Crazy Old Man

People around Lake of the Sky called him a crazy old man, but his name was Henry Addison. Folks said that he was crazy, because he had wasted his life on an impossible quest, when he could have been making a place for himself in the world. They said that his explanation, about why he kept watch on a certain parcel of property near the lake, was another indication that he was crazy.

Most people never took the time or put in the effort to get to know Henry, if they had they might have had seen him in a different light. If you ask me, Henry was no crazier than you or I. Oh, his story was strange, you might even say it was weird, but from the day I first heard it, I've held a deep down conviction that it actually happened. Strange are the workings of this universe, and that which is impossible one day, turns out to be accepted fact the next. When all is said and done, modern man's knowledge, of the some things in this world, is very limited, and when those things manifest themselves, we tend to deny the facts. Henry Addison was not one to deny the facts, however strange they were. Then again, he had good reason not to deny them.

Whenever the winter wind blows wild, shaking the windows with powerful gusts and filling all the sky with snow, I think back to the last time I saw Henry. I remember the look on his face. Watching the snow, I think about his story and his lifelong quest. For I last saw Henry Addison, on a stormy winter night at Lake of the Sky, and when I left him my mind was filled with amazement, and my heart was filled with joy.

It was over a year ago, when I first met the man. I had sought out sanctuary at Lake of the Sky, from the wounds of a painful divorce. The provisions of the divorce called for the equal division of all the assets, which my wife and I jointly owned. Luckily, we had no children, so the issue concerned our house, our business, and our savings. In the end, I was left without a wife, but with a fair amount of money.

After the divorce was final I managed to discover another business, which I was interested in buying, but found out that the owner didn't want to sell until the start of the spring. I agreed with the owner's terms, and we sealed the deal, which left me with an autumn and winter to kill before I could take over the business, which was just as well, because I was still stinging from the divorce and wanted to get away for awhile. A friend of mine told me about Lake of the Sky, a resort area about eighty miles east of the city where I lived. My friend's family owned a cabin there, which he said they would be willing to rent to me through the winter. The money that they wanted for rent was very reasonable, and after my friend took me up to the lake one weekend, I decided that it was the perfect place to lick my wounds.

Lake of the Sky is located in a small valley surrounded by mountains. It is reached by traveling over a thirty-one mile long winding dirt road, which wiggles its way up the sides of various mountains, until it reaches the south shore of the lake. The first thing that one sees, after coming around the last corner of the road up the mountains, is a small store, cafe, and a post office, which sit at the edge of the lake, where the road forks to the left and right, on its way around the valley. A high, craggy, mountain of granite dominates the scenery at the north end of the lake. The other mountains, which surround the lake aren't quite as high, but are thickly covered with pine trees. The lake is high enough up in the mountains to get snow during the winter; however, most years the snow rarely gets over a couple of feet deep and doesn't stick to the ground for more than a few weeks. The surrounding mountains receive a greater amount of snow, and their peaks remain covered until late spring. The weather usually turns could enough to freeze the surface of the lake around the shoreline, but the deeper waters of the lake remain free of ice.

The lake is mainly a summer resort area, having a large campground on the lake's eastern side and many cabins, which dot the shore. However, a small population of year around residents makes the area their home and they send their children down the mountain to school. To supply the residents, the store, post office, and the cafe stay open throughout the year.

I had made the acquaintance of the owner, of the store and cafe, when I first came up to the lake earlier in the year. He had a pamphlet that he made available to tourists for free, which told a little about the history of the area. The pamphlet explained that the name of the lake was a loose translation of what the original Native American's called the place. It seems that the Native Americans considered the lake and the valley to be sacred land. The tall, granite mountain north of the lake, was named Storm Mountain, and it was known for the unusual amount of lightning strikes, which struck it during summer storms. The phenomenon was not lost upon the Native Americans, who saw the lightning on the mountain, to be an indication that the spirits of the dead were restless. They believed that the valley was a special place, where the spirit realm, would at times, intrude upon the world of the living. Unfortunately, most of the Native Americans died from a smallpox epidemic, and the valley fell under the control of the white man.

During the late eighteen hundreds, despite the long and difficult journey to reach it, the area began to attract campers during the summer. At the start of the 20th century, the first permanent cabins, which housed year around inhabitants, began to be built. However, it wasn't until after the Second World War, that real estate in the area began to boom and cabins began being built all around the lake. The original camping area was improved and summer tourism increased dramatically. During the first years of the 21st century, the price of real estate at the lake sky rocketed, when it could be purchased at all.

In preparation for winter, I made several trips to and from the lake, to ensure that I would be well prepared, for any contingency, which might arise during the winter. While I was assured that travel was usually possible throughout the winter, I didn't want to take the chance of being caught unprepared. I laid in a good supply of food and made sure that I had a plenty to drink, in case something happed to stop the flow of water from the well. I had been warned that often the electricity to the area would be cut for anywhere from a few hours to a week, or longer; therefore, I stocked up on a supply of lanterns, wood, kerosene heaters, and kerosene to last me until the spring.

It was still early fall, when I completed all my preparations, and I was able to relax. The evenings were still fairly warm, and I loved to sit on the porch of the cabin enjoying the grandeur of the scenery. I would watch the gentile waves, of the lake, lap at the shore, not more than one hundred feet from my cabin. I would watch as daylight would fail, and the sky would slowly pass from deep blue to almost purple, while the western peak of Storm Mountain would glow, with the last rays of the setting sun. The frogs were still out, and their croaking voices filled the night. Whenever I stepped out of the cabin, I could smell the clean, fresh odor of the water of the lake.

About a week after I had made my last trip down to the lower lands, I started noticing an old man walking along the shore during the early mornings and evenings. What his exact age was I could not guess. While he walked with a noticeable limp, his body was otherwise unbowed from age. His hair was completely white; he had a strong chin, a wide mouth, and stood just less than six feet tall. I would watch him come from the trees, in one direction and enter the trees further down the shore, in the other direction; then, a little over an hour later he would make the return journey. Often times, in the morning, I would be sitting out on the porch, when the man would make his first trip of the day, and I would nod to him. After a couple of days, I started to wish him good morning as he passed. He would smile and wave and bid me cheerful good morning in reply.

One day as I watched the man make his morning trip I called to him. "How about coming in and having some coffee? I've got plenty."

The fellow smiled as he walked toward me. "Say, that doesn't sound half bad. Guess I had better introduce myself. My name is Henry Addison, and I live back over through those trees a few hundred yards."

I rose and shook the man's hand "Henry, my name is Russell Todd, and I'm planning on spending the winter here at the lake. I take it that you live here."

"Yup, for over fifty years, it is a great place. Mind you, it's not as wild as it was, but it sure beats the hassle of the city. I don't think I could take living in a city; I'm just too used to being out here where a feller can have a little privacy."

I nodded my head in agreement, as I led him into the cabin. In a few minutes I had a fresh cup of coffee sitting before him, on the table of my small kitchen. "That's what I'm looking forward to, peace, quiet, and some time to think. I needed to get away for awhile to get my thoughts focused. I needed some time to think. You know, ponder the meaning of life and that sort of thing."

Henry smiled at me, his blue eyes twinkling like the water of the lake at noon on a clear day. "Well, young feller, you came to the right spot and at the right time of the year. Almost all the tourist clear out of here after the start of September. There aren't a whole lot of people that live here year around and most of them live on the other side of the lake. You should be left pretty well alone, if you don't count me traipsing through here, every now and then. I'll keep down by the shore and won't be any bother."

I quickly wanted to reassure Henry he was welcome. "Oh, that isn't a problem. In fact, to tell you the truth, I really would like it if you stopped by in the morning for coffee. I could stand the company."

His smile widened, and he nodded to me, as we walked out onto the porch. "I just might do that. Thank you for the coffee, it really hit the spot. I've got some business to look after, but don't be too surprised if I take you up on your offer about the coffee again tomorrow morning."

I smiled and shook his hand. "Great! If you don't see me out on the porch, just give a knock on the door."

Henry Addison impressed me as having a very strong personality. He seemed to have some sort of inner fire and drive. I thought to myself that he had to be a person with an interesting life story. Little did I imagine just how interesting his story would actually be.

Henry stopped by again the next day, and I when I found out he would be passing by the house every day, I convinced him to drop in for coffee every morning. Over the next few weeks we established a pattern, where I would have coffee and hot rolls waiting for him, when he knocked at the door. In return for my hospitality, Henry invited me over to his house for dinner.

His house was only slightly bigger than the cabin I was staying in, but was as neat as a pin and well maintained. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Henry was an excellent cook and had prepared a meal of gourmet caliber. Over dinner, I found out that the reason he walked with a limp was due to an injury he received in World War Two.

"It wasn't quite a month after D-Day, on the 4th of July no less, when my track career came to an end. We were in one of those little villages, which have names that are pronounced a whole lot differently than they are spelled, when it seemed there were Germans everywhere. I had three of them in front of me. They were shooting at me and I was returning fire. I was lucky and got the Germans, but not before they shot the shit out of me. Most of the holes in me could be fixed, but the one in my knee took me out of action for good.

"It was 1947 when I first limped around this valley. I guess I was sort of like you, wanting to get away from it all for awhile. I thought I'd spend the summer in the great outdoors. I always did like camping, and in those days you had to camp when you came here, there were only a few cabins and they were all taken. So, I set up camp at the old campground and did a lot of thinking.

"Well, I found out that a good part of the valley was up for sale. In those days real estate around here was cheap. It seemed to me, that an opportunity of a lifetime was waiting, for the right person to come along and grab it. I knew that a whole lot of people were settling down and starting families, and I figured it would only be a matter of time, before those families would be looking for somewhere to go on vacations.

"As luck would have it, I had a few bucks stashed away, and I bought up most of the land that was on sale, including the campground. As time went by, I built my house here and I've been living on the money from my various properties ever since."

I filled Henry in on the details of my divorce and my plans to start another business. By the time the evening had ended we had built a strong bond of friendship between us.

It wasn't too long after I had dinner with Henry that I had to do some shopping at the local store. The store and the cafe beside it were owned by a man named Nate Tatum and his wife, Lilly. Nate was a small man, whose wide eyes gave one the impression that he was always startled; the impression was made even stronger by the round, wire rim glasses, which he always wore. His wife was a heavy woman, who stood a good six inches taller than Nate, and who seemed to always be happy. Nate ran the store while Lilly ran the cafe. The Tatums were newcomers to the area, having taken over the two businesses only a year ago. Both Nate and Lilly were very friendly. If I was having lunch in the café, and no customers were in the store, Nate would pop in through the open doorway, which separated cafe from store to talk with me. I finished with my shopping and went into the cafe to grab a sandwich and cola. I was the only customer in either place, and it wasn't too long before Nate dropped in and sat at my table. During the course of our conversation I mentioned that I had gone to dinner at Henry's place.

Nate listened and smiled. "Henry is a great guy, both Lilly and I like him. Some of the residents around here though don't have a very good opinion of him."

I looked at Nate with obvious disbelief showing on my face. "What's not to like about the man? He is one of the kindest, friendliest people I've ever met."

Nate motioned with one of his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "I totally agree and so does Lilly. However, some people, who have been around here for years, call Henry a crazy old man. They think he's nuts to take his walks every day of the year, rain, shine, snow, or otherwise. Then again, Henry does tell a strange story about why he's out there walking. I guess that got a lot of people wondering about his mental condition. Now, Lilly and I aren't like that. I mean, everyone has little quirks, don't they?"

I could only shake my head. "What are you talking about? What story does Henry tell?"

Nate looked embarrassed. "I sort of thought he had told you, what with you having dinner with him and all. Henry told me all about it a few months after we came here. He said that it was better if I heard it from him rather than from someone else. Gee, Russ I don't feel right saying too much more about it. His story never did bother me, and I don't think any less of him for having told it, but I think you need to ask Henry about it rather than pick it up second hand from me."

I could only nod my head. "Okay, I'll ask him about it."

Later that evening, as I sat staring into the fire blazing in my cabin's fireplace, I thought that something was crazy, and I was fairly sure it wasn't Henry Addison. So he went for walks twice each day. So he had told people some sort of tale that had them thinking he was nuttier than a fruitcake. So what? I know for a fact that a lot of people (my ex-wife being first in line) think I'm nuts. To my mind, it all smacked of the sort of thing that made up a witch hunt. Once upon a time, people would look at some poor old, lonely woman and call her a witch, for no other reason than she may have been a little eccentric. Oh, the stupidity of humankind!

The next morning, when Henry stopped in I had some fresh, hot rolls, jelly and coffee waiting for him. "You never believe the stupid thing I heard."

He spread some jelly on one of the rolls and smiled. "Been hearing some stories about me, have you? I was wondering when you would."

My mouth fell open in shock. "How did you know?"

Henry took a bite of the roll, followed by a sip of coffee and softly laughed. "I knew it was only going to be a matter of time before you started hearing things. I'm afraid you'd never make much of a poker player. The minute I walked in here, I knew something was bothering, and when you said you had heard some stupid things, I figured those things had to be about me. Well, I suppose you are wondering if they are true."

I shook my head and drank some of my own coffee. "To tell you the truth, I don't know exactly what you are talking about. All I've heard is that some of the people around here call you crazy."

A loud laugh broke from Henry's lips. "Well, I guess that part just might be right. At least I don't fall into the category, which most people consider to be normal. I mean, I live out here by myself and well away from the comforts of civilization. No malls, no movies, not even a television, and probably the worst thing against me—no cell phone. However, I imagine that what you're referring to, has more to do with what I've told people, about the reason why I wander through the trees and along the shore."

"I don't care what you've told anyone, Henry. I don't know why people would call you crazy, but I want you to know that you are my friend, and you are going to stay my friend, no matter what anyone else has to stay about you."

Henry looked me straight in the eyes. "I appreciate that, Russ. I consider you a friend too. I held off saying anything to you before, because I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that friendship, but I see that was a mistake. I should have come right out and told you everything, and then you could have made up your mind, if you wanted to associate with this crazy old man."

"Henry, nothing that you could tell me is going to change me from being your friend. I wouldn't care if you said that you saw the Lock Ness monster swimming out there on the lake."

He chuckled and shook his head. "No sea serpent, but something almost as fantastic. It is something that happened to me a long time ago. It isn't some sort of fantasy, it actually happened, and I'm not ashamed to admit it, even if people think I'm a little on the peculiar side.

"I'll tell you what let's finish our coffee and these rolls. Then, you can come with me on my walk and I'll explain the whole thing. I think it will help if you see where it all took place as well as hear about it."

I poured some more coffee and took another roll. "You've got yourself a deal."

Twenty minutes later, we were outside heading through the trees, which lined the lake shore. Henry set a fast pace despite his age and stiff leg. As we walked he began to talk. "We've got a little way to go, so I may as well start telling about it as we walk along. I've decided to tell you the whole story. I've only told part of it to other people, but I feel you deserve to hear the entire tale. It may help you to understand why I've acted the way I have over the years."

Henry's story began shortly after he first came to the lake. He set up camp at the campground and after awhile began buying up property. One of the first places, which he purchased, was land where he built his house. At that time, there was an old, rundown cabin sitting on the property; however, he liked the location and decided that it would be the prefect place for him to build a new home. He would go around the lake checking on places that were for sale. There weren't very many cabins around, in those days most of the land was totally undeveloped. There wasn't much in the way of a road going around the lake; it was a dirt trail, which was little more than two ruts. In fact, the road was so bad that Henry would often decide to park his car and walk to where he wanted to go.