Chapter Five ~ Tank

as told to Gigi by Jim

The resemblance to Trixie was so strong that I admit I nearly laughed out loud when Hallie’s explosion broke the uneasy silence which had settled on the camp breakfast table. “The sasquatch may be many things, but it can’t be in two places at the same time. I’m going to take my chances that old ’squatch is sitting on that saddle. I’m going to Tank’s cabin if I have to go alone!”

If only she had stomped her foot and tossed her hair…and clearly I wasn’t the only one who thought so, as Brian caught my eye and mouthed the word “Beatrix.”

Her dish-washing technique was not unlike Trixie’s either and, as I watched Hallie sloshing her dishes in the hot suds, I reflected on the wide streak of Belden-ness those cousins shared. Not that I would discuss it with anyone, not even with Dan, who had surely noticed for himself.

My reflections were interrupted when Hallie announced, “There, I’m ready. Who’s going with me?”

You know, there was never really any doubt that all of the Bob-Whites would not only willingly accept Hallie’s invitation/challenge but would also expect to accompany her. And not just because of our all-for-one creed but also for the chance to meet Tank. He certainly sounded like a character.

Miss Trask seemed hesitant, however, and for a moment I thought she was going to decline for herself and maybe for the Bob-Whites, too. But she’s a good sport and, in the end, the notion that we’d all be safer together must have ruled the day. At any rate, I was ready to get moving and explore the trail up the canyon as soon as we could get camp in order.

Cap began to direct us all in the clean-up operation. I try to give folks the benefit of the doubt, but it seemed to me that Cap assumed none of us had ever been in the woods before. Would I be so strident if the Idaho Beldens joined us on a camping trip in the Hudson River Valley? I understand that he is very experienced and knowledgeable but this is not our first outdoor adventure. Note to self: Don’t be bossy. Second note to self: Don’t tell Trixie about first note.

No unusual sounds or smells interrupted our work until Di dropped an owl’s feather on the coals Cap was dousing with water. As often happens when I am outdoors, I hear the voice of my father sharing stories about nature. I recall he said that some believe an owl’s feather is a sign of insight and protection, along with wisdom and the ability to see what is hidden. Not that I necessarily believe in such signs, but if a sasquatch really is lurking we are going to need those qualities in spades.

Just as I was considering whether or not picking up and moving an owl’s feather violates the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, I heard Cap suggest that Brian take over the pre-hike foot check while he filled the canteens. Did Cap even realize that he was speaking Brian’s love language? Brian made sure that everyone’s soft, clean socks were smooth, with boots firmly but not too tightly laced. Cap punctuated the foot-check by asking, “Extra socks in your pocket?” as he handed each person a canteen of cold fresh water.

Finally, we were off and I relaxed into the hike. Within minutes, camp was out of sight. Birds had fed early and were silent, but other small animals were going about their business. I heard a Pika back at camp this morning calling “Eep! Eep!” but now I hear mostly chittering. It seems squirrels are squirrels everywhere.

As we hiked, my heart swelled with pride as I overheard Honey comment to Trixie, “None of the animals seem to be nervous. I don’t think I’m going to manufacture a lot of adrenaline I’m not going to use.” Wow! What happened to the frightened girl I met at Ten Acres? The one who was afraid of everything? The change is amazing and I need to remember to tell my sister so more often.

Trixie giggled in response, “You sound like Mart, but I know what you mean.” I was slightly ashamed of eavesdropping on the girls, even inadvertently. But with these two, I’ve learned you can never fully let down your guard.

Next thing I know, Honey and Trixie are singing “She’ll Be Coming Around the Mountain When She Comes,” as they climb, making up sillier and sillier verses the longer they go on singing. I did hear Mart groan quietly when they sang “We’ll all have chocolate ice cream when she comes…” After all, it’s been a minute since breakfast and it is hot on the trail.

When they paused for breath, Hallie followed with a very bouncy version of “Are You From Wallace, Idaho?” The Bob-Whites don’t sing a lot - Dan actually has the nicest voice of all of us - but we caught on quickly and did our best to join her on the chorus. I love those old-fashioned songs.

Next, Knut sang, “Sweetly sings the donkey, at the break of day. If you do not feed him, this is what he’ll say…” The rest of us boys roared, with much gusto, “Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw!” Our feet thumped the steep trail, beating the rhythm.

The Idaho Beldens are clearly more musical than the Bob-Whites — both Hallie and Knut have strong voices — but even with the distraction of singing, the elevation gain was beginning to take a toll.

“Distances sure are deceiving in Idaho,” I heard Di sigh a little later when she dropped back to join Honey and Trixie for a while. Di and Hallie had been hiking together and they were setting a pretty brisk pace at the front of the group.

“I think it’s just that we’re used to riding our horses back at home,” Honey told her. “But I’m beginning to wonder if the head of this canyon was just an illusion when we saw it back at our camp. We’ve been hiking almost two hours now.”

Despite the comments, everyone seemed to be doing okay. I am becoming a little concerned about Miss Trask: She’s been quiet on this hike and I am worried that she might be running low on water. She is a great sport and pretty fit, but this climbing is different from walks in the preserve. Just as I turned to ask Brian for his opinion, the trail unexpectedly leveled. Trees were not so tall or so closely spaced and the August sun beat down on a flat area.

“Tank, hey, Tank!” roared Knut, Cap and Hallie.

“Yah, sure!” was the happy response.

I am so glad we didn’t miss out on meeting Tank. Not sure what I expected exactly but Tank is over six feet tall, thin as a sapling, and dressed all in white. Even his bald head glowed white above a freshly shaven face.

Tank was chopping weeds in his garden. In cleared spaces among huckleberry bushes and Indian-paint brush, Tank had disturbed the earth just enough to insert a few seeds. His plantings included potatoes, onions, carrots, beans and cabbages. What a cool use of his land. I really appreciate the way he worked his garden into the existing landscape without destroying the other plants, instead of making a typical bare plot filled with rows of vegetables. I could tell that he watered only the plants that needed it, using a pail and dipper. There’s no wasted water here.

Tank placed both hands on the end of his upright hoe handle. When he leaned his chin on his hands, his long body bent like a bow. He examined space from earth to sky. Then he said slowly and carefully, “Ay tank de tistles be tick dis year. Yah?”

“Yah!” whooped Knut, Cap and Hallie as they rushed forward to hug him. Obviously, this was a well-practiced routine and my heart ached a little watching the greeting. What if Uncle James had opened his heart and allowed folks to love him after Aunt Nell died? What if Trixie and her brothers had been able to run over to see him any time and envelope him into their lives? I know they would have adopted Uncle James if he had given them a chance. Even if he had still died before I reached Sleepyside, it would have been such a comfort to know that his last years were full of love instead of loneliness.

Pay attention to the present, Jim, I thought with a small shake of my head. Knut had introduced his cousins and had moved on to Miss Trask and the rest of us. Tank’s handshake was firm and sure and the smiles he gave us all were genuine.

“How’ve you been, Tank?” asked Cap. “Do you need anything?”

“Now that ya put me mind of it, Cap, ay could use some pep’mint drops ’n’ a slab of hawg.” I chuckled a little at the interesting shopping list. I do realize it is rude to study the contents of shopping carts but on the rare childhood occasions I accompanied my mother to the store, I made a game of looking at what others were loading into their carts. A cart with peppermint drops and fatback might have made my top-ten list.

Tank appraised the group with his bright blue eyes and I am sure we made quite a hot and dusty impression. “You young’uns et yet? Ma’am, could ay pull up a fresh drink for ya?”

Miss Trask’s skill set obviously included quick understanding of new dialects. “Thank you, Mr. Anderson. I must confess I drank all my water on the climb up the mountain.”

“Come on in where it’s shady and cool,” Tank invited.

By “in,” Tank didn’t mean inside the house but rather into the fenced area surrounding his house. And “in” was the right word: the trees created a cool oasis around his small house built of rough-hewn logs and mountain stone. I’ll bet it is snug in the winter time too, with the trees to break the force of the winds.

“Gimme a minute and ay’ll cool ya off fine,” Tank disappeared into the cabin, with Hallie at his heels before any of the rest of us could offer to help.

“Where does he get water on a mountaintop?” Di asked.

The familiar gleam entered Mart’s eye and just as he opened his mouth to launch into a many-syllabled reply, Cap answered, “Tank boxed in a spring. He has a pump.” I really hope that we get a tour of the whole place. The house is beautiful on the outside, as if it grew here. And after seeing his garden, I have a feeling Tank has lots of innovations.

Hallie came out of Tank’s house, balancing a dishpan filled with tin cups and a plate of the biggest cookies I have ever seen. Tank carried a pail past the group to disappear behind a low door that seemed to be fitted into the mountain itself. Oh yeah, I want to know what’s behind that door.

When he came out, he said, “Vet yer vistles!”

Miss Trask was first to be served. “My word, Mr. Anderson. Lemonade?”

“With ice,” Honey said wonderingly. “Oh, Mr. Anderson, you shouldn’t waste your ice and lemons on us. I know how hard it must be to bring ice all the way over Moon Pass and up that steep trail.”

Tank’s laughter boomed. “Ay had half a year to fix my ice cave. Ve got yust three seasons in the Yoe country. Yune…”

“Yuly and Vinter!” Hallie finished with a shout.

“Vant to see how ay keep my wittles fresh?” Yes! I shouted to myself. Please let us see.

As I watched Tank put a hand on one hip as he loped back to the ice cave, I did wonder about his age and hoped that he could keep on living in this remote home for as long as he wanted to do so. He commented to the group in general, “Oh, this rheumatiz. Ain’t been vorking much dis veek, but ay got it yust the same.”

“Tank, you know darned well you don’t have to work that claim if you don’t want to,” Knut scolded good-naturedly. “You’ve got enough gold dust stored to last you the rest of your life.”

“Yah, sure,” Tank agreed. “But ay like to be sure ay can even up me owing’s vhile ay still can.” What an independent guy. He sort of reminds me of Mr. Maypenny back home.

Tank opened the door of his cave. We all crowded close to peer at chunks of ice packed in pine needles. Venison, bear meat, and several ducks hung from a rack. Brook trout lay frozen in ice. A few vegetables from last year’s garden were carefully stored on a slotted bench that allowed moisture to drain away.

“You certainly aren’t going to starve, sir,” I said aloud.

“I admire your ability to cope with the wilderness, Mr. Anderson,” added Mart.

“Ay ain’t aiming to skimp on me wittles,” Tank answered. “Call me Tank. Dese young scalavags’ve been doing that for so long ay start peering around for me father when ya say ‘Mr. Anderson.’” I smiled to myself then: I’ve heard many older gentlemen express the same idea. I guess it must be in the handbook.

After we each had a chance to check out the ice cave (I took my own sweet time because a fellow can learn a lot about self-sufficiency and sustainable living from a man like Tank), we headed back to the yard to enjoy our lemonade and cookies.

While we were walking, I heard Tank tell Knut, “It’s getting hard for me to traipse across that saddle to town. Vith all yer company, ya sure ya don’t mind toting me dust an’ picking up a few t’ings?” They stopped walking for a moment and, since I was bringing up the rear from the ice cave, I had to stop too.

“Mind?” Knut slapped Tank’s shoulder affectionately. “I’d mind if you didn’t let me do it for you. We’ve got it planned to break the monotony of camp life with a drive-in movie sometime this weekend, anyway.”

Tank nudged Knut’s ribs. “And ay tank ya vant to see that Gloria, huh?”

“That, too,” Knut said, laughing. “If I don’t show up Friday night, she’ll be dating some other guy!”

“Not vith you around,” Tank declared as they headed into the yard.

Because our group obviously exceeded Tank’s usual number of visitors, Cap and Knut upended chunks of logs for extra chairs, and Tank brought a very cool chair from the cabin for Miss Trask. I leaned over Miss Trask’s shoulder as she examined the hand-carved cedar legs, the back constructed from moose antlers, and the deerskin seat.

“This is a museum piece,” said Miss Trask, with delight. “Priceless!”

“So are the cookies,” Honey said.

“Museum pieces?” Brian teased.

“No, silly; priceless. Tank, how do you make them?” Honey asked.

“Ay dump oats and bear grease and molasses into my crock. Then ay chunk ‘em all together vith flour and dried huckleberries and some leavening. Alvays it comes out cookies.” Best recipe ever, I thought to myself. I hope Hallie or one of her brothers help Tank make the cookies and have made notes about the proportions. How many times did Dan have to help Mr. Maypenny make doughnuts or hunter’s stew before he had the recipes down pat?

My mind slid sideways a little as I thought then of all Mrs. Belden’s wonderful dishes. She should write a cookbook and as I was mentally listing my own favorites to include, I heard Di ask, “Bear grease?” She looked at her saucer-sized cookie and gulped. Uh-oh. Hang on, Di! Don’t think “bear grease,” just think “cookie” and replenish some of the energy we burned on the hike.

Mart, of course, began “If you don’t like it…” I’ll bet he’d help sell the idea of a Crabapple Farm cookbook. Trixie will too, if we turn it into a fundraiser. We need to talk about this when the Bob-Whites get back home.

“I like it!” Di exclaimed hastily and began munching. Good for you, Di! I know Di struggles sometimes with the outdoorsy stuff and I am proud of her for being a good sport. Glad I was able to catch her eye and give her a smile of encouragement.

We all sat back and enjoyed the cookies and lemonade and the visit with Tank. Despite what the Belden cousins said earlier about him being a virtual hermit living out here all alone and him barely being able to carry on a conversation, Tank was a wonderful host and it’s clear that he really loves Hallie, Cap and Knut.

When the last cookie was eaten, Cap asked casually, “Had any company, lately, Tank?”

I had been wondering how we were going to broach the subject of the sasquatch, especially since I am still trying to decide exactly what I believe about this sasquatch. The idea is intriguing but is it real and not a hoax?

“Company? Do ya count fishermen and kids on noisy trail bikes? Yah, sure. Some.”

“Well, how about…” Cap chewed ice and stared into space “…night company?”

Tank grinned broadly. “There’s Old Gray — he yells every night till all the coyotes over Park Crick vay, they take up that rackety song. Loverly ’n’ me, ve listen. Yah, that’s company for us. Night company.”

As Knut explained that Loverly was Tank’s pet skunk, I glanced from Honey to Di and back again. Pale and paler. I don’t blame them: Wanting to avoid skunks doesn’t have anything to do with being scared…no one wants to get skunk-sprayed.

Cap kept right on chewing ice, without looking at Tank. What an interesting dance. I don’t really know Cap that well, or Tank at all, but this is curious.

“Ya vant to hear about T’ree Claws? Yah? He comes sometimes.” Tank’s eyebrows twisted.

“Three Claws is an old bear that got caught in a trap umpteen years ago,” Hallie said. “Tank feeds him when grub is short.”

Still Cap chewed ice.

Impatiently Tank asked “You vant that ay count owls? Porkies? Skunks that wisit Loverly? Mister still comes around.”

Cap shrugged.

Come on, now, I thought. One of you is probably going to have to say “sasquatch.” The Bob-Whites looked as though we were at a tennis match, heads turning together from Cap to Tank as we listened to this strange conversation.

Cautiously, Tank peered at Cap. Then he said,” Suka, suka, suka?”

A-ha! Every Bob-White straightened.

The sleepy look left Cap’s eyes. “Have you been visited by fur-people you’ve never met before?”

“Ay tank this fur-fellow has been here before. Ay find footprints sometimes in Vinter. This is the first time ay hear him in hot weather. Last night he come down off the peak, ay tank, and vent down-crick.” Worriedly Tank added, “He bother you?”

Footprints in winter?! Now that is something for me to consider. Even if the current sightings are a hoax, a winter visitor near Tank’s house might be something else entirely.

“No, not really,” Cap answered. “Made the hair on my neck stand on end, though. Everybody’s on the move, packing up to go home. We thought we’d better check up on you. Want to go to Kellogg or Wallace till things quiet down?”

“Ain’t nothing to get riled up about,” Tank said calmly. “As long as you’re around to do my toting for me, ay tank Loverly ’n’ me vill go on like always.”

I wondered what it would take to move Tank off his place. Clearly more than a maybe-sasquatch. He hadn’t survived all those years without a pretty strong backbone.

“Good,” Cap said. “I thought that’s what you’d say.” He included all the others in a sweeping glance. “How about it, gang? Are we staying, too?”

As if to say, it seemed to me, “Tank is staying. Loverly is staying. Are you less brave than an octogenarian and a pet skunk?”

“That’s what we came for,” Trixie announced. Of course she did! “All in favor?”

“Aye!” we all shouted - including Miss Trask.

Now this was my kind of business meeting: Short, no dancing around, and no Robert’s Rules of Order - Mart, you know I mean you.

As the cheering faded, I heard a small sigh. “I lied,” Di confessed. “I don’t want to go home and scare all our folks to death. But I don’t want to stay here and scare myself to death, either!”

“Don’t fret,” Miss Trask said kindly. “You know that Knut and Cap will look out for us.”

It is not the first time Miss Trask has made that statement in the last day or so. But whatever Miss Trask thinks about who is looking out for whom, we will all have our eyes and ears - and noses - open. Our hike today accomplished several purposes: we checked on Tank, he knows about the sasquatch sightings, and our camping trip continues. And I’ll be thinking about Tank and his homestead for a long time to come.