Chapter 23: The Coyote

Moments before her appearance in the yard, a pair of moccasins had calmly strolled upon the soil at Wahkeena. After they parked in the distant lot, his grandson ambled down that long driveway to say hello to an old friend. But this wise old fellow had many local inhabitants to greet along the way.

His walk was as gentle as a dove, careful as a fox, and silent as a breeze. Each step was a prayer, and he could feel the joy from the Earth, so pleased with his return.

The man who hovered above those moccasins was Tom Wolf, 83 years of age, and ready for his next adventure.

He did not know why he’d been called back after such a short time spent with his family. Nevertheless, he had to follow his inner wisdom. Clearly this was where he was meant to be at that moment.

Placidly, he sauntered past the queen snake, who was sunning herself on the rocks next to the pond. Beneath his feet the gravel barely moved, and he did not disturb her slumber. In another glance, he sent a silent greeting to the painted turtle poking its head out of the pond water. Then he nodded to the green frog, and the lily pad it sat on.

The old man noted the new efforts to clog the culvert. Grinning, he could imagine the beavers’ mischief and determination in their nocturnal endeavors. Likewise, he charted the mouse highways in the weeds on the west side of the driveway, near the marsh. Oh! One had been snatched by an owl early that morning. By the size of the talons that hit the ground, it was either great-horned, or barred. He knew of a nesting pair of great-horned owls up in a rock crevasse to the north, and that felt right to him. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to really examine the tracks… his heart urged him to move on.

Proceeding toward the lodge, the man sent his goodwill toward the cattails standing proudly along the edge of the pond. At various times in his life, he had used every part of that noble plant. He’d eaten the roots, corms, undeveloped heads, as well as the pollen, during different seasons. He’d made fire tinder with the downy seed heads. With the dried leaves he’d woven baskets, and thatched a shelter. He had much respect for his brothers, the cattails.

Slowing his stride even further, he examined the goose scat on the graveled path. By now he could barely tell them apart, but something told him that this belonged to one of the nearly-grown goslings.

Up ahead, he could hear his grandson conversing with someone, but couldn’t see them behind the foliage. Unconcerned, he knew the humans weren’t going anywhere; he would have plenty of time to socialize over a good meal. He wasn’t finished with his silent reunion, so he went back to cherishing the land.

By that point he’d reached the entrance of the path which led to the cabins, on the left. The rain from last night had washed away the background commotion, so he could only track that day’s activities. Stopping his stride altogether, he stood to read the volumes held in the soil.

There was an elderly couple that walked together. After a few seconds of scrutiny, he remembered them as the birdwatchers from West Virginia. Then there was the young girl who liked wildflowers, and her father was with her also.

The other family he couldn’t quite place. A man, woman, and a young boy. The woman was always carrying a load. The man was about 150 pounds… left-handed… Ah – it was Terry – he saw him in the flesh, walking away toward the restroom. With a smirk, he turned his attention back to the ground.

That’s when he saw it.

Feline; direct registration, and no claws. Too large to be a housecat. It was definitely a bobcat. His heart fluttered in his chest, and he dropped to his knees in excitement. He’d never seen a bobcat in the area before!

He picked a leaf out of the nearest track, dropped his face down to the level of the ground, and inspected it like a detective. Adult female. New to the area, so she was alert but not skittish. Cautious, but not insecure. She was alone and had no offspring with her.

The mysterious cat had slinked through the grass on the right side of the driveway, coming surprisingly close to the yard. The ancient tracker scuttled around her trail like a bloodhound on a scent, but careful not to disturb the impressions. Proceeding, he wondered what had pushed her out of her home territory at that age.

And then it was gone. The next track was completely obscured by a human footprint; an adult female.

At first he was disappointed by the loss of that delicious narrative as it was just unfolding. However, this new track held its own idiosyncrasies. He did not recognize the maker of this track at all. She was apparently alone, and her shoes did not belong to her. Interesting.

About twelve inches later was another bobcat track. He examined it hungrily, and was amazed to find the next one again was perfectly covered over by this mystery woman.

She walked as if on a mission; sure of herself, but not overly confident. New to the area, not very aware, and… feeling out of place.

For the second time in five minutes, the old man’s heart skipped a beat. With deep concentration, he gently brushed a hand over this footprint. Yes, something had pushed her out of her home territory, as well. It was all right there; secrets held within the tracks.

And there she was.

She’d just rushed to the end of the sidewalk, and peered in the opposite direction. She didn’t look as he’d expected her to, but that was of no consequence to him. It was her. He was sure of it.