A detailed action plan had been devised the night before. The apparel was ready. I proudly zipped up my A&F hoodie armor which shone brightly, revealing the enviable rank of the warrior. Under the eyes, full of patronizing bravery, yet also disclosing barely discernible signs of anxious anticipation, there was some war paint which constituted a proof to the seriousness and pompous character of the mission at hand. We inspected our military equipment once more. The hoe was gleaming radiantly, its metal end intimidatingly twinkling in the sun as if to scare off any prospective opponents. The handle lied steadily in my palm and had anyone seen me then, they would have been petrified out of their minds to behold this powerful sword in a confident hand of a real American frontier warrior.
Having crossed the line separating our house’s backyard, the oasis of safety, from a forest, me and my young squire found ourselves in a mystical area inhabited by evil Puritan figures and haunted by the ghosts of the witches hung during the 1692 Salem Witch Trials. Reminisces of James Fenimore Cooper’s ‘Leatherstocking Tales’ began to cross our minds. In the spirit of the Pioneers, we were embarking on a challenging adventure – the pursuit of the wild, a journey into the unknown. Cicadas, usually filling the air with a deafening orchestra of ticking sounds, fell quiet on that remarkable day as if they had been aware of its unparalleled significance. That didn’t bode well for the upcoming few hours. However, raised to live a win-or-die lifestyle, we had no second thoughts about proceeding further. Like Hawthorne’s Young Goodman Brown, we aimed at penetrating the mysteries in which the forests were shrouded.
The day was incredibly hot, the clouds dispersed and gave room for the sun which generously illuminated every corner of the vicinity and even managed to find its way through dense treetops. We were striding proudly, yet simultaneously making sure that no malicious creature stood a chance of lunching a successful attack on us. Bravery, cautiousness and keen senses are indispensible to anyone who wishes to be considered a war-time hero. As we were getting deeper into the woods, there was an increasingly large number of venomous snakes hiding on the trees and patiently waiting for any sign of absent-mindedness on our part. The hoe I kept carrying matched the shimmering silver of my shield, showing those contemptible creatures that their destiny was still an open question.
In the distance, we noticed a colossus log lying on the ground. It might have seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary but the warrior instincts of the green knight and his staunch young squire were sharp enough to realize that something about that place spelt hazard and morbidity. We approached the old trunk slowly. Right next to it, there was a scintillatingly bright circular object whose dazzling colors beamed everything around like sunrays imperiously peeping through the trees. Apparently, it made an effort to blind us with a multitude of resplendent colors. The warrior and his squire swiftly slammed down the visors of their helmets and continued to act in accordance with a meticulously designed incursion plan. ‘The earth trembled and quaked, and the foundations of the mountains shook.’2 The trees were producing a rustling sound, awkwardly humming the American national anthem. Treetops moved, letting the sun irradiate the battlefield. The hoe gleamed overweeningly in the air as the warriors were struggling to capture that despicable creature which was making desperate attempts at killing them with its spike-adorned shell. The sounds of the weapons filled the woods, spreading a terrifying echo to its furthest located corners. The warrior ‘bore his round shield in the forefront, blazing out like the Dog Star through the clouds, all withering fire; then plunging back into the cloud - rack massed and dark.’3 The malicious turtle ended up on the hoe’s spade and was quickly put into a bag, one produced exclusively for military purposes.
We came back to our military base and crossed its threshold with our heads held high. To everyone’s enormous jealousy and amazement, we displayed the unique trophy.
And in case you haven’t realized yet, the description above pertains to the snake (turtle) hunting adventures of me and Tyler, our hosts’ six-year old son. Below you can see the turtle we managed to capture;D
1 a phrase traditionally uttered by Spartan soldiers’ mothers
2 Old Testament, Psalm 18:7
3 Iliad, Book 11, Lines 69-71
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