The Mountain Protector
by Melanie B. Bradford
Fictional story based on the surrounding areas and native myths

Jacob knocked sharply on the door twice, opened it, stepped inside and let the door slam with a thud. As he walked through the laundry room and into the kitchen, he greeted his daughter, Catherine, with a cheery but gruff, "Hello! Hello! Am I in time for supper?"

Catherine smiled to herself. She had instantly recognized that characteristic knock and knew her Father would be walking into the room at any second. "Hi Dad! Supper will be ready in about 30 minutes if you want to stay."

"That long? Oh well, is Matthew in the den?" Jacob asked as he started walking into the den. Catherine followed him into the den. She knew Jacob had come on business, and his glance told her she was welcome in the conversation.

Matthew had arrived home from work and just settled down in his favorite chair to rest a few minutes before dinner as Jacob and Catherine entered the room. Jacob sat down in a chair close to Matthew and announced, "There's been trouble in the cove." Jacob waited a few minutes for the words to sink in and take effect. Catherine and Matthew both began to question him about the "trouble." Satisfied he had their attention, Jacob told them that someone had stolen the locks from the main gate again. "I need to know, Matthew, if the hunters' lock was unlocked when you and John left the cove yesterday?"

"I really only paid attention to our side of the lock, but I don't believe it was locked," replied Matthew.

"All right, Fretman said it was locked but I wasn't sure," said Jacob.

"Fretman does usually leave the lock open. In fact, all of those hunters do. One of them told me he left it open because he heard people on four-wheelers up on the mountain. I told him not to do that anymore because, if people were on the mountain, they should have a key to the gate; and if they didn't, then they were not supposed to be there to start with," replied Matthew.

"Exactly what happened Dad?" asked Catherine.

Jacob answered, "Those hoodlums stole both locks and the plate that fits through the pin."

Catherine, working herself into a mild fury, responded, "People have no respect for anything anymore! They have stolen more locks than can be counted over the years, and I haven't forgotten last year when they crammed the locks full of sticks. It took an entire day for you and Matthew to fix that mess. And what is it for? It's so they can hunt illegally, drink, throw out litter and act like heathens. The people who are just wanting to picnic and ride horses or four-wheelers wouldn't be so bad, but you can't let the good people in without the bad ones."

Matthew nodding in agreement said, "Yes, and it's the bad ones, the dangerous ones, that are impossible to keep out."

The three of them continued to discuss past incidents of theft and vandalism as they considered what actions they could take to keep people from trespassing. The conversation concluded as Jacob stood to leave and said, "Well, it boils down to this. I'm going to have to make a new lock plate, buy more locks, have keys made for the locks and then mail the new keys to the hunters who have the place leased. Then we are going to have to put up more cables and 'No, Trespassing' signs up on the mountain. It won't stop it, but that's all we can do."

The next day Jacob drove to the cove gate. After he put the new lock plate and locks on the gate, he closed the gate behind him and drove up the creek rock paved road. When he came to the first roadside break in the trees he stopped, got out of his truck and walked down from the road to the opening in the trees. He stood there for a moment in awe-struck wonder. From where he stood he could look upon the perfectly oval cove. It was beautiful. The valley floor was covered with still standing corn shucks, making a harvest scene far beyond the skill of any painter or photographer to capture. But the thing that gave the valley its real beauty and, in fact, seemed to breathe life into the valley was the mountains. As far as Jacob could see in any direction, tree covered mountains encircled the valley like a perfectly designed picket fence. With the brilliant blue autumn sky overhead, the beginning flecks of orange, red, and yellow appearing in the trees, and the smell of sweetgum and hickory in the air, Jacob felt he was looking at heaven. After a deep breathe of fresh, aromatic, mountain air, Jacob sat down next to a tree to reminisce about the valley and enjoy the peace and beauty of nature.

Jacob's father, William Chattan, had purchased the land in the 1920's, right before the depression. As a child, Jacob had spent much of his life living in this hard, rugged and beautiful cove. The area was covered with natural springs, waterfalls, creeks and caves. It was home to numerous coyotes, bobcat, deer, turkey, raccoon, squirrels, opossum and other animals. Jacob had even seen eagles flying over the cove. On a less attractive note, it was also home to countless numbers of copperhead and rattlesnakes.

Over the years the mountains had been logged for timber, but the landscape had been altered very little. William Chattan had passed on his respect for nature to his son. Like his father, Jacob owned a sawmill in his youth; but unlike so many companies that only care about stripping the land, Jacob practiced selective timber harvesting. He only harvested mature trees and left the young trees to continue growing, preventing an area from being completely "stripped" of its natural timber growth. Economically, Jacob felt this practice was the only sensible route. Essentially, Jacob believed this practice would maintain the mountains while continuing to provide future income.

As Jacob thought about his childhood, he looked toward the old homeplace. He could almost see the roof from where he was sitting. He smiled to himself remembering how as a little boy he would pick turnip greens and load them on the truck before he went to school so for his father could sell in town. Jacob remembered the long daily ride to school. He had been fortunate. His family was the only one in the cove with a motor vehicle, even if it was an old logging truck.

As Jacob continued looking toward the homeplace, he remembered the flattering suggestion of two professors a few months ago. Catherine had brought them to see the cove and homestead because they were conducting research on historic buildings for the state, specifically old homesteads and barns, Jacob thought their trip was useless. He told Catherine "no one wanted to see an old house." Jacob was wrong. The professors were thrilled. The house was in excellent condition. In fact, it still had much of the original blue paint on it. It was a prime example of a Southern dog-trot home. Jacob realized they were serious when they strongly urged him to apply to have the house placed on the state register of historic homes.

Jacob's love for the cove was deep. Here, in the mountains nature was undisturbed, or about as undisturbed as possible. Yet, here were also Jacob's roots, his family history. Jacob again breathed in a deep breath of fresh autumn air. "This place," he thought, "is amazing. It's beautiful, but it's more than that. I can't quite place my finger on it, but it is something much more. Catherine says it is magical, that the place feels like it has a soul of its own." Jacob thought for a moment, "Maybe it does. If so, I hope it can save itself from modern day progress. Everything in the area is becoming shopping centers and subdivisions. I just hope this spot will survive. It does seem different. Maybe Catherine is right. Maybe this cove and these mountains are magical. Maybe there's some connection with the Indians. Maybe they were somehow sacred to the Indians." With that thought Jacob rose, went to his truck and drove back to the gate. As he snapped the locks into place and drove home, he continued thinking about his daughter's theory.

Directly across the valley from where Jacob had been sitting, Curtis Swindol and Ray Smart sat hidden in the trees. The two men had just walked down the mountain from a site they were planning to start a moonshine operation. Even though the practice had been practically eliminated years ago, there was still a market for moonshine in this legally "wet" county. Looking to profit from the demand, Curtis and Ray decided to go into business together; and since they had no land of their own, they were scouting the area for possible sites.

As the men rose up from their hiding place, Ray said to Curtis, "I thought that old codger would never leave. Every time we try to do anything one of those arrogant Chattans shows up."

"Yep," said Curtis as he practiced spitting Redman on various wildflowers. "If it's not old man Jacob, its that son of his, Eric."

"Well, don't forget that daughter of his and her husband. The...uhh.. the Hunters. That's right, Catherine and Matthew Hunter," said Ray.

"Yeah, they're all up here a lot; and if it ain't them, it's the rest of the family or those stupid hunters they have the place leased to. Like they have the right to say who can come on this land and who can't," Curtis was becoming more excited and agitated as he continued, "Ain't nobody gonna tell me where I can and cannot go. I'm a gonna do anything I please any time I please!" With this, Curtis shouted, "You can't keep me out and I dare you to keep trying!" The sound of his voice echoed for several minutes as it bounced off the mountains.

"What on earth was that for, Curtis?" asked Ray, "You idiot, do you want everyone in the county to hear you?"

Curtis replied, "I'm a telling everyone that I am declaring this place off limits to the world. Yep, that's right. The Chattans want people to stop illegally hunting and 'abusing' the land. They want to keep people like us off because they think we may try to hide some sort of moonshine still in the mountains - which we were - but now, now, its different. I'm tired of everyone telling me what to do. Everyone's going to be sorry. They're a going to git their wish, but they ain't gonna like it."

Ray rolled his eyes and reluctantly asked, "What are you going to do?"

Curtis sneered, "It's not what I am going to do, it's what we are going to do. WE are going to burn the entire mountain. It hasn't rained in a while so it should be easy."

Ray grabbed Curtis by the shoulders and shook him while he screamed, "Have you lost your mind? Burning a place means it is gone, gone pretty much forever. I thought you liked this place. I love to hunt up here. It's a good place to come when the old lady's nagging on me and I want to drink and raise a ruckus. I even agreed to set up a business with you - an illegal business- but I don't want no part of burning down the countryside."

Curtis tore free of Ray's grip and smiled an evil smile, "Ray, come on, we're friends. We do everything together. We always have and we always will. In other words, if you don't help me, I'll make sure everyone believes you did it by yourself. I'll frame you, buddy. All it will take is those stolen locks with your fingerprints and a gasoline can. Come on now, you're gonna help me, right?"

Ray tried to look defiant but he was scared. He knew Curtis was mean enough to do what he said, and he was afraid Curtis might actually be able to pull it off. Ray looked down at the ground and back up again at Curtis, "I'll go with you, but that's all. You have to do the dirty work yourself, but I'll go with you."

Curtis slapped him on the back like a long-lost friend and said, "That's all I wanted. That's all I wanted." He turned back and looked across the open valley and shrieked with delight, "You're history. You are gonna burn, burn, burn and then there won't be nothing for those Chattans to try to keep people out of."

Continue on for part two---->

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