“Sausage on your mind?” Griffin asks
“Always.” Cletus gives him a serious look.
“I’m not sure what I saw. Could’ve been a bear.” Thinking about Odin and Patsy, I don’t want to narc on them, especially if I’m not even sure of what I saw.
Cletus squints to study me. “If you can’t tell the difference between the two, you might need to get your eyes checked. Have you needed prescription lenses in the past?”
“No, I don’t need glasses. Honestly, I didn’t get a good look because I was facing the sun and the forest was in shadow. I doubt whatever it was is hanging around waiting for Sunday services.”
Cletus wrinkles his brow. “Why would you assume the boar was a Methodist?”
Thank goodness I’m not drinking anything because I’d turn into a human fountain.
“Excuse me?” I manage to sputter.
“Rather presumptuous of you.” He doesn’t back down.
“More like preposterous.” Griffin takes my side—at least I think he does until he adds, “Everyone knows black bears in Tennessee are Baptists.”
I’ve stepped into another dimension. “Right. Got it.”
When I glance at Jay for back up, he just lifts his shoulders in a silent don’t involve me gesture.
“I’m going to go.” I try to think of a reason I suddenly have to leave. “My bins need organizing.”
A bald-faced lie. I’m type A when it comes to neatness and being prepared.
“Keep me apprised of any more boar sightings,” Cletus hollers after me.
He should really hang out with Odin Hill. The two of them are weirdly obsessed with pigs.
I keep all my supplies for my nature talks in two large, plastic bins. One has pelts, bones, teeth, and skulls. That’s the fauna box. The flora box is filled with pressed flowers and leaves laminated for eternity, lichen-covered rocks, various pinecones, and illustrations of mushrooms. Not nearly as exciting, but the flora box is my favorite.
Ranger jobs are difficult to come by. No way was I going to let my fear of kids stop me from accepting this position. So far, so good. I’ve only cried twice.
During the summer season, I’ve been hosting multiple talks and hikes daily for visitors in the campground. Spring and fall have more school trips. Those are also the most stressful days even though I technically have backup from the teachers. Hordes of kids are terrifying.
Over the months, I’ve developed a sixth sense about who will be most likely to cry, vomit, pee their pants, start a fight, end up bleeding, or not follow directions. The last one tends to be eighty percent of the population, both kids and adults. I’m now a pro at anticipating most inappropriate jokes and talking over the talkers.
When I feel like I’m losing their attention entirely, I bring up skunks—or snakes.
I really hate snakes.
The fauna collection includes several snake skins, which are almost worse than actual snakes. Almost. I blame my dislike toward the slithering creatures on a guy I briefly knew in college for forcing me to visit the reptile house during a date at the zoo. He said my phobia was ridiculous and reminded me they were behind glass, thus unable to hurt me.
Obviously, he had never read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. We only went on the one date. Not surprising to anyone who knows me, I’m a proud Hufflepuff. I’m hard-working, loyal, and sometimes patient. Definitely have a strong sense of right and wrong. Truth is important to me. I like rules and fairness. In other words, I’m never the life of the party, but I’ll stay and help the host clean up after.
After working at the Grand Canyon, I also learned never to tell my coworkers about my snake phobia. If I do, they may take it upon themselves to help me get over it by hiding a fake, rubber snake anywhere I might discover it. I’m surprised I haven’t died from a shock-induced heart attack before the age of thirty-two.
Ixnay on the akesnay alktsay.
That’s Pig Latin, not parseltongue.
Here’s a fun fact: a badger will kill and eat a snake.
I always save the snake skins for emergencies.
Stacking the plaster molds of various animal tracks, I busy myself with tidying the bins for tomorrow’s sessions. The material may be the same, but I never have the same experience twice because my students are always changing. Some have a ton of questions. Some want to show off their own knowledge. Others are reluctant attendees. I’ve learned to recognize the blank stare of indifference versus boredom.
The forecasted rain has created puddles and pools along the road, and today’s activities have been relocated to inside the visitor center due to the threat of thunderstorms. We like to avoid park patrons getting struck by lightning. If it were just rain, we could gather under the roof of the pavilion in the campground, but I’m happy to stay inside. It’s better to keep the skunk pelts dry.
Hosting programs in the visitor center also means my coworkers can observe and give feedback. Most of the time, they’re constructive.
I’m finishing up the talk to a small group of about a dozen people when I spot Griffin leaning against the door jamb.
Squaring my shoulders, I prepare to close out the session. “If there aren’t any other questions …” I pause, internally bracing myself as I give Griffin an opening.
“I have one.” His voice is loud, but friendly. Heads turn in his direction.
“Yes, Ranger Lee?” My smile is warm but if you look closely, you can see trepidation in my eyes.
“What do you call bears without ears?”
Softly, I groan.
“I know!” A boy raises his hand over his head, waving it enthusiastically so I don’t miss him.
I don’t dare glance at Griffin.
“Yes?” I ask the kid.
“Bees!” he shouts, adding a fist pump in triumph
Everyone laughs except for the girl next to him. She makes a point of waiting for my attention before rolling her eyes in a dramatic fashion. I’m guessing she’s his sister, and I know how she feels. I want to tell her to ignore boys being loud and silly.
Griffin snorts and slips through the door back to our offices. I’m not sure if he does this in hopes of tripping me up or if he simply can’t help himself.
“On that note, I think we’ll end there.” I thank everyone for attending and remind them to check out the exhibits and the gift shop.
Griffin Lee is in rare form today. Makes me wonder if something’s up or if he drank too much of Cletus’s coffee.
Most of the small crowd leaves immediately, but a few families linger among the permanent exhibits. A woman with the same dark curls as the eye-roller approaches me with both kids in tow behind her.
“Sorry to bother you as you’re tidying up,” she apologizes, “but my daughter has a question.”
“No worries. How can I help you?” I focus on the girl.
“How do you become a ranger?” she asks in a quiet voice.
Her mom gives her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “She’s always loved the parks.”
“I have an official map in my room.” Her excitement and pride are palpable.
“I have a map in my room too. How many parks have you visited?”
“Twenty-two. We visit them every summer.”