Summer on the Mountain (2 page)

 “You’re serious?” Summer said.

“Absolutely.  Run home, pack, go today!”

“But what should I pack?”

“Nothing, other than clothes and toiletries.  Oh, and sturdy shoes.  The pantry in the cabin is well-stocked, since, well, you know…”

Summer understood Gwendolyn referred to her and Leonard’s short stay a few weeks before.  She nodded, but remained unsure.  “I feel like I need time to prepare...”

“You don’t,” she assured her.  “Go, pack your clothes, and be off.  The sooner you finish the painting, the sooner I’ll be in my husband’s good graces.”

She watched her friend uncertainly.  “Are you sure?  Really sure?”

“Yes.  Go.  Go!”

Summer smiled tentatively.  “I’ll need directions.”

“Oh, yes.”  Gwendolyn scribbled directions on a small pad of paper she retrieved from her desk.  “Okay, then, call me as soon as you get there.  It’s about a two hour drive.  Oh, and if you have any trouble while you’re there, my son Jarrod lives on the adjoining property.”

Summer furrowed her brows.  “Jarrod?  Your youngest son?  Isn’t he the forest ranger living on federal land?”

“He is a forest ranger, but he chooses to live on his own property, although he works from a nearby site on federal land.  His property actually backs up to government land.”

Summer nodded.  She had never met Jarrod, but from what she had gathered when his parents spoke of him, he was a chip off Leonard’s block, favoring a life in the wilderness to city dwelling.

“Well, it’ll be nice knowing someone is close by should I need him,” Summer said softly, wondering if she would have occasion to actually meet him.  His family practically described him as a hermit, who had rejected anything metropolitan. 

Summer didn’t miss the flash of uncertainty that crossed Gwendolyn’s face, but then realized she must have imagined it when her boss’s eyes widened suddenly and she grinned, almost smugly. 

“Remember, call me as soon as you arrive.  Let me know what you think of the cabin.  Oh, and do tell Jarrod hello for me.”

“I will,” she called cheerfully as she dashed out the door.

*** 

As Summer left the lowlands behind and traveled up the steep mountain road, she felt giddy with excitement.  Today she’d gone to work as she would any other day, only to leave early with the express permission of her boss.  She was off to her very first extended wilderness retreat.  She couldn’t wait.

As she drove, she wished she’d taken the time to change out of her work clothes.  Her slim fitting dress made driving uncomfortable, as did her two-inch heels.  Her feet ached, and she considered pulling over to change into the comfortable tennis shoes stowed in the trunk.  But then she consulted her watch and changed her mind.  She was perhaps a half-hour drive from her destination and was champing at the bit to get there.

Fifteen minutes later, however, she noted a sign identifying a lookout point off the roadway, and she couldn’t resist pulling in to check out the view.  She parked and stepped from the vehicle, stretching to relieve her tired muscles.  She took a tentative step onto an asphalt sidewalk that led to an outcropping over a shallow ravine, but experienced a sudden hunger pang.  She turned and ducked back into her car to grab a baggie of trail mix.

She munched hungrily as she walked the trail again, and gasped when she reached the outcropping and saw the panoramic view before her.  Fortunately, the drop off in front of her wasn’t terribly deep and therefore, didn’t cause a dizzy spell a higher vantage point might have induced in her.  She was terribly afraid of heights but hoped her mountain excursion might help her overcome it.

To her left stood what appeared to be the very peak of the mountain, and below her, acre after acre of lush, green trees.  In the midst of the trees, sunlight twinkled on a crisp, blue mountain lake.  The sight reminded her of a picture postcard and she couldn’t help staring in awe at the magnificence of Mother Nature.

Finally, she returned to her car and rested against the hood as she watched two squirrels frolicking nearby.  One brave little fellow ran up to her, lifting its front paws as if begging.  She giggled gleefully and tossed the little creature a peanut, and then another.  The second squirrel soon joined them.

She didn’t see the stern faced ranger approach until he was practically upon her.  He paused long enough to shoot her a warning look, and then hitch a thumb at a nearby sign marked, “Please don’t feed the squirrels.”   

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, flushing with embarrassment.  “I don’t know how I missed the sign.”

The man, tall and muscular, simply nodded crisply and continued his stride toward a Ford Explorer parked a few spaces over.

Summer winced.  How had she missed the sign?  She glanced over at the ranger, who now stood at the hood of his SUV.  It was clear he thought she was a moron, if the look on his handsome face was any indication.  Thick brows were drawn low over crisp blue eyes.  Those eyes were presently narrowed speculatively.  She suspected he was curious about her attire, since his eyes lit briefly on her oh-so-inappropriate-for-the-conditions shoes. 

At this point, she truly regretted not having changed out of her work clothes.  With a self-conscious glance at the ranger and an apologetic shrug at the squirrels, she climbed back into her car and headed for the cabin. 

She drove carefully, cognizant of every speed limit sign, fearful of running into other members of the law enforcement community.  With relief, she finally arrived at the cabin, tucked in the trees and on the embankment of the most beautiful and pristine mountain lake she had ever seen—either real or an artist’s rendition.  She gasped with pleasure. 

She stepped out of her car, glancing around eagerly.  She couldn’t wait to walk down to the lake, but first decided she needed to carry her clothing and toiletries into the cabin.  She hoped Gwendolyn had been correct about the cabin being well-stocked with food and most anything else she might need during her stay. 

She decided to leave her painting supplies in the trunk for later and inside the cabin, sighed with contentment.  It was everything she had pictured in her mind’s eye, from the knotty pine construction to the stone fireplace.  She stepped into the bedroom, surprised to find it smaller than she expected, but tidy, and certainly big enough for her.  The bathroom boasted a serviceable shower, but no tub.  No matter, she decided.  Although spending time at this cabin would never qualify as “roughing it,” since it was a far cry from the tent camping she had done the one time as a child, it was still a unique experience for a girl who had spent her entire life in the city.

She decided to change out of her work attire, sighing with relief as she shed her pumps with a dramatic flourish, and then the panty hose and constricting dress.  She slipped into jeans and a t-shirt, and then spun around gleefully.  The place was all hers for the summer, or at least until she completed the painting for Leonard. 

The painting
. 

She abruptly dropped onto the bed.  The reality of the situation gripped her.  She had agreed to do a painting, when she hadn’t actually picked up a paintbrush in nearly a year.  What had she been thinking? 

She sighed, remembering how much she had loved painting.  It had truly been her passion, but after the fiasco with the couple over the painting of their home, she had just seemed to run out of steam.  And too, the incident had coincided with the breakup of her two-year relationship with another artist.  Both incidents still stung, regardless of how hard she tried to overcome the pain.

She sighed again.  What if she couldn’t produce an artwork that truly captured the rugged beauty of this place?  What if she couldn’t give Gwendolyn the very thing she had been sent to retrieve?  What if she couldn’t rediscover her muse, her love for vivid color and the creativity of painting from one’s heart and soul? 

What if
?

The next day, Summer woke early.  She remained in the cozy bed for several moments.  She could scarcely believe she was on a mountaintop, and with the entire summer stretching out before her. 

Of course, there was the matter of the painting, but she cast the worry aside for now, deciding to take some time to both enjoy and familiarize herself with her surroundings before picking up a paint brush.

She took a quick shower, and while standing under the stream of water, heard the ringing telephone in the bedroom.  Turning off the water, she snatched a towel off a nearby hook, and then padded to the phone.  “Hello,” she said cheerfully.    

“Well, what do you think of the place by now?” Gwendolyn asked.  Summer heard the note of disdain in her voice. 

“Oh, Gwendolyn, it’s everything I imagined it would be and more.  I still can’t believe I’m actually here.”

“Well, believe it,” she said in measured tones.  “And better you than me.  Any ideas on what you might paint?”

“I’ve just arrived,” Summer said with a chuckle.  “I need some time.  But, I’ll do my best to get started ASAP.”

Gwendolyn sounded pleased to hear that, and the two signed off, with promises to keep in touch.

Summer fell backward onto the bed with a contented sigh.  A whole day in the Great Outdoors awaited her, and she could scarcely wrap her mind around it.  What should she do today?

She rose from the bed, toweled off, and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.  She slipped on sneakers, and then dashed to the kitchen for a quick bowl of cereal. 

Gwendolyn hadn’t been kidding when she’d assured her that the kitchen was well-stocked.  A large pantry was filled from top to bottom with every manner of food stuff, and she realized she wouldn’t need to make a grocery run for weeks.

After dropping her cereal bowl into the sink—she’d wash it later—she strode out back to the screened-in porch.  Immediately she spied a cluster of fishing poles propped against a corner wall.  She hurried over to inspect them, her eyes widening with pleasure.

She wondered, should she try her hand at fishing?  She had fished only once in her lifetime—during her camping trip with her father.

Summer recalled having relished the experience, though she hadn’t actually caught a fish.  But she had enjoyed standing on the lake bank, waiting with anticipation for a fish to strike.  She remembered her father explaining to her that fishing was less about the big catch, and more an opportunity for quiet contemplation.  She had liked the sound of that even as an eight-year-old child.

With a grin, she decided to try her hand at fishing and extracted a pole from the bundle.  Suddenly, the thought of putting an innocent worm on a hook caused her to wince, but then she spotted a tackle box at her feet.  She propped the pole against a wall, picked up the tackle box, and dropped it onto a chair.  She opened it, recognizing the tiny hooks with colorful, feathered enhancements from a picture she’d seen once.  They were fishing lures.  Pleased with her discovery, she secured the tackle box, picked it up by the handle, grabbed the pole, and then dashed out of the cabin and outside to the lake.

She was delighted to find the property boasted a dock that stretched out several yards over the crystalline lake.  She trotted to the end, dropping onto the wooden planks and carefully laying the pole down.  She sat for a moment, studying the slender rod, and decided she had a fairly good idea how the thing worked.  She carefully reached for the line, noting a hook was already tied on and secured to a loop at the end of the pole. 

She studied the hook, but then decided to remove it and replace it with a lure.  She just wasn’t prepared to deal with a worm at this point.  She snipped off the hook with a pair of scissors she found in the tackle box, and chose a particularly colorful lure.  After she tied it on the line, she held it carefully between two fingers.  She scanned the lake, then turned her attention back to the pole.    

She rose from her sitting position and then carefully dropped the line into the water.  It landed only inches from the dock.  That didn’t seem terribly efficient to her, so she pulled the line back.  She studied the pole again, struggling to remember how the thing worked. 

Finally, she smiled as she remembered how to cast.  She pulled back the bail on the reel, reared her arm back, and tossed the line into the water where it landed with a resounding plop. 
Success
!

She sat down on the dock, shed her shoes, and dangled her feet into the freezing cold water.  She gasped.  The water felt too cold and she pulled them out, tucking them beneath her.  Suddenly, she felt a tug on the line and she jumped up, pulling at whatever had a hold of the lure.  To her consternation, the line snapped.    With a sigh, she tugged additional line away from the fishing reel, attached a new lure, and then cast again.  She sat for a half hour or so without feeling any kind of tug on the line.  So much for quiet contemplation, she decided.  She wanted to catch a fish! 

She rose and carefully reeled in the line, securing the lure at the end of the pole.  She glanced along the lake bank.  She saw a massive log protruding out over the water some distance away.  She decided to see if the fish might be biting over there. 

Snatching up the tackle box, she hurried to the log and carefully walked the length of it, feeling as if she were walking a balance beam—albeit a slippery, mossy one.  With outstretched arms—a pole in one hand and the tackle box in the other—she managed to keep her balance, and finally, reached the end of the log.  There she found herself teetering slightly.  She set the tackle box down, and then disengaged the lure from the end of the pole.