Page 60 of Timber Ridge
The relationship with Kane and Hailey has grown unexpectedly strong, entwining our lives in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Mornings spent with Hailey and the kids at the community center, playing games and exploring local spots, have become the norm. Evenings with Kane are a mix of cooking dinners, talking long into the night, and sharing quiet, intimate moments in my bed. Love, though undeclared, wraps around us like a warm down comforter.
Yet, each day reminds me that my time here is almost over. I can't shake the sense that I'm setting myself up for heartbreak, building a life I can't keep—a life based on a single, fleeting summer.
This realization sits heavy in my chest as we arrive at the community center to find Tommy and Lucas waiting by the door. I force a smile, determined to make the most of the time I have left.
“Alright, team,” I rally the kids. “Today, we’re on a mission to find the mother lode of blueberries. May swears they’re out there, just waiting for us.” I smile, thinking about my grandmother, who has tried to squeeze three decades of memories into the last few weeks. I love watching her talk, especially how she uses her hands to express herself. She always rolls her eyes with a tilt of her head to the right whenever she's exasperated or amused by some small absurdity. Now I see where my mother got so many of her mannerisms. It's proof that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Tommy, ever the skeptic, says, “What if we get lost like Kane on that boat? Do we need one of those beacon things, too?”
Hailey giggles, punching Tommy lightly on the arm. “Silly, we’re not going that far!”
“Yeah,” Lucas chimes in. “Besides, Timber will take care of us, right?” His voice tilts up at the end, making it clear he's looking for reassurance.
I laugh, nodding. “Absolutely! I’ll make sure we all stay safe. No getting lost on my watch. And who knows? Maybe we’ll find more than blueberries—like a treasure or something.”
With a map that May sketched out, a packed lunch, and enough enthusiasm to power a small town, we set out toward the nearby hiking trail she described. The path winds through the lush forest to a place called Misty Meadows. Outside, the air is crisp and filled with the scent of pine and earth.
As we walk, I experience a mixture of excitement and peace. The laughter of the kids and the beauty of our surroundings make it easy to forget the worries about Kane’s boat trip. Now and then, I pull out my phone, checking for any updates from him, but I also remind myself that he’s an experienced and capable sailor despite the last mishap. He knows what he’s doing.
The blueberry spot turns out to be a hidden gem, just as May described. The bushes are heavy with fruit, clusters of blueberries hanging like little sapphire jewels. The children dive in with delight, their earlier banter turning into a friendly competition of who can gather the most.
“Remember, we’re sharing whatever we find, so every berry counts toward our treasure trove,” I remind them.
As they stuff their faces and baskets with blueberries, the inevitable happens—nature calls. Tommy and Lucas look at me with urgent eyes. “Can we go behind a tree?” Tommy asks, hopping from one foot to the other.
“Sure, just over there.” I point to a thick bush close to where we are. I stand guard, looking away to give them a bit of privacy while keeping them in earshot. Within a couple of minutes, they’re back, grinning and relieved.
“Me too, Timber,” Hailey says, tugging at my hand.
“Okay, let’s hurry. We don’t want to fall behind in the berry competition, do we?” I guide her to another bush, and soon she’s scampering back, ready to resume our adventure.
A few moments later, it’s my turn. “Okay, you three, stay by that bush,” I instruct. “Don’t move. I’ll be quick.”
As I step behind the shrub, a wave of reality washes over me. This simple act—taking a moment in nature—reminds me of how uncomplicated life is here. In a few weeks, I’ll be in Arizona, far away from this carefree world. No more berry-picking adventures or impromptu outdoor bathroom breaks. My life will shift from these simple joys to something much more structured and predictable.
Just as I’m about to squat, I hear a rustle. “I thought I told you to stay put!” I yell, assuming one of them is sneaking up to scare me.
Their little voices call back from where I left them. “We are at the bush!”
Confused, I pause and turn toward the rustling noise. I stop in my tracks. There, just a few feet away, is a massive golden bear, its fur shimmering in the dappled sunlight. It’s the largest bear I’ve ever seen, and it’s so close.
Adrenaline surges through me, my initial shock morphing into frantic action. I yank up my pants and bolt back to the kids. I can hear the bear following me, getting closer. When it chuffs, I swear the heat of its breath glides across my neck. Kane’s stories about bear encounters fill my brain, but the golden fur throws me off. Is this the infamous Grizzletoe? Nothing makes sense anymore, except the need to keep the kids safe.
Charging toward the group, I place myself in front of them. They cling to each other, eyes wide with fear as the bear approaches. Confusion spirals inside of me, but it’s pushed aside by a visceral urge to protect the kids at all costs. I spread my arms wide, attempting to appear larger. With all the bravado I can muster, I let out a series of ear-piercing screams and exaggerated animal noises. “Leave us alone, bear! Ca caw ca caw. Moooooo. Ruff, ruff. Meow.” My voice echoes through the trees as I continue my performance, hoping to intimidate the beast and protect those behind me.
The bear pauses, tilting its head as if bewildered by the crazy lady shouting and flailing in front of it. It gives us one long, considering look—almost like it’s questioning my sanity—then, with a snort that could be bear laughter, it turns and ambles back into the woods.
We watch in stunned silence until it disappears. Then I turn to the kids, trying to laugh it off. “Well, that’s one way to pick blueberries and make friends with wildlife, huh?”
Tommy looks like he may cry, and I think it’s a real possibility until he bursts out laughing. “Timber, you looked so funny! Like a big, scary ... bird or something!”
“Scary enough to save us from old Grizzletoe,” Lucas adds, grinning.
I gather them close, relief washing over me. “I think it’s time to go.” I don’t want to be here if he comes back with his friends. Do bears have friends? I realize there’s so much I haven’t learned about the wild here.
The kids gather their buckets, and we rush back to the community center where we divide the berries into four containers. One for each child and some for May for sending us to her secret garden.
Tommy and Lucas are picked up promptly by their parents, their laughter and stories about the day’s adventure still echoing as they depart. Hailey, still brimming with excitement, clings to my side as we make our way to the dock to wait for Kane.