Fair Enough

 

            His mothername is unpronounceable for we humans, so we call him Ralph. He inherited the name from a certain raffish old dog. Dog was loved, so is he.
            Recently, he and I got together for a little interview over a cup of verbiage, served as it always is, right here. Both of us had a couple of questions to air.
            “Say hey, P, what are the rule here?” said Ralph.
            “No holds barred,” I said. “I just have a few technical questions. I have no idea what kind of questions you have!”
            “I’m not very technical. You know that,” said Ralph. “Do you mean practical?”
            “Maybe that’s better. I compare what I know about you and your life with the alleged Sasquatch doings on video. It brings up questions. Like, do you twist and break branches as a form of communication, or at all? I’ve never seen that mentioned in your activities.”
            “I used to. We all did. It started out as a game in the woods when we were kids, to see if we could like, um, reform branches and small trees without breaking them off. We wanted to change living trees. It was like an art form.
            “Eventually, it became a sort of contest between families to see whose trees looked the best. I think the video makers over interpret it. It’s mostly just fun or art,” said Ralph.
            “OK, makes sense. My younger brother and at least one of the sisters used to do a similar thing when we were kids.”
            “No kidding? That’s kinda sweet,” he said. “Did I know you when you were a kid? I remember some kids like that.”
            “You might have known me, but I didn’t know you. You know darn well I didn’t see you, if you were there,” said I.
            “Fair enough!” said Ralph, laughing one of his big deep laughs.
            “Now a question for you, how did you find out about me then,” he asked.
            “That’s hard to answer. Long ago when all the world was young, we heard of the Yeti. Thought it was folklore. Then there were rumors of a creature said to roam the forest, we and some Indians said ‘Skookum’ for this creature. Still thought it was probably Indian stories. Their form of literature, you see?
            “Years went by. We lived on the Res up north and heard a few things, but not much. More about Stick Indians than you guys. The locals did not relish the thought of Stick Indians. I think they were a sort of Wendigo or shapeshifter.
            “Long after that, I started putting down word, sputtering at first, rough stories. Then one day, you came to visit me in these words. You began to reveal yourself, and then you had a family and a whole life in the forests of the mountains which you called the Great Forest,” I said, finally.
            “Interesting. Maybe I was sorry for being so elusive back then when we were both kids,” he said. He crossed his legs, twiddled his toes, and reflected on them solemnly.
            I laughed. “No harm done, my dear friend!”
            “OK, another question. In the long run, do you think it was a good thing that Ramona cooks your food now, and how about learning to speak American English? Ralph, do you wish things had not changed that way for you? Would you like to go back if you could?” I asked him.
            “No, no! Even a Forest Keeper knows that learning is a good thing. It’s a matte of poise, keeping in balance. I mean we use some human skills to enhance our lives, but we don’t put on pants and go live in town. See the difference? We stay in the Forest. We are the Forest and the Forest is us! But you know that!” he said.
            “What is essential about you and yours?” I said.
            “We live in the present.”
            “That was quick!” I said. “Hard to do, for humans. We long for the past, or hate it, or we long for something coming that will be better, or we fear it. Interesting. I’m trying to imagine what it would be like to live utterly in the present.”
            “Ya gotta love it, “ he laughed. “Gratitude helps.”
            “So, Compiler, why haven’t you written much about Twigg and his family lately?”
            “Yeah, well, they haven’t revealed themselves to me very much,” I said, not too happily.
            “I get it, you don’t want to fake it,” he said.
            “That’s right. I’m just waiting,” I said.
            “Here’s a question for you,” I said. “Are you, as a species, from Earth? Or did you come from somewhere else?”
            “From Earth. We’re not fallen angels, or demons, or whatever they dream up. We’re a lot like you, but different. Aw, P, I don’t know everything about our source. Just the same as you. You have the old Book; we have our stories too. I think we’ve been here as long  as mankind, or maybe longer.
            “I’ll tell you another thing. Forest Giants, Squatches, whatever name they call us, have sinners among us. Just like you. Some are kind. Some do evil,” Ralph sighed. “Another thing, we have the same Maker.”
            “I believe that,” I said.
            “Before we break up this tete-a-tete, do you have any words of wisdom for humans?”
            “How about just chill out! Take care of each other like you mean it. Form follow function you know. Fake it until you make it? For pity’s sake stop throwing everything away for stupid imaginations! Money isn’t life! Life is life!” he said.
            “Personally, I think we, as a species, are awfully short-sighted for people who are always looking back or forward,” we both laughed.
            “Any word you’d like me to take back to the Forest?” he asked.
            “Hm. Carry on? Look out for poachers? Be wise? Let it be? I think you mostly have it covered,” I said. “But, really, just give my love to Ramona and Cherry, and the wolf and the cats.”
            “Will do,” he said.
            I heard his big soft laugh and then he was gone, and I was sitting here with my keyboard and a cup of coffee. 

            “Fair enough,” I thought.

💚