The only person I trust to share my Sasquatch experiences with is Tecumseh. If my mother were still alive, she would be the other, but she passed on an unbelievable twenty years ago.
I meet Tecumseh at his trailer west of Comins. He lives on the edge of a Michigan State Forest he calls Tecumseh’s Reservation. For all intents and purposes, it really is his personal playground. No one else hardly ventures there and if they happen by, Tecumseh has ways of scaring the crap out of them and they seldom come back. I have had lots of laughs about his stories of city folk dropping their drawers to take a dump and then hightailing it bare-assed back to the nearest civilization.
The weather is drearily overcast, but humid and warm. I break out into a sweat as we light a fire in the stone pit that will retain a cache of hot coals for a fish fry. I have never seen Tecumseh sweat. It can be a hundred degrees with 100% humidity and he still looks cool and comfortable.
“Caught some real orange beauties,” Tecumseh offers, “you should have come with me.”
“Sorry, I wanted to talk to you about that,” I say, seeing my opening to broaching my recent encounters with Sasquatch. “I was a bit engaged. I’ve had a couple of conversations with a Bigfoot.”
Tecumseh stops what he is doing and gives me that penetrating look only a man of high virtue can give. My eyes don’t waver.
He nods, “Chiha Tanka, My Elder Brother. Did Sasquatch have anything significant to say?”
“Yes, he said the human race is blowing it.”
Tecumseh laughs mirthlessly. “The same warning I have been poking into your ears since the day we met. Do you believe him?”
“I believe you, don’t I?” I counter with a jab.
“My Elder Brother only speaks to deliver important messages about a turn of events or a prophesy of magnitude. What he says should be regarded with utmost respect. He is a special Being. He is translator and mentor into the consciousness that runs through all of life.”
“I didn’t know you had such inside knowledge.” I exclaim. “Have you met this Chiha Tanka, as you call him?”
Tecumseh shakes his head negatively. “That connection is the domain of medicine men. It is for those that guide us between the physical and spiritual worlds. I am a hunter not a healer.”
“He is troubled about man and the future,” I say. “He has invited me back for further conversations. I am eager and believe he has much more to impart to me, and, in his own words, “to my brethren”. I am a good listener as well as an astute and sensitive interrogator.”
“You are worthy,” Tecumseh replies, “but, be careful.”
“What harm could possibly come in talking to him?” I reply.
“If you should wander and get lost between this world and his, I may not be able to bring you back,” he says.
I believe I am first witness to seeing sweat on Tecumseh’s brow.
He turns abruptly to the task of melting some fat and peanut butter in his cast iron skillet. Fresh caught brook trout fried in peanut butter is a meal worthy of the gods themselves.
If there are words you are unfamiliar with or don’t know, there is a glossary of terms contained from this episode at the end of my Sasquatch webpage for your convenience. You can also find out more about and purchase my books there.
I am discovering a few interesting things on the Internet. I have found that I have returned from Cross Over with two sacks of kenaf seeds, and a Google search has led me quite miraculously to a kenaf researcher just down the road in Onaway, Michigan, as well as a state of the art processor of industrial hemp and possibly kenaf in Gladwin, Michigan. This I find very intriguing, because it aligns with the third Sasquatch parchment that I am holding in my hands, it states: Nothing Is By Accident. This is an intriguing truth so easily dismissed by the weak of mind because responsibility for such an all consuming statement is hard to fathom. The parchment picture associated with this concept is an empty circle, or a zero.
I already have an intuitive grasp of this concept. I believe it means full responsibility boils down to zero. In the language of math, it is the equivalent of the denominator that cancels out every numerator by being equal to each other. In other words, taking full responsibility leaves absolutely nothing to which justifications or lies can attach themselves. The remainder is simply the truth. Nothing is by accident.
Onaway, Michigan, is the home of Kenaf Partners USA, a website loaded with information about the valuable Sasquatch kenaf seeds I have brought back from Cross Over. Unbeknownst to me, kenaf has been building a foothold in nearby Onaway for several years. The word Onaway itself is an American Indian term meaning “The Awakening”. I am certain that it is no accident that the hub for disseminating kenaf books, seeds and other information on regenerative agriculture happens to be located in Onaway and right next door to a Sasquatch portal.
The processing center in Gladwin is just icing on the cake. I am perfectly situated in the eye of the “The Awakening”.
I am wrenched from my thoughts by the rumbling sound of Tehcuseh’s motorcycle roaring up the driveway. I drop my research and hustle out the front door to meet him. It has to be something important for my friend to get all bundled-up and venture out on such a bitterly cold day to ride his bike. The temperature is in the mid teens with the first flakes of snow fluttering in the wintery wind.
“What’s up Tecumseh?” I call out over the chugga-chugga of his machine.
He throttles down and removes his gloves and googles. “We’ve got a Mita problem, my friend. Buddy Decker is on the war path. He’s forming up a vigilante posse to go after one of your Sasquatch friends he says busted up his cabin.”
“Buddy Decker?” I raise my arms in confusion.
“Ex-deputy Sheriff from Bay City. Him and his brother bought the old 405 Camp over there abutting Big Creek State land of which you are so fond. Said he saw a Bigfoot hightailing it for the trees when he arrived to open the camp for deer season.”
“I’ll be darned,” I say. “I’ll bet the pot that it’s a Squatch by the name of Demarcus. He was looking for a fight with me before my friend Loquius intervened just prior to my first trip into Cross Over. Demarcus is a rebellious sort, just recently exiled from Cross Over for supposedly kidnapping humans.”
“Now he’s gotten himself a bounty on his head. Decker was in the Party Store in Comins, talking up young Jeff Davies to get his buddies together. Decker wants them to come on out and flush-drive the woods while he and his brother set up in their tree stands along Big Creek with their rifles.”
“Give me a minute to get dressed and collect my gear,” I say. “We’ll head on down there in the truck, no need for the bike. You got your gun?”
“More than one,” Tecumseh admits.
I decide to get my Beretta out of the car and grab my lever action 30-30 rifle. The rifle is light and short, great for navigating through the woods.
“It’d be nice to beat those guys out there,” I say, “but if they happen to be there already, it might even be a good idea to drive up to their camp and volunteer for his posse. That way we can keep an eye on things, kind of mess with the works if need be.”
“You decide,” Tecumseh shrugs, “I’ll have your back either way.”