Safe in the Lion's Den

The ranger stared at me in disbelief.

"Dude," I said sternly, as I fished out my ID with my free hand and badged him, "take the phone!"

He nodded, and took the phone from me; holding it shakily to his ear.

"H-hello?" he stammered. "Y-yes, Sir! Steven Shakely. At least ten years. Yes Sir. Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir. I will Sir. You as well, Sir. Here is is."

I took the phone back.

"Hey there." I said casually. "What's the story, Morning Glory?"

"I'm going to have the Secretary of the Interior contact the park superintendent." John informed me. "Something like this is inexcusable. Thanks for bringing it to my attention."

"You got it, Dude." I replied cheerfully. "I'll send you a text when we get in tonight, okay?"

"Do that." John responded. "PLEASE?!"

I smiled as I closed the phone. The ranger was staring at me with his mouth hanging wide open, in a Gomer Pyle-esque fashion.

"That was really John MacDonald?" he inquired. "This isn't some prank?"

"It is not." I assured him.

"May I see your identification again, please?" the ranger requested. "I just need to be certain; I hope you understand."

I nodded.

"Of course." I replied, as I displayed my credentials. "Here you go."

He stared at my badge and ID curiously; shaking his head in disbelief.

"I've never heard of 'Presidential Detail' before." he admitted. "What agency are you with? I mean, I heard you call him 'Bruh' and 'Dude.' I mean no disrespect, Sir, but that was the president of the United States! Why did you not address him as such?"

"I'm not with any agency." I replied. "'Presidential Detail' has a security clearance that matches the president's himself. John told me I could get into Area 51 with this ID, and I believe him. Anyway, these credentials are granted only to those to whom the president trusts implicitly. I mean, like more than the Secret Service detail assigned to him. We are the inner, INNER circle of friendship and/or trust. Obviously, if we are that close to him, titles mean nothing. In fact, just this morning, he called me an asshole."

"But the way you're dressed!" the ranger burst out. "This is such a violation of protocol. You look like some biker guy or something."

"That's the idea, Steve." I sighed. "We're supposed to look like this. Have you ever seen an incident on TV, regarding a president? Not everyone is dressed in a suit and Ray-Bans, and wearing a wire. There are twice as many in the crowd, in plain clothes, and I am one of those people. And even if I weren't, no agent is on duty twenty four hours a day. Would you expect them to drive the Blue Ridge Parkway in a suit and tie on their days off? Not everyone is James Bond, y'know."

Steve looked a bit sheepish.

"Well?!" I demanded.

"No." he replied with a smile. "I reckon not."

He seemed to reflect on something for a moment, and finally spoke.

"Could I see your ID again?" he inquired politely. "I'm not trying to be difficult, but something caught my attention."

"The badge isn't gold." I responded, as I handed him my badge case. "Right?"

He nodded.

"Yes Sir." he replied, as he opened my ID. "Good observation on me. Why not?"

"As far as I know, most -- if not all -- federal agents have a gold badge to flaunt their authority." I opined. "This one is rhodium, and probably commissioned by the president himself. I'd venture a guess, that anyone who really needs to question my authority, would know the difference."

The ranger dropped his gaze.

"I didn't mean it like that." he muttered.

"I know you didn't." I replied. "I meant that should I use my creds to enter a highly secure facility, that those people would know the difference. I apologize for not being clearer on that. I did not mean to demean you in any way.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like to finish having lunch with my family. I just wanted to let you know what had happened. I didn't expect it to get so involved, but I don't like to leave them alone."

Steve nodded.

"I understand." he said quietly. "May I meet your family?"

"On one condition." I answered. "I just got you several million dollars worth of upgrades to your park. I can undo all of that just as quickly. Are you getting my point?"

"Yes Sir."

He followed me over to the picnic table, where Portia and Sophia were just finishing their sandwiches.

"You both finished foot-long subs?!" I asked incredulously. "Where did you put it all?"

Sophia nodded, and raised her index finger to indicate that she had food in her mouth and to wait a moment, which was a good sign. She had apparently learned her lesson about talking with a mouth full of food, earlier. She swallowed and beamed.

"Yes Jack!" she said enthusiastically. "I swear, your American food is so g-"

She suddenly realized her mistake, and clamped her hand to her mouth.

"Sophia, this is Steve." I said quietly, smoothing the situation over. "Steve, this is Sophia."

"Hi, Ranger Steve." she responded, holding her hand out to shake his.

"Hello, Sophia." he replied, looking first at her, and then intently at Portia.

"Your family, huh?" he inquired, looking at me again. "From what I saw on the news last night, I thought they were the President's granddaughter or something, and her nanny. I THOUGHT I recognized you earlier!"

"That's the White House's story, not mine." I said casually. "According to me, this is my family. That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

"I recognize you as well." he stated to Portia. "It's an honor and privilege to meet you, Ms. Prime Minister. I hope you are enjoying your drive through our park."

"I am." she replied. "This is one of the most scenic roads I have ever been on, and I've been all over the world. You can feel the age of these mountains, and the spirits that must reside in them. And please, call me Portia. If there is one thing Jack has taught me, it's that titles don't make the person; your name does."

"I've noticed he's not too big on rank or titles." Steve remarked. "It's a new one on me. I've never met someone with as high of a clearance as you, Jack, that didn't flaunt it."

"I wrapped your sandwich up, Jack." Sophia interjected, reaching out with what was left of my own sub. "I didn't want it to dry out."

"Thank you, Princess." I responded. "That was very thoughtful of you. And that's exactly why I was asked to look after them, Steve. No one expects a biker/hippie-looking guy to be a federal agent. Unfortunately, there's a Karen on every corner nowadays, and now, I'm even more recognizable than they are."

I frowned. "And that's probably my own damn fault. Anyway, I want to hit Mabry Mill before it closes, so we'll be parting ways now. It was nice meeting you, and I'm glad we were able to get the killer curve situation addressed."

"Me too." Steve replied. "Thanks so much for that. Speed limit's 45 all the way, you know that, but I'll radio ahead. Just keep it at double nickels, okay?"

I smiled.

"With inflation, those double nickels should total around 225 by now." I said with a grin.

"I'll give you an extra nickel." Steve retorted.

"555?" I asked enthusiastically.

"Cap it at 60." he said with a chuckle. "Have a blessed day."

A few minutes later, we were once again winding our way down the parkway.

"So what is this Mabry Mill?" Portia inquired. "You said something about a mill earlier, too. I'm guessing it's the same place, but I don't understand why it is so special for us to see."

"You will when you see it." I explained. "You'll recognize it; either from a calendar, or a Christmas card or something. I guarantee you, you have seen it in a picture somewhere. It's the most photographed mill in the world."

"What kind of a mill is it, Jack?" Sophia inquired enthusiastically.

"A gristmill." I replied. "You can buy cornmeal and flour that they've ground on it. There's a gift shop there too. It's all owned by the National Park Service. It's one of the nicer shops along the parkway, I think."

Some time later, we rounded a curve to see the famous mill on our left.

"Here we are!" I announced, as I pulled into the parking lot.

"I don't recognize it." Sophia said in a disappointed tone of voice. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"Me neither." Portia added.

"You will" I chuckled. "Close your eyes, both of you. I mean it; keep them closed, okay?"

I wound around the parking lot and pulled into a handicapped spot. Now I know what some of you may be thinking, but I wasn't planning on using my G tag to elevate myself above the rules and park there. It was in an almost perfect alignment with the shots that have made this spot so famous, and my intention was to have my precious cargo see it really quickly, and then I would back out and find an actual place to park.

"Okay, you can open your eyes!" I called out.

Sophia was the first to spot the famous landmark, and she squealed with excitement as she gazed at the familiar sight.

"Oh my god, I DO recognize it now!" she bubbled excitedly.

"Me too." Portia agreed. "You were right Jack. I've always wondered where this place was. I never thought that I would ever see it in person. Can we get closer than this?"

"We can get more than closer." I replied with a smile. "We can go inside and watch it working, if they have it running. Let me find a place to park, and we'll walk over. It's open to the public, but with my credentials, I could get us inside anyway."

I was about to put the car in reverse, when I noticed a ranger approaching us.

"Problem?" Portia inquired.

"Shouldn't be." I replied, as I rolled the window down.

"Hey, Brother!" I called out. "I'm not parking here. I was just turning around, so my family could get a sneak preview."

"Oh, okay! No worries!" he hollered back. "Um, are you Jack, by any chance?"

I turned to Portia.

"Apparently, news travels faster out here, than a colony of prairie dogs reproduces in the wild." I sighed. "Yeah, that's me."

"Steve gave us a BOLO for y'all." he responded, as he approached the car. "You're actually okay to park here. We close in about twenty minutes, so if you want to walk around for a half hour or so, we'd be glad to give you a personal tour of the mill if you want."

"Could you turn it on?!" Sophia inquired excitedly.

The ranger scratched his chin dubiously.

"I can't." he explained. "It literally takes hours; sometimes even days, to set everything up and get it to work, which is why we only do it a couple times a year. You'll get first dibs though, if you want to come back."

"Can we Jack?!" Sophia implored.

"I don't see why not," I replied, "as long as you are still here."

I dropped my gaze at the thought of the pair only being here for a finite period of time, and glanced back at the ranger.

"We'd love a tour for now, though." I responded. "As long as it isn't a problem."

The ranger shook his head as we exited the SUV.

"It's not." he replied. "Steve told me you pulled a couple of strings, so it's the least I can do. Besides, I'm retired. What else do I have to do?"

I smiled, and him one of my cards.

"We'll be looking forward to coming back for that demonstration." I added. "In the meantime, I think we'll poke around the gift shop and use the restroom, if we may. By the way, you already know my name is Jack. What's yours?"

"Bill." he replied, sticking his hand out.

He glanced at the four descriptions on my card, and nodded.

"Your name is familiar." he observed. "I recognize your head shot too. Not the way you look now, no offense, but this picture looks familiar for some reason. Maybe I saw you on TV or something back in the day."

"I used to set up at the gun shows." I offered. "If you're an outdoorsy guy, maybe you stopped by my table at some point."

Bill looked thoughtful.

"What were you selling?" he inquired.

"I was doing book signings and selling some specialty ammo." I replied. "I had that bronze AR15 with the.50 BMG barrel on it."

He suddenly brightened and smiled.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "You used to bring your cat, right?"

"That's me." I admitted with a smile.

"You brought your cat?" Sophia asked, as we entered the gift shop.

"She always had a cameo in my books somewhere." I explained. "So many people wanted to meet the cat, that I started bringing her with me. I put a sign on her cage that said, 'Meet Cootie from my books.' Then, someone suggested I get an ink pad, so she could give paw prints too. That went over about as well as getting John Rambo's fingerprints in First Blood. Only tried it once. The guy got a purple smudge on his book, and I got some very sharp teeth in my thumb. That was the first, last and only time I tried that gimmick."

Portia giggled.

"I can honestly picture you trying to fingerprint a cat!" she guffawed. "That must have been funny as hell."

"Wrestling the mountain lion was a lot easier than paw printing the cat." I responded.

"You wrestled a mountain lion?!" Sophia inquired, her eyes widening.

I turned to Bill.

"Do you have a smart phone?" I asked.

"Sure." he replied. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Apparently not." I said, holding up my contractor phone. "That's why I asked."

"Ah. Ask a dumb question, right?"

"Would you run my name through the IMDb?" I queried. "The pic is up there."

"Sure." he answered, typing the information in. "Oh, here it is. There's a caption too: 'This was NOT what I had in mind when they told me I'd be wrestling a muddy cougar!' Haha, that's pretty funny.

"Well, I need to get some paperwork done, so feel free to use the facilities and browse around. I'll meet you back out here in fifteen minutes, okay?"

I nodded, and we headed for the restrooms. We regrouped a few minutes later, and began browsing through the shop. It had a few touristy items for sale, but for the most part it was books and local handicrafts. As we milled around, looking at the varies wares for sale, I inadvertently placed my hand around Portia's waist. She glanced at me in surprise, and I realized what I had done.

"Sorry!" I apologized. "Force of habit. I didn't mean to do that."

"It's okay." Portia responded with a smile. "I kind of like it. It's been a while."

With that, she placed her arm around me as well, and we continued wandering around.

"Look at all of these books!" Sophia exclaimed. "They're all about the outdoors and local stuff. What is foxfire, Jack?"

"It's a rare fungus that grows on rotten wood." I explained. "It glows in the dark. I take it you're looking at the Foxfire books?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I have the original set at home, if you want to read them." I offered. "They teach you the old ways: How to build a log cabin, blacksmithing; that sort of thing. I can teach you a lot of that stuff if you want to learn."

"I would." she affirmed. "It sounds really interesting."

"Excuse me," Bill interjected as he returned, "I couldn't help but overhear. You have original copies? With the solid covers?"

"Up to the eighth book." I replied. "By then, it was mostly just filler. They should have quit at five. Lost the first book about thirty years ago though. Dad loaned it to someone, forgot who, and we never got it back. I finally found a replacement about fifteen years ago, but the covers have changed. So I have 2-8 that are first runs, yes."

"The first two books are easy to find," Bill said excitedly, "but as you said, the others got kind of boring, so they didn't sell as many. That makes them harder to find. Those books are worth a bit to a collector, Jack, but we've been trying to find a complete set for some time, to display. They changed the covers after the ones you have, so aside from the first book, you have a complete set of the originals. Would you consider donating them to the Park Service to put on display?"

"Well, I was going to teach Sophia what was in them." I responded. "And my dad bought them new. I was hoping to pass them on one day."

Bill looked disappointed.

"But since I don't have anyone to pass them on to," I continued, "I'll consider it."

"I'll swap you a full set of the reprints!" Bill offered. "The entire series for the ones you have."

He leaned over and picked up a package.

"And a bag of flour from our gristmill." he added.

I chuckled.

"Okay. Sophia has a birthday coming up, and we can bake her cake with flour from a mill she's been to." I conceded. "It's a deal. Now, how about that tour?"

We spent the next thirty minutes getting the full rock star treatment, as Bill led us through every part of the mill, finally stopping at the "manual transmission" of the power distribution.

"So, if we had the sluices open and I engaged this pulley," Bill explained, "it would essentially turn the whole system on."

"Without electricity?" Sophia inquired.

"The water wheel IS the power source, instead of electricity." I interjected. "In a mill like this, it's simply one on and off switch, but in factories where they had lots of machinery being fed from one wheel, there were all sorts of clutches like this, and each machine had a set of pulleys to change the RPMs."

"Like on a bicycle!" she exclaimed.

"Exactly." I replied. "You are the smartest little girl that I know."

"You seem familiar with this." Bill said in a surprised tone.

"I spent the first decade of my life in New England." I explained. "I learned all about this as a kid. So why isn't this mill operational on a daily basis? You said only a few times a year."

"When they renovated the mill, they built the water wheel with red oak." he responded. "I'm assuming you know enough about this to understand why? We have to tighten everything up and add additional bracing sometimes."

"I'm a retired general contractor." I said with a nod. "Why didn't they use white oak instead?"

"Because these egghead engineers don't know which wood holds up and which doesn't." he sighed. "This mill was originally built with chestnut, but that's impossible to find now, unless you can salvage a timber from an old barn or something. Certainly not enough to build a new wheel, and we don't have that funding anyway. White oak would last a lot longer than red oak, but they're shy about spending that kind of money again."

"What about black locust?' I inquired. "That'll last as long as chestnut; maybe even longer. They could operate this mill on a daily basis for the next fifty years without any hint of rot."

"Oh yeah!" he chortled. "We can't afford a reclaimed chestnut timber, let alone enough locust to build a new wheel."

"I think I might have enough." I speculated. "I used one for the sill plates on my house, but I think I still have a dozen or so that have changed from yellow to black and are ready to harvest. I also have quite a few chestnut fence posts along the boundary lines, if you need some smaller replacement parts inside. I've been using them for years, for occasional projects that require chestnut, but it's so goddamn hard, that I hate working with it."

Bill stared at me with his mouth hanging open.

"Are you serious?" he demanded.

"I have an emotional tie to the Foxfire books, but not a couple of trees growing on my property." I replied. "If you can build a new wheel out of them, they're yours. Figure out how many board feet you'll need, and send a forester to my place to see if I have enough timber for the project. I think I can secure the funding you'll need too, if I donate the lumber."

"I, I c-can't believe this!" Bill stammered. "I don't know what to say!"

"You're retired." I tried to explain. "Yet you continue to volunteer your time here because you love the history behind it, right?"

He nodded in reply.

"Do you know what the Moratock Furnace is?" I inquired.

He nodded again.

"One of the local bog mines which fed that furnace with iron ore, was located on my property." I explained. "Somewhere out there, there is a cannonball in someone's collection, that was made with iron that came from my land. Now, I can also say that timber from my land rebuilt your waterwheel. It's an honor to be able to contribute to such a project.