Sustainable Serenity by Harcourt Tendhall
18 April 2022 { Historical Fiction }
Anyone viewing this valley from here would use the same word: serene. Only mother nature was at work here. No buildings, no walls, no fences, no roads, not even a telegraph pole to mar the beauty of this tranquil scene. The only acknowledgement of the existence of any beings of size was the hint of a path meandering down the hillside to the stream and disappearing into the distance downstream.
The green slopes on either side gave way to purple heather higher up, dotted with clumps of bright yellow gorse. Lower down, there was the occasional hawthorn or crab apple, lingering by the side of the stream, in full blossom, providing some shade for the rainbow trout swimming below. If you were patient and looked carefully, you could spot deer or rabbits heading down for a drink, seemingly with no fear of ambush. The keen-eyed would likely spot a flash of blue as the kingfisher sped upstream in search of sticklebacks. As the stream progressed further down the valley, the numbers of trees increased and became a wood that it ran through.
Overhead, swallows showed off their aerobatic skills, chasing insects on the wing, as butterflies danced around a myriad of colours displayed by the wild flowers in the meadows of the valley floor. The only sounds to be heard were the chattering of birds, water playing on the rocks in the stream, and the constant hum of bees flitting from flower to flower.
A weary traveller, as he would surely be if he found this place, could not help but pause in calm repose and soak in this vision of quietude for a while, allowing contentment to mellow their soul.
That was how I felt, the first time I discovered this hidden valley, and vowed to make it my home. Located deep in the wilderness in the foothills of the Siskiyou Mountains, I knew it would be difficult to live out here. I also wanted to cause the bare minimum impact on this scene. It needed to survive as it was, unchanged by my or any other person’s presence.
This spot I chose was outside the small entrance to a hidden cave on a steep section of south-facing slope. I had searched for a week before I found it, and then only stumbled upon it by accident. So well hidden was it that no wildlife had ever made it their home, so I made it mine. It was dry, and once inside, opened to a wide cavern. There was even a small fissure above the cavern that led up to another entrance, only small enough for a rabbit to use. This functioned well as a chimney, which meant I could build a fireplace over time.
I spent a couple of years creating a home for myself here, slowly turning this cave into a habitable abode, but all the time trying to preserve the valley, only hunting in adjacent valleys. When visiting Henley, the nearest town for supplies, which was a couple of days’ walk away, I made sure nobody ever followed me back. It would be impossible to prevent anyone else from discovering the valley, but I always hoped they would just pass through, as happened, albeit rarely. By never taking the same route to the valley, or my hidden cave, there was no defined path to lead anyone to it, other than that I had originally followed. I avoided using that one and eventually, it also faded away.
I was lucky. There were no wolves in this area and it was too low for bears, so under no direct threat, I was now living here all the time. I always was a loner and never missed the company of other folk. My friends were the wildlife that I shared this valley with. As the years went by, I became one of them. Hunting only in other valleys meant they had grown to trust me. In the summer, I could lie in the grass by the stream and they would come and join me. It just filled my heart when this happened, finding myself accompanied by rabbits, deer, and even stoats.
One year, a pair of beaver arrived from somewhere downstream. They also set up home and started building a dam. At first, I worried they would demolish all the trees in the wood, but once they had the basic dam built, they concentrated on building their lodge, and the tree-felling stopped. They became permanent residents, just like me.
I think it was two years on from there that a great storm hit the region in early spring. Safe in my cave home, I easily rode it out. Not so easy for some of the other valley residents, especially the beavers. The storm had brought unusually high rainfall, and the stream, already swollen from the spring snowmelt, had turned into a raging torrent, washing away everything in its path, including the beaver’s dam. Fortunately, their lodge survived, so they did.
Within a few weeks, the stream had returned to its normal level, and the beavers had rebuilt their dam. I began exploring the banks on either side of the stream, checking on the storm damage. Downstream from the beaver dam in the wood was where I found the first nugget. At first, I assumed the storm had washed it down from much higher up, but then I discovered more. I traced the source back to where a tree had uprooted in the storm, exposing the earth below and a narrow seam of gold.
I began digging, finding more. Before long, I had unearthed enough gold to fill a small corner of my cave home. I realised I had to protect this find, but also knew I had to bank this gold, or sell it and use the proceeds. I had heard stories of the gold rush in the Sierra Nevada Mountains further south, how thousands of miners were flooding into California. They were tearing up the valleys of the Sierra Nevada in search of gold.
You see, I came to America as an immigrant from England when I was twenty. You probably guessed that from my turn of phrase. I’d married in haste, or should I say in my wife’s haste. I left my family home in Oregon some ten years ago now. Not that I’d done anything wrong, but my wife now despised the quiet, meek man she had married. She was ambitious, always wanting more, whereas I was content with my lot. Our two children were still young, but going to school now. She had already found a new lover, who earned enough to keep her and the kids, so I left and began my solitary life.
I carry the guilt of leaving with me still, and now saw the gold as redemption. There was enough to keep my kids in luxury, and I could still live out my days here if I could cash in on the gold, but keep its source hidden. The normal way with gold is to stake your claim, but that means declaring its location. That was the last thing I wanted, but if I just turn up in town with a sack full of gold, everyone is going to be suspicious. Nobody knows where I live, so I devised my plan.
Two weeks later, I walked into Henley, carrying as much gold as I could, and went into the bank. I asked for a private chat with the manager. He was helpful and explained what I needed to do to make my claim legal. He also agreed to store, ship, sell the gold, and pass the proceeds to my children when he located them. After I registered my claim, I walked back to the claim location, which was a three-day walk from my home valley. I had built a small hut there and dug the start of a mine into the hillside. I placed stone monuments at the boundaries, marking my claim around this patch of wilderness, and waited. Sure enough, someone had followed me, although I never saw them. By the end of that week, there were three more claims marked out. I pretended to work my claim for another week before offering to sell it to the highest bidder. I told everyone I found the work too hard, and I’d found no more gold. There was no shortage of offers, as there were now around twenty prospectors in this valley. Some had even found some gold by panning in the creek. I sold my claim and headed off home, being very careful to ensure no one followed.
I only made one more trip into Henley after that, the following spring. The bank manager was very pleased to see me and my final deposit. He had located my children, grown up, still living and now working in Oregon. As agreed, he had refused to give them my whereabouts. He was doing nicely, having expanded his branch to cater for the influx of people caused by this local gold rush. Henley had grown somewhat over the year.
My gold find had dried up, but I had provided handsomely for my children and caused a permanent expansion of that small town. I was now satisfied that this quiet, meek man had contributed to human society, yet preserved a sustainable serenity in which to spend the rest of my days.
You are reading this, so congratulations! You must have discovered my home in this cave. I implore you to look at this valley with the same reverence I did when I discovered it all those years ago. I hope you see the same beauty and serenity. That being the case, I further implore you to preserve it as I did. Should you do so, it will nourish your soul every day henceforth.
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