Short Stories of the Road: The North

I wrote this short story called The North a few weeks ago, upon reading about the history of the valley that Red Horse Mountain Ranch sits upon. You can read my post with more detail about it here, but it got my mind thinking. How different would it be? What challenges would the people who first settled here have come across? Why did they come here? Why this valley? It only took me about an hour to write this, and I’m sure with more time it could turn into more – however I like the snippet of an imaginary history.

It then gave me the idea to do this in multiple places that I travel to. Hence the beginning of a series called Short Stories of the Road.

Happy reading!

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Listen While You Read

THE NORTH

The wild of the North used to hold power over people. The trees don’t whisper like they used to. The wind doesn’t howl with the promise of the hardships of winter. Even the coyotes rarely stray close to this part of the land. The rolling hills sigh in familiarity, their winding, well-used trails peeking out between pines on the forest floor.

A hundred years ago, Cody knew a different side of the land. It’d been years since he’d run his horses over the flat, spell-inducing plains of northern Utah. 

His thoughts are barely interrupted by the heavy breaths of his horse, Ned, leaves and sticks crunching underfoot. The dust creates a thin, immovable layer on his boots and he can feel it building on his face. His eyes water.

They’d almost reached the top of the hill, his newest section of land cleared. In the four years they’d been in the remote valley, he’d managed to clear enough land to herd a few hundred cattle. He was proud of his herd. Fifty cows and a bull were all he could afford on the petty cash of selling wood to the local town ten miles away. Even so he’d had to forfeit ten head just in costs of getting them the thirty miles around the lake from their breeder. 

His son Will isn’t far to his left, clucking at the rear of the herd, coaxing them between trees and up the hill towards the top of their valley. He’s atop a beautiful paint, Callico, who Will had broken in on their doorstep -sired by Ned and one of his mares. 

The sun casts a silhouette of the stumbling hooves of cattle on the ground, kicking up dust in the early morning light. As they reach the cusp of the ridgeline, Cody can see the homestead tucked away in the dips and bows of the land. A thin line of smoke rises from the small chimney. 

They’d had to rebuild parts of their home twice now. They lost one half to a fire in the heat of summer. Soon after rebuilding a tree had fallen, taking away two of the rooms on the opposite side. 

Cody breathes in the cool air, watching his breath billow out in front of him. The cows call out to each other as they trickle down the mountainside. Ned lowers his head in relaxation as he walks. For a second his troubles are forgotten.

It’s not as if they’d chosen this valley specifically, or he’d known about the Blue Lake hidden behind the end of the bowl. They hadn’t a choice. Belle had gotten sick with the very illness they’d been trying to escape. Leaving their home with no family, no friends, no town, no local saloon had been hard. Just them and the harsh reality of being in the wild. 

The journey from Utah had taken them almost three months, setting off from their hometown with their two children, Will and Gabe along with seven horses. Four fit for riding, three packhorses -one just barely broken- and a mule. The cart had only lasted a week, the rocky mountain passes they’d approached sooner than Cody had expected proved to be difficult to navigate. Simply keeping an ill Belle on a horse was troublesome enough. She’d fallen right in the centre of the valley they now called home.

Maybe it was the endless fires he’d built, the cusp of spring and the presence of medicinal flora in the area that had healed her. 

This had been what he’d wanted anyway. Mountains, trees, lakes. A name for himself. Maybe he’d ought to ask Belle if that’s what she’d wanted too, or whether the promise of this life had been too much of a dream.

She’d grown up with him; the blacksmith’s daughter. Gentle, with a streak of grit and determination. He’d overheard one of the men in the saloon call her a wild lupin, and though he’d wanted to knock his front teeth out at the time, he’d taken to the comparison. 

Being in the wild had changed her. Not long after arriving he’d gotten stuck a few miles away from their wooden shack in the dead of night after spraining an ankle crossing a river. Coyotes had stalked her and their young family in the yard. Four years ago, if you’d told her to hold a shotgun, she would’ve condemned you to the spot. She killed three coyotes that night.

The idea of creating a home out of nothing had been romantic at first, disappearing into the woods to create a family and make something of their own. That was until, in his young stupor and newfound freedom near the border of Canada, he’d realised what that had actually meant. Nothing came easy. You herd cattle, coyotes take them away. Grow crops, frost withers the lot. You hunt game, summer heat and hungry flies devour it before your eyes. Nothing comes easy in the north. 

Multiple times he’d debated travelling south again. Was this life really worth it? What could he give to his children if he had nothing at all? Would they stay here for generations to come or would it become another forgotten valley in the middle of nowhere? 

Just over a year ago, another family had stumbled across their valley with their own hundred-head of cattle, setting up home on the shores of Blue Lake. It was the Hardy son who rode to Cody’s right, atop a stick legged pony – infamous for his ability to duck and weave between the most stubborn of animals. Colt was the same age as Will and now his best friend. 

He was grateful for some new faces. Curious too, about the Hardy’s daughter Helena. Will had softened since meeting her, and Cody had noticed his gaze lingering on her longer than it should. It made him happy to see Will like this. Their father, Luke, took up a position to the far right, corralling some stray cattle back towards the herd. A quiet man, he was. Cody appreciated that everything that came out of his mouth was carefully pondered, and he meant everything he said. Having him around was as if a certain weight had been lifted from Cody’s shoulders. Luke knew what to do, and when to do it. They never exchanged much conversation, there was work to be done. What else needed to be said?

Belle had befriended their mother Cassidy, and the rough and tumble cowboy gang would often return home to a cooked meal for both families. Cody’s family with their game, Luke’s with their lakeside berries and famous huckleberry pie. 

The garden had flourished this spring. Potatoes, peas, tomatoes and an enormous flower garden brimming with a hand picked selection of wildflowers had been cultivated into a plethora of colours. The youngest kid, Jane, had even managed to grow a small raspberry bush.

They’d almost reached the cattle yards and the barn now. Luke and Cody had built them both barely six months ago, and it had helped immensely with sorting. Having the second family around gave them more time. And time was like gold to the harsh realities of this life. 

Colt opens the gate at the front of the herd, backing his pony up to usher the cattle in. Will rides up beside Cody, reaching over to scratch Ned’s deep golden ear. 

“The steers all looking good. I hope Helena will come out with us next time.” 

“Your lessons with her have been going well, I’m sure she’ll go if you ask,” Cody smiles back at him, resting his forearm on the pommel.

It’s not long before the gates are shut behind the animals and the horses are untacked. They don’t bother with fences for them, Ned and the other horses had spent the first year hobbled overnight in what you could call the front yard. Cody hadn’t had the energy at the time to build pens. The horses were now so used to being close, building extra fences seemed pointless. 

Luke pats Cody on the back, walking back towards the homestead.

“Don’t know about you, but I can smell a bloody good pie from here,” he murmurs on the way past. His horse follows him, unbound. Cody chuckles at the slip of his Irish accent. Will and Colt have already made it to the front porch, and he can just barely see through the window that the girls are ready for them all. 

The dim evening light casts a milky glow on the valley and he can feel the lightness of summer in the air. The cows echo throughout the area, and the wind is still. Cody digs his boots in the dusty ground, feeling the dirt on his hands. Ned stands alongside, eyes drifting open and closed. He makes soft snores. The first stars begin to poke out from the blue blanket of twilight, and Cody takes a moment to breathe. 

This is his valley, his family, his home. The North is his.