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Outside Magazine March 2002
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Soaked (Cont.)

THAT NIGHT, after cleaning out Bill's pantry, the four of us sardine under a low-slung tarp. "Ah, this the life, eh fellas?" says Bill. "Nothing finer. When I think about the good times ahead in my life, I think about bringing my boy out here, showing him the land, teaching him about the plants, the birds. Hunt a little boar. But mostly just be out here.

"Have you heard of this lady who spent a year up in a tree, Bruce?" Bill asks. "Julia Butterfly Hill?"

"I think I mebbe do the same if it comes to it, with they fencing off they rare plants," he tells me. "Disappear into the swamp. Let 'em come get me. I think we ought to save rare species, too, Bruce. But I come from an old family line that taught me about these things. The forest is always better left alone, ah? Mother Nature takes care of itself."

Darkness comes and we drift off to sleep. In the middle of the night, I wake to hear a light rain brushing the tarp.
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