The Fog at Boogeyman Bog

My Grandpa was the King of Storytellers.  Ever since I was a little kid, he would tell me tale after tall tale and kept my imagination riding forever high on a wild roller coaster.  I can't tell you how many nights I laid awake in bed with the tales of the day running through my mind.  Many of his tales were about times he spent growing up and the mischief he and his siblings used to get into.

One story in particular always comes to the front of my mind during the month of October, as Halloween approaches and all the spooky decorations start popping up in neighborhood yards.  I always loved Halloween as a kid.  The anticipation of that one night of freedom when me and my friends would dress up and roam the streets, going door-to-door to fill our sacks with sugary treats.  Later, after our sacks were bursting with our favorite candies, we'd meet up at the foot of Bicycle Hill to divvy up our bounty, and we always ended up trading spooky stories to see who could out-do the other in the fright department.  I always had plenty of stories to tell, thanks to my Grandpa.

My favorite story was Grandpa's tale of Boogeyman Bog.  In the tiny town where he grew up, there was a slough out past the railroad tracks where my Grandpa loved to fish and go frog gigging.  He had a little wooden row boat that he kept out there, tied to a stump on the bank of the slough.  During the daytime, he'd often go fishing after school, and on weekend nights his favorite past time was frog gigging.  Some nights he'd come home with a bucket full of fat bullfrogs and his Mama would clean them and cut their legs off and dip them in a spicy cornbread batter and fry them up for dinner the next day.

On one side of the slough was Boogeyman Bog.  Grandpa always stayed clear of the bog because it was a dangerous place.  The ground was soft and covered in spongy moss and grasses, and a person could sink down into the muck and never be seen again.  The bog was known to swallow things up - dogs and wild animals, even little children and grown men!  Everyone feared the bog, especially at night.

Grandpa had an old miner's hat with a light on the front of it.  He always wore this hat when he went frog gigging at night because the light would shine down into the murky water of the slough and he was able to spot the frogs more easily.  The bright light would temporarily blind the poor bullfrogs and it kept Grandpa's hands free so he was able to thrust his spear into the water and gig the frogs.  One night Grandpa had been out in the boat for about an hour and had about a dozen fat frogs in the bucket when he heard an ear-splitting wail float across the dark water.  His first thought was it must have been a screech owl, or a critter in distress.  Every hair on his body seemed to stand on end and a shiver ran up his spine.  The light on Grandpa's hat shined across the top of the water, back and forth as he turned his head in search of the source of that eerie sound, but all he could see was darkness and a gray mist as it whisped around on top of the slough.  It seemed the whole night had gone silent after that frightful noise.  He could no longer hear the frogs croaking or the bugs chirping.  Even the water lapping against the side of his boat had turned quiet.

Grandpa decided maybe he'd had enough for one night, so he put down his spear and picked up the paddles to row back to shore.  As he turned the boat around, he noticed the mist on the water was getting thicker and he could barely see his hand in front of his face.  He slowly made his way through the lily pads and across the slimy slough, but it seemed to be taking forever to reach the shore.  He didn't remember going out that far into the slough, but maybe he'd gotten himself turned around.  The heavy mist was really making him disoriented.  

All of a sudden his boat lurched forward and there was a loud thud as it hit something heavy in the water.  Grandpa shined his hat over the side of the boat, but he couldn't see the shore.  Only tree stumps covered in green algae and lily pads dotting the surface of the slough.  He definitely wasn't anywhere close to his jumping-out spot, so he knew he had somehow ended up on the wrong side of the slough.  The screeching howl split the dark again and poor Grandpa nearly fell out of the boat in fright.  He fell back hard onto the seat and one of his paddles splashed over the side of the boat and dropped to the bottom of the slough.  Grandpa was shaking like a leaf and the light from his hat was scanning the darkness in front of him, back and forth across the water in search of that horrendous howl.  One sweep of the light to the left and he zeroed in on a dark mass standing about 20 feet from the boat.  Grandpa's eyes strained to see through the darkness.  Was it a tree or a bush?  A rock formation on the shore?  The mist was making it hard for him to see through the darkness as it thickened and became more fog-like.  The fog rolled over the top of the water in waves, almost like it had a life of its own.

The boat hit something hard again and this time Grandpa felt it tilt to one side and come to a complete stop.  Surely he had reached the shore.  He pushed his remaining paddle over the side into the water and it hit dirt, so he knew he was close enough to walk out onto the land.  Surely once he got out of the boat, he'd be able to figure out where he had landed and make his way out of the slough.  Grandpa gathered up his things and put the bucket over his arm.  He had just stepped out of the boat when the scream came again, this time much closer than before, and the dark mass shifted closer to where Grandpa was standing.  For a second, he was frozen in his boots, not knowing if he should get back in the boat and try paddling away, or if he should make a run for it.  The dark mass loomed over him now, even closer than before and it started to take shape as Grandpa stared up into it.  It was close enough for him to see it had long arms and legs and was standing upright like a man, but it was larger than a bear and covered in long, gray hair and what looked like thick green worms wriggling all over.  He couldn't see a face or anything to define what exactly it was, and the odor coming off it was sickening and just breathing it in was making him gag.

Suddenly, whatever the creature was, opened it's mouth to scream again and one look up into that dark gaping maw of a mouth, with those snaggly, sharp teeth is all it took for Grandpa to get his wits about him and get the heck out of that slough!  He threw down his bucket and gear and started running for all he was worth.  He could hear the thing splashing in the mucky water behind him, but he didn't look back.  He just ran and ran until finally he had reached the sandy beach that would lead him back up into the woods.  Grandpa didn't stop running until he'd reached the middle of the forest.  He stopped at a fallen log and looked back toward the slough, his light scanning the fog for any sign that the creature was still following him.  He didn't see anything.  Had he imagined it all?  He turned back around and headed deeper into the woods and was just reaching the railroad tracks on the other side when off in the distance he heard the scream pierce the night again, but this time very far away.  Whatever it was, had moved back into the swampy bog.

Grandpa lost his taste for fried frog legs that night, and it was a very long time before he went back to that slough to recover his boat and lost gear.  He vowed to never go back at night, and only on the clearest of days.  He knew he had encountered the true boogeyman of the bog and that it wasn't just some old tale to scare little boys away from the dangers of the bog.  He told his story to anyone who would listen, over and over again.  It's still a favorite story of mine to tell on cold October nights when we're sitting around the fire.  Happy Halloween and steer clear of Boogeyman Bog!

My Daddy

How do you ever get over the grief of losing someone so suddenly, that you loved so deeply?  Never getting to truly say goodbye and "I love you" that one last time.  It's utterly heartbreaking and the guilt and sorrow you're left with just tears you inside out.

My sweet Daddy left this world last week and is now in Heaven.  While I'm glad he's in Heaven, I selfishly just want him here with me.  I miss him terribly and I want to hear his comforting voice.  I want to hear his raspy laugh.  I want to hear him call me "Honey" and say "How's my little lady?" like he always did.

All weekend I've just been grasping at memories, willing myself to hear his voice, wishing for more time together to tell him all the things I want him to know.  Things just keep popping in my head, big and small.  Silly memories, sad ones, fun times, trips we took together.  All the things he taught me.  I can't remember a single time he ever raised his voice to me in anger.  Not one single time.  He was always loving and proud and patient.

I remember once when Tiff and I were staying at his home for the weekend and I got sick with a terrible headache.  All I wanted was to go home to my Mom, which was a four hour drive over the mountains, one way.  I didn't even have to ask twice.  Without hesitation, he just loaded me up in the car in the middle of the night and drove me over those mountains to my Mom.  He dropped me off and turned around and drove the whole way back alone.  He didn't have to do that.  He could have made me stay there with him and just tough it out, but he didn't.

He taught me how to fry an egg.  Silly memory, huh?  Every time I crack an egg in a frying pan, I think of my Daddy.  He used to run his fingers through my hair to get the tangles out.  He didn't like to use a brush, he would just sit there and use his hands.  He used to sing to me with his deep, gravelly timbered voice.  I remember two songs in particular.  One was an old Elvis song called It Is No Secret What God Can Do, and the other was The Eastbound Train, which was a sad song about a train conductor and a little girl who was traveling to see her dying Daddy.

One time he surprised me in Tennessee.  He just showed up at my office one day out of the blue and stayed with me for the whole weekend.  We visited the whole time, just me and him, talking for hours.  I felt so close to him that weekend with his complete undivided attention and he just wanted to hear all about my life.  I took him to my church that Sunday and we held hands during the entire service.  When the congregation stood to sing How Great Thou Art, Daddy broke down in tears and just sobbed and sobbed.  We just held each other until he could stop crying.  He was so tender hearted.

He was such a character, always so charming and funny.  One time when we were little girls, he took us to a petting zoo and stood in front of the llamas teasing them until one of them spit in his eye.  We laughed and laughed.  And a goat pulled his wallet out of the back of his jeans and chewed up some dollar bills.  We thought it was so funny to see him wrestle that wallet out of the goats' mouth.  One time he saved my sister from drowning in the pool.  She went into the deep end and couldn't swim and he just jumped right into the pool with all his clothes and his cowboy boots on and saved her.  He just held her until she stopped crying.  Our hero.

My heart just aches and I can't stop these hot tears from flowing down my cheeks.  I just want us all to be together forever and there to be no dying, no suffering, no sadness.  I hope and pray we can all truly be together again one day and we'll know each other and be able to hug and hold each other and be happy in Heaven.  I'm so thankful for everything my Daddy was to me, and I'll miss him so much.  I can't imagine a world without him.

I love you Daddy.  Thank you for my life.  Thank you for loving me so completely. 

Mystery at Fogarty Creek Beach

 Annie loved nothing more than being on the beach.  For as long as she could remember, she had been coming to Fogarty Creek Beach, a small park off the Oregon Coast near Depoe Bay.  Her Mama had brought her here since she was a toddler, and now, Annie in her late 20's, loved it just as much as she had back then.  Lots of good memories were made at this beach over the years.  Building sand castles, combing the beach for shells and bits of sea glass, watching for seals bobbing in the waves, searching for sea urchins and starfish in the tidal pools.  Annie had even had her first kiss at Fogarty, when she and some friends from school had come to the beach one weekend.  They had gathered driftwood and built a fire on the beach and stayed until well after midnight, sharing stories and yes, kisses in the dark, while the waves crashed noisily in the background.  She and her friends spent many a teenage weekend heading off to the beach and staying as long as time would allow.

Now, as Annie walked barefoot in the sand, she thought back to those carefree days and the friends who had all gone their separate ways after school had ended.  The one constant in her life though, was Joe.  Joe, who shared her love of Fogarty Creek Beach.  Joe, who had given her her first kiss at the campfire all those many years ago.  Joe, who had always been there for her.  Her steady rock.

Annie laid her windbreaker down on the damp sand and sat on top of it to watch the ocean.  She gathered her knees up to her chest and let the wind toss her hair every which way.  It was a particularly windy day.  Maybe a storm was coming in.  Annie loved the way the sea mist occasionally blew against her face.  She loved the salty smell of the ocean and the sound of the gulls riding the wind above the waves.  Joe was out on that ocean today and her thoughts turned to him.  He ran a local fishing charter that took tourists out of the marina at Depoe Bay five days a week, and today was his last run of the week.  Tonight they would share dinner at home and have a couple of days to themselves.  She always cherished her time with Joe.

As Annie sat there daydreaming about Joe, a strange moaning sound came to her over the wind.  At first Annie thought maybe it was a fog horn from one of the buoys on the bay, but the noise came again and this time it was louder and more drawn out.  Annie looked around, but saw no one else along the beach.  This wasn't surprising - Fogarty Creek Beach was a small one, and almost always secluded.  Most folks preferred the long, straight beaches you could walk on for miles, but Fogarty was nestled in some rock cliffs and was shaped like a crescent moon.  You could only access it during low tide and the beach itself was very small and sloping toward the water.  There was a small section of beach at the top where you could picnic on dry sand, but most of the beach was always wet and battered by the waves.

Annie stood and turned to search the picnic area, but again saw no one.  The moaning continued, but seemed distant.  Annie gathered up her windbreaker and started walking along the beach, looking up toward the cliffs.  Maybe the sound was carrying from the small parking lot at the top of the highway?  She tipped her head back and shielded her eyes from the sun, but saw nothing but ancient, weather beaten rock.  Annie kept walking and was nearly to the end of the sand where the rock curved around a bend, when she heard the moaning again.  This time, much louder than before.  She stared hard at the cliff face and thought she saw a darkened space just at the bend where the sand ended.  The tide was starting to come back in, so the waves would keep her from going any further, but this dark space seemed to be where the moaning was coming from.  Could there be a wounded sea lion around that bend?  Maybe the waves had carried it into the sharp rocks and it was stuck there suffering?  She tried to make sense of the sounds, but the wind was picking up again and the water was rushing closer.  If she didn't turn back now, she wouldn't be able to make it up the path to safety before high tide.  Reluctantly, Annie turned around and headed back up the beach, and to the stairs leading to her truck.

Once up the cliff, Annie shook sand out of her shoes and slipped them back onto her feet.  She sat on the tailgate of her truck and surveyed the parking lot.  Hers was the only vehicle in the lot and besides the waves crashing below, the only other sounds were the cars driving by above her on Highway 101.  She sat a little longer, straining to hear the moan, but it didn't come.  She could only assume it was her active imagination, or as she thought before, a wounded animal stuck near the rocks.  She hated to think of anything suffering, but there was nothing she could do for it.  She and Joe would come back tomorrow when the tide was back out.

Annie jumped off the tailgate, slammed it shut and headed home.  Joe would be coming back into port soon, smelling like fish and tired and hungry.  She had put a pot roast in the slow-cooker this morning before she had left - Joe's favorite - and it would be ready by now.  When she pulled in front of their little cottage by the sea, she couldn't help but smile.  Its weathered gray exterior was accentuated by the light blue shutters Joe had painted and installed on the sides of each of their windows.  Joe had cut a little whale out of each shutter, giving the cottage whimsical character.  They had shared a laugh when he first hung them at the windows.  Whale watching was a big business on the Oregon Coast and Joe had often treated his boat load of tourists to a sighting now and then while out fishing.  They often joked about a landlubber hooking into a whale and carrying the boat off to sea.  They had named their little cottage Whale's Spout and they cherished their little home.

Annie stepped up onto the side porch and tossed her shoes in a basket by the door.  She could already hear their English Bulldog, Snout, sniffing and scratching at the bottom of the door, in anticipation of Annie's arrival.  She opened the door and out came Snout, wiggling and grunting like a happy little piglet.  His wrinkly face with its massive underbite was one only a Mother could love.  And Annie was a proud Mother!  She knelt down to receive Snout's kisses and to rub his ears.  The house smelled wonderful with the aroma of Joe's dinner and Annie set off for the kitchen to bake a loaf of crusty bread to accompany their meal.  Joe would be home soon!

Today's fishing excursion had been a good one and all eight of Joe's passengers had caught their limit.  There would be buckets of fish to clean and package, and everyone, including Joe, was tired after a long day on the ocean.  Each passenger paid a fee to fish for eight hours and that included the price of cleaning and packaging their catch to take home.  Most of his excursions had eight to twelve passengers, and he took the boat out five days a week, weather permitting.  It was a good living and he'd been enjoying the business venture for about ten years now.  Two little boys were asleep on a bench at the back of the boat, while the adults visited and boasted about their catch of the day.  It had been a good day, and the seas had been fairly calm.  Everyone seemed to have had fun on the trip, whooping and hollering whenever someone hooked a big one and reeled it in.  Even the little boys were able to pull in a fish or two, with the help of Joe or one of the parents.  It had been a long day and Joe was hungry and tired, ready to head home to Annie.

After docking back at the marina, the deck hands unloaded the fish and set to cleaning them on big steel tables lined up on the dock.  The passengers ventured upstairs for warm drinks and to get in out of the cold.  There was an observation room upstairs with big windows looking out over the dock and bay, so they could watch the boats coming in and the fish being cleaned below.  The men below would gut the fish and throw the waste out to the screaming gulls that were lined up along the railings, fighting and diving for every last scrap.  They expertly filleted the fish and vacuum packed the meat for the tourists who had paid high dollar for their seafood bounty.  Everyone would leave for home happy, and Joe hoped they would all come again and tell their friends what a good time they had.

The last of the passengers had shaken Joe's hand and patted him on the back with promises of returning again soon, so Joe set to hosing off the dock and securing his boat.  It was starting to get dark and the wind was picking up.  Maybe a good storm would roll in and keep them home this weekend, snuggled by the fire.  Joe wouldn't mind being stuck inside with Annie and Snout.  By the time he arrived home, it was darker and starting to rain.  Lights glowed at every window and Joe spotted Annie in the kitchen, busying herself at the table.  His stomach rumbled with hunger and he couldn't wait to get inside and see what she had fixed him.  When he entered the kitchen, there was Snout at Annie's feet, looking up to catch any morsel that might find its way to the floor.  Annie was known to drop a treat or two accidentally-on-purpose, and Snout was like a Hoover vacuum cleaner, waiting to suck up every last scrap.  He didn't even notice Joe standing in the doorway until Annie turned around and greeted him.  Then Snout set to wiggling around and dancing at Joe's feet, grunting for his affection.  Joe bent to rub Snout's wrinkled face and then stood to give Annie a long hug.  It was good to be home and see Annie's smile.

Joe's belly was full and Snout was snoring loudly beneath the kitchen table.  Annie had cleared the dishes and was sitting across from Joe with a cup of tea, savoring one of her famous lemon bars.  Joe had already polished off three of them, and truth be told, I'm sure Snout had had a nibble of one too.  Annie couldn't wait to tell Joe about her day on Fogarty Creek Beach.  "Joe, I went to our beach today and while I was sitting watching for seals, I heard a terrible moaning coming from the cliffs."  Joe, fully aware of Annie's active imagination, prepared to humor her awhile and listened to her story.  "I walked as far as I could Joe, and I think I spotted a cave.  I think the moaning might have been coming from there.  Do you suppose it was a wounded animal, washed into the mouth of the cave?"  In all their time on Fogarty Beach, Joe couldn't recall every seeing a cave.  Lord knows they had explored every inch of that beach since they were teenagers, spending all their extra time there after school and during their days off work.  It must have been a trick of the sun hitting the rocks, making it appear to be a cave.  Surely there were no caves along that rocky cliff.  But Joe was prepared to humor his Annie, and he promised if the storm held off, they'd go there together tomorrow and check it out.

The next morning, Annie was up early and had already prepared bacon and egg biscuits with a thermos of coffee to go.  She was anxious to show Joe the cave and hopeful he would see that she hadn't imagined it all.  When Joe shuffled into the kitchen with his hair on end and sleep in his eyes, Annie hurried him along to get dressed so they could head out.  He had hoped to stay in with a storm this weekend, but the weather had betrayed him and the sun shone brightly in a clear, blue sky.  So much for a cozy weekend indoors with Annie and Snout.  Snout, smelling bacon, came sniffing into the kitchen and went straight to his bowl for breakfast.  He gobbled it down, sounding every bit like the fat little pig that he was, and then he waddled over to Annie to thank her with slobbery kisses.  She took him outside for his morning walk around the yard while Joe got dressed.  After Snout had watered all the bushes and sniffed every rock, she took him back inside, and Joe gathered up the bag of biscuits and thermos and they headed off to the beach.

When they pulled into the lot, there was only one other car in sight.  They parked and locked the truck and headed down the steps toward the beach.  As they stepped out onto the sand, they saw a woman with her little boy.  He had a bright yellow bucket with a red shovel and was covered in sand from head-to-toe.  The remains of his castle was on the beach behind him, and already the waves were inching up to wash it away.  His grin was a mile wide and he waved hello as soon as he spotted them.  Joe bent down to shake the little boys' hand and Annie greeted the woman with a smile.  "Did you have a good morning on the beach?"  Annie asked her.  "Oh yes, we love this beach!  We don't get to come often enough, but I drove him over for the weekend.  We're on our way back home this afternoon, but he wanted to make one more sand castle."  Annie wanted to ask the woman if she had heard any strange moaning sounds, but she didn't want to scare the little boy, so she bit her tongue and they all parted ways.  Now Joe and Annie had the beach to themselves.

They tossed their shoes off and Joe grabbed Annie's hand and they walked toward the water.  Walking in the damp sand was a lot easier than trying to walk in the fluffy dry.  The sun was sparkling off the water brightly and sandpipers playfully skittered across the sand close to the water's edge.  The tide was out, for the most part, so the beach was larger than  normal and you had better luck finding sand dollars and shells.  Annie tugged Joe toward the end of the cliff where she had spotted what she thought might be a cave.  Joe, followed along, laughing at her child-like exuberance.  When Annie got a bee in her bonnet, there was no stopping her!

Annie got within feet of the bend in the cliff, where she had heard the moaning, and spotted the dark area in the cliff.  She turned toward the ocean and the wind blew her hair back.  She turned her face up to the sun and closed her eyes and did her best to listen intently, hoping to hear the moan.  But she only heard the gulls and the waves and the foamy water as it inched up the beach toward their toes.  "Wait Joe, let's sit here and listen awhile.  Maybe you'll hear it too!"  So, Joe obliged and they plopped down on the sand and stared at the sea.  They sat there on the beach for what seemed like hours.  Occasionally Joe would get up and walk around a bit, picking up shells and pebbles that he thought Annie might like for her flowerbeds at the cottage.  He'd bring them back to her and then go in search for more.  It was getting late in the day and the biscuits she'd made earlier were long gone.  Pot roast leftovers sounded pretty good and his stomach was rumbling.  "Come on Annie, let's go home to Snout.  We haven't heard a thing.  It was probably just the wind."  Joe said.  "Oh Joe, I just know it wasn't the wind.  I wish you could have heard it too."  Annie replied.  Annie got up and dusted sand off her pants, gathered up the treasures Joe had found for her and took his hand to go.  They walked back up the beach toward the stairs, but Annie couldn't resist looking back one more time at the dark spot on the cliff.  When she did, she thought she saw something moving in the wind against the rocks.  She stopped and turned and watched.  "What is that?" she asked.  "Oh Joe, do you see it too?"  Joe looked in the direction of Annie's gaze and yes, he did see something, but what was it?  Some sea moss stuck on the rocks, blowing in the wind?  He couldn't quite be sure.  He held his hand up to his eyes to shield the sun and when he did, he thought he saw a woman's face in the rocks.  A faced framed with gray hair that was blowing in the wind.  He turned back to Annie and then back to the rocks, but the face was gone.  There was nothing there but the dark colored rocks on the cliff.  He blinked to clear his vision and searched the cliff, but didn't see anything else out of the ordinary.  "I don't know what that was, but it's getting late Annie.  Let's get home."  They climbed the steps to the truck and were dumping the sand out of their shoes when a terribly sad and mournful sound came to them across the wind.  Annie's blue eyes got wide as saucers and she looked at Joe, but kept silent.  Surely he heard that too!  From the look on Joe's face, Annie knew he had heard it.  They both remained silent, holding their breath and listening for the moan to return.  They waited several minutes, but didn't hear the sound again, so they both got into the truck and left the beach.  All the way home, they wondered aloud about what they had seen and heard.

Later that night, after Annie had turned in with a good book and Snout was snoring contentedly beside her on the bed, Joe slipped outside to sit on the porch.  He noticed their neighbor next door was sitting out on his porch too, so he called him over.  "So, I see you're out for a little fresh air too, Sam."  Joe said to his neighbor.  Sam was an elderly man that lived next door with is bride of 55 years, Mary.  They had been good neighbors to Annie and Joe, almost like parents to them - always watching out for them and sharing meals and local gossip.  Joe and Annie had struck up a good friendship with Sam and Mary over the years and thought the world of them both.  Sam had owned a fishing boat himself, back in the day, and he and Joe loved swapping stories about their love of the ocean.  Joe had just finished telling Sam about his past week's excursions when he decided to tell him about what he and Annie had heard and seen at Fogarty Creek Beach.  Joe told him about Annie's experience the day before, and then what they had seen earlier that morning and Sam listened intently, nodding his head and pausing to puff on his pipe now and then.  "What do you suppose it was that we saw, Sam?"  asked Joe.  "Well now Joe," Sam said, "It sounds to me like you two spotted the old Sea Hag of Fogarty Beach."  "The what?!" Joe asked.  "The only sea hag I've ever heard of is the restaurant at Depoe Bay."  The Sea Hag Restaurant was a very popular restaurant owned by an eccentric elderly woman in Depoe Bay and it was known for miles around for it's fresh fish dinners and generous portions.  The owner, Gracie Strom, had owned this restaurant for years and it was passed down to her from her great-grandfather Eli Strom, an equally eccentric ship captain that had called the Oregon Coast home for many, many years.

"Yes, Joe.  The Sea Hag Restaurant was named for the legend of the old sea hag of Fogarty Beach.  It was Gracie's great-grandfather Eli that first encountered the sea hag one night on his way to Lincoln City.  "You mean he actually saw the same woman we think we saw and heard today?  She can't still be alive after all these years!?"  Joe said.  "Well, now Joe, I didn't say she was alive, did I?  Even Eli Strom couldn't rightfully say she was alive, even back then."  Sam said.  "Tell me the story Sam."  Joe said.  "I want to hear it so I can tell Annie."

So, Sam sat there on Joe's porch, puffing away at his pipe and proceeded to tell him the story of the old sea hag, as best as he could remember it.  After all, he'd been a very young boy himself when he'd first heard the story, so he had to think hard and be sure to tell it right.  At least his version of it.  The legend, I'm sure, had been changed a bit at every telling, as most stories are.  He'd give it his best shot.

It seemed that Eli had been a young man when he first came across the sea hag of Fogarty Creek Beach.  He had just finished a week-long fishing trip and had docked his boat at the marina in Depoe Bay, and was walking back to Lincoln City where he had a small cabin at Devil's Lake.  In those days, the highway was just a one-laned gravel road, but the walk was just as long as if that road was paved like it was today.  After a week of fishing, Eli was so tired he almost couldn't bear the thought of walking all those miles, but he knew he had to do it so off he went.  He got as far as Fogarty Creek Beach when he just couldn't take another step.  He crossed the creek at the bridge and climbed the steps down toward the beach in hopes of finding a nice sandy spot he could rest between the rocks until morning.  He found a nice dry spot between two gigantic spruce trees and laid down to sleep.  The sound of the wind blowing through the grand evergreen boughs above his head and the waves crashing out on the beach below, lulled him fast to sleep.  It wasn't long after Eli had fallen into a deep sleep when he was awakened by an eerie moaning sound.  At first, he thought it was just the wind, or the creaking of the branches above, but soon the moaning became louder and longer and there was no mistaking that it wasn't the wind young Eli was hearing.  He sat straight up and cocked his head to hear where the sound might be coming from.  At times it was distant, but other times it seemed the source was right there beside him.

Eli wasn't the type of man that scared easily, but he had goose bumps down his arms and the little hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention.  It was dark as pitch in the woods where he sat, so Eli stood and walked out into the open where the moon shown down on the ocean and its reflection made the night a lot brighter.  He could see the beach, and see where the ocean was creeping up onto the sand.  He looked up and down both sides of the beach but all he could see were the dark rock formations on each side and the crescent-moon shaped beach in the middle.  The moan came again, long and drawn out, sad and eerie.  It just floated by on the wind and faded away.  Eli looked down at the beach and saw footprints in the sand at the water's edge.  Footprints?  Who would be fool enough to walk the beach in the dead of night?  Eli climbed a few rocks down to the sandy beach and walked out into the moonlight.  The beach appeared to be deserted, but as he neared the spot where he had seen the footprints, he looked down and sure enough, there they were.  They were slender and small - the footprints of a woman.  Eli decided to follow them down the beach.

The beach, being short, Eli didn't have far to walk until he came to the edge of the gigantic rock cliff.  Once you reached that spot, there was really no where else to go because the rocks were sharp and jagged and there was no telling what lay around the bend.  The beach itself ended here and sloped sharply down into the ocean.  It wasn't a good place to be when the tide was coming in.  If a person was caught in the pull of the tide, the waves would wash them out, only to crash them back upon the sharp rocks.  A rogue wave chose that moment to crash and Eli was caught off guard.  The water splashed him at the waist and he grabbed onto the rocks to stop himself from being pulled out to sea.  He was hanging on for dear life and the rocks were cutting into the palms of his hands.  He had just closed his eyes to send up a prayer when he felt fingers circling his wrists and pulling him up higher onto the rock.  When he opened his eyes, all he could see was what looked like great masses of scraggly gray sea moss and a once-white gown of what looked like muslin, torn and tattered in spots and blowing in the wind.  When he was able to secure himself more safely on the rock, and out of reach from the waves, he rubbed his sore hands and looked around for whoever had pulled him up on the rocks.  He didn't see anyone or anything, just rocks for as far as you could see and the crescent-moon shaped beach below.

Just as Eli was about to believe he had imagined it all, he heard the mournful moaning again.  It was louder now and very close by.  Eli called out, "Who's there?  Hello?" but no one answered.  He strained his eyes in the dark, looking up and down the rocky cliff, and spotted what looked to be the entrance to a cave there in the rocks.  He stood and made his way carefully over the rocks.  As he got closer to the cave, the moaning began again.  He now knew without a doubt, the moaning was coming from that cave.  When he finally made it to the cave, he hopped down onto a sandy spot at the mouth and peered in.  Honestly, Eli really didn't want to see the source of that mournful moaning, but curiosity got the best of him and he stepped further into the cave.  The moaning grew louder, but the cave was dark and he could barely see his hands stretched out in front of his face.  How deep the cave went, he didn't know, but Eli kept inching his way forward with his arms stretched out before him.  Blindly, he slowly entered the cave.  When his fingers brushed up against something soft, he almost  swallowed his tongue he was so scared, but he stopped and felt the same hands that had rescued him, circling his wrists again and holding onto his arms.  He couldn't see anything but the white of her gown, but he knew somehow the moans had been coming from this woman.  He didn't know who in the world she could be.  He asked her name, but all she did was sigh and moan.  He asked her again who she was.  How could he help her?  What was wrong?  But she didn't answer.  Eventually she stopped moaning and loosened her grip on his arms.  She released one of his arms and raised her hand to his face.  Softly, she cupped his face with her cold hand and Eli felt in his bones all the things she could not say.  It was as if she was putting her thoughts right into his head.

She told him her name was Annabelle and she had been lost in that cave for a hundred years.  Her husband Josef, was a captain on the sea and was on his way home after being gone for nearly a year, when a great storm broke out on the Pacific.  For days she waited for word about his arrival, but heard nothing, and every day she went to port only to find his ship had not yet come in.  She would come here to Fogarty Beach to watch for him and sit for hours on end, hoping to catch a glimpse of his ship.  One day, while sitting on the beach, she had seen something in the sand at the water's edge, so she waded out to see what it was.  When she reached it, she had realized it was a large piece of wood, jagged and rough.  She pulled and pulled until it was freed from the sand and she dragged it up the shore to examine it better.  The piece of wood had a large letter "A" in gilded gold with two small "n's" and then the rest was worn to the point you could read no more.  Annabelle recognized the beautiful writing because her husband Josef had commissioned an artist in Newport to carve and paint this into the side of his ship, The Lady Annabelle.  A ship he named for her.

When she realized what this meant, she fell to her knees and was wracked with sobs.  She now knew that her husband's ship had crashed against these rocks and her precious Josef had been lost at sea.  Her heart was truly and utterly broken.  As she cried and moaned in grief, the tide started to come in fast and a wave knocked her into the rocks.  The water pulled her out deep, only to pour her back crashing against the rocks again and again.  It went on like this for what seemed like hours until finally a big wave pushed her up and over into the mouth of this little cave.  Her dress was torn to shreds and she was covered in cuts and bruises.  She had no where to go, but further into the cave and there she stayed until she starved to death.  No one knew to look for her there, as no one even knew the cave existed.

Eli was devastated to learn this about the poor woman.  Tears rolled down his cheeks as she put these thoughts and memories into his head.  She released his arms and pushed him away.  He turned and stumbled back to the mouth of the cave and out onto the rocks.  He wasn't sure how long he had been in the cave, but daylight had returned and he heard the gulls crying in the wind.  He saw the waves had retreated and the sandy beach was near again.  He climbed over the rocks and jumped down to the sand and found his way back up to the highway.  No one would ever believe his story, but it had to be told!

As Sam finished the tale, Mary came out on the porch and spotted him over at Joe's.  "Come on home, you old Codger!" she scolded.  "Leave that poor boy alone!  It's time for bed."  "It's okay, Miss Mary."  Joe called.  "Sam was just telling me another story about the sea."  Sam made his way home and Joe went back inside and up the stairs to tell Annie about the old Sea Hag of Fogarty Creek Beach.  He had a feeling from here on out though, the telling of the story would change again and Annabelle would  become a beautiful sea maiden, instead of an old sea hag.  He knew too that Annie would be pestering him to find that cave so they could put poor Annabelle to rest, once and for all, and she could find peace with her long lost love, Josef.

Boo to You!

When I was a little girl, I used to think there were alligators under my bed.  My sister and I slept in matching antique twin iron beds, and they were far up off the ground, so you had to hop pretty high to get into them at night.  The alligators didn't live under there during the day, you know.  Only at night, when the lights were out and little girls were supposed to be asleep.

I don't know if our parents, or a mean babysitter put this thought into my head, but I was always convinced that if I put my foot down, or let it stray outside the covers and dangle over the side of the bed, it would be bitten off by an angry alligator and all I'd be left with was a bloody stump!

I remember too, that in the darkness, as I would lay there and think about the monsters under the bed, I would also see things flying through the air above me.  If you looked real hard into the pitch black dark, you could see these tiny little red things darting back and forth real fast and I just knew they were something sinister.  Like if you put your hand up into the blackness, these little red things would hit against your arms and hand with little stinging bites.  I don't know for sure what they were.  More than likely they were the result of extreme eye strain and an over-active imagination, but next time you're laying in bed in a totally dark room, try it and see if you can spot them.

And heaven forbid if the closet door should remain open at bedtime.  Don't even get me started there!  Have you ever stared long enough into a dark, open closet and imagined the contents manifesting themselves into the most gosh-awful monsters ever set forth upon the face of the earth?  Well, I have, and then some!  Hard to believe an innocent coat can become Dracula with fangs dripping blood, just waiting to come out and bite your neck.

As a kid and young adult, I watched all the most horrifying scary movies and read the most horrendously gory books.  I loved being scared and was thrilled when a new horror film came out and we got to go and see it at the theater.  I read every Stephen King and Dean Koontz book there was.  Now, you couldn't DRAG me to a horror movie.  And I can't even get two pages into a book by Stephen King these days without slamming it shut and throwing it out.  I just don't have the tolerance for any of that any more.  I have nightmares for days just watching one episode of the latest horror series on television.  And zombies?  Forget-about-it!  No way, no how!  I can't endure anything about zombies.  If one knocked on my door, I swear I'd just die dead away, right on the spot.  He wouldn't even have to kill me first, I'd just lay down and die before he had the chance!

An occasional ghost story, I can handle.  I watch a few on tv now and then, and they aren't so bad.  As long as there's no blood and guts, I can usually watch to the end.  I might be a little jumpy the rest of the night and sleep with the lights on, but I can usually endure it.

So, here's to another Happy Halloween!  Hopefully yours will be zombie-free and only as scary as you want it to be.  One tip though:  chocolate before bed gives you the most awful nightmares.  I'm speaking from experience here, so stick to the non-chocolate candies before you fall asleep on Halloween night!  You'll be glad you did!

A Night to Remember

Stinky Boy

It was Friday evening and Hubby and I were home celebrating Dudley's 3rd birthday.  It had been raining most of the day, and we had the front door open, enjoying the night.  All three of us were in the living room and Dudley was running back and forth from his toy basket, bringing toy after toy to his Daddy who was flinging them here and there in a rambunctious game of fetch.  Dudley would pause at the front door occasionally, listening to the rain or watching the fireflies bounce around in the wet grass.  Every once in awhile he'd run out onto the porch on alert, barking at some unseen critter and we'd tease him and call him back in to keep playing.

We had been visiting via text with the man we bought Duds from three years ago, telling him how good Dudley looked and how happy and energetic he was.  We were snapping photos and sending them off so he could see how big Dudley had gotten and how handsome he'd become.  Proud parents bragging about their adorable son!  All of a sudden Dudley bolted out onto the porch again and like a flash he was shooting down the steps and I just knew he was after some terrible creature of the night!

No sooner had I stepped out the screen door when I heard this incessant squeaking and chattering and I was just in time to see the back end of a big, black skunk, tail high in the air and Dudley's face right in the line of fire!  In slow motion, I saw Dudley jump into the air like he'd been shot, shaking his head all around and I knew right then and there he was a goner.  He'd been lucky once before when he first encountered a skunk in our front yard.  That skunk was a lot friendlier than this one.  When Dudley ran up to smell its butt, he didn't do anything but chatter and squeak and run away.  This skunk, however, was not so kind.  He apparently wasn't in any mood to deal with the floppy faced bulldog that had just come charging out of the quiet little house on the hollow!

Dudley's face was all scrunched up and his eyes were glued shut but somehow he managed to stagger up the porch steps and right into the living room, stunned.  While it all seemed to be happening in slow motion, I'm sure it really occurred in a matter of seconds.  All three of us were in total shock.  Dudley was standing in the middle of the living room floor and Hubby and I were just frozen to the spot wondering if he really did get skunked or maybe he just got scared.  The smell hadn't hit us yet, but then all of a sudden like some noxious invisible cloud of doom BOOM!  The terrible onion-y smell enveloped us and were were covering our noses and went into major panic mode! 

Hubby picked Dudley up in his arms and ran into the bathroom and dropped him in the tub.  He started running cold water all over his face to flush out Dudley's eyes, which were still glued shut and red.  Hubby was yelling for me to get the soap, get the towels, close the door, look on the internet to see what we're supposed to do, Hurry!  Hurry!  Hurry!

I found a site that said to rinse his eyes with saline solution real good, so I ran into the bathroom and grabbed a bottle and while Hubby held his eyes open, I poured it on.  Then back to the internet again to another site that said to use baking soda, Dawn soap and hydrogen peroxide on him to kill the stink.  We didn't want a bleached bulldog, so we skipped the hydrogen peroxide.  The site also advised Hubby should be wearing gloves while doing all this, but that advice came way too late since he was already elbow deep in skunk water!  Luckily the spray had only hit Dud's in the face, so surprisingly after his bath, he didn't hardly stink at all.  

Unfortunately we weren't so lucky with the house.  It stunk to high heaven!  We couldn't open the doors or windows because then the smell from the front yard would blow in.  We turned on all the ceiling fans and closed the doors to rooms where the smell hadn't reached yet and hoped for the best.  I googled some ways to get skunk smell out of your house and came across a blog from some poor woman who's dog had not only gotten sprayed by a skunk, but it had killed it and brought it into the house!  Poor thing.  She said one thing that worked for her was to pour apple cider vinegar into bowls and place them all around the house.  The vinegar would absorb the odor and then the next day you could pour it all down the drain.  So, I grabbed every bowl we had out of the cupboard and poured the vinegar in and we put them in every room of the house. 

The rest of the night was just awful.  Our nostrils burned with the smell and our eyes were watery and red.  We put Dudley in his pen in the laundry room and closed ourselves in our bedroom but the smell just seemed to be everywhere.  I kept thinking maybe we should just go outside and sleep in our truck or check into a hotel.  How would we ever be able to sleep?  We tried putting Vicks vapor rub up our nostrils, but even that didn't keep the skunk smell out.  I was longing for a gas mask or something, anything to help us breathe clean air!  It was a long and restless night.

The next morning, I was surprised the vinegar seemed to be working and the house didn't seem to reek as bad as it had before.  Encouraged, I let Dudley out of his pen and he plopped himself down at my feet and looked up at me with his beautiful little eyes as if questioning whether all that really happened or was it all just a bad dream?  I went around the house pouring out all the bowls of vinegar, scrubbed the tub, washed all Dudley's  bedding, opened all the windows and doors and started cleaning like a mad woman.  The only thing was, you'd walk outside for a minute and as soon as you came back in the house, the smell would hit you like a ton of bricks.  We were just getting used to it, it wasn't really going away!  Oh no!

I decided to go into town to try and find something we could use to get the stink out.  $95 later, I was back home with every odor-absorbing gel, spray, liquid, powder or candle I could find.  I sprinkled baking soda concoctions all over the carpets, sprayed down all the furniture, washed the bedding and all the laundry.  Two days later and the smell is still there, but it's getting fainter.  I guess we just have to wait for it to wear off and hope and pray no one comes over to visit because we certainly couldn't let them in!

Needless to say, none of us will ever forget Dudley's 3rd birthday.  And no, he didn't learn his lesson because the very next day when he heard the dryer make a squeaking noise, the first thing he did was fly through the kitchen and straight out the front door searching for that black and white stinker from the night before!  Good grief!

Springtime 2015

The first day of Spring and my favorite part of welcoming this season is the sight of all the daffodils on my drive to work!  We live out in the country and their are thousands of daffodils bobbing their little yellow heads all along the sides of the roads.  There are patches of them in fields, peeking out at the edge of woods, along fence rows and even in the ditches.

There are several old homesteads on my way into work that are long since gone, but the daffodils still remain.  You can see where daffodils line the foundation of an old historic home that burned down ages ago and just picture what it must have looked like when the house was still standing.  I like to think of the sweet woman that probably planted those bulbs, bending down in her calico dress with her white apron.  Her hair pinned up on top of her head, or hanging down her back in one long braid. How much pride she must have felt every Spring when her labor of love bloomed all around her beautiful home.

One site where a house once stood is all overgrown with tall grass and bushes, some trees scattered here and there in a big open field.  You'd never believe a house once graced the spot, except for the daffodils that are lined up perfectly straight along both sides of what once was the walkway to the front of the house.  They still pop up every year, even though the walkway and house are long gone.

Some times you can see a huge field of daffodils just scattered everywhere and then on across the road they start up again in a ditch and off into another field.  I assume the flood waters carried the bulbs across the road in one of our many storms.  It's so pretty.

It won't be long now and the redbud trees will be blooming along the sides of the roads, their bright pink and purple buds letting the other trees know it's time to start leafing up and making everything green again.  I love Spring!

I love you Prampa!!

This past Friday morning, the sun was shining so brightly and the sky was so blue.  The night before, we had such a terrible storm pass through with high winds, rain and thunder.  It was so refreshing to wake up to such a bright, beautiful day after such a dark and stormy night.

As I drove to work, I had Prampa on my mind.  He hadn't been well since his fall earlier in the month when he broke his leg and had to have emergency surgery.  How a 98 year-old man could even make it through a major surgery like that was a miracle in itself, but he did, and we were all hoping for a full recovery so that he would be able to make it through the physical therapy and one day walk again.  He goal had always been to make it to his 100th birthday!

But, Jesus had other plans for him because that beautiful sunshiny Friday morning, He called my sweet Prampa home to Heaven.  Now he's with the angels, and with precious Grandma, who he has been missing for many years now.  I know he's smiling in Heaven and telling every angel who will listen his many stories of a long life spent on earth.

Now it's our turn to tell the stories again and again, to keep our memories of Prampa alive in our hearts and to keep the smiles and laughter present in our lives as we remember him.  Mom and her siblings have spent the last few days making all the final arrangements, crying and laughing, sharing with those that are coming to pay their final respects.  Prampa was very loved, always happy and such a kind and warm-hearted soul.  He had love for everyone around him, never knew a stranger,  had a soft spot for animals and loved the outdoors.

In sharing these past few days, one of my Aunts reminded everyone about a funny story back when Grandma was still living.  Prampa had been out one evening and he got skunked.  He didn't want to come in the house smelling as bad as he did, so when he got home, he stood on the front porch and stripped off all his clothes.  He rang the doorbell for Grandma to come and unlock the front door, and when she did, she flipped on the porch light and there was Prampa standing naked as a jaybird for all the world to see!  What a sight!  I can just hear him now, scolding her about turning on the light and her scolding him right back about standing there in his birthday suit!

And Mom remembered another story about a trick Prampa played on Grandma once when they still had the hen house in the back yard.  One day Prampa had been visiting someone else's farm and he found a great big goose egg.  He took it home and laid it in one of Grandma's hens' nest.  When Grandma went out to collect the eggs and saw that big old goose egg, you can imagine the commotion!  I can hear the laughter now.  He was always such a joker.

I'll never forget the story about him driving his old truck down the road and it stalling on the railroad tracks.  He wasn't supposed to be driving at all, didn't even have a license anymore, but that never stopped him.  He couldn't get it restarted, and a train came and ran right into it.  Luckily, Prampa had already walked on back home, but he sure scared everyone when they found out about the accident.  And just recently, he snuck out of the nursing home and wandered across the road to feed a dog he had seen through his window.  He had a piece of chicken hidden in his overalls pocket and he spied on one of the nurses when she punched in the security code to open the front doors to the nursing home.  When no one was looking, he punched in the code and let himself out and wandered down the road.  One of my Aunts just happened to be driving by when he was crossing the busy street to feed the dog.  She turned around and got him back to the home safe and sound, scolding him the whole way.  He was quite a character!

So many memories!  It's so sad to think of a world without him.  What a blessing it has been to have such a wonderful Grandfather.  I love you Prampa Johnston, forever and ever!