Fiction: The Cabin on the Bluff

This piece received an honorable mention in the Tennessee Mountain Writers 2023 contest. The winners are listed on the Facebook page, though you must scroll down to find the list. The list on the website does not include honorable mentions, but I have the certificate they sent me. None of the awards include publication, so I am pleased to present the piece here.

Tulip Tree Flower by Ray Zimmerman

The Cabin on the Bluff

The feel of the steering wheel in his hand anchored Gary to the present. His visit to the doctor's office in town had gone well, but he knew change was coming. He wanted to get home and store the groceries he had picked up.

Further along the road, he saw a bonfire. Some teens had gathered, perhaps to celebrate the football team's winning season. 

The smoke he smelled triggered memories, interrupted by a coyote that ran across his path. He said aloud, "Stay off the road, my friend. It will keep you alive. If anyone forgot to put their cat in, they may be bereaved later tonight. You are hunting close to civilization."

Civilization is not so civil, he thought. It comes further into these mountains every year. If I wait, my friends will get their wish without me moving to town. The town will come to me.

As Gray started up the mountain, he drove past houses further apart. Eventually, he only saw woods on either side, with an occasional cabin interrupting the view.

Home, at last, he parked the jeep. The headlights flashed on the fox that frequently played in his yard. He had watched that fox snatch a field mouse and dash into the woods. On late spring nights, she sometimes brought kits she was teaching to hunt. 

The clear, chilly air afforded a fine view of the night sky. He said aloud, "With the moon full, I should smell smoke from the bluff, but there has been no fire there for years."

He placed the two bags of groceries on the porch and unlocked the door. He saw a note from friends who had stopped by while he was in town.

"Sorry, we missed you. Call us when you get a chance. How long are you going to keep living on this old mountain? A bad fall could put you in the nursing home."

He folded the paper and put it into a pocket before carrying the groceries in. He set the bags on the table and stored the meat, fruits, and vegetables in the refrigerator. The rice, beans, coffee, and oatmeal went into the cupboard.

The note, a weightless thing, suddenly felt heavy with the prospect of leaving. Gary could not bear the thought of abandoning his garden to the south, the hawk nest to the north, and the excellent hunting woods to the west. He had searched diligently for a cabin with an east-facing door so he could step onto the porch and watch the sunrise in his morning ritual. 

He would hunt tomorrow, and the time in the woods would do him good.

As Gary slept, his dreams returned him to the evening when he had heard drumbeats and smelled smoke from the bluff. On that bygone night, he walked to the cliff to investigate. If the smoke came from a forest fire, he would have to report it immediately and possibly flee from the cabin. 

He arrived to see women dancing around a fire and chanting in a language he did not understand. Others, further back from the fire, were drumming. Initially surprised to see them there, he thought, perhaps it is not so odd. It hasn't been long since granny women inhabited the hollows among these mountains, healing with herbs and working everyday magic. 

June was on the bluff, though he did not know her name yet. She shot him a look that said, "You are not welcome here." 

The drumbeats stopped as he turned and walked toward his cabin. He heard the movement of shovels and the hiss of water on hot logs. The women were putting out the fire. 

He awakened from the dream to have a quick breakfast. Despite his aging heart, he would hunt today.

He walked to the bluff, which he knew as a place of power. Mysteries are hidden on that mountain and within its cliffs. He imagined the past, present, and future existing simultaneously. As the sun rose, he held a two-point antler up in the light of the new sun and said, "May the hunting be good." 

With caution, he could kill with the first round. He would take no chancy shots and save himself the trouble of tracking the animal. It had worked out that way over the last two years. 

A three-point buck browsed the low trees near the edge of the first clearing. Gary's first shot wounded the deer. It turned to look at him before bolting away. He would never forget that look.

He spent an hour following the wounded buck's blood trail through the woods. When he caught up with the deer lying on the ground, it looked up as if to say, "Finish what you started."

"Yes, my friend," he said and delivered a clean shot through the heart. He spoke a respectful prayer of thanks and sprinkled cornmeal in front of the deer's mouth, imagining it traveling to the spirit world to be reborn. 

His mentor taught him the cornmeal ritual and reminded him always to be respectful when finishing the hunt. The mentor was the descendant of a proud people. 

Gary gutted and bled out the deer before resting. The red and gold leaves of the autumn forest gave him strength. How lucky I am to be right here, he thought. 

Resting on the long way home, he said aloud, "This is the last time I make this trip. I am too tired to track a deer's trail through leaves and carry it home."

When he got home, he called his friend Joe to help with the butchering and said, "The chase plum wore me out." He promptly fell asleep.

He awakened after what seemed to be just a minute. Joe was shaking his shoulder. "Let's get the deer cut up and into the freezer."

Joe's son Tim had come along to help. He observed, "That's a good three-pointer. I'll bet you get a bigger one next year."

Gary said, "No more. I wounded the deer and tracked him through the leaves. Carrying him out about killed me. I won't abandon an injured animal to suffer."

Tim said, "Next time, take someone with you."

Joe said, "Good idea."

With the deer butchered and some excellent cuts gifted to his helpers, Gary sat on the porch facing east. Though he could not see the setting sun, the underside of white puffy clouds reflected its fire. A breeze rustled the leaves, causing them to dance on the branches. A few fell. 

He thought of Joe or Tim hunting with him next year. The thought comforted him, but he also thought it was time to talk to friends about moving to town. They might suggest a suitable residence. 

Sitting on the porch and waiting for moonrise, he dozed, and in his dreams, he remembered June. Her name came from the month spring ended, and summer began, the month of the summer solstice. 

He had learned her name when she saw him having coffee in town. "Mind if I join you?"

He pointed to the seat beside him. "Not dancing today?"

She gave him a look of patience and said, "My friends and I would prefer not to have our ceremony become public knowledge. Please be discreet."

"I tend to mind my own business. Sorry I interfered. The drumming and the smoke made me curious."

"We have held our ceremony elsewhere, but that bluff seems right for us."

"It is a place of great power," he replied. 

"You feel it, too?"

"I go there to focus my energy before hunting or making important decisions. I will not return on the night of the full moon, though."

After a pause, he asked, "Have you seen the caves below the bluff?"

"I didn't know of them."

I will show you if you like."

Then he was awake but continued his remembering.

There had been no need to speak on the drive up the mountain. Gary parked at the cabin and picked up a small pack before walking to the bluff. 

June asked, "Supplies for a long trip?"

He replied, “Just a few essentials.” 

He opened the pack at the caves and withdrew a sage and cedar wand. He lit the wand and waved smoke to the four directions, as his mentor had taught him. 

With respect shown, he entered the cave.

June said, "What are you doing?"

"Just entering the cave," he said before he noticed that she was not looking at him. A shadow flickered on the back wall and disappeared. 

"That is odd," she said, "someone has left an impression here."

"Hundreds of them over the millennia, I imagine."

"Quiet! I am trying to find out something from them. They have fled now. I wonder why they are here."

"For the same reason as anyone else, I imagine. It is a place of power, a special place."

"But the ghosts."

"We should go," he said. With that, he turned and led the way out. 

Back in the present, Gary said, "Enough of remembering." He entered the cabin and prepared a simple supper, but the memories continued.

June had returned to his place a few days after visiting the caves. She stayed for two years in a move that scandalized her adult children. She further scandalized her family at the end of her stay by leaving town with a man she had met in a campground. They were bound for the coast of Nova Scotia to save seal pups. 

She breezed into town three months later and contacted him with the words, "I love you so much." They met in town for conversation, but she never returned to the cabin on the bluff despite occasional returns to town and meetings there.

Gary had just fallen asleep when his phone's ringtone awakened him. He felt the chill in the air and thought he should build a fire.

He unlocked the phone and discovered a recorded message. "I am in town for a few days and thought we might get together for coffee and conversation. It would be good to catch up."

It seemed appropriate that coffee would bring them to yet another conversation. 

He returned the call. "So, where are you back from this trip? Have you been saving seals off the coast of Greenland? Or have you been collecting Mesoamerican art in Belize?

She answered, "My travels have slowed down. I am living with my daughter in Memphis. My life is very different these days. Shall we meet for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Sure. Does the Waffle House sound good?" 

"That is fine. I will see you at 8:00."

"I knew I smelled smoke," he said after hanging up.