Scavenging…for Hope

Now that the rain had finally subsided, Flint ran through the woods rummaging through the debris as his daughters watched in bewilderment. They had never seen him move that quickly or run that fast before, and they weren't sure what to make of it.

“Daddy!” Flurry cried. “Daddy, what should we do?”

Flint didn't respond at first. He was frantically overturning the demolished pieces of what was once their home. It had now been three weeks since The Great Storm took Mya from them. And the same Storm had now, for the fourth time, taken away what they tried to call home. This wasn’t the best built of them. Flint knew that. But he thought it could serve as a good start. … “It doesn’t matter now, anyway,” he thought.

Flint—a raccoon—had married Mya over a decade ago. And they had lived at various times all over Silva Island (it’s at this point of the story where I’ll suggest you have a map handy). For several reasons, Flint and Mya had managed to move from Raccoon Nursery, where Mya was born and raised, to Buffalo Valley, to Woodland Haven, to Grazer’s Prairie. Though they never lived there, they spent some time in The Shiverlands and just south of Stallion’s Retreat (where Flint was raised).

Once they started having kits (the three they had were Flurry, Picnic, and Tickle), they had settled in a nice spot in the woods of Buffalo Valley, which are on the eastern side of the Sway River, and just south of the Silver Mountains. They had lived here for a good six years when what came to be known as The Great Storm destroyed their entire world.

Flint and Mya had lived through several storms during their time. But there was nothing quite like this one. This storm came off the west coast of the island and looked like it was going to move south through part of Scavenger Canyon and Woodland Haven. Instead, it took a turn northeast, following Whip River, crossed the Sway River, and simply demolished the woods south of the Silver Mountains.

And as it demolished those woods, it wreaked great and horrifying havoc on the homes of the woodland creatures living there—including, and especially, the home of Flint and Mya and their three girls. It was a most terrifying time for all of them.

Now bear in mind, dear reader, I don’t want to dissuade you from continuing this story. I assure you, it ends happily—maybe not “happily ever after”—but happily enough. Let us say it ends satisfactorily.

But in order to truly appreciate the story, it might help if you try to put yourself into the situation of the characters of the story. Let us say you’ve lived with your family for your entire life… And then! With no warning at all, you’re forced to endure the most intense storm you could ever have imagined. You watch as the wind and rain sweep away everything on this earth that you’ve come to know and hold dear. And then! Then, you watch helplessly, as it takes away the life of someone you love so deeply, you scarcely have words to express it.

What could be worse?

A reminder. … A constant reminder. And that is what the Storm was to Flint: a constant reminder of what it took, and what it can take at any time it desires.

“Daddy!” Flurry tried again. “Daddy, are you okay?”

Flurry was the eldest of the three kits. She lived up to her name. The phrase, “everything with her was fast paced” (as long as she wasn’t ill at least) is probably an understatement. She embodied the words “energetic” and “creative.” Being able to come up with fifteen ideas in the span of three seconds to a question she just asked you (and herself, apparently) was just the beginning of her spontaneity and approach to life.

And somehow, with all of that, even with The Great Storm first hitting and its subsequent refrains, though she retained her personality, during times where it was keenly important, she was able to concentrate on the most specific of situations or ideas quite well.

“Daddy?” she called again.

“Ye…ye…yes!” Flint finally muttered out, extremely quietly, but audible enough for Flurry to hear. He was at this point standing just near where they were resting last night, where he told them a fun bedtime story before they fell asleep for the evening. He was trying to take it all in—of how the storm kept coming back to destroy each home they tried to build.

Finally he answered, “Yes, sweetheart. … I’m fine. … What are you and your sisters doing?”

“Daddy!” Flurry answered, “That’s what we’re asking you. … What do you, want us to do?”

Flint sat back on his hind feet, continuing to think of what had happened in the past month and again in this last hour. It was too much for him to process, but he knew he had to keep his family going—safety for his daughters must be his primary concern. … But what did that entail? Safety from this storm seemed to be a vanishing option. Whatever they build, it destroys—seemingly targeting them specifically. They’ll need a meal again soon. Perhaps start there?

“Scavenge!” he replied.

“You mean, look for food?” asked Picnic. She was the second eldest. Living up to her name was as enigmatic as her name itself was. As you know, typically when people remark, “It’s no picnic,” they mean to say the task or situation is not easy. And picnics themselves are thought of as a fun outing—to some. Yet to others they’re thought of as quite an odd and tiring place to have lunch—outside with ants and bees. And yet for some reason, people still enjoy doing it—sometimes as if it’s the most delightful setting in the world for a meal.

Well, Picnic the raccoon was quite interesting in that way as well. She could certainly make herself a joy to be around. Friends would seem to just appear out of nowhere and cling to her. All the while, those who knew her best and loved her most could sometimes find themselves being bit by ants or stung by bees (metaphorically) while trying to enjoy her company—despite the nature of her company sometimes being so unquestionably difficult.

Now don’t misunderstand Picnic, dear reader. Like many picnics, she can be full of delightful surprises. While I’m sure you’ll find her the most mysterious of the three kits, I’m equally sure she’ll astonish you with unexpected twists—especially when it counts.

“Not just food,” Flint answered Picnic. And he spoke to all three of them. “Scavenge for everything! For food, for materials to rebuild our home, for materials that will aid in travel—anything! Everything! Just scavenge!”

“I’m confused,” replied Tickle. “Are we going to rebuild our home, or are we going to travel somewhere else?”

Tickle, as I’m sure you guessed, was the youngest of the three. She had as much energy as Flurry (possibly more), but not enough experience to know what to do with all that energy. So she used it to emulate both her sisters in various ways. And the result very well tickles you when you see it in action. She’s a very smart raccoon. Flint once told me that when all was said and done, “Tickle may be the smartest of us all. She just doesn’t yet have the same amount of information as the rest of us. But the day she does, I don’t know what will be able to stop her—other than the Creator Himself.”

That’s what he told me, anyway. As for what he said to her in that moment though: “Yes!”

“Yes. … Wait! What?” she asked. “Which one are we doing? Rebuilding our home, or going somewhere else?”

“Both!” replied Flint, starting to sound more confident, though he had hardly any plan at this point. “We’re going to rebuild our home. But it might not be right here at this spot.”

“What?” all three of them rang out simultaneously in their varied demeanors:

Flurry: “We’re not staying here?”

Picnic: “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Tickle: “I don’t understand.”

“Clearly there’s something wrong with this spot,” Flint responded. “The Storm can’t possibly be targeting us specifically, right?” he spoke as if he were trying to convince himself. “I mean, there has to be some natural explanation for why it keeps coming back right to this spot and destroying our home. Am I wrong?

“It’s like there’s something about this location that attracts the weather here. So why not make a change? Instead of building a different type of structure, why don’t we move a little bit out of the way—maybe not too far, but some place where we know the Storm hasn’t been continually coming back to… Right?”

His girls just looked at him with confused, blank stares.

“Daddy?” Picnic spoke up. “Didn’t you and mommy live here for years before a storm ever hit?”

“Yes…?”

“Well … doesn’t that mean that the storms don’t always come to this spot?”

Flint was flustered. Not that she made a good point, but that she didn’t understand what he was saying. Of course, he himself wasn’t quite sure he understood what he was saying yet either. He was processing his thoughts as he was speaking them in the moment.

“Yes, Pic, that’s true. … storms don’t always come to this spot. … But for some reason…” he started to sound as if he were speaking from a fuzzy dream: “…for some reason…this Storm does…

“Please girls,” he said, now as if back in reality, and in a lowered tone, “scavenge.”

Up above them on a high tree top, a very interested bird of prey watched closely. His eyes, which could see from miles away, zeroed in on this devastated widower raccoon, and he let out a deep sigh. You see this Golden Eagle, named Worrick, though a fierce warrior, had a golden heart. And he seemed drawn to creatures that were hurt or struggling. Though he hadn’t spoken to him, he could tell Flint had been in a state of utter confusion since he first set eyes on him a couple days after The Great Storm. He had hoped the gift he left Flint and his kits last week would help, and it did. But…Flint was still clearly lost.

“Well…” he said, in a low, warm voice. “I knew it wouldn’t turn their lives around. But…this poor raccoon…” The wind gently blew across his feathers, and he could feel the Creator’s presence, knowing this raccoon’s story wasn’t over yet. Barely a second had passed when a familiar, small but confident voice said to him, “What’s got you down, dear friend?” As his small falcon friend had landed near him, Worrick looked up and greeted him. “Ripple! It’s so good to see you this morning! I trust the weather didn’t prove too bad?”

Ripple, a Kestrel Falcon, replied, “Not too bad I guess. … It’ll be difficult to make it to Mount Tazzo if it keeps up though. Birds my size aren’t meant to fly that high ordinarily.”

“I know, I know, good friend. I don’t think you’ll be needing to make this trip often. Teylon knows your abilities. I think he’s just trying to pick a spot central to us all. … It must be important, whatever it is.”

“I know what it is, Worrick,” Ripple replied. “He told me last week. … But it was over at the coast off the Rigid Mountains and much closer to the ground.”

“Ahh…” Worrick replied, feeling a little disheartened that Teylon hadn’t revealed his plan to him first. “I knew I shouldn’t have missed his birthday.”

“Oh Worrick! You must know he’s not trying to hurt your feelings. The only reason he told me is that I was there. I’m sure he would’ve told you too—and only you—if you had been there. … Where were you anyway?” Ripple gently inquired.

Worrick let out another sigh… “I was here…watching him.” Worrick looked down toward Flint and continued. “This poor creature is so lost right now. … The Great Storm destroyed his house, took his wife, and left him to raise three kits by himself. … But everything he builds crumbles in his hands.”

“Worrick?” Ripple hesitantly began to ask. “I know you love helping hurt creatures and all. And it’s lovely and amazing. It really is! Our Creator has blessed you with such an enormous heart. … But … But how can you help this fellow?”

Worrick shrugged. “Do whatever I can, I suppose.”

Ripple was unsure of how to respond. He too felt compassion for hurt creatures. But he was more of a pragmatic mindset. If he didn’t know of an immediate need to help, then he just moved on. He wasn’t about to tell Worrick that—not yet.

Worrick continued, “But…at this point I’ve done all I can. I’ll return a little later to check on him and his girls. For now…well I suppose we best get going.”

“To Mount Tazzo, you mean?” Ripple replied with some slight dismay, not looking forward to the rest of the trip.

“Well…yes,” Worrick responded with sympathy in his voice. “Ripple, I know he doesn’t mean for you to make this trip very often.”

“I know. I know… But thank you for the encouragement!” Ripple smiled at his friend, and as they were about to take off in flight, he asked, “on the way there, would you like me to tell you what this council meeting is all about?”

“I’d be delighted, dear friend.”

And off they went.

Meanwhile, Flint had started to move the debris around more and more. With each moving piece he was both satisfied that he was getting something done and also disappointed that he hadn’t found what he was looking for. … Until… “Ah! Yes!” he shouted with enthusiasm!

“Girls! Girls! I’ve found it! … Come here, quickly!”

The three kits had not yet scattered very far and arrived right at Flint’s feet to see what he was rejoicing over so much. It was hard to understand him at first, as he was trying to talk while pulling something up with his teeth.

“Grb nn tt tt nd hp plllll” he said.

The kits just looked at each other to see if either of the other two understood. They looked back at their father and just gave him a look that he immediately recognized. He dropped his find and said to them, “So…you didn’t understand that did you? I couldn’t have been more clear.”

“Daddddyyyyy,” they responded in unison, knowing his jokes were always a little too obvious.

“Okay, okay,” he continued. “I said, grab onto it and help pull.”

“Grab on to what?” Picnic asked for clarification. For what he previously had in his mouth looked only like an aged piece of rotted wood. And it didn’t quite make sense.

“This brown rope…” suggested Tickle, as she began to pick up in her teeth the same wood-looking thing Flint had in his mouth a second ago—only a different part of it.

And then Flurry gasped. “The net! … Picnic, Tickle, it’s the net! Daddy found it!”

Indeed, while looking on the brink of being petrified, the net was intact and still usable. Immediately, all three kits and Flint found a spot to grab it with their teeth and all began to pull it out of the earth, from which it had been buried by the Storm’s latest attack.

“This is amazing!” Flint exclaimed, after they had fully retrieved it. “I truly thought we had lost it. The one good thing we had found since…” his face changed, not wanting to bring up what he already did. “Well, never mind. We found it! Thank you, girls!”

“Now what do we do?” they asked.

“Well…” he hesitated—not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he was afraid they wouldn’t want to hear it. “Now…now we scavenge!”

“Yes, Daddy!” they responded in unison. … Mostly unison. Picnic was a little behind and not as enthusiastic. But she was still respectful.

As the girls went off to scavenge with each other—and with the help of the regained net, Flint continued to overturn any and all of the debris he could. It was quite remarkable really. He wasn’t sure why. He found what he had been looking for—what he thought was lost—and yet even after finding it he still continued searching. The oddity of it wasn’t lost on him, but he tried not to think about it. He just kept turning debris over and searching for things to use…scavenging, basically.

The three kits went off on a little adventure for their scavenging. They knew they had to stay somewhat together, and they knew their father had given them very odd instructions on what to scavenge for. But they each made the most of it as best they could.

Picnic found a worn, but sturdy bird’s nest, a giant cluster of berries, and many small twigs, which she sorted by size before placing them in an orderly array on the canopy they had created out of leaves on top of the net they dragged with them.

Meanwhile, Flurry discovered a smooth, beautiful rock that for some reason just screamed it needed to be taken. She found some long vines she thought might come in handy and one giant piece of bark. She wasn’t sure what that would be used for, but surely it could be meant for either traveling or re-building—or both.

Tickle, on the other hand, was still unsure of the mission. She couldn’t quite figure out if she was supposed to scavenge for items that could be used for all three, eating, moving, rebuilding, or items that could fit into either of those categories. So she pretty much just grabbed whatever she could find that spoke to her. She grabbed some dandelions, various clumps of moss, several nuts of various sizes, and a small log. Now the log she needed help with, but when she called for her sisters, they came to her aid and helped her move it onto their canopy net.

Now during all this time they took breaks to play fun games with each other, which they knew their father would permit. They also took a break for lunch and ate some various berries—from the same place Picnic had found a plentiful amount from which she scavenged before and after their meal. By evening they were getting tired and had found a great number of other items that could be used for either rebuilding their home, traveling, or just eating.

As they worked together to drag the net back to Flint, they discussed what on earth their father had in mind. It would be weird to move since they had lived in the same tree huddle their entire lives. But at the same time, it might be fun to visit some place new. Most pressingly at this time though…they were getting hungry for supper.

“I wonder if Daddy has prepared anything for us to eat?” Tickle wondered aloud.

When they reached their home…or…what they always called home. It was more of a wreckage site again. When they reached there they found their father lying down, crying. It was very odd for them to see. They knew him as strong and resilient. Yet he seemed so broken.

While they were out scavenging, Flint was doing the same, just around the broken structure of their once-house. After he overturned every piece of debris he could, he walked around the perimeter of the entire area, looking for things to use to rebuild, or maybe to help in their travels. Truth be told, he had forgotten all about eating—for himself, and for his kits. And it was at that moment when they came back to him and found him in his debilitating state.

“I’m so sorry, girls,” he sobbed to them. “I failed you…again.”

They each answered in their own way:

Flurry: “You didn’t fail us!”

Picnic: “No you didn’t!”

Tickle: “Daddy, no!!!”

“I did, girls!” Flint responded, as he continued to sob. “I didn’t even prepare dinner for you or anything. I’m so sorry.

“I’ll figure something out though. I think there are still some berries in a small reserve I dug a little west of here. And I’m sure if nothing else, we can go to the river and grab a couple fish.

“But girls… we’re… we’re just not done…” he spoke in a soft, somber voice.

“Done what, Daddy?” Flurry asked.

Flint paused. He knew his response would cause grief. But it was also the only thing he could think of. His mind was turned off. He didn’t even realize or think to look at the great haul the kits had brought in with them. The truth of the matter was that he was not done. And his sadness had so deeply penetrated him, he couldn’t see beyond himself at this point. Finally, he answered in his still somber tone: “Scavenging.”

The kits looked at each other in confusion. They had been scavenging all day. Daddy had been scavenging all day. Though he didn’t mention it, they saw a huge pile of things he found: large pieces of wood bits, presumably for rebuilding, string, and other string-like items, probably for tying things together—maybe for moving to a different “home.” There were also piles of nuts, which they would be happy to eat for dinner; though he didn’t mention those. They could only wonder what was going on in his head.

Then Flurry, speaking for the three of them, approached him. “Daddy?” she said in her sweet, but anxious voice.

Flint, no longer sobbing at this point, yet still struck with grief over his perceived failures, answered her gently, “Yes, sweetheart.”

Flurry looked back at her two sisters and then again at Flint. “Daddy, we did scavenge today—and we brought back a whole bunch of things. They’re right here in the net, if you just look⁠—”

“—It doesn’t matter,” Flint snapped. He did that at times. Though he wasn’t angry with Flurry, she couldn’t help but feel she had caused that emotion. But no, he was angry with himself. He realized he upset her and addressed all three of them in a sort of stern tone: “Girls, I’m not mad at you. I’m sure you collected a great many things. And I’m proud of you. But.. but…” he started to trail off and then recovered his speech, “But it just doesn’t matter. … We have to keep scavenging! It’s what we do, it’s what we have to do. And⁠—”

A light rain had started (though there were no signs of a big storm at the present). Flint continued, “And we have to leave!”

“Leave?” Tickle chimed in.

“Yes!”

“When?” asked Picnic.

“I don’t know. Now? No, not now” he rethought. They haven’t even had dinner yet. “Soon. … I don’t know. We have to leave, we have to build a new house, we have to eat. We just have to…have to….” His voice now trailing into a low whisper, “scavenge,” was the only word he could get out; yet it somehow lost its meaning. He wasn’t even sure why he said it at this point. The reality was he was broken and didn’t know how to fix himself. And he knew three girls were depending on him for their survival and growth. It was so much pressure, overwhelming to the point of… He couldn’t think anymore.

Flurry once more approached him, softly, gently, in a way only she could.

“So…what are we doing, Daddy?” she asked again.

“Scavenging…?” Flint replied, in a forlorn, soft tone, almost as if in the form of a question.

Flurry looked at her two sisters, gaining more confidence to ask what they were all wondering. She pressed further the conversation: “But we don’t understand, Daddy. We’ve been scavenging all day. Look at all these things we’ve found. Do you still want us to scavenge more?”

Flint didn’t answer. It’s not that he didn’t want to. He just couldn’t find the words.

Flurry, looking desperate at trying to calm her sisters’ anxiety (as well as her own) and to get to the heart of how they could help their father, gently walked up to him even closer and spoke in her softest voice: “Daddy… Why are we scavenging? … What are we scavenging for?”

There was a silence. It was not long, but somehow felt as if it would last forever to Flurry and her sisters. Flint, who had started crying again, looked up, with tears in his eyes, as he faced his daughters together. The idea of scavenging for items to build a new house, the idea of scavenging for items to travel… Neither of them made much sense and somehow both of them did. Was he losing his mind altogether? It was too much to think through at this late hour, and his emotions were getting the best of him.

As he continued to cry at his failure to know how to protect his kits and lead them in this chapter of life, he exhaled his answer softly through a sprinkling of tears: “Hope,” he whispered as he faintly wept… “We’re scavenging…for hope.”