Becoming Donkey Lady

A true story. A little embellished, but basically true.

Becoming Donkey Lady

Canyon Cabins were located a few miles up Big Thomson Canyon on Highway 34. In a place called Grouse Hollow, a wide spot in the canyon with a large flat area on the North side of the road and the Cabins against the mountain on the South. The fact that old CJ and his brother kept them well maintained and updated hid the fact that they were very old. Dating from the early 1900's.

The site had once been an exclusive mountain trout fishing resort with many amenities. A pool, a restaurant and a clubhouse. Remnants of a horse riding operation could be found on the slope behind the cabins. When the cabins were built, they were a days drive from Loveland, along a very rough Highway 34. Estes Park was two more days further on. But now Estes could be reached in 45 minutes, and there was no need for a resort at this point. So Canyon Cabins were now just a collection of cabins rented to people who worked in Loveland, Boulder and Longmont, who loved to live in the mountains. The real mountains.

The cabins were reached by passing through the “narrows” on Highway 34. A twisting section of road between sheer canyon walls. You entered the narrows from the plains along the front range and exited in the Rockies. Surrounded by pine forest, rushing mountain rivers and peaks. The cabins were located in the national forest and, in the early 20^th Century, the land had been granted for development to protect the canyon behind the cabins. One had to cross the property to enter the canyon without some sophisticated climbing. The canyon ended in vertical fields of talus some miles up. A secluded, closed off, lost world for the elk, deer and bear to breed in. It was the exclusive preserve of the Canyon Cabin residents.

And the canyon was wild. Very different from what you see from the hiking trails in Colorado. Even the more remote ones have enough traffic to keep the immediate area from being really wild. The wilderness just tip toes up to points near the official trails.

The floor of the canyon resembled a dog park with animal dung everywhere. There was one main, well packed trail along the bottom of the canyon to the river, called the “Bear Trail”. And there were hundreds of other aimless animal trails. Bare spots in the snow or the grass where the deer and the elk lay down were easy to find. And bears were easy to spot if you knew how to look for them, keeping your eyes on the ground for long periods and then suddenly looking up to spot them behind bushes and weeds. Peeking out and watching you.

The winters were mild here for some reason and the Ute would winter on Grouse Flats across the road from the cabins. Their camping areas could still be picked out. And it was the Utes that brought the story of Donkey Lady. She came out of the canyon behind the cabins, stood near where you were sleeping and screamed. An unearthly, blood curdling scream. You never saw her. You just heard the sudden scream. A heart stopping scream.

And there were different interpretations of what hearing the scream meant. Some said it meant that you were going to die, while others said it was a blessing. An acceptance onto the land. There was a medicine circle on a nearby hill, maybe a half a mile away, that lent credence to a spiritual interpretation.

Molly had rented the Bear cabin. A wonderful little one bedroom cabin with a great deck offering a view of the nearby peaks. It was called the “Bear Cabin” because a beetle infested pine in the front yard had been cut down and chain sawed into the shape of a bear. But it had not been treated against rot, and rot it did. The face had partially fallen off and now it resembled a Zombie bear. But in spite of this, Molly had successfully integrated herself into the community.

On weekend mornings, the community would meet for coffee at a picnic table in the middle of the property. All the residents would come with large cups and they would watch the day begin. Each evening there would be a fire at another location, and the group would drink beer and try burning various herbs and weeds to keep the mosquitoes away. Nothing worked and they were usually eaten alive.

One summer morning in June, when everyone had been sleeping with their windows open, Molly went out to the picnic table with her coffee cup. The buzz was odd.

“Did you hear it?”

“Did you hear that scream?”

“Was it an animal?”

“Were you afraid?”

“What?” Said Molly.

“Donkey lady”, said a woman who had been one of the long term residents.

“Yeah, we all heard it last night”, said another.

“When?” Asked Molly.

“About 9:05 by my clock”, said the woman. “Just one scream. An inhuman one.”

“Hmmm, I didn't hear anything”, said Molly. “I must have been asleep.”

“It was loud and just chilled your blood”, said the woman.

Returning to her cabin, Molly was troubled. She usually didn't miss things like this, especially in the early evening. She reviewed what she had done. Her on-line class had ended at nine and she had gone out to ensure the car doors were locked. This was necessary because the bears could open car doors and would usually trash the interior of the vehicle if they did so.

She had no porch light and there was no moon, and it was pitch black out. She felt her way to the front of the Astro Van listening for the “horse with padded hooves” thumping of a bear running away. There were no bears nearby. Or at least none running away. But sometimes they just hid behind the car and waited until you got to their side before bolting. She found the Van's fender and felt her way to the drivers side door. She wanted to ensure it was locked.

It wasn't.

The door came open and the dome light came on. There was a huge raccoon sitting in the drivers seat of the van. It opened it's mouth wide and hissed at her, for a very short moment, and then leaped upon her. It ran up the front of her shirt and then jumped off the back of her head. It knocked her forward when it did so. It must have weighed thirty pounds.

The next thing she could remember was holding the open van door a few seconds later in a state of absolute shock. Waiting for her hammering pulse to settle down. Gulping for breath.

The passenger side window was open. That's how the 'coon had gotten in. She closed it, locked up the van and felt her way back to her front door. Trembling with adrenaline shock.

Sitting on her sofa that morning, after meeting the people at the picnic table, she suddenly realized that it had been her. She was Donkey Lady.

Reviews

[BL]

In terms of the story as a whole the last paragraph was brilliant

[Miss Fedelm]

Thank you.

[Samuel Dickens]

What a great story! Impeccably written and engrossing throughout. I love all the details of terrain and history. The last sentence is a cherry on top! (And it made me laugh)

[Miss Fedelm]

Thanks for reading.