Hitty Sassy

I resume my journal here with the remainder of the afternoon’s adventures

Evening, the Same Day A Slight Kerfuffle

The arrival of guests, “The Cousins”, elevated Granny’s story-telling to new heights.  She spun such tales for our entertainment, that I began to doubt her veracity.  Ozark story-spinners, after all, are famous for their ability to pull one’s peg. Still, I duly noted each mote of folk lore and recorded it faithfully in my notes.  I became intrigued with her stories of “The Berrygnash”, a heretofore unheard of specie in my economy. Granny’s recounting of Doll-kind’s encounters with this cryptid was full of all the expected illustrations guaranteed to send young wooden children diving under their quilts at day’s end or keep even the most ardent explorer in the center of a lonesome path while passing through some unknown wood.  A giant of a beast, towering over small dolls?  Powerful claws for stripping Farkle-berry bushes and perhaps for the mangling of Hittys, Bitties and their kin? Covered in lichen; dripping with moss? The herbaceous heart of the Berrygnash exposed for every doll to see?  I could see that Granny’s tale was making the Cousins uncomfortable and poor Hyacinth Paw-Paw’s maple was turning an unsightly shade of green.

Alas, poor Yorick, even he paled and made his way into the comfort of Nell’s arms.

At that moment, Venerable Tottie’s young charge escaped from her ministrations and made his way downstairs.    She and Miss Hickory evidently had more than enough on their hands cleaning up after the bath to follow him and regain control of the unwelcome ablutions. Unclad and unashamed, the rascal scampered around the cabin, into everyone’s laps and hearts. 

He was a jolly little fellow and the glint in his eyes certainly affirmed his relationship to Granny Lavender.  The chip didn’t fall far from that blank!  As he ran naked around the room, his small foot found Nell’s sewing basket and the collision sent reels of cotton skittering across the floor.  We all leapt to recover the spools and seize the scissors before anyone harmed themselves.  I found myself chasing after one spool that had bounced, rolled and otherwise made its way into a darkened corner by the fireplace and under a window.

As I write this, I still wonder why, save for the danger of reels under one’s feet, or a young person playing with scissors, there was such a kerfuffle. 
[WHAT IS THAT OUTSIDE THE WINDOW??]
As I rose from capturing the run-away spool, I could see that Hitty Nell had subdued the scamp, but Granny, the Cousins and Hyacinth Paw-Paw were still much agitated and practically wordless! They gestured, waving their arms in my direction.  I calmly assured them that I had the thread in hand.

They did not respond in a rational fashion, but continued to point and squeal.  Granny Lavender’s countenance was a contradiction.  I could clearly perceive her consternation; however, I was also quite sure I could see the corners of her mouth curling into what almost looked like a grin.  What were these mountain-dolls about?  Perhaps it was a jest they played on newcomers?  I could hardly ascribe this behavior to such estimable Hittys.  I decided to ignore the hysteria and chalked it up to the change in the weather.  I did look about the room for a “little brown jug”, though.  I’d heard stories about moonshine manufactured in these hills.  I wouldn’t put it past Lavender to tip a little something extra in the afternoon tea.

It was time to take our leave of Granny Lavender, but as I stepped away from the window, I felt a strange stirring in my vascular tissue; the sap fairly froze in my pegs.  These tales of Granny’s were amusing, but were they to be believed? Could the last of the Berrygnash truly dwell in these hills?  Did the species even exist at all? Hyacinth Paw-Paw was at the door, ready to depart in haste. She believed!  The Cousins had long disappeared, hurrying home before the day closed. Hitty Nell and I had a last urgent conversation with Granny Lavender, and then thanked her for the afternoon’s entertainment. 
She pulled me close, gave me her blessing and spoke some final whispered words.

Once again, as I record my impressions, I am unsure what I heard from the interior of Granny’s cabin as we withdrew.  I am quite convinced I heard Granny’s melodious chuckle, but my ears also caught a deeper, richer rumble that I failed to identify.  It sounded like the falling of rocks in a faraway canyon, but brighter…was Granny entertaining another visitor?

I decided that her stories must being toying with my imagination. I hurried on.

We three made our way back to the comfort of our own cabin through the forest at dusk.  The wood seemed less welcoming than previously, when we had shared a small meal with a cricket and the sun had lit our path with a shower of golden lights.  Reaching home, Hyacinth Paw-Paw tucked herself quickly into bed with her sisters, pulling the covers over her head.  I, however, picked up my journal, and, as the dark crept over the mountains, recorded the day’s events and pondered the tale of the Berrygnash.

Saturday, September 6th  The Search for the Berrygnash

Preparations for our expedition proved overwhelming, so we were unable to embark on our search until the late afternoon.  Hyacinth Paw-Paw declined our invitation to accompany Nell and me.  She was still much in fear since taking in Granny Lavender’s yarns.  I packed the gear half-heartedly myself.  I did long to discover a cryptid and be so noted.  I did not wish to be disappointed and prayed that our search would not be in vain.  Pleasant as she was, could Granny be trusted?

Heeding the advice of my expedition leaders, I hired extra hands for the trek into the forest surrounding the abandoned town of Schaberg.  Nell and I, along with our carriers, traveled down the winding dirt road until we came to the borders of the Denton Family Hold.  Leaving the road, we hiked down to the bluffs surrounding the property.  A few of the hirelings expressed concern, not only about a possible encounter with a Berrygnash, but also about treading on an unwelcome varmint or viper.  As I reassured them, I also challenged them to consider who was encroaching on whom and who precisely would be unwelcome.  Hitty Nell and I then set about the business of conducting a thorough exploration.

We set up our site on the top of a large boulder, feeling that this was a secure base from which to operate.  I ventured down onto the flatland above the bluffs, making my way toward the moist sand.  Pushing aside the tall grasses as quietly as I could, I drew near what I suspected would be an excellent site for a cryptid to leave signs of its passing.  Nell stood watch from above.

It would be too much to expect that my quarry should conveniently leave tracks where first I looked, and, sadly true, I found nothing. I redoubled my efforts, skirting around the sand, examining the terrain closely.  The shadows across one patch of silt looked oddly unnatural.  I drew near, stepping gingerly, not wanting to disturb any evidence.

I was rewarded!  Here at last was something; but was it proof? Gigantic footprints, deep and three-toed traveled across this plot.

I signaled Nell to come and opine.

We concurred; here surely was evidence of an unknown cryptid.  The tracks were fairly fresh.  While I considered our next step, Nell made a plaster casting of the footprints.

Trained well by her mountains relations, Nell proved herself an admirable tracker and was able to discern with some ease the progress the cryptid had made through the undergrowth. 

We followed the signs to a small pond, where for a moment’s respite, we seated ourselves and admired the beautiful Ozarks.

[Sassy brought home the plaster cast that Nell made.  It is on exhibit in her Cryptid Museum.]

****************************END of PART 3**********************************

Will Sassy and Nell decide to pursue the creature??

Or will they return to the cabin, satisfied with the plaster cast??

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