6. Embers

A chilling wind traveled up and over the ridge. It settled in around us as we toasted marshmallows on the crackling campfire that Dad had built using tree bark and pinecones. Collin had suggested we spend the evening on Calling Rock, a small outcrop surrounded on all sides by mountains. If we called out from its jutting surface, our voices reverberated back from all sides, echoing six or seven times before fading out. The granite face of Calling Rock soaked up heat during the summer days and radiated it back as nights set in. We often stargazed up there, the lichen-covered stone warming our backs amidst the cool night air. Dad had been surprised when Collin invited Royella and Aunt Taylor to join us on Calling Rock that evening; I had been nervous.

I had never liked marshmallows, but making s’mores was a welcome distraction, especially when Collin took an audible breath and announced to the group, “We need to talk.”

5. Rocks

Until that day in early July, I had always underestimated Collin’s intelligence, the importance of binoculars, and the usefulness of rocks. The morning began on a glum note as the buzzing of chainsaws reverberated through the forest. Collin stared out into the bright Sierra day from the cabin’s living room window, a large screen sheet nailed within a rectangular cut-out in the lumber walls. I buried my nose further in summer reading.

Dad sat on the couch beside me, holding an open novel, though his gaze continued to wander between Collin’s countenance and mine. “Come on guys,” he finally said. “It’s too hot to be inside. Let’s go swimming or something.”

4. Sister

That night, nestled under my electric blanket, I listened to the gurgling stream outside my open window. The Sierra air, drained of its warmth after sunset, smelled of bear clover mixed with the mustiness of my creaky bedroom. I drifted to sleep thinking about childhood summers when the cabin was filled with family and Collin and I shared this room. I remembered snuggling beside him, listening as Dad captivated us with fantasy tales set in the Foxglove cabin and the surrounding woods. I wished that I could have held onto everything that had drifted by in the melted mass of days since those evening stories: countless Sierra summers, grade school and most of high school, our parents’ marriage, and now, poor little Button. Outside, crickets began to chirp—or perhaps they were frogs.

3. Owls

The morning that Button dragged the spotted owl in from the woods was the morning that Ranger Cooper stopped by Foxglove for lunch. Royella had introduced Cooper as one of Dad’s colleagues, and I had recognized him as the bearded ranger who had come looking for Royella earlier that summer, mumbling something about assessing timber. Dad was out completing a work project, and his absence turned lunch into yet another awkward affair.

2. Button

The mountains surrounding Foxglove were perpetually cloudless in summer, hence the unsettled feeling that descended when we awoke to an overcast day. The forest grove out the kitchen window seemed hazy and the creek’s gurgle—faintly audible from inside—had intensified, as if the water flowed more furiously. My brother Collin and I sipped black coffee while he mixed cheese and vegetables into omelet mix: breakfast for Aunt Taylor, who had arrived late last night for her annual summer stay at Foxglove.