“That’s just great.” Trey scowled but obeyed his grandmother.
My mother collected an exquisitely carved walking stick leaning against the porch post, and we set off. “The members of the Occaneechi tribe gave this to me,” she said as we struck out through the field behind her house. “I helped one of their seers get over a bad case of blocked vision.”
“How nice,” I said, casting a covert glance at the entwined snakes carved into her stick. They were so lifelike that I half expected them to wriggle right up the wood onto my mother’s hand. I turned away, preferring to focus on the tall grass strewn with yellow buttercups and the benevolent shadow of the mountain rising before us.
We left the grassy path and stepped into a copse of trees, instantly cooled by the forest’s canopy of summer leaves and needles. Birdcalls followed us as we strode deeper into the woods, and my cares slipped away as I inhaled the scents of tree sap, pine, and fecund soil. Trey stopped to investigate a clump of mushrooms, squatting on his heels to marvel at the size of the umbrella-shaped caps.
After another ten minutes of hiking steadily upward, the narrow path widened. It was apparent that someone had trimmed the sapling branches and stray vines from encroaching on the well-trodden trail, and we soon arrived, rather short of breath, at an arch made of willow branches secured by pieces of rope. A wooden sign hung down from the top of the arch. We passed beneath the words Welcome to the Red Fox Mountain Co-op and emerged into a wide and surprisingly flat clearing.
This plateau was circular shaped and had recently been mowed. Clippings still peppered the grass, and an old-fashioned push mower rested against a chain-link fence that dominated the left side of the clearing. On the other side of the fence, a herd of white goats with brown faces and floppy ears lifted their heads and bleated and then returned to the business of nibbling grain. In the distance, a large unpainted barn rose up behind the spacious goat paddock, and a cluster of small cabins were situated haphazardly to the right of the barn. A pretty woman seated on a crude stool weaving hemp into what appeared to be a hammock raised her hand in greeting. We waved back.
“What is this place?” Trey asked in wonder.
My mother gestured around the complex. “Back when the town was Illumination, this was a meditation and retreat spot. Folks used to hike up here to commune with nature. Most of the hard-core New Agers moved out when the money dried up like a creek bed in July, but some people who truly wanted to live a simpler kind of life founded this co-op. Here comes their leader now.”
A man in his early thirties wearing a plain T-shirt, dust-covered cargo shorts, and leather sandals made his way toward us. “He looks like Jesus,” whispered Trey, and I had to agree. With a beard and hair of dark brown that fell in soft waves to his shoulder, the man issued a generous smile that reached from his mouth to his lake blue eyes.
“Jasper.” My mother held out both hands, and the young man gave them a hearty squeeze. “I brought my family to meet you.”
Jasper studied us for a moment longer than was customarily polite, but then he offered his hand in sincere welcome. “Excuse my rudeness. We haven’t had visitors for a while, and we’ve withdrawn even further from society over the last two days. An acquaintance passed away rather abruptly, and it’s reminded us that the violence and chaos of town life could taint our little paradise.”
I’d just opened my mouth to ask if the death Jasper referred to was Marlette’s when my mother pinched my forearm—a signal that I should be quiet. “I was hopin’ you’d show my grandson around. There’s nothin’ in Dunston like this slice of heaven, and I wanted him to see that folks can live a rich and fufillin’ life off the land.”
Looking extremely pleased by the request, Jasper waited for Trey to fall into step beside him as he led us toward one of the larger cabins. “This is where we dry and process our wild hemp plants that we then make into rope for bags and hammocks or twine for jewelry and key chains,” he began. “We have crops growing all over this side of the mountain. Hemp plants and every kind of fruit and vegetable you can imagine. The soil up here is really fertile, and we get more rain than they do in the valley.”
“Did you say hemp?” Trey looked around eagerly, and then his eyes widened in astonishment. “Wait. There’s no electricity?”