Life and Death

I wasn't sure what to expect when I hiked a couple of miles up the slopes of Harmony Mountain. Last summer the area was ravaged from fire. Thousands of acres of flora—up to the backyards of many homes—were brought to a mortal end. What would exist there now? Could new forage grow beneath the blackened branches, enough to feed any kind of animal population?

As I set out, I didn't know what to expect. The bridge that once crossed the lush creek existed no longer, replaced by a new one with fresh planks. Everything that was once there was now gone, as if a massive blanket of brush and trees was rolled back and a new barren ground rolled out, naked for all to see.

Skeletons of trees were still in existence, their charred branches pointing skyward and occasionally at the pinnacle, a remnant cluster of pine needles, reminding the passer-by of what once was. Below this ghostly forest, however, a new generation of growth sprouted from the ground, including grasses, daisies, and thick orange flowers the size of golf balls.

Death was still all around, despite the new life. On one side of a small stream, I saw the rigid hide of a rabbit, hollow inside, but propped sidelong, as if that is how he died. I found a cluster of cow bones—definitely from more than one cow. Speculation is all I can do, but I wonder if the cattle huddled together, not knowing how to evade the smoke and heat, and eventually succumbed as a group.

The dirt was a mixture of black or brown. Skeletons of many full-sized trees still stood, as I have noted, but many more were only tiny stubs that poked just inches out of the ground. Acorn shells flourished on the earth, dropped at a former time when living trees thrived above them.

When I began ascending the slopes of the hillside, I noticed something interesting. When I first saw the pile of straw, I thought that it was hay and perhaps a camper on horseback had dumped it for his animals. But then I saw it further up the hillside, and then I noticed it everywhere. Literally, the entire hillside was covered with patch upon patch of yellow straw. Baffled at first, I assumed that it was some sort of wild grass that had died during the fire and had now dried in bushels, lying where it perished. But then I observed some on the boulders and even a clump gathered in tree branches. Then I surmised that it must have been spread by helicopter, probably to cover new seedlings.

I searched the ground for any new treasure that might now be visible, that was once covered for years and years by foliage. I've heard of forest fires unveiling arrowheads and Indian artifacts in areas where those things exist.

Perhaps a snake would slither around without covering. In all the crags that were once hidden, I now peeked inside with curiosity. What about mountain lions or bobcats sheltering in the cavities of these rocks for shade? Now all were exposed. I saw neither snake nor cougar nor bobcat.

I did see a few chipmunks and a couple of lizards. At one time a large hawk sailed and landed on the branch of a tree near where I sat, but then took off quickly when I jerked back to look at him. I spotted three does that hurried away when they heard me coming, as well as a tiny fawn with spots still on her back. I got rather close to the fawn when she sprang up and bounded down the hill.

As dusk approached, I knew I was still some distance from the truck. I came across a large fresh print in the dirt that looked to be similar to the shape of my hand, only slightly bigger, and with claws. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled stiff.  Yes, I concluded, there certainly is life after death in the forest. I quickly transferred my pistol from backpack to front pocket and hurried down the hillside. ♠