I have had to readjust my beliefs and rethink many an opinion since I met a Sasquatch while out hunting for morel mushrooms in Lewiston, Michigan. I had no idea that these mushrooms were high on their list of dietary delicacies. They prize and love them.

I would have been afraid and crapped my pants if it hadn’t been for the long outstretched arm that offered me a half eaten morel. There was nothing aggressive or hostile in this gesture. He effused a welcoming aura of curious friendliness.

I took the half-eaten morel and popped it into my mouth. As I shook my head affirmatively, I offered him my paper sack that contained about twenty morels and two or three beefsteaks I had gathered along a cedar ridge beside Big Creek.

It was then that I noticed the pure silence that had fallen over the forest. The crows look-out caws had vanished, the squirrels had shushed their chatter and rattle in the trees. Not even a bluejay or a mosquito was daring a peep.

I struggled to swallow the copper taste that had encroached to dry my mouth.

Sasquatch smiled. He had jaws filled with yellow teeth and eyes that twinkled with delight.

“Thank you,” he said, and jiggled his lips like a horse as it eats a sugar cube off your hand.

“You’re welcome,” I replied with another swallow.

“There’s a storm in the air,” Sasquatch offered with a gesture towards the sky, “the ozone is lifting my hairs.” He proceeded to run his hand a few inches above his chest where I could see the hairs stand up as if a magnet were being run over a cache of metal shavings. He abruptly slapped his chest and laughed. It sounded eerily like the shriek of an eagle guarding its kill.

The sky was clear, but I thought I could hear a distant rumble of thunder to the west. I couldn’t remember any rain being in the forecast. I had come dressed only in jeans, a polo shirt and sneakers.

“You humans are such frail creatures,” he said. “I remember when you were more like us, hunters and gatherers of the health and fruits of God.”

I really couldn’t tell if he was speaking to me verbally or telepathically. There was such a sense of otherworldliness. I had a hard time getting a grip on my racing thoughts and emotions. In the absence of abject fear, I felt a combination of elation and serenity. I guess it was what you’d call dumbstruck.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” he asked and popped a fresh mushroom into his mouth.

“I have never met a Sasquatch before,” I managed.

“Not many a human has,” he whispered conspiratorially. “You are the first in many thousands of years I have spoken to. You are the chosen one”

“I am honored,” I humbly croaked.

“I am not so sure you should be. You humans are blowing it. You are blind to the world of the Sasquatch. You have lost the memory and instinct of your body’s genes and the very essence of your immortal soul.”

A darkness crept stealthily over the ridge. Lightning flashed and a huge clap of thunder reverberated and rattled my teeth. I began to shiver uncontrollably as Sasquatch melted into the rain with a welcoming gesture for me to follow him there to wherever there was going to be.

(to be continued)