I was able to catch up with Sasquatch after the recent sightings by local children of suspected, conclusive evidence of this majestic mammal’s existence.
I myself was on the way home from the trails when I bellied up to the Ice Cream Bar at the Fannin Family Farms’ Flower Spot. I just so happened to find a dejected Sasquatch crossing Canal St. before the roundabout and heading for the bank of the Hocking River—a place both man and beast have found peace in these parts since we came here from Eden.
As the grass rose to his waist, I noticed something. As he walked, he removed
a tie?!
The emperor of the Appalachian Trail, reduced to the wardrobe of a mere man. More than that, not just a man, but a man on a budget. So, I went digging, and armed with the facts I found, I approached Sasquatch on our own home territory.
What follows is true to the best of my knowledge.
After seeing our hulking hero remove a red, white, and blue tie, I retrieved it from the water. Wading into the stream, stepping through the sandy mud, I realized a few things:
Sasquatch couldn’t have bought this for himself.
Someone must have given this necktie to the Sasquatch.
But who? And why? This reporter had to know, so I went digging and found this tie to be a custom order from an embroidery shop in Athens, only made for…
the Hocking Hills Tourism Board.
Finally, something that made sense. Only some type of evil had the power to bind this honorable hominid to anything but the laws of nature. After a quick public records request, I started to get to the bottom of what exactly had taken place. Armed with my documents and a frontiersman’s spirit, I vowed to interview the beast.
What follows is my recollection of my interaction and interview with Sasquatch.
Now that I knew where he had to go and probably why he had to go there, I waited, and I watched. As so often happens, the thing I was trying to find found me. I was left confused but, luckily, with no wounds as I heard my own voice booming around me.
“How much are they paying you, Sasquatch?”
Sasquatch, with his middle finger, felt the impression on his neck made by his tie.
“Not enough,” he replied.
His eyes looked glazed, fixed on a place in the past, and then directly through me as he continued:
“With the fluctuation in the local housing market and spending time waiting for tourists to catch me, I’m losing money. I was better off living deep in Wayne National, living off the land and avoiding the people canoeing the river. Life was easier.”
He was exasperated but calm. His face wore his wear in his working man’s complexion; the young hominid he must have been still shone through as I asked him,
“Why did my nephews find you in Nelsonville?”
He smiled and replied,
“It’s still idyllic. The history of this place isn’t man’s alone; it’s shared with my people. So, my family lives here while I let the tourists catch me. It’s the only cost-effective way to live in the Hocking Hills.”
We’ll have part 2 of this special report in the coming days.