The Finding

“You can smell them before you see them,” my brother said matter-of-factly.

He puffed on his e-cig nonchalantly and fixed his eyes on the horizon. We sat idly on the porch swing in front of Great-Aunt Lucy’s house and a comfortable silence fell over us as I pondered what he said. It was Thanksgiving, again, and both of us being single were guilted into spending it with our extended family; we were the youngest there and both in our late twenties. This is why people get married young and start their own families, I thought.

“Well…what do they smell like?” I indulged him, but not hiding my smirk.

“Some people say wet dog, other people say trash or urine. From my experience it just smells like the wild. Maybe something rotting, like trees or leaves.” He exhaled a pretty stream of vapor that dissipated toward the sky.

I sighed under the gentle roll of dull autumn clouds. November was always my favorite month, but lately I’d started to experience this feeling; it felt like life was wide and I was shrinking. It started with a small idea and become a sort of energy that I couldn’t escape from; I believed I was meant to do something other than what I was doing, which was transcribing papers for impatient corporate stress-monsters who vaguely resembled people if they weren’t otherwise crippled by workplace anxiety. I wanted a different life but couldn’t figure out my calling; seeing the stress-monsters day after day made me dangerously aware of what my life could turn into if I didn’t follow my dreams. My brother, on the other hand, was exactly where he wanted to be and wouldn’t take all the money in the stock market to change that.

Matthew Lockhart had been obsessed with Bigfoot for as long as I can remember. When we were little, we would play “sasquatch in the woods” in our measly quarter acre backyard. Our VHS tape of Harry and the Hendersons got permanently stuck in the VCR as a result of repetitive use. When the age of the internet came about, his fixation only intensified. Growing up in small-town Kentucky with little to do, I was often conned into going on a series of adventures that would later be referred to as legend tripping. These expeditions involved driving to a off-the-beaten-path town that had a spooky hometown folk-story attached to it. More often than not, we found nothing worthwhile. But occasionally something creepy or unexplainable would set off a little burst of adrenaline that would be enough to carry us on to our next adventure.

As we grew older, I traded my sense of adventure for a sensible bedtime, mediocre job, and a whole host of regrets and “what-if’s?” In his early twenties, my brother had started his own business teaching primitive survival skills to anyone willing to learn. His passion for Bigfoot never left, and he makes sure to pepper that into conversation often. The campfire stories at night are a bonus in his wilderness courses. In his eyes, he practically works alongside Sasquatch out in the woods every day. It’s his dream come true.

“You’ll also see green lights, at night,” he broke the silence.

“Green lights?” I quizzed.

“When the light reflects off their eyes, the eyeshine is green. Some people say it’s glowing red, but that’s just Hollywood horror movie nonsense. It has something to do with them being able to see at night.”

He was satisfied with his answer even though I shot him a dubious look. Truthfully, I was quite jealous of his inability to commit to the real world. Or maybe it was me that needed to uncommit, just a little.

* * *

It’s summer, again, and I’m driving to Colorado. My brother had somehow convinced me to stay at his off-grid cabin and accompany him with a few recruits to learn an introduction to bushcraft. The only craft I was interested in was craft beer, but he assured me that it would be a lifechanging, painful, possibly humiliating experience that would give me a set of skills that would be unmatched. Since I had a tendency to gravitate towards things that made me feel terrible, I gave it a shot.

When I arrived, I felt like I’d stepped into another world. Is this what the Shire is like? I pondered. It was like a dreamland; with flora and landscapes I couldn’t even hope to see in my home state of Kentucky. The air somehow smelled cleaner and evoked emotions in me I thought I’d misplaced for good. My brother laughed at my childlike wonder.

“You’d do well here,” he lied. Or at least, I assumed he was lying. By the end of the day I’d learned to start a fire by myself (safely) so I was thoroughly convinced I was a certified mountain woman.

“Do you ever…smell them?” I asked in earnest. Hell, I was in Colorado, where anything could happen.

“Not lately. But I see the green lights. Not often, just occasionally. They come up to the wood line here late at night,” he answered.

Here I was, sitting outside of a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, having a serious discussion with my brother about a large, hairy hominid who supposedly lived in the woods. I’d never considered myself an outdoors person, but the familiarity of this place was something I couldn’t shake.

“I know it sounds crazy, and you probably think I’m insane. But when I see the green lights, I take it as a sign,” he said.

“You’re going to have to elaborate,” I say with genuine curiosity, maybe because I was desperate for a sign of my own.

“Well, think of it this way: green means go. Anytime I feel a conflict in my life, I come sit outside under the stars and listen to Smashing Pumpkins,” he continued, “I ask the universe for an answer but of course the universe doesn’t work like that. So I get a sign instead. That’s when I see the green lights, right there,” he points to the trees.

“Are you sure it’s not some other animal, like a racoon or something?” I stared wide-eyed at him. I was beginning to rethink my entire trip knowing monsters might hang out twenty feet from where I’ll be sleeping.

“Nah, it’s him. It’s Sasquatch,” he chuckled.

It didn’t make any sense to me, so I changed the subject fast. The next morning, we were on our way to meet a group of strangers; students who my brother was going to give outdoor survival classes. I was absolutely convinced they would see through my wannabe wilderness vibe but thankfully that never happened. In fact, something shifted after spending several days with these people, learning about plants and trees and how to properly hold an axe to chop wood. I began to feel…useful. It was an odd sensation. I had been asked about a dozen times what made me come on this trip and I didn’t have a just a single answer. I thought by this age I would have more passion and skills but I don’t and I’m not sure who I am. I want to exist on this earth in a meaningful way so I let my brother who believes in Bigfoot talk me into this trip to help me find myself.

The last night of the trip, we were all gathered around a fire and ruminating on the most perfectly cooked brats we’d ever had. We laughed and joked and fell into comfortable silences while the night bugs sang their song. As the crew slowly turned in for the night and retreated to their tents, my brother and I were the only ones left.

“So, what do you think? You wanna ditch the office drones and come out here?” he asked, half-joking.

I didn’t answer, at least not yet. After five days in the stunning wild, I now felt like I had two lives, really. One was an overworked, exhausted, ball of stress and the other was the life of a person with a fierce overwhelming desire to survive and be happy in the world. I had some big decisions to make. My brother yawned as he said goodnight and ambled into his tiny, off-grid home; the place that he’d built with his two hands. I’d be inside shortly to sleep in the spare bed, and I could feel a wave of contentment and exhaustion from a hard day’s work sweep over me. You came this far. Now you’re here. Just ask for a sign.

I felt ridiculous, but I subconsciously asked the universe for a sign. How do I make my life mine? How do I stop shrinking and make myself big enough for the wide world? The sudden silence made the hair on my arms stand. That’s when I realized, the bugs had stopped singing. Fireflies still danced nonchalantly through the trees and into the night sky. I was about to give up and pull myself out of the drooping camp chair, when I saw them.

Two lights peered at me through the trees. I squinted to get a better look and I realized my brother was right.

Green lights. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I bolted inside.