sweet little bluebird...

Bluebird and I became instant friends. She and her sisters were reluctant hikers – one claiming to have been kidnapped (don’t worry, I made sure she hadn’t n been “Elizabeth Smart’d”). It turns out, hiking the AT was not the way most pre-teens envisioned their ideal summer break. This evil plan was devised by their mother and grandmother, neither of which had made it to the shelter yet. As the girls stripped off their ponchos, the only item they possessed that could have possibly been purchased from the “outdoor” section of the store, my shelter companions and I quizzed them about their experience so far.

“Where did you start?”

“The approach trail on Springer Mountain” (the trails origination nearly 160 miles away from where we stood now)

“Where do you plan to end?”

“Dunno.”

“How far you are you hiking per day?”

“Dunno.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Dunno”

“Where are your mom and grandmother?”

“They are on their way. They are slow!”

Grandma was having a tough time in the rain. She had fallen several times and was practically crawling toward the shelter at this point. The girl’s mother was with her.

They began claiming spots in the shelter and setting up their things. Bluebird chatted endlessly, the way only a 10 year old could after a long day of hiking. She told me stories and jokes and asked me endless questions. She brought more life and energy into that shelter than it had likely seen in it’s entire 60 year existence. Her sisters gossiped about kids at school and boys, oblivious to the fact that anything might change in their world in the months they had been missing from it. They were probably right – nothing had really changed.

Bluebird informed me that she could sing…but would not sing upon request. I tested her and she held out, refusing to entertain us right up until the moment it seemed she was losing the spotlight. Then she turned it on. My God, that kid COULD sing. It was like bunking with a 10 year old Beyonce – watching her dance and sing around the shelter, barefoot and wearing a men’s hooded sweatshirt that hung around her knees.

 The girls jabbered and squealed and sang for the next hour or so. I offered to sell my earplugs to Ayub for $100 each. Bluebird and I chatted and Ayub and Patriot each returned to their bags and their books. It was about that time that Grandma emerged from the darkness…soaked and limping. She said exactly two things before collapsing onto the shelter’s lower platform: “Get that fire going!” and “Get me a pain pill!”

As Grandma barked orders the girls sprang into action. Ayona (Bluebird) was never moving fast enough for her grandmother. I must have heard her named yelled 100 times. I upped the price of my earplugs to $200 each. The girls hustled to revive the miraculous fire Patriot had started. I don’t know what they were burning but Grandma (ironically, her trail name was Whispering Willow) demanded the fire be bigger and somehow the girls made it happen. Patriot, feeling sorry for the girls, climbed out of his bag and tried to help. His pleas to Grandma’s understanding (“You know, everything IS wet. There is really nothing to burn.”) were completely ignored. It became apparent why the fire was so critical…they needed to cook their dinner over it. One of the girls handed Grandma her pain pill (asprin, as it turns out) and Grandma snatched it saying, “you know I never take these.” She popped it into her mouth and swallowed, no water required. Water! I looked around at their water bottles strewn around the shelter, each with something attached to it or tied around it, presumably to identify its owner. Were they treating their water?? I surveyed their rag-tag pile of equipment, an assortment that you might put together if you were forced from your home without a moments notice and had to live off the land using just the metal pot, can opener and steak knife you grabbed on your way out the door. No way they were filtering water. I cringed.

They ate canned stew for dinner. Grandma dined without moving. Once she had a couple of calories in her, she calmed down and apologized to the entire shelter, saying, “I’m sorry. I am not normally like this.” I feel ya, Grandma.

Ayub and Patriot, having wisely vacated the lower platform to join me on the top, exchanged tired expressions and then buried themselves in their bags. I took a quick look at the dagger Ayub had placed between our bags. “As if!” I thought and placed my can of pepper spray beside it. Weapons in place, message sent and received…no one crosses this line. I popped a sleeping pill into my mouth, washed it down with my TREATED water and checked out for the evening.