October 13, Monday
white dog the raw, clear distillate that is barreled for aging
THE CAMPGROUND had transformed overnight into a pocket-sized autumn wonderland, complete with orange and red streamers strung between the oak trees and the warm scent of cinnamon drifting from the activities pavilion.
A hand-painted sign near the entrance announced "Happy Trails Fall Festival - Celebrating Columbus Day & Indigenous Peoples Day" in cheerful lettering that looked like Poppy's artistic handiwork.
I wandered through the festivities with a paper cup of spiced cider warming my hands, taking in the controlled chaos of families gathered around picnic tables laden with pumpkin cookies and harvest decorations.
Children darted between activities with sugar-fueled energy, their laughter mixing with the gentle strumming of an acoustic guitar near the fire pit.
"Bernadette!" Poppy's voice cut through the ambient noise. "Come help me with my scarecrow!"
She beckoned me toward a craft station where she knelt surrounded by straw, old clothes, and what appeared to be the remnants of several outgrown Halloween costumes.
The work-in-progress looked more like a deflated snowman than a traditional scarecrow, its button-up shirt hanging limply from makeshift shoulders constructed from crossed wooden stakes.
"What's the vision here?" I asked, settling cross-legged on the grass beside them.
"Friendly librarian scarecrow," Poppy announced. "Complete with reading glasses and a book. But I'm having problems." She held up a handful of straw. "The stuffing keeps falling out the bottom, and the head won't stay attached."
I examined her creation with a critical eye. "Let me grab some zip ties from my van—they'll hold everything together better than string."
As I headed toward my campsite, I caught sight of Marilyn walking along the perimeter of the festival activities with Teddy hovering close beside her.
Something about their body language set off warning bells in my mind, the same uncomfortable feeling I'd experienced during their previous interactions.
His hand hovered at her lower back and he was invading her personal space. Marilyn kept her arms crossed defensively across her chest. When he tried to guide her away from the crowd, I watched her subtly twist away from his touch while maintaining her distant smile.
"Gross," Poppy muttered in their direction when I returned with the zip ties. "Teddy's being all weird again."
"Again?" I asked, kneeling back down to help stabilize the scarecrow's frame while keeping one eye on the couple across the pavilion. "Has he ever said anything to you that made you uncomfortable?"
Poppy wrinkled her nose with disgust. "Ew, no. If some old dude tried to be weird with me, I'd punch him right in the privates and scream. Mom taught me that when I was eight."
Her matter-of-fact delivery made me laugh despite the seriousness of the topic.
"Good for your mom. And yes, if a man or boy ever says something that makes you uncomfortable, or tries to touch you when you don't want to be touched, that's exactly what you should do.
Aim for the privates and run away yelling at the top of your lungs. "
"Obviously," she said with the confident dismissal of someone who'd never doubted her right to defend herself. "But Marilyn doesn't seem like the type to punch anybody. She just takes it."
I followed her gaze back to where Marilyn stood trapped in conversation with Teddy near the cider station.
Even from this distance, I could see the way she kept glancing toward the other activities as if looking for an escape route, only to have Teddy step closer and reclaim her attention with what appeared to be urgent whispers.
"The thing is," I said carefully, "some people need help learning how to set boundaries. Especially young women who might not have had anyone teach them that they have the right to say no."
Tracy looked up from arranging the scarecrow's plaid shirt. "Are you going to say something?"
The question carried weight, referencing my previous attempt to interrupt one of Teddy's interactions with Marilyn—an intervention that had been met with hostility and defensiveness rather than gratitude.
"She made it pretty clear she doesn't want my advice," I said, using the zip ties to secure straw-stuffed arms to the scarecrow's torso. "Sometimes you have to let people handle their own situations, even when you can see they're struggling."
But even as I said the words, I found myself watching Marilyn's increasingly tense posture and Teddy's possessive hovering with growing concern.