the house behind

I am in a complicated relationship with my backyard. I have been from the moment I saw it. It is sprawling, slightly untidy, mother nature dominating forest with scores of trees growing hundreds of feet tall, strong and pristine, just outside the fence we had built to keep our 95-pound baby Pitt Bull Annabelle from straying too far.

A lot of the houses in this little hamlet of ours actually do not have a fence. They all seem to use invisible electric fencing if they have dogs. Not us. I trust nothing that isn’t solid. Besides, Pitt Bulls have a tremendous tolerance to pain. I feared Annabelle would spy a deer, fox, something and take off, electrical zaps be damned.

From the onset, my partner and I disagreed vehemently about the Enchanted Forest. He is a city boy, despite having lived in this town for decades and doesn’t hunt, fish or even own a chain saw which apparently everyone else in town does. He wanted to leave well enough alone, but I instantly saw myself as a steward of the land, in the fashion of Native Americans who believe one cannot really own the land, they are just keepers of it for future generations. I felt that responsibility keenly.

We had a tree that was hanging very dangerously into the neighbor’s property, threatening to crash into their garage. It was literally curving over in the shape of an umbrella handle, and I knew from closing on the house with the lawyers that if something is in your yard in Virginia, tag you are it. Legally that tree was my responsibility, at least a good part of it so I decided to be a good neighbor from the onset.

I found a local tree service. The young man who owned the business told me that The Enchanted Forest was virgin. Untouched for as long as he had been there which was his entire life. He and his team took down the tree for me (and a couple of frankly awful gum trees because they drop pickily balls of pain and terror and I wanted them gone before Annabelle stepped on the pricker balls and tore up her delicate paws). There was also a tree that stood, well leaned heavily, at the very back of The Enchanted Forest. It had clearly been struck my lightening. We were going to fell that tree, but it apparently toppled over all by itself, solving for me that age-old riddle of: If a tree falls in the forest does it make a noise if no one is around to hear it?

Nope. Never heard it go down and it was over a hundred feet tall so it would have made a thunderous boom that we never heard. I ended up having another tree service take down the lone tree between my and my neighbor’s property (a joint project with the neighbor) because the forest, the tree cutters told me, the forest will protect itself. Lone trees are therefore at the biggest risk of falling in a storm or high winds. The soil here, just a mile or so from the ocean’s edge, is loose, sandy and shifting. Unpredictable. So, the tree, which even the arborist termed a ‘house killer’ had to go. I felt badly about it and have been trying to make it up to The Enchanted Forest ever since. I have planted six trees, but the poor-quality soil means only half of those look like they will make it through the coming frosty winter. No matter. I will continue to plant replacements until something else takes; preferably fruit trees that the wildlife can enjoy.

Like I said, I am a steward of the land.

When my daughter came to visit, along with her brood of children, she spent a lot of time relaxing on the back deck, staring deep into the verdant green mysteries of The Enchanted Forest. A seer and medium in her own right (the things she sees and predicts are frankly uncanny no matter what you believe), she eventually told me that the forest was indeed very old and that only the spirits of Native Americans wandered back there.

Ah, well, that was reassuring.

Is The Enchanted Forest haunted I wonder? I remain uncertain because my daughter assured me it was peaceful. The spirits liked me, accepted me.

Good to know daughter, good to know.

Then, one day I was getting out of the car, trying to carry too many packages in the door. I was balancing precariously on one foot as I leaned into the passenger’s seat to grab more bags than necessary. Don’t go around girl, just contort yourself. Suddenly, I felt somebody lean into me and then heard somebody whisper something in my ear like a name but not in any language I could understand. My ponytail moved with purpose as if someone was gently pushing it aside. I felt someone at my shoulder, a solid presence but when I whipped around, there was nobody.

I stood rooted to that spot for a good five minutes trying to sort it out in my ‘science first’ mind. Nothing. I even peeked around the nine-foot fence that divided my property with the neighbor. Come on man, where are you?

The Native Americans that inhibited this area back in the early 17th century included Kecoughtan, Powhaten, Nansemond and Kiskiack tribes. Was my daughter right about spirits inhabiting The Enchanted Forest?

I hauled my bags in the house and pointedly asked my confused partner if he had been outside and called to me in some unknown language. Nope, absolutely not. I believed him because one, he isn’t playful like that and two, he isn’t stealthy at all. Third, I would have known it was him. This presence was taller than his 5-foot, 8-inch person. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did.

Still, I remained flummoxed. Something called to me. Not angry or evil like the phony ghost shows on cable like to all claim, just somebody, something perhaps, trying to get my attention.

Well, spirit, you have it. By all means, you have the floor. Or forest floor as it happens.

I venture back there to put out food for the deer and wildlife, particularly in the colder months when food is scarce and I keep wondering if my spirit friend will return and call for me again.

I am right here, spirit, protecting The Enchanted Forest for future generations.

Maybe that is all the spirit wanted after all.