The Witness Report

Thursday: Colt's Testimony

He climbed in my saddle and pointed me east,
just Travis and me, not a crowd in the least.
He filled me with gas, filled himself up with brew,
some coffee, some water, about eighty-two.

Well, eighty-ish ounces. I'm Colt, not a cup.
I knew what would happen. We'd soon have to stop.

We galloped from Indiana, remarkably flat,
while he listened to Lewis and books about that
sort of Christian manhood that tells you, "Stand firm!"

I carried the man.

The books did their term.

He answered some phone calls. I stayed in my lane.
He listened. They talked. Then we listened again.

He munched on some Pringles, one crisp at a time.
I don't eat potato chips.

Gasoline's fine.

Then somewhere in Ohio, he pulled off the road.
I thought, Ah, some fuel! What a sensible mode.

He filled up my tank.

Then he went in to pee.

Apparently eighty ounces
wasn't just for me.

Back on the highway, we rolled toward New York.
More Lewis. More listening. More Christian work.

Then later he stopped us.

For fuel?

Nope. Not quite.

He'd filled up his bladder
and needed it light.

He bought him a sandwich. I waited outside.

A horse has his dignity.

So does his ride.

The flatlands grew lumpy. The lumpy grew tall.
Indiana, I learned, has no hills much at all.

We climbed into country that rolled up and down,
till Vestal appeared as the sun settled down.

Eight hours together.

Just Travis and Colt.

No trouble. No traffic. No reason to bolt.

Then finally he turned where he thought Dad would be.

There sat a Ram.

This looks right, thought he.

He pulled in the driveway.

I knew all along.

But horses don't argue when riders are wrong.

No Dad.

No Pat.

Just neighbors instead.

He backed me away.

Not one word was said.

We found the right driveway and climbed up the hill.
My engine went quiet. The evening went still.

And after I'd carried him all of that way,
you'd think he'd say, "Colt, what a wonderful day."

You'd think he'd stay with me.

Perhaps brush my hide.

Maybe whisper, "Good horse."

Stand there by my side.

No.

Down to the house went my rider instead,
to visit those people and talk before bed.

I watched from the hill as the windows glowed bright,
while humans did human things late into night.

Eight hours together.

Then tossed out like hay.

I didn't complain.

I'm a Ford F-250.

We don't whinny that way.

Friday: According to Stripe and Fuzz

STRIPE

At dawn came two craftsmen, courageous and wise,
to survey their kingdom with well-trained eyes.
They measured the shack and considered the door,
then studied the problem from ceiling to floor.

FUZZ

They looked at the shack for a minute or two,
then left to get breakfast.

That's mostly what's true.

STRIPE

At Skylark they gathered, with Pat at their side,
and planned their construction with wisdom and pride.
Then Pat was returned and the craftsmen pressed on,
to study fine doors before building their own.

FUZZ

They drove down to Lowe's just to look at some sheds.
They wanted to see how the doors had been bred.

But every shed door had been screwed tightly shut.

So they looked at the outside.

They learned...

not a lot.

STRIPE

They purchased fine hinges and hardware with care,
then fashioned a lock with medieval flair.
A castle-like latch! What magnificent taste!

FUZZ

They bought a few parts.

Can we please pick up pace?

STRIPE

Back high on the hill, where the tall timber grew,
a dangerous enemy came into view.

An ash tree stood threatening, thirty feet high,
three trunks like great fingers that clawed at the sky.

FUZZ

It was dead.

STRIPE

It was fearsome!

FUZZ

It was dead.

STRIPE

It stood tall!

FUZZ

Because dead trees do that till eventually they fall.

STRIPE

The elder woodsman devised a great plan:
"We'll capture this giant as only men can!"

He fastened a weight to a rope with great skill
and launched it majestically over the hill.

FUZZ

He threw it straight upward.

It came down instead.

He ran from the weight
that he'd thrown at his head.

He tripped.

He went down.

And he hurt his shoulder.

STRIPE

I've decided this story gets worse as you're older.

FUZZ

I just write what I see.

STRIPE

Well, you're seeing it wrong.

Now hush while I make them courageous and strong.

At last came the moment! The rope had been tied!
The two mighty woodsmen stood side by side.

They pulled with such power the hillside gave way!

FUZZ

The hillside stayed put.

STRIPE

You're impossible.

FUZZ

Okay.

STRIPE

They pulled once again, and the great roots let go!
Three trunks crashed to earth with a thunderous blow!

No tractor!

No horses!

No engine!

No crew!

Just Father and Son and a rope pulled by two!

FUZZ

That part is actually surprisingly true.

STRIPE

THANK YOU.

I'll record it:

Great Ash Tree Defeated.

FUZZ

Put down that the ash borer had it pre-treated.

STRIPE

Dad carved up the monster with chainsaw in hand,
while Travis built doors like a master craftsman.

FUZZ

A bottom door Friday. The top wasn't done.

STRIPE

Nobody likes you.

FUZZ

I'm having great fun.

STRIPE

And somewhere that day, from a high wooded perch,
a magnificent owl oversaw all their work.

FUZZ

The owl sat in a tree.

STRIPE

That's what I just said.

FUZZ

You make everything sound like it knighted the dead.

STRIPE

That evening the heroes, their labor complete,
went first to Tall Pines, then for something to eat.

At Funky Beez gathered the whole family crew,
with children and grown-ups and ice cream there too.

FUZZ

There were twelve.

STRIPE

Yes, twelve!

FUZZ

But the lady declared,
"We only serve eleven."

Everyone stared.

Dad happened to stand as customer twelve.

For one awful moment...

STRIPE

...they searched for a shelf
on which they could store him till somebody left!

FUZZ

That's nonsense.

STRIPE

At last! You're beginning to get it yourself.

FUZZ

They served him.

STRIPE

They did.

And the children ran free,
like Funky little Beez buzzing under a tree.

James talked to Freya.

Then Freya talked too.

They talked to the others.

They talked without cue.

FUZZ

They talked when you listened.

They talked when you didn't.

They talked if you answered.

They talked if you couldn't.

STRIPE

I've written six pages.

FUZZ

They're talking there still.

STRIPE

We're several miles off.

FUZZ

I can hear from the hill.

STRIPE

Then everyone gathered by firelight glow,
and talked as the evening grew quiet and slow.

A fine end to Friday.

A glorious day.

FUZZ

I'll give you that one.

STRIPE

You will?

FUZZ

Don't get carried away.

Saturday: According to Stripe and Fuzz

STRIPE

At sunrise the craftsmen returned to their quest,
determined to finish and give it their best.

The door needed framing, both bottom and top,
and neither great craftsman intended to stop.

FUZZ

You should probably tell them where that door had been.

STRIPE

I was rather hoping we wouldn't begin.

FUZZ

The boards on the outside had once been a door
on an outhouse that isn't an outhouse anymore.

And inside that outhouse, as history shows,
were three little seats sitting neatly in rows.

STRIPE

Three seats side by side in a civilized way.

FUZZ

Why would three people sit there?

STRIPE

I cannot say.

Perhaps families treasured their time spent together.

FUZZ

There are certain things families needn't do together.

STRIPE

This is G-rated.

FUZZ

I'm aware.

STRIPE

Then leave it.

FUZZ

I will.

But three?

STRIPE

FUZZ.

FUZZ

All right. I'll be still.

STRIPE

They strengthened the timbers and fitted them true,
then split the great doorway conveniently in two.

A Dutch door! The bottom could close on its own,
while the upper swung wide to the woods down below.

FUZZ

The old door got new life.

I actually approve.

STRIPE

That's twice you've agreed with me.

FUZZ

Don't get in a groove.

STRIPE

They fashioned the lock in a castle-like style,
then stood back together and looked for awhile.

The writing shack finally had its new door.

FUZZ

And someday it'll have siding.

STRIPE

And books.

FUZZ

And a floor?

STRIPE

It has one.

FUZZ

Just checking.

You're prone to inflate.

STRIPE

The work had gone splendidly!

FUZZ

Yes.

It looked great.

STRIPE

Then somewhere that weekend appeared 7 Brew,
which traveled from Indiana...

FUZZ

That's simply not true.

STRIPE

Travis's daughter works at one back home,
yet here stood another wherever he'd roam.

Explain that!

FUZZ

It's what people call "having more than one store."

STRIPE

Your explanations make everything bore.

FUZZ

That's why you're the poet.

STRIPE

Historian.

FUZZ

Sure.

STRIPE

Then family descended from everywhere near,
and Pat laid a banquet deserving a cheer.

There were burgers and hot dogs and fruit by the plate,
and carrot cake waiting to sweeten their fate.

FUZZ

She'd thought about everyone, planned it with care,
and made Travis feel welcome while he was up there.

She even bought Diet Dr Pepper for him,
though nobody else drank the stuff on a whim.

STRIPE

I was going to say that.

FUZZ

You'd make it too grand.

STRIPE

"Pat summoned Dr Pepper from faraway lands..."

FUZZ

See?

That's exactly why I took command.

STRIPE

Then came the great gathering! Family amassed!
The heroes could rest from their labors at last.

The burgers were grilled and the children all played,
while Uncle Mike quietly watched the parade.

FUZZ

He doesn't talk much.

STRIPE

James talks enough for him.

FUZZ

That's mathematically fair.

I'll allow it.

Proceed.

STRIPE

Then darkness approached, and the hour had come
for the Master of Timber to show how it's done.

The Slayer of Ash Trees!

The Conqueror of Wood!

He gathered the firewood...

FUZZ

It didn't go good.

STRIPE

The wood was quite damp.

FUZZ

The fire was quite small.

STRIPE

He poked it.

FUZZ

He moved it.

STRIPE

It sputtered.

FUZZ

That's all.

STRIPE

The man who'd torn thirty feet out of the ground...

FUZZ

...couldn't convince little sticks to burn down.

STRIPE

There were circumstances!

FUZZ

Certainly were.

The circumstance mostly was:

wood won't burn wet.

STRIPE

That doesn't rhyme.

FUZZ

Neither did the fire.

STRIPE

I'm ending this report.

FUZZ

Wait.

One thing before you retire.

FUZZ

There was a crooked small shack
on the top of a hill,
with woods at its back
and below it all still.

There were burgers and children,
a beetle and me,
a stubborn wet fire
and one missing tree.

An old outhouse door
had found somewhere new,
with a bottom that closed
and a top you looked through.

A father and son
had spent two days there.

They worked some.

They laughed some.

They pulled things.

They shared.

STRIPE

That's unexpectedly good.

FUZZ

I record what I see.

STRIPE

Then perhaps I'll add one small line, if I may.

FUZZ

Fine.

STRIPE

The Great Writing Shack stood victorious that day.

FUZZ

You almost had it.

STRIPE

I know.

FUZZ

Good night, Stripe.

STRIPE

Good day.

Sunday: Colt's Testimony

Three days on that hillside, abandoned, alone,
while Travis went visiting people unknown.

I watched from above as they wandered about.
They'd come up the hill.

Then they'd go back down.

There'd been sawing and pulling and laughter and smoke,
a tree that went missing, a fire that choked.

I'd heard children talking from somewhere below.

They started on Friday.

They still hadn't slowed.

But Sunday arrived and I thought, Now we ride.

He came up the hill...

then went back inside.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Apparently goodbyes take two hours or four.

He sat with his dad in the living room there,
with coffee and stories and time left to share.

Pat worked in the kitchen, then sat down nearby.

Nobody seemed much in a hurry for goodbye.

And I started to wonder, while hitched on my hill,

if maybe the reason he'd come wasn't still

that crooked small shack with its strange wooden door.

Maybe he'd come there for something much more.

But I'm Colt.

I'm a truck.

I don't ponder such stuff.

Eventually humans have talked quite enough.

At last came the hugs and the final goodbye.

He climbed into my saddle.

I won't say he cried.

I won't say he didn't.

That's his tale to tell.

I started for home, and I carried him well.

We galloped through New York, through valleys and hills,
with Indiana ahead and a tank to refill.

No eighty-ounce nonsense.

He'd learned from before.

Forty of water.

No bathroom-stop tour.

Two Dr Peppers helped keep him awake.

I'm not sure that's better,

but that's his mistake.

Pat sent him with Doritos, tucked in for the ride.

He crunched them contentedly.

I swallowed my pride.

We stopped once in Ohio.

Just once.

That's correct.

I'd finally trained him.

I felt some respect.

Then back to the highway.

We rolled west again,

just Travis and Colt,

the same way we'd been

when Thursday began and we headed away.

Except he seemed quieter somehow that day.

A driver came over where drivers should not.

I moved when I had to.

I'm nimble. A lot.

We missed him.

No crash.

No scrape.

No surprise.

Though Travis had words.

I considered them wise.

Then farther ahead came the flashing red light,

a car badly broken off left of our sight.

Another sat damaged across on the right,

an accident fresh from a terrible plight.

A mile farther on, smoke darkened the sky.

A car burned while firemen worked close nearby.

We slowed as we passed.

There wasn't much said.

Some moments aren't nonsense.

We just drove ahead.

Then I-70 welcomed us back to our state

with orange cones and potholes.

Indiana looked great.

The hills disappeared.

The road somehow worsened.

Our home state, it seemed,

had been partially cursed.

But mile after mile, Indiana grew near,

and I carried him home, as I had every year.

No Stripe.

And no Fuzz.

No shack on the hill.

No children still talking.

The truck became still.

He'd told me on Thursday,

"We're building a door."

And maybe that's truly what he went there for.

They built it.

They hung it.

It opened just right.

They conquered a tree and surrendered a light.

They ate and they laughed.

They talked half the day.

Then stood there on Sunday with goodbyes to say.

I carried him there.

I carried him back.

And somewhere between,

something got put on track.

He seemed a bit lighter when home came in view.

Perhaps that's what visiting family can do.

Or perhaps it was me.

I carried him through.

I'm Colt Walker.

Good horse.

That's just what I do.