box of garbage bags from the Community Center was on the ground, unopened but with a note written in marker for me indicating they had plans to come back and clean everything.  I ignored their note, opened the box of bags, and rapidly set to work.  I gathered all the actual belongings I could discern, and stuffed it into two bags.  The remaining bags I used to clean up the cardboard, beer cans, food containers and everything else that had accumulated from years of camping and partying.  I took down the tarps and blankets then untangled the twig and tree walls they had constructed.  I used large stones to break up the hardened dirt furniture.  In order to make the site look wild again, I scattered leaves and brought in freshly fallen branches.  Then I carried all bags of trash to the edge of the woods then went back to cover up the trail.  I then left the woods and carried the bags back through the park and up to the highway where the young men were returning.  I handed them the two of the stuffed garbage bags that contained their belongings and clothes.  “Everything else is gone.  There is no more camp.  You can go back there if you want but you won’t even recognize the camp.  I took it all down.”  I said.  They looked shocked.   I handed them a bag of cannabis from my pocket and five dollars each.  “There’s no work here until harvest season which isn’t for months.  You’ll have an easier time trying to find something back on the coast.  The next bus leaves at 3:30.”  I told them.  They graciously took all that I offered, thanked me and began to leave.  “Hey,” I couldn’t resist. “Have you guys seen that bell I had around?  I dropped it out here that day I met you.”  They looked at each other, surely remembering the maniacal bell ringing in the night.  The following day, I returned to the encampment which was untouched.  I climbed a tree and hung up an eye.

Chapter 4

After the meeting, I reported about the meeting to Tara at the Community Center then walked through town, cleaning up the litter.  Derek and Mandy dragged their two dogs down the main street and stopped to greet me in front of the museum.  Derek pulled out a thick pre-rolled joint, stuck it in his mouth, tilted his head to the side and lit it.  He pulled a few deep breaths through it, making the tip glow red and the white paper turn dark.  He blew a huge cloud into the air.  He puffed again while Mandy asked me where I had been and I answered.  Derek held out his arm and the joint to me.  I gently declined which caused Derek’s eyes to cinch and face to crinkle with suspicion.  “Here Mama, take this joint!”  Derek near shouted. 

“What?  No.  What are you doing smoking a joint in the middle of town?”  Mandy responded.  Derek scowled at me.

“Getting high Mama.”  Derek said with some resistance to her.  I left them to their joint and dogs with the true excuse of running errands.  Knowing that they would not be there, I investigated the closed burger restaurant that I’d seen them sitting in front of.  I didn’t find anything except an empty restaurant, which being closed, amounted to 25 feet of sidewalk that I figured Derek considered an unclaimed piece of territory on the main street of town and therefore his.

Back at the Willow Creek Motel, Michael was eager to inform me that our clone plants (beginner cannabis plants started from the cut off branch of another plant) would be arriving tomorrow.  That evening, I attended quiet prayer time at the Willow Creek Church where I could see the preacher’s description from Revelation 17 as Jesus’ procession into Jerusalem in a vision on the white walls of the church.  After that I went to the Forks Tavern.  There I had three beers, tipped heavy, and saw Derek’s new business partner acting drunk and weird until the bartender kicked him out.

The next day, Derek and Mandy told those who would listen around the trailer camp that their friend had left town.  Almost instantly, another man appeared.  This one was named Jason.  He was a young forty with greying hair and energy to party.  He moved into Derek and Mandy’s small trailer but now the three of them were outside smoking cigarettes, weed, and some cannabis sludge that Derek had created by soaking weed trimmings in butane.  The two men drank beer and vodka.  It was getting warmer now so Derek was shirtless. 

The same day, the clone plants I had ordered with Michael were delivered to the motel.  A few hours after I had given him one hundred dollars, he knocked on my trailer door.  When I stepped out of my trailer, he showed off ten plastic pots each with a different strain of cannabis plant growing about a foot tall.  Another ten were arranged outside of his trailer.  We tucked them away inside our trailers and walked to the Landscaping Supply Store on highway 299 just outside of town to the East.  There we purchased our big bags of soil, 30 gallon plastic planting bags, and various nutrients including bat guano.  We paid one of the young workers to use his pickup truck to drop the soil off at the motel and then we walked back to begin preparing our gardens.  I opted to plant half of mine directly in the ground and dug five holes about two feet deep in the area which Fred had designated as my garden area.  This area was not next to my trailer but instead was about 30 feet from away with two sheds and an empty trailer in between.  In the area directly adjacent to my trailer, I built two large wooden planter boxes and set out two of the plastic planter bags.  Later, the motel tenants watched as we opened a gate and let the pick up truck loaded with bags of soil idle down the path to the trailer camp.  As Michael and I unloaded, Derek watched from a distance with a jealous scowl. 

I filled the holes, planter boxes, and plastic planter bags with the soil and transplanted the cannabis clones into the fresh soil.  I taped a copy of my California 215 license on my trailer window after first blacking out my name.  Fred informally inspected what we had done and approved.  He said his plants would be coming soon.  Though he hadn’t yet begun his growing operation, that evening Derek hosted a “Season Opening” party outside his trailer.  I stayed in my trailer listening as he howled long into the night, continuously raising his beer bottle up to toast himself and how much he was going to grow this season.

In the morning, I filled up water jugs at the hose spigot and poured it out on each of my new plants.  After that, I ran over to the airstrip.  Instead of just the airstrip, I found enjoyment in running an obstacle course of the old highway equipment next to it.  I balanced on pipes, hopped over rails, and climbed the stacks of concrete barriers that were all set up in a line.  After that I went back to my trailer, took a nap, then showered in the outhouse.  I put on my uniform, then walked up the road, crossed the bridge and cut down the trail underneath the bridge.  Even with my patrol, I would often find temporary camps made up between the framing of the bridge.  I found a bed of cardboard boxes, picked them up, and carried them out.  I dropped the bag and the cardboard in the dumpster at the Town Services Building.  I went inside and introduced myself to the secretary, a woman in her 40’s.  Otherwise the place was empty as she said it usually was except for meetings.  I continued on to town and cleaned the main street, side street and the back streets.  I returned the shopping carts strewn about the grocery store parking lot then went to the bus stop. 

The bus was the major mode of access for the transients that came to Willow Creek.  It would come to and from the coast in the morning and afternoon on weekdays.  Those people getting off in the afternoon were there to stay the night or the entire weekend if it was a Friday.  I had learned that I could cut the transients off before they set up camps in the woods by meeting them as soon as they got off the bus and letting them know that I was watching these woods.  There weren't any transients on today’s bus. 

The next day, I put on jeans, a shirt, and a pair of shoes knotted just once.  I walked across the bridge, through town, took the back street and followed it around the mountain and back toward the Kimtu Park river beach.  While walking on the road, I felt a slap on my back.  Slate pedaled a bicycle and looked back at me and smiled.  He rode on.  I passed by a baseball diamond where a game was going on.  A couple deputies stood watching.  One I recognized from the council meetings so I approached him and introduced myself.  He told me his name was Sheriff Gary.  I showed him my license and briefly told him my story, permitting him to check into my past if he liked since I was new in town and recognized the uniqueness of my volunteer work. 

When I reached the beach, there were people there wading and lounging on the sand and rocks.  It was early May so the water was flowing and cold.  Without hesitation or preparation, I walked into the water until I was chest high in the center of the river.  The people on the beach watched as I began to swim away with the slow current.  The water was far colder than I expected but the motion of swimming was warming me and the current was slow enough to take a break.  I attempted to put my feet down but found that I did not have the strength to stabilize myself against the flow.  I kicked my lower half back up into a swimming stroke figuring that now I’d use the current to help me swim faster.  I realized I was no longer swimming with current but trying to keep myself floating on top of it as it carried me.  The water became too fast to swim in so I turned around and onto my back attempting to keep my feet up in front of me.  Huge boulders were visible on the bottom of the river which was less than two feet away.  I steered myself through the glimmering trail reflected on the water and towards areas I hoped had more depth.   With each set of boulders I passed, I considered the possibility of catching my foot, breaking my leg, and swaying away in the cold current until someone found me.  I kept my body on the surface until the current slowed and I couldn’t see any more boulders in the water beneath me.  The rapids were over but now I was treading in deep water and feeling the cold to the core of my body.  I could see the woods of Willow Creeks were on my left with the Willow Creek beach about 200 feet in front of me.  Feeling cold deeper than I had felt before, I ached to get out of the water.  I knew I couldn’t make it to the beach in front of me.  To my right on the opposite shore was some wilderness with another small sandy beach.  I swam then waded then stumbled on a bed of stones then fell onto the sand.  I rolled on my back and felt the sun-warmed sand.  In contrast to the water it felt hot.  I pulled piles of it next to me and on top of me until I was buried in the warmth.  I laid there for a while.  I knew I was on the opposite side of the river from the town and the motel and that in order to get back, I’d have to walk miles to get back the way I came, then walk through town, wet and defeated by the river.  I laid for a while longer, soaking in the warmth of the sand and sun until I heard one of Fred’s roosters.  The noise sounded close.  I opened my eyes and could see the trailer was directly across the river.  I decided I was warm enough to swim across it so I got up out of the sand, waded in and swam across the cold river to the woods connecting Fred’s property to the beach.  I crawled out of the river before I had finished thinking about getting in it and sloshed up the short trail to the backside of the trailer camp.  I put on fresh clothes and laid into the full size bed with my cats until evening when I heard Derek and Jason starting to party. 

I watched Derek, Mandy, Jason, and two others; an old Mexican man and a small, young man who, like Derek, had no shirt on.  Derek was in his element.  His favorite rap music played loudly out of a mini speaker system plugged into a discman he had purchased from the thrift store in town.  Jason was reclined in a plastic lounge chair smoking a cigarette and sipping out of a bottle of vodka he kept picking up off the ground.  Apparently Fred had gone out of town so Derek was taking this opportunity to be louder than usual.  He shouted of his desires to take over the town, making it a place like he likes. “Like that night we were sitting in town blasting dubstep music into the mountains from the speakers in our van.”  He said.  He continued spewing out his plan that included first taking over the Willow Creek Motel since “Fred’s way was the old way.”  His guests and Mandy encouraged him with laughs and vulgar affirmations. 

The next morning, I dressed in my sport coat and walked to the Willow Creek Community Church as I had been.  I listened as the members shared some successes in the form of new petitions asking for continued healing and guidance that they had been experiencing.  The young couple was gone but so too was the young girl’s brother’s giardia.  The drug problems were being rehabilitated.  The Pastor spoke of an upcoming dinner which he asked all to consider their dietary health when bringing a dish to pass. 

From the church I walked across the street to the hardware store.  There I purchased an eight foot long 4”x6” post.  I carried it on my shoulder down the street to the library loading dock.  As I neared the back of the library, I saw Slate watching from across the street.  He came running over to the dock as I held the new post up to check it against the old broken one. 

“You can’t do that!”  Slate shouted.  He puffed up his chest and stepped in my face. 

“I’m not doing anything today.  I’m just checking to see if it fits.”  I said calmly.

“You ain’t fixing nothing.”  Slate said defiantly.

“Oh, you’re going to stand in my way?”  I asked.

“Yeah, I am.”  He puffed up.

“You’re going to stop me from cleaning this place up and fixing the broken post?  Why would you do that?”  I genuinely asked.  He couldn’t answer.  “Oh,” I figured it out and went on, “because it’s your broken post.  You’re not going to stop me Slate.  I’m going to clean this whole town up.”  I said as I threw the new post down in the grass next to the building.  “I’ll be back tomorrow to install that.  Don’t you steal it.”  I said as I walked away and back down the highway towards the motel. 

I visited with my cats in my trailer, changed my clothes then I walked across the street, up the mountain, down the driveway and into the property that I now knew belonged to Mr. Taylor.  I still visited the place nearly every day.  I returned to the Willow Creek Motel where I found Fred had also returned and was working in his garden.  Two rows of fifteen plastic plant bags were laid out.  Kenny was filling a bag behind Fred as he gently packed the dirt around a cannabis clone he had just planted.  I told him what Derek had said and done the previous night since it was his place and I didn’t think it was right.  “He said that?!” Fred asked. “Well, what can I do about it?”

“Kick them out.”  I said.

“They live here.  I can’t kick them out.”  Fred said.  “But they won’t be coming here, not in this garden.”  He continued, now splashing some water out of a hose in his hand.

“Hey, can you hose off my feet?”  asked Mandy from behind the rolling gate of the garden apparently to Fred and his hose.  Kenny looked up. 

“Sure thing.”  Said Fred as Mandy rolled open the gate and stepped inside the garden.  Kenny took a break from packing soil to watch Fred enthusiastically hose Mandy’s bare feet. 

She surveyed the garden as she stepped up and down in the stream of water.  “Do ya’ll need any help.”

Fred said no.  Mandy said she’d make them dinner.  Derek again watched from his trailer.

Chapter 5

The next day I did as I’d been doing.  I patrolled the creek side woods but now I was running through them.  I rang my bell at a fresh tent and spoke to two young men who came out.  I informed them that I was part of a group called the Watchers of the Willow Creek and that I was tasked with keeping the woods and creek clean.  They asked how they could join.  I told them if they wanted to help they could pick up garbage anywhere in the woods or town.  Later in the day, I checked in with Tara.  After updating her on the status of the woods and the town, she once again invited me to join her at the Catholic Church she attended each Sunday.  She confessed that she could use some help as the music director at the church and would like it if I could help sing and play the Mass on my guitar.  I agreed and she agreed to pick me up at the motel on her way.   After that, I stopped at the library loading dock.  The post I had set on the ground was gone.  I continued my walk back down Highway 96, this time noticing that the highway was flanked on both sides by mild cliffs creating a corridor out of the highway.  On the cliff above I now saw Slate watching me.  He whistled a tune loudly to intimidate me.

That evening, I went to the Forks tavern.  I drank a few beers then left.  As I walked back down Highway 96 and past Slate’s mountain, I started ringing my bell.  Like a summoned demon, Slate appeared out of the brush and on the road.  “What’s all the commotion?”  He asked aggressively.  I could smell alcohol on him.

“I’m just rustling out the campers on the Willow Creek and I’ve been wondering Slate, Where’s your camp?  Why don’t you invite me over to your home?”  I said making an advance for the little trail he had just jumped out of.  He jumped in my way and puffed up his chest.  “There’s no camping on the Willow Creek.”  I taunted him.  He fumed in my face.  He was drunk.  I began walking backwards up the highway and coaxing him toward town and the tavern.  I rang my bell hard as we reached the intersection of the two highways with the single stop light.  A few people came out of the tavern to find Slate and I in a confrontation in the middle of the intersection. 

“Let’s go Slate.  Show me how they handle things out here in the wild.”  I challenged him.  I could see him shaking while he pumped himself up.  I talked fast.  “You see, I know why you won’t let me clean up behind the library.  It’s because you think it’s yours.  You think this whole town is yours.  But if it was yours Slate, you’d take care of it.  You wouldn’t need a guy to come in and clean up all your woods and your town.  But you don’t do anything.  You’re just a drunk dude living in a tarp like the rest of those people.  You’ve just been here longer.  If you’re no good for this town, I’ll root you out just like I did to them.”

“You ain’t gonna do shit.”  Slate stammered.

“I’m already doing it.  Go back to your tarp tent Slate.  I’ll come find you.”

“I’ll be waiting with my chainsaw.”  Slate responded.

“Hey!  I called the cops.”  Said one of the bystanders in front of the tavern.

“Good.”  I said.  “This guy is threatening me with a chainsaw.” 

Slate scurried off into the dark and I went back into the tavern.  More than a half hour later, a sheriff’s deputy arrived and took my statement then drove me back to the motel. 

 The next day, I went to town with a shovel.  As soon as I reached town, Slate confronted me in the parking lot of the museum. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.   “Where’s your chainsaw?”  I mocked him.  He rushed at me but I held out the shovel and he backed up and took off behind the museum.  I went to the Community Center and reported to Tara what had happened.  Out of concern, she led me to an office in the back of the building, took the shovel from me, and shut the door.  A short while later the door opened and a young Sheriff’s Deputy stepped in. 

“What’s going on?”  He said.

“Nothing.  I have a little problem with that Slate guy.”  I said.

“Ok.  Were you the one we came out here for last night?  You were fighting with Slate?”  the deputy said.

“Yeah that was me.  From what I hear, he’s been a problem here for a long time.”  I said.

“Well right now the problem is you.  Don’t you see why it would be concerning for there to be a guy in all black coming into town with a shovel?” he said.

“I’m just cleaning up the woods and I needed to break up some trails with my shovel.”  I said.

“Look, we appreciate what you did with the woods and all but I think it’s time you disband.”  the deputy said. 

I laughed.  “Are you going to clean the woods?”  I said.

“No.”  He responded.

“Ok.  Then I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing.”  I said.

The deputy looked at me for a moment and sighed.  “Ok.  At least just go home for today.  And leave the shovel here.”

“Fine.”  I agreed.  We walked out together and Tara told me she would drop my shovel off to me later.

After that, I walked back to the motel.  I didn’t see Slate.  I opted to relax that afternoon, sitting in a chair outside my trailer and lightly strumming my acoustic guitar.  Within a few moments I heard Slate’s whistle.  Above and behind the rows of bushes behind Ted’s garden I spotted Slate’s straw hat.  I ducked behind the trailer next to mine and waited as he and his whistle passed by and walked up to the motel buildings.  I followed behind him and hid behind a truck as he interacted with the motel tenants.  I overheard him as he asked them about me.  I stepped out from behind the truck and strummed my guitar.  I continued to strum as Slate advanced toward me.  I switched from holding the guitar as an instrument to gripping it as a weapon with both hands backwards on the neck.  Slate made a hard lunge at me. 

“Slate!”  Tammy yelled, stopping him.  “Walk away Slate.”  She continued.  Slate huffed and walked over to her.  After a few minutes of talking, Slate got into Tammy’s rusted suv.  She honked as she pulled out of the motel presumably taking Slate back to town.  He waved at me and whistled.

The next morning I woke in my trailer to the sound of a vehicle and Michaell’s voice excitedly directing the driver.  A pickup truck pulled away as I came out of my trailer.  Michael beckoned me over to a messy pile of small cannabis plants with root balls attached to loose soil.  The plants were flat but they were alive.  “They’re all clones!” Mitchell said.  “Someone got kicked out of the apartment complex outside of town and he had all these plants growing in there.  He just threw them out back in a pile.” 

The pickup pulled away as Derek, Mandy, and Jason came over.  Derek shoved at Jason urging him to ask  “Where’d you find these?” 

Michael pointed in the direction of the apartments where he had found them and explained the scenario.  “There’s still some there but I got all the good ones.”  He said.  Derek and Jason turned quick and hustled out from the trailer camp. 

After they had left, I asked Michael where he intended to plant all these clones.  He pointed to an overgrown and overlooked two tiered garden area next to our trailers.  With Fred’s reluctant permission, we began to clear out the weeds and large growth revealing a two tiered garden bed about thiry feet long.  Michaell went to town to order more soil from the nursery.  When he returned, I had cleared the garden bed and we began digging holes for the plants.  Derek and Justin returned carrying buckets filled with withering clones and clutching some in their arms.  Derek’s eyes widened as he looked at the newly cleared garden bed.  The bed was nowhere near his trailer but his trailer area didn’t offer any open land to plant in and he had no money for plant bags or soil.  Michael and I continued our work while Derek watched.  It was only afternoon as Michaell and I finished planting the last of the found clones.  Justin sidled up to us as we looked over the bed. 

“There’s still a lot of space in this bed.”  Justin said.  “And it’s got it’s own hose spigot.  Would you guys mind if I planted the clones that I got today in here?”

Michael and I both attempted to put the decision off on Fred who we knew Justin would not approach.  Justin persisted with us until Michael relented and gave up the far side of the bed to Justin first specifying that it was for just his plants and no one else’s.  Justin beamed with gratitude and within minutes was digging in the bed with Derek. 

I immediately approached and questioned Justin.  “I thought you said this was for your plants.”  I said. 

“Well it is but Derek and I are going in on these plants together so they are our plants.”  Justin responded, twisting our approval to include the person we were trying to keep out.  I walked him away from Derek.

“We didn’t want him over here.  He’s going to cause problems.”  I said. 

“He just put it on me,” said Justin, “but I’ll keep him in line.”

“Sure you will.”  I said.  We looked over at Derek as he took a break from shoveling to scratch his shirtless stomach, lift his arm, scratch his armpit then smell his fingers.  He smiled once again showing off the gaps where his teeth should be.  I went into my trailer where I could now see the garden bed and Derek through the upper small window above my bed.  A few hours later I emerged to water my plants as I had been doing each night.  I gathered my plastic jugs to take over to the water spigot next to the bed but Derek and Mandy were sitting in two plastic lawn chairs on the path connecting my trailer to the garden beds as it overlooked the two tiered bed.  Both of them had bottles of beer.   I went around them to the spigot where I found a new hose connected. 

“Don’t disconnect that hose.”  Derek commanded from his chair.

I twisted it off.  “I need to water my plants.”  I continued.  “Are you guys going to be hanging out there?”

“Yup.”  He said with unnecessary defiance. 

“Ok.”  I stepped through the bed and onto the other side of the trail.  “Well, I do this two times a day and that spigot is for everybody to use.”  I finished as I dumped my jugs out over the base of my plants.  I filled up my jugs again and walked the water over the plants outside my trailer.  I went back into my trailer and watched Derek and Mandy from the small window.  Derek mocked me and Mandy forced a laugh. 

A short while later, they were both gone, as I left my trailer with my guitar and headed to town.  I had previously made arrangements with Tara to stop at the Community Center and show her how I played guitar.  She opened the door to my knock, shooing out the last of the needy Willow Creekers who lingered and used up the resources of the place.  She cleaned up in her office and joined me in the main room of the center where she opened her acoustic guitar.  She sat it on her lap and asked me to play a song.  I played an original song about the moon and the stars which she enjoyed.  She said I would do perfect in Church and laid out a few sheets of music.  She tested my knowledge of chords and my ability to read music which was little.  She showed me how to read the chords and then quickly started to play hymns with quick changing notes.  I attempted to keep up and failed but still she insisted that I join her at Church this Sunday and assured me I was good enough to play the Mass.  I agreed and arranged for her to pick me up out front of the Willow Creek Motel on her way to Mass. 

“You live at the Willow Creek Motel?” Tara asked with surprise.

“Yes, behind it in the trailers.  Where did you think I lived?”  I replied. 

“I thought you stayed in the woods.”  She said.

“In a tent?”  I laughed. 

“Yes.”  She confessed.  “I wondered why you were always so clean.”

“Because I live in a trailer with electricity and a closet.  We have a bathroom with a shower.”  I said.

“Well that makes sense.”  She said.  We finished up our meeting and I went back to the motel, dropped my guitar, petted my cats, and left again for the woods.  My spontaneous patrol turned up two transient dudes, one a young man, the other a typical white hair, ponch belly, shirtless, cargo shorts wearing old man.  They were crouching over a fire and cooking crawfish.  They had already started a pile of empty beer cans.   I skipped across some boulders and landed like a bird on the shore in their camp. 

“Did you get those crawfish out of the Willow Creek?”  I asked them with feigned enthusiasm.

“Yeah, we did!”  The old traveler responded with pride. 

I changed to an authoritative tone.  “Well there’s no fishing or taking crawfish from the creek.  There’s no camping on the creek either.  And there’s no drinking in these woods.  Are you two planning to spend the night here?” 

The old traveler was taken aback.  “We can take the crawfish from the creek.” he sputtered.

“No, you can’t.  You don’t live here.  This isn’t your town, or your woods, or your creek, or your crawfish so you can’t take them or camp here.”  I spoke sharply.

“Man, who are you?”  The old man shot at me.

“I’m the guy that cleans these woods.”  I said.  “And you guys are already dirtying it up.  Look at these beer cans.”  I pointed to their pile of cans then pointed to the circle of rocks around the fire.  “And you’re not supposed to have a fire in these woods.  You built a fire pit.”  I pointed at the circle of rocks they had constructed.

“We didn’t build that.  It was here. And those ain’t our cans.” lied the old man as he stood holding a full can of beer that matched the empties in the pile. 

“Well good.  I’ll clean them up then.  That’s what I do here.”  I said as I gathered up the empty cans into a plastic bag that was also on the ground.  “And I’ll be back here to break down this fire pit first thing in the morning.”  Without waiting for any more of his excuses, I leapt across the boulders and went back to the motel.  I settled into my trailer, fed my cats and rested.

Chapter 6

In the morning, I dressed and made my way to the town meeting.  I stopped first at the site where I had confronted the crawfish cooking transients the previous evening.  They were gone but had left behind the remaining beer cans, a bedroll and the crawfish shells.  I dismantled the fire pit by crouching over it and throwing the rocks in different directions to make them harder to regather.  I picked up the old bed roll and brought it with me as I walked up a trail to the Town Services Building.  I threw the roll into the town dumpster and entered into the Town hall where the usual thirty or so people gathered.  I took an open seat in the row with the Sheriff’s Deputy, Highway Patrolman, and Park Ranger.  I listened as each gave a report about how their departments were still attempting to achieve better response times to calls from the town.  The council chairman next asked me to give a brief report about the status of the woods. 

I stood and explained that the woods were empty from the river all the way to the cliff overlooking the small waterfall.  I reported that I had found a couple guys cooking crawfish on the creek bed last night but that as of this morning, I had shaken them out and cleaned up their site.  The town members nodded and laughed lightly at my little story.  The Chairman moved on to the next agenda item which he quickly glossed over as he had done the previous month. 

“Item 9.9; the Downtown Street Issue and Transient Committee has not met.”  He stated. 

I raised my hand to which he called on me.  “What is the Downtown Street Issue Committee and how do I join it?”  I asked.  “That seems to be the biggest issue in this place.”

“It’s yours.”  the Chairman said easily.  “Nobody is on it.  So it’s your committee if you want to be on it.”

“Ok.”  I said. 

With no other business, the Chairman closed the meeting.  Following the meeting, I walked through the town, picking up litter.  Hank was sitting in front of the closed down burger stand.  I patrolled the creek side woods and went back to my trailer. 

I stayed for a while enjoying the camp without Derek in it until I heard his voice.  He was fighting with Mandy on the trail directly outside my trailer.  He fumed as he accused her of spending time with men around the motel camp while he was gone one day. 

“You’re my fiance!”  he screamed. 

“Well maybe if you gave me a ring people would know that.”  Mandy retorted.  
My trailer rocked as Derek shoved Mandy into the outside wall.  I stayed quiet as Derek seethed.  “I told you I was gonna get my momma’s ring!  Don’t you ever say something like that to me again.”  He finished as they continued their walk down the trail and back to their own area.  Within a few moments, they were both sitting in the plastic chairs on the trail near the new garden bed with beers and cigarettes in their hands. 

I left my trailer and went to the Big Rock park next door.  I went down by the river where the rocks stuck out of the water and hopped as fast as I could from rock to rock. 

The next day, I went swimming in the river and held large flat stones as weighted fins.  As I swam out deeper I heard the familiar whistle of Slate.  He sat peering at me from the woods as he was peering at the few others lounging on the little beach.  I swam past him a few more times making it clear I had rocks in my hands.  His whistle tapered off as I swam back to the beach. 

The next day I went to town and visited each of the businesses.  I introduced myself and let them know about my new role in the Downtown Street Issue and Transient committee.  I asked them what problems they faced as business owners in Willow Creek.  Each responded with the same complaint about the transients in the woods that occupy the town streets during the day.  I was told again about how the transients or “trimmigrants” would trash the town, commit crime, and never spend any money.  The transients would get trimming jobs on cannabis farms out of town then never come back and spend the money they got paid.  I told the business owners that I had cleared out the woods and I would meet the seasonal rush when it arrived. 

After that, I met Tara at the Community Center where she informed me that she had a new project and needed my help.  We would be running irrigation hoses to garden beds at the school.  I agreed to meet her after work.  I patrolled the woods then went back.  She drove us in her little sedan to the garden supply center just outside of town.  We passed Slate who was now walking around in his hat and shorts but no shirt.  I explained that I still intended to get Slate to start cleaning up around town.  Tara laughed.  We passed Derek who was sitting in front of the empty burger restaurant.  Derek’s eyes met mine as we passed and he scowled at me being in the car with Tara.  Tara had known Derek and Mandy from their previous two years in Willow Creek and she excused his loitering behavior as him not being able to leave behind his old life as a transient.  I lightly insisted he was up to something but let it go as we gathered the things we needed for the irrigation job.  Derek was still in front of the burger place when we drove back through town and to the school down highway 96 past the Willow Creek motel.  School was out so the building and grounds were empty.  We went to work laying out hoses to a dozen wooden boxes that had previously been constructed.  We finished what we could for the day then Tara drove me back to the motel.  Down at the trailer camp, Derek and Justin were arguing in the tiered garden.  Derek was shouting as he pointed at the plants.  “That one’s mine!  And that one’s mine!  And all the sour diesel!” 

“Well what do I get?”  asked Justin.

“You get those three.”  Derek said and pointed to a few plants.

“Why do I get three and you get seven?”  Justin begged.

“Because we don’t know how many of these are going to be male so I need to make sure I get my five females.”  Derek reasoned.

“Bull shit.”  said Justin.  “You get five.  I get five.”

“Fine.” Derek agreed. 

“Watch, they are probably all going to be males.”  Michael whispered to me.

“What happens if they’re male?”  I asked.

“You have to throw them away.  They don’t grow buds and they will pollinate the females so those wont grow buds either.”  Michael explained.  Jason walked over to us.

“Derek screwed me.”  Justin said.

“No kidding.”  I said.

“He got into a fight with me over the plants so he could force us to split them.”  Justin said.

“He’s going to take over the whole garden.  I told you.” I said.  We all looked over as Derek caressed his plants.

“My plants are in there too.  He’s not taking over.”  said Michael.  Derek sat back down in his plastic chair and looked at us.  An hour or so later, he and Mandy were gone so I unhooked the hose, filled my jugs and threw Derek’s chairs off the trail, then watered my garden on the other side.

In the morning, Derek was screaming about his chairs being moved.  I didn’t bother with his tantrum and instead went into town and took the bus to the town of Weaverville located about two hours East.  I toured the museum and the historical buildings preserved in the downtown area.  I stopped at the police station and asked them about their transient activity.  They said they expected them to start showing up soon.  I stopped for food and a few beers at a tavern then got back on the bus.  Another man on the bus was noticeably intoxicated and he struck up a conversation with me.  He said he had heard of me for what I had been doing in Willow Creek and cleaning the woods.  He warned me about drinking.  “I know you’re running around on rocks and trees out there.  If you fell, no one would ever find you.”

Back at the motel, Derek and Mandy were in their chairs by the garden.  I spent some time with my cats then went across the street to the field and the creek.  I jumped from one stone to another and just like the man said, I almost slipped.  I looked at the water and remembered that I am the only one coming back here and being on any alcohol was a liability.  When I got back to the motel trailer camp, it was near dark, Derek and Mandy had removed themselves from the garden and were in their trailer judging by the light in their windows and the music coming out of it.  I went out to water my plants and found their chairs set up to block the path to my garden.  I picked up their chairs and threw them into their garden area.

In the morning Derek was screaming again, this time about the chairs, claiming whoever threw them into the garden had damaged two branches on his plants and he wanted retribution.  “Branch for branch!”  Derek yelled.  “I want to know who did it and I want to break two of their branches off.”  I watched him from my trailer until he went away, presumably to go sit in front of the burger place.  I picked two branches from my plants and broke them off.  I then went and threw them on the ground in front of Derek and Mandy’s trailer door then went to do a woods patrol.  When I came back to the motel, Derek and Mandy were drinking.  I stepped inside my trailer and immediately heard a hard knock.  Derek was on my step with a half finished beer in one hand and my broken branches in his other hand.  “Which one of my plants did you pull these off of?”  He demanded.

“They're not yours Derek.  You said branch for branch now what are you going to do?”  I said through the window. 

“These are yours?”  He asked, confused.

“Who did you think they were, you idiot?  Now why are you on my doorstep with a beer in your hand like you're going to do something?  Get out of my area.”  I said.

Derek looked at the window my voice was coming from where happened to hang my cannabis growers license with my name blacked out.  “Why are you hiding your name?  You must be on some kind of registry.  We’re going to find out and you’re out of here.”

“Have fun Derek.”  I said as I popped my hand in front of the curtain and waved at him.  “Now get out of here.”  Derek fumed as he walked away.

The next day Tara picked me up for another day of work at the school garden.  When I got into her car, I could tell she was uncomfortable.  “What’s wrong?”  I asked.

“I was told some things about you.”  She said.

“By Derek and Mandy?”  I asked.

“Yes.”  She said. 

“Well, I’m in a fight with them because Derek is a bad person so of course he is saying bad things to you about me.  What’s he saying?”

He said that you’re running from the law and that you are a into all sorts of bad stuff."  She said carefully.    

"Do you believe what they are saying?”  I asked.

“I don’t know.”  She said.

“Well, I’ve only been here a little bit but I’ve just been volunteering, and going to Church with you and working on the garden.  Does what they are saying about me make any sense?”

“No.”  She said.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I gave Sheriff Gary my ID as soon as I got here so he’d know who I was.  You can ask him about my background if you like.  I don’t have anything to hide.  But beware of people who make false accusations like that about others.  Like I’m telling you and Fred, they are not good people.”  I said.  Tara was appeased and so we spent another couple hours working on hooking up the irrigation system at the school garden.  Derek fumed as he watched Tara drop me off afterwards. 

I waited until Derek and Mandy gave up their plastic chair post then watered my plants, disconnecting Derek’s hose to do so.  After I finished filling my jugs, I only lightly screwed his hose back on to the spigot so it would leak when Derek turned it on.  In the morning, I heard Derek cursing and shouting about how he was all wet.  I stayed in my trailer until they left to go sit in front of the burger place.  After they left, I dug up the plants I had in the ground in the garden from my trailer.  I transplanted them into large planter bags right outside my trailer door then set to work at building a fence to enclose my area.  I found a pile of old wood by the dumpster of the motel and collected every piece I could use.  I built two wooden boxes and mounted the fence posts into them then filled it with rocks and dirt.  I found some long and weathered 2x6’s I cut down and used as fence pickets.

Chapter 7

Derek and Mandy gawked and scoffed when they returned and saw my new set up.  Derek then went to the wood pile, found an intact shipping pallet, painted it red, and leaned it up against his trailer as his own fence.  Now that my plants were moved, they chose not to sit in their usual spot overlooking the tiered garden but instead stayed in their trailer pumping nasty rap music from Derek’s discman and speakers until someone from the motel yelled down for them to turn it off.  That night, as I walked to the outhouse, a spotlight flicked on from the top of Derek and Mandy’s trailer.  Derek held a handheld flashlight beam on me.  “What the fuck are you doing?”  He said.  His dogs growled from inside his trailer. 

“I’m going to the bathroom.  What are you doing?”  I responded sharply.

“I’m just protecting my house.”  Derek said.

“From what?”  I said.

“From you.  And I got a shotgun too.”  He said.

“Whatever Derek.  Don’t be out here when I come back out or I’m calling the police.”

“Call ‘em.”  He said. 

When I walked back by he was inside his trailer.  HIs motion sensor spotlight flicked back on and he yelled from inside.  “Who the fuck is out there.”  I continued to my trailer.  A few minutes later, I saw the flash of the spotlight and heard Derek’s voice again, this time having the same conversation with Jason and then again with Michael as they each made their way to the bathroom.  In the morning Derek’s music was again pumping out of his trailer.  He seemed to have one compact disc he played over and over again.  After the music shut off, I looked outside to see Derek and Mandy leaving for town.  I went outside where Michael and Jason were already talking.

“What are we going to do about that spotlight?”  I said.

“I called the police.  He can’t stop me from going to the bathroom.”  Michael said.  Fred came down the trail and joined us as we each repeated our experience from last night. 

“He’s allowed to have a light.”  Fred said.

“Is he allowed to have a shotgun too?  Because he said he had one in there.”  I said.

“Well, I don’t know about that.”  said Fred.

“You got to get him out of here.”  I said.

“Now they live here the same as you.  And I have compassion for people.”  Fred said.  “I can’t just kick them out.”

“Then they are just going to keep causing problems.”  I finished as now Sheriff Gary walked down the trail and joined us.  I listened as Michael and Jason told him their stories about Derek the previous night and then added that he had done the same to me.  Sheriff Gary said there was nothing he could do about Derek and that he hadn’t broken the law.  “Right now we just need to know if this guy actually has a gun in there.”  I said pointing to Derek’s red trailer.

“How am I supposed to know that?”  asked Sheriff Gary.  We all looked at him for a minute.  “No.  He doesn’t have a gun.” he said.

“Fine.”  I said.  “He can’t be stopping people from using the bathroom either.”

“I’ll talk to him.”  Fred said with resolve.

“What about his music?”  I asked.

“I’ll talk to him, I said.”  Fred said getting irritated.

After the conversation, Fred surprisingly walked Sheriff Gary over to his garden area to show off his numerous plants.  Justin, Michael, and I continued our conversation about what to do about Derek.  Justin confided that he had cancer and was not in a condition to deal with Derek’s antics.  I said I would see what I could do about him.  We asked Michael if had any access to cannabis which he said at this time of the summer, no one did.  The plants we were all growing still didn’t have buds. They said Derek had tried to get them to go in on a pound with him for eight hundred dollars.  I persuaded them not to do it.  Later I watched as Derek walked a stranger with a backpack down to his trailer.  The stranger left angry shouting at Derek. 

The next day I took a trip to Arcata to visit the dispensary.  I brought back a little for Michael and Justin and for myself.  Michael was pleased with the delivery and pleased to introduce me to a young woman who he had met on the internet that had moved from the East coast to live with him in his trailer.  Her name was Wanda and she was an artist.  I left them as Michael was showing off his huge plants to Wanda.  I went across the street to the area with the tree bridge and pool.  This time, in addition to my painted eye, I noticed a yellow number marker I had not seen before.  It was a marker for the rangers.

The next day, I walked North about a mile to the Ranger station.  I let the receptionist know who I was and that I wanted to talk to a Ranger who was responsible for watching the nearby woods.  Shortly after a woman with glasses in a ranger uniform came out to greet me.  Her name tag said Gary just like the Sheriff’s Deputy.  She brought me to her office where she informed me that she was Sheriff Gary’s wife and that she had heard about me since Sheriff Gary had trekked out to the site deep in the woods to confirm what I had said I had done.  She said that she too wanted to see the site and I agreed to meet her in the creek side park shortly.  We began our walk through the woods trail when Slate jumped out from behind a bush and darted towards me.

“Slate!”  the Ranger shouted which stopped him in his tracks.  He looked and saw who it was. 

“I’m sorry Ranger.  I was just showing him a candy wrapper.”  Slate pointed at the ground to a piece of litter.

“Get going Slate.”  she ordered.  Slate slunk off and I picked up the wrapper.  We continued our trek deep into the woods through the now overgrown trail.  When we reached the site, we found it as natural as I had left it.  No one had been there.  The Ranger surveyed the clean site as I spotted a leftover piece of debris.  I picked it up to see that it was an old ax with a broken handle.  I showed it to the ranger. 

“Looks like they left this back here.”  I handed it to her.  “Do you want to carry it?”

She looked at it and thought about it for a moment then declined and said I could carry it.  I held it casually by my side as we left the woods and continued back out of the woods and nearby the creek.  As we neared one of the marked sites by the creek, I saw the movement of people.  We got closer and found a young man and woman, obviously transients, who had pitched camp.

“I’m sorry guys.  There’s no camping here.”  I stood on a mound overlooking the site with the ax in my hand at my side.  The ranger stood next to me.  The couple looked shocked as I continued.  “This creek is the drinking water for the town so you can’t camp here or anywhere else in these woods.  We do a regular patrol.”  They looked at the ax and looked at the Ranger somewhat shocked.  The Ranger shrugged at them.

“Well, where are we supposed to go?”  the woman asked.

“There a campground one mile East for twenty dollars a night or another one two miles west that’s ten dollars.”  said Ranger Gary.  The couple looked at each other.

“Ok.  We’re leaving.”  said the man.

“I’ll be back in a little while to check.”  I said smiling.  The Ranger and I continued our walk out.  “See, that’s all I do.”  I said to her.  She seemed impressed and told me she didn’t mind if I kept doing what I was doing.

The Ranger left me in the woods and without Slate to worry about, I wandered freely on the trails.  Under the bridge I found an old man drinking a forty ounce bottle of beer.  I sat down next to him.  “There’s no drinking in these woods anymore.”  I said politely.

“I always drink in these woods when I come here.”  He said.

“Not anymore.  Finish that and go.  I’m sure you’ll leave the bottle so I’ll clean it up when I come back.”  I said and stood up. 

“What are you going to do?”  He said.

“Oh, you know.”  I said as I left.

When I got back to the motel trailer camp, I found just Derek working by himself in the tiered garden.  I stood at my fence and stared at him.  

"What the fuck are you looking at?"  he shouted.

"I just wonder if you missing those nights back in jail when you used to cuddle up with your big daddy."  I said stunning him.  

"I'll fucking kill you."  Derek hissed.

"Let's fight dude.  Right now.  In that little clearing right there."  I said challenging him and pointing to a spot in the middle of all the trailers.  

"Fine."  He said while puffing up his shirtless chest and stepping out of the garden.  

We stood for a moment about 10 feet from one another.  I put up my hands.  Derek unbuckled his belt, slipped it off from his waist and wrapped all around his fist.  I sighed.  He had no idea what he was doing.  I envisioned the fight and envisioned the aftermath as he would accuse me of attacking him.  I knew I needed a witness.

"Damn it Derek.  Stay right here."  I ran up the trail to the motel.  There I found Kenny doing some chore.  "Kenny, can you come down to the trailers?  Derek and I are going to fight and I need a witness."  I said to him.

"Yeah.  I'll watch that."  Kenny said.  "We've all been wondering when you two were going to do it."  He continued as we got to the bottom of the trail and into the area where I had left Derek.  Derek had left the area and was now back in crouching in the garden.  

"Alright Derek.  Can you do this without taking all your clothes off?"  I said.  "Come on.  Let's fight."

"What are you talking about?"  Derek said.

"I'm giving you this opportunity.  We have permission.  Beat me and I'll leave."  I said.

"I don't know what you're talking about." said Derek with a shake.

"Sorry Kenny.  Not this time."  I said.

The next morning, I got dressed for a town meeting.  Derek and Mandy left for town at the same time I did.  We walked along the highway on opposite sides.  Derek started yelling over at me.  “We’re telling everyone in town about you.  You’ll be out of here, Matthias.”

“Told them what?  That you and Mandy are drug dealers and you used to sell drugs in the woods and now you sit in front of the burger stand selling?”  I retorted.

“What the fuck did you say?” Derek raged.

“Stop Derek.  Shut up.”  Mandy said to him.

“Derek and Mandy are drug dealers.”  I sang as I dipped off the road and onto a trail that would lead me down to Town Services Building.  

At the town meeting, I gave a report on the woods as the chairman and only member of the Street Transient Committee.  Everyone was appreciative yet uneasy.  They couldn’t believe that they didn’t have their usual transient population.  I told them I would keep at my mission and warned them about the guy who sits in front of the closed down burger stand and the behavior of other more permanent residents that was generating the atmosphere which permitted the transient lawlessness.

When I returned to the motel camp, Justin was talking to Michael.  He said he was moving back to Michigan for cancer treatment and family support.  In his condition, he couldn’t be worrying about getting into a fight with Derek over their plants or for trying to use the outhouse at night.  We looked over at Derek who was surveying his plants with his shirt off.  Everyone’s plants were beginning to grow small buds.  Derek rubbed sweat off his chest then touched it to a growing bud.  Justin said unfortunately, he had given all of his plants to Derek.  “These are all mine.  This whole side of the garden.”  Derek shouted at us. 

The same day, I went to the grocery store where while I was shopping, I was confronted by Slate who was shirtless and drunk.  “You better get out of here.”  Slate slurred at me.

“Are you joking?”  I said to him.  “Why is there a drunk, shirtless guy harassing people in the store?!”  I said loudly.  “Where is the manager?  Why is this shirtless, sweaty man by all the open food?  Get this guy out of here.”  I continued the barrage until Slate deflated, then walked out of the store.  At the checkout, I asked the cashier why Slate was allowed to come in with out a shirt on.  They said he just did it all the time.  As I was checking out, another younger man who I had never seen before walked in without a shirt, picked a large beer from the cooler, and proceeded to check out at another register.  “Why are all these men coming in here without shirts on?  It’s disgusting.”  I said.  “Don’t serve him.”

The other cashier laughed.  “Shut up bitch.”  The man said to me. 

“Why are you serving this unclothed man beer?”  I ignored him and asked the cashier.  “Stop.  We don’t want shirtless dudes around our food.” 

In the morning, I called the corporate headquarters for the grocery store and complained about shirtless men being allowed in.  That day a new handwritten sign was posted on the glass door of the grocery store: “Shirt and Shoes required”.  I cleaned up some litter in town then went to the woods.  I walked my normal trails and checked the regular spots finding them all empty.  I noticed litter across the creek in an area I had not been to before.  I crossed the creek and came down to the area where I had seen the litter.  In a small clearing of trees next to the creek was a filthy encampment.  Dozens of flattened boxes lined the ground.  Rotisserie chicken containers and bones were everywhere with beer cans, toiletry containers, plastic bags, and everything indicating that someone had been squatting there for a long time.  The only thing of value was a coin purse stuffed with weird coins.  I picked up the plastic bags and began gathering all the trash.  I hauled the bags and cardboard out to the highway with trip after trip until the area was perfectly clean and natural again.  I left the little purse in the center of the cleaned out area.

When I reached the road on my final trip, an old man with no shirt and a backpack was walking down the highway.  “Hey!  What the fuck are you doing?”  He said as he passed all of the trash piled up in bags by the road. 

“I’m cleaning up the woods.  You can’t live down there especially like a slob.  There was trash everywhere.  You know that creek is the drinking water for the town.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”  He said.

“I know.  That’s why I moved all your shit out of the woods.  Now it’s time for you to leave.”  I said calmly.

“Who the fuck are you?”  The transient old man fumed.

“I’m the watcher of Willow Creek.  Now get going.”  I said.

“I’m not leaving.”  He said.

“Then I’ll keep coming back.”  I said.  “Don’t worry, this guy will take care of you.”  I said as Sheriff Gary happened to pull off onto the side of the highway where we were.

“What’s going on here?”  said Sheriff Gary.

“This guy was living in the woods, leaving trash everywhere.  Look at all the trash I had to haul out.”  I pointed to the bags and debris by the road.

“He stole my stuff!”  The old guy shouted.

“I didn’t steal your stuff.  It was all garbage down there except for your coin purse.  I left that there.”  I said.  “Hold on.”  I turned and ran back down to the campsite, grabbed the purse then threw it on the ground over to where Sheriff Gary and the old man were talking. 

“Hey!” Sheriff Gary shouted at me.

“That’s it.  There’s nothing else down there so he doesn’t need to go in these woods ever again.”  I said to the sheriff.  “Move on buddy.”  I said to the guy.

“Matthias, that’s enough!  Go home.”  The Sheriff ordered me.

“I was.”  I finished then crossed the street over to the motel.  I got back to my trailer and visited with my cats.  The wholesome flowery curtains, the thoughtful paint job, and companionship of my pets provided me sanctuary in between these strange confrontations I had been having.  A pregnant calico cat also started coming around my little garden area so I began feeding her.  I relaxed in my sanctuary until Derek and Mandy came trudging down the path from surely another day of sitting in front of the burger stand.  Derek’s horrible rap music went on as soon as they got into their trailer.  The ugly bass rumbled the otherwise quiet cannabis trailer camp.  Today they were celebrating because Mandy had landed a job cleaning for some vacation lodges in town.