Filed To Story: Wild Dark Shore Book PDF Free by Charlotte McConaghy
The story of this particular dandelion is a good one: you will want to pay attention.
It starts its life in an apple orchard in North America, let’s say Wisconsin. It nearly gets trodden on so many times, but luck is on its side. Because it bursts to life early in spring, much earlier than most flowers, it’s an important source of food to a whole bunch of insects and birds. Its pollen is rubbed onto the underside of a leaf-cutting bee, then carried to a female dandelion. The bee goes on to pollinate lots of other wild plants and flowers in his travels, but let’s stay with the dandelion for now. Its nectar is feasted on by the earliest butterflies and moths to emerge from their cocoons. Today this nectar also happens to feed a hummingbird and a woodpecker. As it ages, the dandelion’s head turns from its bright-yellow petals to become a seed head, or, as I like to call it, a blowball. The blowballs have a whole lot of single seeds with tiny hairs on top. These seeds fly in a way we humans had never seen before we saw the dandelion fly. On a balmy afternoon, the seeds of the blowball are lifted by a gust of wind. Some of them land not too far away and are gobbled up by sparrows and goldfinches. Some travel a different way to be eaten by a quail, a wild turkey, and a grouse. One is eaten by a field mouse, one by a chipmunk.
But there’s one seed that strikes out farther than the rest. It really
flies. Across state lines into Minnesota. Floating and dancing. It travels a hundred kilometers. One hundred! That is a mind-boggling distance for a tiny seed, carried only by wind. Can you imagine? The farthest a seed has ever traveled by air.
But it’s not finished, what is left of this dandelion. It has more to do.
When it lands in Minnesota, it’s right in the path of a hungry white-tailed deer. The seed of the dandelion feeds the deer until it walks into the path of another creature. A gray wolf. She’s been looking for food for a long time. She devours the deer, taking enough meat to survive for weeks and sharing the rest of it with her mate and pups. It keeps her going a little longer in a difficult, hungry life. The wolves keep hunting together, keep the deer on the move, and allow the plants and trees of this land to grow. They keep rivers and soil healthy, they attract insects and mammals and birds to the ecosystem. They make it healthy enough for more dandelions to seed and sprout and start the whole cycle again.
But the dandelion-this single flower that has given nourishment to countless other living creatures-is considered a weed.
Rowan
I think, in this darkness, that I have seen a man’s face. The sense of him lingers inside the crashing seas of my body, so that it begins to feel like he’s the one pummeling at my edges.
At some point, it could be seconds or a million years later, the pain changes. No longer an ocean but a sting. The sting becomes a flame becomes a fire. I know this fire. I thought I had escaped it.
But. Here is the strangest part. The fire is not alone. There is something else here. Something battling it, trying to hold it back.
A voice.
Let’s start with the greatest traveler among them, shall we?
Curious.
It is light and high, and from within these flames I cling to it.
It’s not finished, what’s left of this dandelion. It has more to do.
There are sounds in the room and I realize they are from me, I am weeping in pain. Something touches me. I’m not sure where. I drag my eyelids open and am shocked at the brightness. I blink and blink until I can see: a small hand has taken mine, is holding mine, and perhaps I have died after all. The voice, that sweet little voice is saying
I’m here, I won’t leave you, and I start crying for a different reason.
He seems to be here on his own. I come to this conclusion only when I have enough brainpower to come to conclusions, and this is only after he’s given me painkillers. He is small, I’m not good with children’s
ages, but he is a child, and he is striking in the light spilling through the window. Pale blue eyes and almost-white hair, perhaps he is Nordic-he has the look of a Viking in miniature, there are even slender plaits in his long straight hair. And he has been speaking to me of seeds. It’s how I know I am in the right place.
“Is this the research base?” I ask him.
“No. This is the lighthouse.”
I frown, trying to make sense of that. “Where are your parents?”
“Dad’s across island.”
“Why?”
“The storm that brought you. It’s taken most of our power. He’s gotta check things.”
The storm that brought me. I am back in it. My body thrown up into the ceiling of the cabin, then slammed back to the floor. I can hear his shouts from the deck, faint among the roar. I’m not sure what he’s trying to tell me. Is he saying to stay below? Or to get free? I have no intention of going down with this boat, so I surge up the last steps and without even a chance to take a breath I am lifted, carried, dumped into the sea. A tiny thing in the mouth of a beast. I will never forget the weakness of my body. This body I have always taken pleasure in making strong. I will never make sense of the powerlessness or how it is that I’m still here.
“Is there an adult I can talk to?” I ask.
“No.”
I rub my aching eyes, trying to wrap my head around what’s going on and why I seem to be alone in a lighthouse with a child.
“What’s your name?” the boy asks me.
For a brief moment I can’t recall it. What a thing.
“Rowan,” I tell him.
“I’m Orly Salt. And you’re on an island in the middle of the Southern Ocean, fifteen hundred kilometers from any other landmass. Closest is Antarctica. So my question for you is: How did you get here, Rowan?”
I look at him. “We can have this chat when your dad gets back.”
“He won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Do you know if he radioed for help?” I ask. “A coast guard?”
Orly shrugs.
“Can you get me something to drink? Anything strong and straight.”
“I’m not allowed to touch the alcohol.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
He considers me, then shrugs and jumps up. “Guess these are mitigating circumstances, huh?”
“Guess they are.”
“I’ll say you manipulated me, if Dad asks.”
“You do that.”