Prolouge: I am a Ranger

I am Ranger. It is what I am and what I was meant to be from the moment I first drew breath on this earth, and it is what I will be until I exhale my last. I have been blessed to work in a job that I loved for twenty-six years, and prepared myself for as a conservation volunteer for the seventeen years before and have continued to do so since I retired nine years ago. To say I loved the job is not to say that I loved every aspect of it; one can only get so much joy out of cleaning the waste out of campground latrines, but I loved the work, I loved it being outdoors, I love helping people, and I love the forest. I say that in the present tense because I still do.

I have seen a lot of things, good and bad, in the parks and forests where I have worked and volunteered. I’ve heard other Rangers tell stories of things that happened to them, and I have shelves of books on the history of the Rangers and the agencies they work for, the fires they have fought, the rescues they have made, and the lives that they have saved, and lost. I’ve heard it said and I do believe that it is true, that being a Ranger is not just a job, it is a lifestyle, and you can never completely divorce yourself from the work, the life, or the resource. We are, as one now retired Ranger put it, “the last American icon.”

I love the quote by Stephen T. Mather, the first Director of the US National Park Service in 1916:: "If a trail is to be blazed, send a ranger; if an animal is floundering in the snow, send a ranger; if a bear is in a hotel, send a ranger; if a fire threatens a forest, send a ranger; and if someone needs to be helped, send a ranger.” In the stories you’re about to read, you’ll meet three of those rangers, a father, a son, and a best friend. Fictional identities for the real men and women who lived the adventure, endured the hardships, and in some cases, saw the magic of the forest. “If someone needs to be helped, send a Ranger.” I’ll go. Send me.

Christmas in the Forest

Christmas in the Forest

 (Note: This was my first fictional story on my blog. It is loosely based on a story from the Adirondacks by William Chapman White and another from the Bitteroot Mountains of Montana by Norman MacLean. It takes place in neither, although the atmosphere of the story suggests the northeast more than the Rockies. It takes us back to a time when the Forest Ranger was more part of the community, and the Ranger could resolve a violation by an agreement called a "stipulation". It is fiction, and Peter Quinn was the main character in my initial attempts at fiction for many years.)

The gently falling snow muffled the sound of Pete Quinn's horse's hooves as he rode down the main street of Mill Forge that evening, a few days before Christmas. The village was quiet, most of the folks were in their houses, busy with preparations for Christmas, as was Pete's own family. He had stopped by the house to drop off a surprise for his grandson, then headed into town to finish the paperwork on a timber theft case. The township constable, Lew Breck, rumbled by in his 4-door Ford Model T and waved at the Ranger as he went by, but if he said anything, it was lost in the clatter from the car. Pete returned the wave and rode down Main Street to where the State Police barracks sat, its windows dark. He climbed down off Hannah and led her back to the trooper's stable behind the station. took the saddle and bridle off the horse and let her into the corral.

He looked back at the "barracks", really a converted house, threw his saddlebags over his shoulder and headed down the alley to the Tall Pine Tavern for some dinner. He'd be back when the troopers got back from their rounds and turn in the stipulation form to them.

The Tall Pine was warm and smelled vaguely of woodsmoke, Woody, the owner's pipe tobacco and beer. A fire was going in the fireplace, and Pete stopped to warm his hands for a few minutes. Woody sidled over to the Ranger, a mug in his hand. "Usual, Pete?" he asked, as he offered the steaming cup of coffee to Pete. "You're keeping late hours tonight, Ranger."

Pete nodded his thanks and took the hot cup in both hands. "Yeah, I am. Got to finish up the paperwork on a tree theft before I can call it a day. What do you have that's good and hot?"

"Well, we have some Irish stew, the usual pot roast and I may have some hot turkey with gravy left if you're interested."

"Any cranberry sauce with that turkey?"

"I think we can find some around someplace, just because it's for you." Woody grinned.

"That sounds really good, then." Pete threw another log onto the fire, and sat down at a table nearby, as the smell of the rich, black coffee obscured the other scents in the room. After a few minutes, Woody returned with a plate piled high with turkey, gravy and potatoes and a serving of real cranberry sauce. Pete ate quietly, alternately looking out the window, then at the fire in the fireplace. As he finished the last cranberry, Pete saw the two gray riders on their big black horses, float past the window. He wiped his mouth, stood, and pulled on his red wool coat, then put his Stetson on his head, and walked over to the bar. "What do I owe you?" he queried.

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"On the house, Pete. Merry Christmas!" Woody answered.

Quinn looked at the proprietor with a mixture of amusement and admonition, then pushed two bills across the bar. "Okay, keep the change, and..." Pete paused. "Hey Woody, how old is that oldest son of yours now?"

"Almost seven. Why?" Woody was curious.

"I remembered you saying it was about time to get him a dog of his own. I wondered if you'd got one for him.

Woody shook his head. "Haven't had the time to even look. Would be a good Christmas present, though."

"You know Alex Sitkavich over on the Moose Lake Road?"

Woody nodded. "Sure. Russian Alexi. He sometimes stops in when he has money for a beer or some vodka. I get the feeling things are pretty tight for him a lot of the time. Never has more than one drink. Always pays cash. Never asks for a tab. Nice guy from what I know."

Pete nodded. "Well, this is one of those tight times for him and his family, what being Christmas and all. He has some really nice lab puppies. Ought to make good hunting dogs. He said he would sell most of them if he could. I bought one for my daughter's son. If you're interested, I'd get out there. I think they'll likely sell really fast. He's only asking ten bucks each."

"Hey, that sounds really good Pete. I'll try and get out there in the morning. My kids would love that!" Woody picked up the two dollars and walked down the bar.

Out in the street, Constable Breck was driving by again, and Pete flagged him down. "What's up, Ranger?"

"Hi Lew. Hey, I was out at Russian Alexi's place on the Moose Lake Road , and he has some nice lab puppies for sale for ten bucks each, if you know anybody looking for a good hunting dog for a Christmas present. I'd appreciate it if you would tell them about it. He's a bit short for the holidays and selling the puppies would really help his family out. I bought one for our Tricia's boy." he affirmed.

Lew rolled his eyes. "I will keep it in mind. My wife would never let me have another dog right now, but if I hear of anyone looking, I'll send them his way." He looked at the Ranger, "They should be good dogs...he always seems to do well during bird season."

"Yep, that's what I was thinking. How's the Model T doing?" Pete asked as he pulled his head back from the vehicle.

"Way of the future, Ranger. Way of the future. I can get from one end of the township to the other in less than a half hour!" The constable was beaming.

"I suppose, but I can still get a lot more places with Hannah than I can with one of those," Pete grinned. The other officer grinned back, waved, and pulled away from the tavern, spraying gravel and snow as he left.

Light was showing through the windows of the state troopers’ billet as he walked down the street. Quinn climbed the steps and entered the warm police station. "Well, well. What brings the District Ranger of the state forestry department to the office of the state police so late on a December evening?" Staff Sergeant Jerry Dougherty actually had a bit of an Irish lilt to his voice, despite being the second generation of his family in the U.S. "I thought I recognized your nag out in the back. I put her in the barn with our mounts, to keep warm"

Pete pulled the Stipulation Agreement and ten dollar fine out of his saddle bag. "I have a timber theft stipulation here for you to give to the judge on Friday. "Hey, Jerry. Know anybody in the market for a nice lab pup? They might be a great present for someone's kid, or grandkid," he added with emphasis.

"We're looking to get a dog." Dougherty’s partner, 'Chik' Serenza said, as he came in from the rear of the station. Serenza and his wife had moved to Mills Forge the previous summer, after he finished the new academy the troopers had opened. They were city folk, and it had not been an easy adjustment for the young, recently married couple, particularly Johanna who had only passed through Ellis Island from Poland a half-dozen years earlier. "Hopefully it will help my wife feel more at ease while I'm on post." Dougherty started to say something, but evidently thought the better of it, and went back to his desk work.

"Well, they are only pups, about ten weeks old." Quinn responded. "Alex Sitkavich over on the Moose Lake Road has some really nice lab puppies. Been pretty tight times for him and his family, what being Christmas and all. He said he would sell most of them if he could. I bought one for my grandson. He's only asking ten bucks each."

"Thanks, Ranger." Chik nodded at Pete. "I'll head out there later in the week."

"You never know," Dougherty put in. "We might head by there on patrol the next day or so," he said with a smile. He reached for the paperwork the Ranger had placed on his desk. "What do we have here...Hmm, took a fir for a Christmas tree. Settled by District Ranger Quinn, for ten dollars and admission of guilt. Subject's name...." The trooper paused and looked at the Forest Ranger. "...Alexsander Nikoliavich Sitkavich." He looked up at Pete, who was buttoning his coat back up. "I don't suppose you took the fir tree in for evidence?"

"Didn't see much point in it really." Pete smiled. "Too many puppies in the way." He opened the door, and over his shoulder, said, "Merry Christmas, guys."

"Merry Christmas, Ranger," Sergeant Dougherty replied. He and Trooper Serenza watched out the window a few minutes later, as the Ranger on his brown mountain horse, rode down the main street of town, back towards his cabin in the forest.

Epilogue: A few days later the forest Ranger ran into Russian Alexi at the local store. The stocky woodsman looked at the Ranger, and in broken English told him, "All the puppies are sold. Two big policemen came and Mister Woody and other people came." He smiled a big smile, "We had very good Christmas! Very good! Thank you, Mr. Ranger!"

"Well, sir," Pete replied, "I know my grandson really loves his puppy. Happy New Year to you and your family, Alexi." He tipped his Stetson and headed back out into the forest.