Strange Lady of the Woods by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

The first time that I ever saw the strange lady in the woods was when I was seventeen. It was back in late March or early April of 1974, when I was still living with my parents in Idlewild Farms, a newer subdivision in outer east Charlotte, off Albemarle Road.

After entering the woods on foot at the northern end of Pepperhill Road (now Summit Ridge Apartments), I began walking up a lightly worn fox path. Once I was 60 feet into the dense patch of mostly deciduous forest, I stopped to fire up a pre-rolled joint (Marijuana cigarette). I wasn’t a major weedhead per se, but I Iiked to puff the green once in a while when out in nature.

I started walking again while smoking the cannabis. Life was good. What a splendid spring day in North America. Where did I hear that before?

I hadn’t gone but another 60 or 70 feet when I came upon her – the strange lady of the woods – a Native American woman of about 35 to 40 years with long black hair, crouched down beside a very small pond. A silver amulet dangled from her neck.

I then discreetly put the joint out and placed it in my right-front jeans pocket.

I should tell you that this pond was actually more like a 15-foot-diameter crater pool. Perhaps it was the root area where a giant oak tree had toppled.

The water was dark and still. A few brown leaves floated languidly on the surface. I wasn’t sure how deep it was, as I couldn’t see the bottom or anything below the oil-like surface. 

Well, there she was, just looking down at the water, intently studying something. A fish? The sky? 

I saw her dark eyes in the surface reflection, and I think she saw my brown-haired mug. I now felt compelled to speak. “Hello. I’m just passing by. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Oh, you’re fine,” she said as she rose and zipped up her bluish gray jacket. “I’m Amadahy. I’m a Cherokee. My name means forest water. I’m collecting memories.” Collecting memories? Maybe she’s coo-coo. [crazy]

“Oh, I see. Well, I’ll let you be.” He’s afraid of me. Why? Silly Caucasian boy.

“Where are you in such a rush to go, young man? And, what’s your name?”

“I’m Adam. I’m just going for a walk in the woods.”

“What are you hoping to find on your walk in the woods, Adam?” What a question!

“Well, I certainly was surprised to find you here.”

“Really? Why?” Is this his family’s property now? Am I trespassing as American law calls it?

“Well, I’ve never seen you here before. I’ve been walking around in these woods for over a decade now, ever since I was a kid.”

“I’ve seen you before, Adam.” She has? How? When? And where?

“Ok. Well, nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you out here again. Take care.” Let’s get out of here. She’s weird as hell. / He sure seems odd.

She didn’t say goodbye, or anything. She just tilted her head down and stared at the water again. She’s really strange. I wonder if she has some kind of mental illness. Does her family know that she’s out here? Does she have a family?

Anyway, I continued on my little walk in the woods that spring day, and got quite stoned in the process. I then sat down on the lip of a recessed clearing (which some of my neighborhood friends called ‘the dome’ for some reason; it was more of a large, gullied, red-clay bowl) and imagined that she was some kind of real witch, and that she might cast a spell on me. In fact, I got so paranoid that I returned to my home on Red Carriage Lane via Idlebrook Drive, some 1,000 feet to the east of the tiny pond.

Fast forward a year and a half. It’s now the fall of 1975. It’s one of those crisp, dry, cool, windy autumn days, right after a cold front punches through. It’s was just before Halloween, I believe. Yeah, that sounds about right. I recall that the leaves had just started to change colors. (Fall foliage colors don’t peak in Charlotte until mid-November.)

I once again entered the woods via Pepperhill as dusk neared. And, to my astonishment, she – the strange lady of the woods – was right where she was the last time I saw her, nearly 19 months ago. Does she come to this pond every afternoon? Is this some kind of daily ritual?

I looked at her facial reflection in the water, and she caught my eye. “It’s me again: Adam. Remember me?”

“How could I ever forget you?” she asked, but more so stated.

“Oh, thanks.”

“The memory of you is now associated with this pool.” Huh?

“Ok.” Just humor her.

“Have you had dreams about this memory pool, Adam?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t.” Why should I?

“You will.” What?

Adam then studied her black dress. There were some rips and runs in the thin linen fabric. “Listen, do you live out here in the woods?”

“Maybe.” Maybe? / Will he search all over for me?

“Is the place where you stay close-by?” He sure is inquisitive. / I wonder what kind of structure it is. Is she living in a bat cave?

“I’d rather not say. It has to remain a secret, Adam. Nothing against you, but no one can know.” Is she involved in some illegal activity? Where does she get her food?

“Ok, no problem. No offense taken.”

“You’re a good young man, Adam. I’ve seen your future. It’s a great one. You’re going to do good things and leave great memories in many people’s minds.” Is she clairvoyant?

“Why, thanks, Amadahy.” Good, he remembered my name.

“Did you know that people had conversations around this memory pool one hundred years ago, just like we’re having now?” How does she know this? Is this pond even that old?

“No, I didn’t. What did they talk about, Amadahy?” I’ll just play along.

“Oh, nothing earth-shattering – just talk of conversations prior.” I see where this is going. Back and back and back.

“But, how old is this little pool?” It has to be under 100 years old. 50 years, max.

“I haven’t been able to calculate that yet, Adam. I’m still sorting out the memories.” Ok, so she is totally bonkerville. [sic] [crazy]

“Well, I better be going. Until next time, stay safe, Amadahy.” He’s afraid to know more.

And just like the previous time, she didn’t say goodbye. She just lowered her face and peered at the water. I think she wanted to continue the conversation. Was I rude to cut it off?

Jump ahead three years to November 23, 1978. It’s Thanksgiving Day. I had my own apartment now, but my parents still lived on Red Carriage. I had come over for the customary turkey dinner, but had tired of the 7-7 Denver – Detroit NFL game at halftime.

It was now 2:02, but we would not eat until 4:00. Thus, I had two hours of free time. What to do? Should I call up a friend? Maybe just go for a walk. Yeah, walk up to the woods. Maybe the Cherokee lady is up there.

At 2:12 PM I was stepping over a new galvanized steel guardrail at the northern terminus of Pepperhill and marching back into the woods. The trail had been widen by increased foot traffic. It even looked like equipment had rolled down the old footpath.

At about 40 feet into the woods, I was shocked to see that the forest had been cleared. Foundations for a new apartment complex had already been poured, just fifty feet in front of me. Wow! So much for the enchanted forest. I wonder if that pool is still there.

I walked over to where I thought the old pond was. It was there; however, it had been drained. A large breach had been made by a backhoe on the west side of the pond. It was now a bowl of orange-red muck.

Something sparkled on the far bank, despite the gloomy sky. I walked closer. Resting atop the mud was a silver amulet. Is this hers?

I bent down and plucked it. I rubbed it with my thumb and noticed feathers engraved around a lone word:

Memories

I placed the amulet in my knit shirt pocket and retreated from the drained pond. My mind was a whirlwind of questions. Is she still alive? If so, where does she live now? Did she purposely place her amulet in the pond for me to find? Or, is it intended for someone else? It seems like it was placed there very recently. Was it placed there this morning? That’s crazy, though. How would she know that I would visit the pond today? How many people encountered her at the dark reflecting pool over the years? If she was here every single day, probably dozens. Was it really meant for me to find? But, I never came out here on a Thanksgiving Day before. I hadn’t even been out here in years. Well, now I have it. What in the world am I supposed to do with it?

When I reached Riding Trail Road (97 feet from the guardrail), I saw a lady in black walking east down the sidewalk, 50 yards away. I watched in silence as she turned and walked up to a house’s front door. She unlocked it, entered, and closed the door.

And then it started to rain.