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A Close Encounter of a Different Kind
Copyright (c) 1993, Sylvia L. Ramsey
All rights reserved
A Close Encounter of a Different Kind
by Sylvia L. Ramsey
You hear stories about people having encounters during the
nighttime with strange flying objects. These people tell how
overwhelmed they were by the experience. I can't say that
this story has anything quite so glamorous as UFO's; but,
sometimes things happen that are very much a part of our very
own world that are just as overwhelming as visitors from
outer space. This is a true story and none of the names have
been changed to protect the innocent or the guilty.
If you are going to fully understand and appreciate this
strange encounter that happened in our present day advanced
technological society, a little background is needed. There
are still places (a few sprinkled here and there) in our
country that have retained all the flavor of an age many have
never experienced. I often feel like a time traveler in
today's society because of my background.
I'm not "old" (however, my granddaughter may disagree) and
many of the people my age never experienced the same world as
I. I guess you might say I'm an oddball in my own
generation. The reasons for it were quite beyond my control.
My parents were married for twenty-two years before I was
born (and I was the first and last)! Talk about a generation
gap, it was like being raised by grandparents! Now, I marvel
at all the things my father experienced throughout his
lifetime and taught me. Imagine being born in the late
1800's and living until 1986. Think of all the things that
man created during that time that has become part of our
daily lives. When I do, it almost boggles my mind. Anyway,
you get the picture of my parents. The next image you need
to set the scene for this encounter is where it happened.
Imagine a small, quaint house resting, nestled among the pine
of a secluded valley in the foothills of the Ozarks. It's a
simple house, not designed by a architect or built by a
contractor; but, the trees for the lumber were cut, the
boards were sawed, and it was built with the owner's hands.
It began its humble life as a home with only one room without
windows or doors in November of 1932. The spot it sat on was
carved out of the wilderness far from roads or neighbors. It
was a symbol of hope and faith for a future during the dreary
days of the depression.
It was built by two young people who believed in themselves
and each other. People who had traveled and explored their
world for the first ten years of marriage. They had seen the
world and decided it was time to return to the place they had
known as children, settle down, and begin to invest in their
future. They had accumulated very little material
possessions during their days of exploration. They began
their new adventure with very few of the things we take for
granted in today's world. But, they believed enough in
themselves to start building a house and begin a new business
when their world was in a state of darkness. The dreary days
of the depression ended. The house grew room by room and the
business grew to be a very successful one. The two were
happy and content; but, eventually the two young people
became three. This was when I enter their lives, just when
they had grown accustomed to being a couple without children.
My father always wanted a son; but, that was not in his
future, he got me instead. However, I may as well have been
a boy while I was growing up. I became the son he had always
wanted, and I was his buddy. Instead, he taught me all the
things he had hoped to teach to a son. He knew the forest
and the land, and he taught me what he knew. We fished the
numerous streams located near our home, hunted together, and
did what most father's and sons usually do. My father taught
me to respect the land, and its creatures. He taught me to
hunt for food and not kill for the sake of killing. He
taught me to "see", "hear", and appreciate the beauty that
surrounded me.
My father saw a day coming when a haven such as ours would be
as valued as a rich man's mansion. He chose to preserve a
small area of his land as a refuge for his family and all the
living things that depended on just such a refuge. This
place would be a legacy to his grandchildren and his great-
grandchildren. They would be able to know a little part of
the world that existed when he was young.
I inherited this small mecca and I have made sure that his
wishes have been carried out. It will go to my son and then
to my eldest granddaughter. It has been a haven for us to
escape the fast paced world we live in today. A few years
ago, when my husband became disabled, we lived in the house
for about six years.
The back of the house faces a small brook with a hillside
full of pine, maple, wild cherry and dogwood trees. My
husband loved the outdoors; but, because of his illness was
limited in how much he could get out. We decided to build a
screened in porch on the back of the house so he be outside
during the daytime when I was at work. The back porch became
a place to spend the early evenings. We would watch the
little valley change from a bright cheery haven to a
mysterious realm of sight and sound as the shades of dusk
encircled it in its arms. We soon discovered that the back
porch was a place for a variety of activities. We enjoyed it
so much we decided it was a good place for our exercise bike.
It wasn't long before we, also, discovered that the hillside
in front of us was a source of entertainment. Almost every
evening we watched deer casually stroll across the hillside
as they nibbled at tender leaves and grass. Sometimes there
would be four or five deer together. On other evenings, wild
turkey would be spotted. It seemed as if our little valley
had become a refuge for a variety of wild animals that were
being pushed out by the growing population that had cleared
away the forest that has once covered the area. The presence
of all the animals prompted us to put grain and other treats
out for them to eat.
The next summer, we began to notice that the wildlife
population was increasing in number and variety. The animals
quickly learned they had nothing to fear from the two humans
who shared their sanctuary, and they began to visit our
backyard. We were invaded by deer, turkey, opossum, wild
duck, and a variety of other animals and birds.
We took the invasion in stride, enjoying the chance to
observe all the wild creatures. However, one morning after I
arose from my bed and took my morning coffee to the back
porch to enjoy the sights and sounds, I walked into a
disaster area. Something, or someone, had invaded our back
porch and played havoc with everything. It had been
vandalized. I disposed of the things that had been destroyed
and straightened the rest. I couldn't imagine who or what
had committed the dreadful deed. The next morning, the porch
was in the same condition. I cleaned it up again. This
became a pattern, and needless to say, I was beginning to get
tired of it. There wasn't a lock on the door to the porch;
but, the door had to be opened to get in. Who or what was
doing it was a puzzle. The first time it happened, I could
believe it to be the results of a prank; but, not every
night! It had to be an animal.
How an animal could open the back door and come in, I didn't
know. My husband and I became determined to find out. We
began our quest by leaving the porch light on at night. It
didn't help. Whatever was getting on the porch wasn't afraid
of it and the destruction continued. We decided to set guard
and solve the mystery.
One evening, after we had grown too tired to watch the porch
anymore, my husband thought he heard a noise. He got out of
bed and very carefully went to the door that led to the
porch. He was gone only a few seconds when he returned and
motioned for me to accompany him. I started to ask why; but,
he shushed me to silence. We tiptoed together like cat
burglars as we made our way to the back door. We very
carefully peeped out. I couldn't believe my eyes! I saw one
of the strangest and most amusing sights I had ever
witnessed. Sitting on the seat of the exercise bike with
paws on the handlebars was a raccoon that looked big enough
to be a small bear. He wasn't only nice and fat, he was
long. He had to be large to reach the handle bars of that
bicycle.
The raccoon looked as if he were contemplating how to reach
the pedals so he could ride it. We simply stood frozen,
staring in amazement. Then, the humor of the sight began to
take hold of us. He didn't see us watching him until we
began to shake with silent laughter that was about to erupt
into loud guffaws. When he realized that he was not only
being watched by two strange creatures who were obviously
laughing at him, he calmly, arrogantly, climbed down off the
bicycle. He took his time as he sauntered to the door. He
walked with a haughty air seeming to be aware that his
privacy had not only been invaded; but, he appeared to be
insulted by the behavior of the two creatures who were so
rudely laughing at him. Once out the door, he paused, looked
back at us as if to let us know what he thought, and slowly
disappeared into the darkness. By this time, my husband and
I were reduced to tears of laughter.
For some strange reason, I was fascinated with this bold
creature and became obsessed with the idea of seeing him
again. So, for several nights after the event, I sat on
the bench in our back yard, located just outside the porch
door, and watched for the raccoon to return. I just knew he
would be back and I was going to make sure I saw him. I had
no idea what I was going to do when I did, I hadn't thought
beyond just seeing him again. Three nights passed and there
was no sign of the creature. I was beginning to think our
laughter had either scared him off for good, or, had insulted
his sense of dignity far too much for him to chance a return.
But, I didn't give up. Finally, my vigil was rewarded. One
evening as I sat quietly watching, I caught a glimpse of
something moving in the shadows off to my far left. I knew
instinctively that it was the same raccoon. He didn't look
nearly as large in the shadows as he had that evening he was
on our porch. I waited patiently, watching the small figure
circle around until he was directly in front of me and was
only about fifteen feet away. I watched as he checked out an
old trash can we kept to use when we cleaned out our car. It
didn't take him long to decide that he would find nothing to
eat in the can. He turned and began walking straight toward
the door of our back porch . . . and . . . me.
I sat still, frozen by fascination combined with a growing
sense of apprehension that began to overtake me. All the
things my father had taught me about the dangers of wild
animals came flooding back into my consciousness. I had time
to move, to run; but, I didn't. My obsession to observe this
creature overrode all caution and I sat like a statue where I
was, tempting fate. The animal kept advancing closer and
closer. The tension and the thrill I felt grew with each
step he took toward me. I was beginning to feel a need to
bolt for cover. He was no more than five feet away, it
seemed like two. He stopped. He raised his head, our eyes
locked for a moment. Then, he slowly, very deliberately
walked directly at me as he maintained eye contact. The
tension within me was growing with each step he took. He
began to look bigger and bigger the nearer he came. I felt I
could stand the tension no longer as he moved within no more
than three feet of where I sat. I felt the urge to move, to
speak, to do something. Again, the need to watch this
fascinating creature kept me from running or yelling. I had
to watch him. I didn't want to scare him away, so, to
relieve some of the tension, I merely changed the position of
my feet.
My movement, caused the raccoon to come to a sudden halt. By
the time he stopped, he was close enough that I could have
reached out and touch him. He stood up on his hind legs and
looked me straight in the eye. Standing, he was nose to nose
with me. He looked bigger than ever. I became the object of
observation as he tilted his head side to side looking me
over. There was look in his eyes telling me that he was
planning to analyze this strange creature at an even closer
distance. I had no idea what he might do if he got closer.
I thought about us laughing at him and thinking he may want
revenge. As he stood there in the soft light I could almost
hear him thinking. I observed a change of expression in his
eyes from one of curiosity to one of determination. I didn't
know what he was going to do, and I didn't want to find out.
The hairs on the back of my neck were tingling as fear began
to creep over me.
The fear grew and the knowledge that I didn't want the
raccoon any closer overwhelmed me. I wasn't sure what to do.
If I were attacked, my husband would never hear because he
was watching the ballgame on the television. Visions of
a headline in our local paper flashed across my mind, "Local
Woman Attacked by Large Raccoon." Still, I didn't run or
yell. Instead, I did one of the craziest things I have ever
done in my life, I addressed the raccoon as if he were a
person and said, "Hello, there! What are you doing?"
Again, he looked into my eyes, turned his head this way and
that as if he were trying to understand my words. For a
moment, I thought he was going to come at me and my body
stiffened again. Instead, he lowered himself on all fours,
slowly turned his back to me, and majestically strolled into
the night without ever looking back. In my mind, I could
almost hear him chuckle. The raccoon had gotten his revenge.
I waited and watched several nights after our encounter for
him to return. He never did. I think he had experienced all
the contact with humans that he ever wanted. I still wonder
what would have happened if I could have remained still and
quiet. I guess I'll never know; but, it's an experience I'll
never forget, and somehow, I don't think he will either.