The Faded Blue Hat (fiction) in Tea at the Cabin in the Woods

This is the first really notoriously windy day since Grandpa’s hat flew across the river. It was as if God was trying to tell him something. I remember sitting under the giant oak out back watching the ripples dance along the water and then seeing the familiar faded blue ball cap flying as if it had wings. Over the roar of the wind through the tree came Grandpa’s strong baritone voice, yelling in German what I assumed to be curse words. He ran after the hat down to the sandy bank and watched it as it kept afloat in the air, traveling in small circles toward the other side. He stood there staring in amazement but fixed on the faded blue that took shape as a sail, accelerating the speed in which to continue to drive it further away and deeper into the abyss of the forbidden land across the water. Finally, what looked to be a small spot of color, hung snuggly in the branches of a tree high above the ground a few feet away from the shoreline. More German spewed from my Grandpa’s deep chest while he kicked at the dirt and ran his hands through the thinning white curls, tangled from the wind. He turned, saw me sitting beneath the oak and lumbered over. With a thud, he lowered himself beside me, wrapped his strong left arm around my shoulder and gave me a sideways hug. “Your Grandmother gave me that cap a month before she met Jesus.” His voice trailed off as he looked away to avoid my gaze. “We, you and me, we will go and bring it home.” I was 12 years old and loved my grandpa more than anyone else in the world. If he wanted me to help him get the faded blue baseball hat, there was no way I would say NO. “Okay, Papa. How do you think we can get it from this side of the river?” “We will have to go over there.” Pointing to the forbidden land with his index finger, I noticed a slight grin beginning to form around his lips. “We need to go where no Kolpin has ever gone before. It will be our adventure, our conquest!” The forbidden land was owned by a very wealthy family with connections to some very powerful people. They had owned the land long before my Grandparents built their farm on this side of the river. They had wanted to own Grandpa’s land for decades but the original land owners wouldn’t sell it to them. When Grandpa bought it, they tried everything they could to get him to sell. They offered him land up the river – but the ground was much rockier and the river much shallower, not a good bargain for my Grandpa. They tried to burn down the barn and house, but Grandpa had built them with stones from the land and had the water pumps connected to the river so they would never be without water for the animals, which meant they could quickly put out the flames. They tried to scare them away by painting Nazi slurs on the fences and outbuildings. Grandpa and my uncles just painted over them. He was a strong willed man who would not give up his dream or home for a greedy family. And he forbid any of his family members to go near the other side of the river. “Otto” he began, “We will need to take the boat and row across the strong current. Can you help with that?” “I'm very strong, Papa. Of course I can do that. But what do we do once we get there?” I asked him thinking he may have a good answer. “Hummm… we'll need to tie up somewhere and get to the tree holding my hat hostage.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “We should take a ladder with us, and a long pole.” “Papa, maybe I can climb the tree to get the hat?” I offer. “Ah, yes, another option. Let’s be prepared just in case you're not tall enough. I'm too old to climb a tree these days, so it will be all on you. Can you do it?” I roll my eyes and scoff, “Well, yeah… I can out climb anyone around here.” “Okay, just remember when the wind blows like this, it becomes more challenging the higher you get in the air. You will need to be very careful.” He began to rise slowly, showing his age a bit more than I had ever noticed. “Come on, Otto. It’s time to prepare for the journey to the forbidden land.” I scrambled up and ran against the howling wind toward the outbuilding closest to the riverbank. The old rowboat and oars were inside. I tugged the door open and the wind grabbed a-hold of it, slapped it against the side of the building. I pulled a cinder block in front of the door to hold it open long enough to retrieve our transportation. Leaning along the back wall was the old wooden boat. It’s green and white paint was chipped and worn, and the name scrolled along the back was barely visible. It read, “Lilah”. I grabbed the old hemp rope knotted at the helm and pulled it over, dragging it toward the entrance where Grandpa stood in wait. “Hurry now, we need to go before the hat decides to dance away again.” He reached up into the rafters and took down the oars, bleached with age and a couple of greyish orange life vests much older than my parents. Before I closed the door again, he stepped back inside and balanced an old wooden ladder and long pole over his other shoulder, being careful not to bump into me or the walls. The gusts had increased in intensity and whipped the ladder, pole and oars with such force Grandpa nearly fell to the ground. His solid frame and sure footed stature braced him for another blast and he walked half squatting down to the sandy bank. I dragged the “Lilah” behind me, excited about the adventure, but worried about the rough water and how we would rescue the hat. Grandpa loaded our simple supplies and locked the oars into place, threw me a life vest and told me to put it on. He strapped the larger vest around his large barrel chest and beat it with his hands like I had seen cartoon gorillas do to prove their manhood. I wondered if real gorillas really did that, but smiled at how silly and fun it was that my grandpa was so playful. He instructed me to get in the boat as he shoved it off and jumped in behind me. I grabbed the oars and dropped them in the water, began to pull and push against the strong current. We went around in a circle, the current was stronger than I was. He reached over and took hold of the oars and together we began to push and pull against the current. Together we were strong enough to make it. The opposite shore line looked more ragged than our side of the river, not many low levels for beaching the boat. Grandpa motioned for me to reach out and grab a clump exposed roots jetting out below the tree that housed his cap. I did as told and held as tight as I could, fighting the current while Grandpa fished a rope through the tangled mass of wood. “Otto, you're going to have to climb up into this maze of roots and limbs. Do you think you can reach it?” I nodded, knowing I was a good climber and small enough to fit between the bending and twisting that nature had done to this tree. He held the Lilah as still as he could as I hoisted myself up, grabbing limbs and roots for support. My shoulders wiggled and wedged through small openings and I was glad I was double jointed for once in my life. The climb was scary as the wind blew in gusts trying to take me off guard and to get me to give up. The tree had no intention of making retrieval of the faded blue hat easy for me. It seemed as if the branches wanted to scratch my legs, catch my clothes and steal my shoes, but I kept on climbing. The hat was in sight and almost in reach. Grandpa yelled something up to me, but I couldn’t understand him. The wind and the water crashing into the boat was nearly deafening. I scooted myself unto the branch that held my Grandpa’s treasured hat between it’s tangled fingers. Little by little I inched my way toward it, arm outreached to touch it, feeling the slight bounce in the limb as my weight began to bend it downward. I heard the creaking of wood straining and knew I couldn’t force myself much further unto the limb. I grabbed a small offshoot, broke it loose and gently fished the thin twig between the top of the hat and the strap. With a jiggle and a quick lift, I freed the faded blue hat from it’s capture and slowly brought it back to my waiting fingers. I heard Grandpa whistle and yelp for joy and as I tucked his precious treasure into my jacket pocket I looked down. Time stopped. My arms hugged the branch that swayed in the wind, creaking under my weight, afraid to breathe. At no time had I even thought how far up in the air I had climbed, but there I was – forty feet above the rushing river, clinging for life to a tree that did not want me hanging onto it. From the water the sound of crashing waves and wood beating against wood swirled around my ears like amplified woofers. A shattering scream of severe anguish cut through the noise and my eyes diverted to the small dingy below. Grandpa laid crumpled into a ball on the bottom of the Lilah, red fluid pooling on his clothing. The fear of heights suddenly disappeared as I scrambled to get to the base of the tree and back to his side. Frozen in panic, time was non-existent as I reached the roots, grabbed the rope and pulled the boat closer to jump in. Grandpa’s head was slumped, his eyes closed and a large gash exposed the skull of his otherwise hard head.
“Grandpa, I’m here. I have the hat. We have to stop the bleeding.” He flicked his eyes attempting to open them, reached my hand and asked for the faded blue hat. I pulled it out of my jacket pocket and handed it to him. He placed it on his oozing head and with a nod toward the oars, indicated I needed to get us home. I untied the rope, grabbed the oars and with strength I never knew was there, took us back to our side of river. Finding the beach area of the shore I drove the Lilah onto land, yelling for help as I got closer to shore. Dad and Uncle Ray came running, swept Grandpa up in their arms and hurried him off to the hospital in the truck. I stood speechless and in shock as they drove out of my sight. My mother rushed to my side with a blanket and slowly walked me back into the old house. My eyes never left the door, waiting for Grandpa to walk back in, all fixed up and back home. Hours passed and my mother had that, “Please God, let him be okay” look plastered on her face as she paced and tried to busy herself with cooking in the kitchen. Gravel flew from the road leaving dust in it’s quake. Every car, truck or tractor that drove past perked my ears in anticipation. Hour after hour, into the dark of night and nothing was heard, not a call or even a knock at the door. In my heart I knew it wasn’t good. The aching of my chest and arms burned with fear of the worst. Without warning, tears ran down, dropping unto the window frame, leaving water spots on the wood like a soft rain. Through my blurred vision, headlights were coming slowly toward the farm, turned into the long-drive up to the house and stopped just short of the porch. The motion lights tripped and illuminated the old truck. Uncle Ray climbed out from behind the wheel and Dad exited the passenger side. No Grandpa. No one ever told me how far your heart could drop into your stomach, but I knew then the deepness of hurt and loss. As I tried to gather my thoughts and not collapse something caught my eye. Behind my Dad… was that what I thought? Was that the faded blue hat that caused all this trouble? Dad and Uncle Ray flanked him on both sides and walked him to the house. The grin on his face lite up my world and battle worn, blood stained and dirty, Grandpa was wearing the hat. “Thank the Lord, Otto. You saved your Grandpa’s life!” Uncle Ray proclaimed as he helped get Grandpa inside. “If you hadn’t had him put that old ragged cap on, he would have bleed to death!” I didn’t save my Grandpa, Grandma did. She must have known that old faded hate would come in handy and made sure it was tight enough to hold back the bleeding. Never believed in spirits before that day – but too many things got me thinking, maybe, just maybe they are still out there looking after us.