It's As Simple As Keeping a Fire!

 

            Ranger Rick had been watching some guys chat on a certain podcast. The subject matter, as you can well imagine, was dear to his heart. Naturally it was the mysterious race of Forest Keepers, those who officially do not exist.
            The guys were talking about handprints, greasy big handprints, face prints even. Apparently, this waxy grease is powerful stuff. Once, applied to a vehicle or a window, it stays, resisting all attempts to remove it. And, it can etch a surface!
            Now, Rick had been familiar with a certain family, Ralph and family, for some time. In all of that time he had never seen any ominous white handprints. He couldn’t remember one, on the dumpster, or his truck, or Dexter’s old Honda. No camper had complained to him about strange waxy prints either. It was a mystery to Rick.
            He needed to talk to Ralph. Ralph would know.
            Rick, made a mental note and went on with his business. Eventually, Ralph would appear.
            And he did. It wasn’t a week later when Ralph poked his head into the office, and then slid all the way in, adjusting his size a bit.
            “Ah, just the man I want,” said Rick, as Ralph got settled in the big chair in front of Rick’s desk.
            “I’m all ears,” said Ralph, glancing toward the kitchen nook.
            “Hang on, coffee coming right up,” said Rick. Ralph smiled encouragement.
            “What’s up, Rick,” said Ralph, holding his coffee mug in both hands.
            “I have a question. As usual, it’s because of something I saw online. Two guys talking about you guys, with all attendant mysteriousness. The thing that stuck out to me was a lot of discussion of big white waxy handprints left by some of you guys on cars and such.
            “Why don’t you leave big white handprints on every thing you touch? What’s going on here?” said Rick. “I figured you must know!”
            Assuming sort of a professorial expression, Ralph said, “Well, I guess you know that many differing tribes of Forest Keepers exist. Some live primitively. Basically, they don’t have fire. It really kind of comes down to fire. The real backwoods types have developed this coating to stay warm and dry, instead of relying on fire and shelter.”
            “Why are you different?” said Rick. “Fire, you said? How did that happen?”
            “I’ll tell you that story in a minute. When I was a child, I was just as waxy as one of those backwoods types! So were my parents, brothers and sisters.
            “Ramona’s family were not like that. She came from a long line of Firekeepers. They were not greasy, because they had fire! It sounds funny, but it’s the only difference that I can think of,” said Ralph.
            “So, Ramona built fires, and you stopped being coated with wax? It was that simple?”
            “Not quite. For a while she had to clean me up!” laughed Ralph. “What a production!”
            “They say it’s hard to remove!” said Rick.
            “She was pretty determined,” said Ralph. “She used to boil down pigs to get the fat. After it cooled, she would set me down and massage it all over me, to loosen the wax. Then I had to wait a while for it to work. Then she scraped it off as well as she could.
            “Then she would dig up a pile of Soaproot. This was before she knew Thaga, so no soap! Anyhow, she used to pound it and mix it with water, make a bunch of lather, then completely cover me with it, and work it in good. It took all day, Rick.
            “Then we went swimming and the river took it all, soap, grease, wax, all of it away. Then when I was dry, she combed me.”
            “I think I kind of quit making that stuff in self-defense, and I didn’t need it anymore, since she made fire and cooked food By the time Twigg was born, I couldn’t have made a greasy handprint if I wanted to!” Ralph said.
            “Ralph, you’re not making this all up?” said Rick.
            “Now, Rick, have I ever lied to you?”
            “No. But it sounds like a Just So story, you know?” said Rick.
            “Hey, Mona made some nut balls, a lot like Hannah’s, but with what she had. They turned out really tasty! She said to tell Hannah thanks for the idea and the samples,” said Ralph. “Rick, I might have telescoped the truth a little, but we live in mythic times, don’t we, old buddy?
            “Ah, it works for me, Ralph. We’re the same. Both of us. Somebody had to start making fires, and everything that came after. Sometime, somewhere, there was a first time,” agreed Rick.
            “We need myth. It makes sense of the unknowable,” said Ralph. “Got another cup of coffee out there?”
            “Yeah, there are some Oreos too. Did you ever have an Oreo?”
            “Nope!”
            “They are the physical manifestation of an ad campaign, Ralph,” Rick laughed. “Sweet enough to knock your hat off.”
            “I’ll take my chances!” said Ralph. He didn’t have a hat anyhow.
            Then Ralph took his mythical big old self back to the Home Clearing, laughing as he slipped behind the dumpster.

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