Sydell I. Voeller - Daisies Are Forever

Digital ISBN

EPUB 9781772996425

Kindle 9781772996432

WEB 9781772996449

Print ISBN 9781772996456

Amazon ISBN 9781772996463

Copyright 2012 by Sydell Voeller

Cover Art 2012 Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting therights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publicationmay be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without theprior written permission of both the copyright owner and the abovepublisher of this book.

With loving strokes, April Heatherton brushedaside sun-parched fir needles from the old grave stone. Then sheplaced on it a bouquet of velvety pealed gold-brown daisies. Hermason jar made a perfect vase.

She stared down at the flat, three-corneredrock surrounded by white stakes and a simple cross made of mossysticks. Dappled sunlight flickered through the towering DouglasFirs as the July breeze whispered overhead.

Suddenly the rustling of footsteps close bystartled her.

Man alive! Look at those firs. Theyll giveus at least twice the board feet we got up north, a husky voiceproclaimed.

Heathers stomach dropped.Loggers...undoubtedly the ones from the neighboring town of SiltonPass nestled deep in the foothills of western Oregon. Most everyonein Wolf Hollow had heard the loggers would soon be clear-cuttingthe entire forest that blanketed North Creek Hill. The pit in herstomach grew deeper as realization took hold her beloved hideaway the unmarked pioneer grave was alarmingly at risk. Why, inpossibly only a matter of mere weeks, one more tract of forestwould lay in shambles, downed timber scattered like pickup sticks,the hillside carelessly gouged and barren!

Instinctively she drew back into the shadows,hoping the undergrowth would hide her. She would confront theloggers, but not yet, not until shed had a chance to hear more ofwhat they were saying.

Orion, her Golden retriever, emitted a lowthroaty growl.

No, boy! she commanded in a hoarse whisper,gripping the dogs leather collar in an effort to keep him close byher side. Though the aging dog was nearly deaf, he hadnt lost hiskeen sense of smell.

April peered cautiously around the side of astump, scarcely daring to breath. She caught sight of two mensquinting up at the mammoth evergreens.

The younger man, in his late twenties, sheguessed, ran his hand through wheat- colored hair, pushing back anunruly lock from his forehead. He was clean shaven. His blackT-shirt, cuffed at the sleeves, exposed his taunt, masculinebiceps. Yeah, what a loggin show, he was saying. His voice wasmellow, not at all gruff like his partners.

Its a cinch well get that contract, theolder man put in. About mid-fifties or so, he had dark stubble ofbeard, wore a red checked shirt, denim jeans and boots that camejust below his knees. Jake Thornburg told me most of the othercompanies were already backing out, he went on. Theyre too smallto hack the countys new land management requirements.

The first man turned to meet the others gazeand broke into the most engaging grin April had ever seen. Evenwhite teeth flashed against tanned skin. I heard Thornburg say heplanned to check out this hillside in the whirlybird today. I bethell like what he sees.

With that the two turned and began saunteringaway.

Wait! Stop! Destroying the forests iswrong! April couldnt contain herself any longer. Her voice wasfilled with desperation as she quickly clipped Orions leash to hiscollar, then started running after the men.

What the The younger man stoppedmid-stride and tossed a look over his shoulder. Well, looks as ifweve got company, he drawled, his face splitting into a smileonce again. His blue eyes flashed mischievously, his chin dimpled.A bunny-hugger, no less. A good-looking one too!

April flinched at the sound of theall-too-familiar term, a name many of the locals had tagged theenvironmentalists. Orion growled again.

Dont call me a bunny-hugger! she saidhotly, new determination fueling her on. Im merely taking astand! The timber here on North Creek Hill is one of the lastold-growth forests in the entire coast range. In no time ourancient forests will be gone. And most of all, theres the...She broke off abruptly, her sentence remained unfinished as shegestured helplessly back at the grave site, well out of view. Howcould she make them understand? Theyd only accuse her ofexaggerated female sentiment.

Weve heard all the arguments, the olderlogger said. Salvage the dwindling salmon, protect the spottedowl...the list goes on and on. He hitched his thumbs into his beltloops. But you gotta know, lady, were talkin jobs here.Loggings been our bread and butter forever. And many of us, wevegot wives and young uns to feed.

Yes, but its high time to start thinkingabout our future and our vanishing natural resources! She drew ina ragged breath. The issues were complicated and double-sided, andApril knew there were no easy answers. After all, the loggers wereonly doing what many of their fathers had done, and perhaps theirfathers fathers.

See ya later, the younger guy said,obviously eager to let the entire issue drop. He smiled again andwinked. And try not to tangle with too many bunnies. That goes foryour dog also.

She felt her cheeks flush with indignation asshe turned to leave. Bunny-huggers indeed! Who had ever come upwith such a stupid comparison? Well, one thing she knew for sure.She must no matter what protect the unmarked grave of thepioneer woman and the beauty of the surrounding woodland.

These 100 acres of Ramult County forestbordered the land where her grandparents had built a home andplanted a filbert orchard nearly a half century earlier. AfterAprils parents were killed in a motorcycle accident when she wastwo, her grandparents raised her. Years later, April came toinherit the two-story clapboard house and surrounding property.

Ever since shed been a small child, Aprilloved to steal away farther into the woods on North Creek Hill toher own special retreat, a place where she was free to day-dream,write poetry, and muse about nothing in particular.

Some of her friends had had their treehouses. Others found their special places in musty old attics. Butevery chance possible, April always returned to the pioneer womansgrave.

In summertime, shed bring bouquets of wildflowers from the neighboring meadow. In early autumn, she wouldgather succulent golden chanterelle mushrooms that grew in thecool, mossy shade. Come winter, usually empty-handed, shed brushaway the brown parched leaves from the grave site, much as shedjust whisked away the sweetly scented fir needles.

Often Grandmother would accompany April thereand tell her stories about the forests and animals, plus thesettlers who had journeyed on the Oregon Trail. Gram had alwaysheld fast to a solemn reverence for the natural earth and herbelief in a simple way of life.

As April grew to be a young woman, shepursued her teaching career, with a double major in biology andAmerican history. What better way to pass on the ideals that bondedthe past and the present, shed decided. What better way to honoreverything the unknown pioneer woman exemplified.

April turned and began trudging towards homewhile Orion trotted close by her side. A blue jay shrieked, sassinga crow. Breathing in the woodsy smells, she felt the tension flowfrom her body. She glanced at the sun as it slanted over the crestof the hill. Shadows were falling, making the dense slopes appeareven darker. A bluish haze hung over them. Truly the most peacefulplace on the entire earth, she thought dreamily.