Page 10 of Forest Proximity
A few weeks ago, I found a corn feeder in a remote part of the preserve, and instead of ripping it out or calling the game warden, I kept an eye on it. If I remove it, whoever did it will only get a new one and choose a different spot for it.
But I’m going to catch them. The law should deal with them. This preserve is protected land and turkey season is over. I’ve been working my tail off for four years to defend it from exactly this kind of crap. So far, I’ve had no luck tracking down the poachers—just evidence that someone has been baiting turkeys with corn and eating Takis in the woods.
I’m generally a calm guy, but three things make me mad: One,Lupinus polyphyllus—invasive, Bigleaf lupines—the bane of my existence. Two, people who hunt out of season. And three, purple Takis bags. Nothing fills my gut with ire quite like seeing those things in the woods. I’m almost more angry about thetrash than I am about the illegal hunting. Hopefully the trail cameras I set up this morning will end this fast.
I take a minute to breathe and look around. The fog is thick this morning, and when the sun peeks through the trees, it turns into golden ribbons that make the forest glow. I slide my phone out of my pocket and snap a quick picture. I love this job, even when I’m dealing with poacher trash.
Something shiny winks in the corner of my eye. I make my way over and discover that it’s not trash this time. It’s a cell phone.
This has to be Stevie’s. She threw it at me last night, right before she smacked her head on a rock and blacked out. I got distracted by her unconsciousness and didn’t think to grab it for her.
I crouch to pick it up, sweat already dripping from my forehead now that the sun is coming up. Holding the phone aloft between my index finger and thumb, I examine it like it’s an alien object. What business does it have being so feminine? Its case is delicate and covered with tiny yellow flowers. This is the girliest thing my hands have touched since ... Well, since last night. The little dress Stevie was wearing pops into my mind, and I shake my head.
I turn the phone in my hands, inspecting it and wondering: Does she have a picture on her lock screen? Is the battery dead? Would checking make me a terrible person?
Yes. Don’t even think about it, I warn myself.
I look around, like anyone else would be out here at 5:30 in the morning.
I’m alone. No one will ever know. I’ll look at the lock screen, put the phone in my pocket, and return it to its owner. No harm done.
Something drops from a red oak tree a few feet away, and an acorn tumbles next to my boot. I peer up into the leaves, and a squirrel is standing on its hind legs, judging me.
“I wasn’t going to look,” I mutter, sliding the phone into the back pocket of my jeans.
I’m not sure how to return it to its owner, though. Maybe Idoneed to get into the phone. I can get a hold of one of Stevie’s contacts. I think I need to.
Or, I can be honest with myself, peek at the lock screen one time, and return the phone to the diner in town.
I pull the phone back out of my pocket. I’m a man on a mission. I press the button to turn on the screen, and—
HolyLupinus polyphyllus.
Aw, man. Disappointment sinks in my gut like a stone. She’s one of them.
Stevie’s one of those people who love the invasive purple flowers that cover the shoulder of every highway and meadow in June.
On her lock screen, Stevie and her two friends are smiling, their arms thrown around each other, and posing in a field of purple Bigleaf lupine. This has to be a recent photo. That looks like this year’s superbloom. There are just so many of them. They’re like a bunch of Swifties at a Chiefs game, crowding the land and choking out the native plant life. Freaking lupine.
But geez, Stevie’s pretty up close. I bite the inside of my cheek, guilty but unable to pull my eyes away. In the picture, her red hair is wild and loose around her shoulders. It suits her fiery personality. And those eyes. They’re wide and brown, like doe eyes, and they make my chest feel tight.
Okay, that was my one quick peek. I put the phone in my pocket. Later today I’ll drop it off at the diner, which means I’ll have to talk to people. Luckily, I have a few hours to prepare. As I install my trail cameras, I mentally rehearse what I’ll say:
Hi. I found this in the woods.*drops phone on the counter and runs out the door*
I can do better than that.
Hi. Stevie left this in the forest last night when I scared her and she hit her head.*drops phone on the counter and runs out the door*
Stevie’s phone! *chucks phone overhand into the diner and runs away*
I need to envision an interaction where I don’t dart away at the end of it. Ruth would be proud of that. My sister would not, however, be proud of me snooping on a woman’s phone.
I feel the weight of it in my pocket as I finish installing the final camera and make my way toward my truck. Hopefully these hunters aren’t seasoned enough that they’ll spot my cameras. I’m guessing not, judging by their other hunting habits. But with almost eight thousand acres of land to oversee, I can’t spend every day monitoring this one area.
The sun is fully above the trees now, and it’s getting warm. I really, really want to take off my T-shirt. I keep thinking about what Stevie called me last night, though.Shirtless Adam. I don’t love it, but it’s accurate.
I’ve always run hot, and I moved to New England for a reason. I don’t handle the year-round heat of Florida as well as my family does. I spent every day of my childhood hunting for iguanas sans shirt—I was shirtless, not the iguanas. Technically, none of us were wearing a shirt. It’s too hot to be fully clothed in Florida.
