Page 52 of Evergreen Desires
He blinked and stretched, a yawn escaping his lips. "Finally, huh?"
I chuckled, feeling the discomfort of the long flight fade away as I looked into his warm brown eyes. "Yeah, but I promise it's worth it."
We retrieved our bags, made our way through the terminal, and stepped out into the Georgia heat. The air was thick with humidity, a stark contrast to the cool Pacific Northwest where we lived. I took a deep breath, reveling in the sensation of being back on solid ground.
The drive took us through the picturesque countryside of Georgia, where moss-draped oaks stood like ancient sentinels, guarding the secrets of this land. Tall grasses swayed in the warm breeze, creating a gentle, rhythmic rustling sound. The occasional chirping of crickets added a natural soundtrack to our journey. As we drove closer to the farm, the sweet, comforting scent of maple syrup wafted through the open car windows, invoking memories of my previous visit when Dad was in the process of moving.
Eventually, the farm came into view, and I couldn’t help but smile.
Dad's house sat atop a gentle hill, surrounded by groves of maple trees that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a modest home, clearly built atop a repurposed foundation. The farm felt like a haven of tranquility, a placewhere time slowed down, and nature's beauty took center stage.
As we stepped out of the car, Dad appeared on the porch, his face lighting up with a warm smile. He waved us over, his excitement palpable. My heart swelled with pride, knowing that this moment symbolized the merging of two worlds that meant so much to me.
"Beau!" Dad exclaimed as he engulfed me in a bear hug. "It's been too long, my boy. And you must be Jake!"
Jake extended his hand, but Dad pulled him into a hearty hug. "You bet I am, sir. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Though he seemed taken aback, doing a double-take as he looked between me and Dad.
Dad chuckled. "Call me Dad. None of that 'sir' stuff around here."
Suddenly, it hit me, and I began to laugh. "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, my knight!" Dad cast his eyes in my direction, trying to figure out what was so funny. "I might have forgotten to mention that we age a bit differently."
"Okay, I would have guessed that you’re like brothers," Jake said with a smile.
Dad joined our laughter. "Well, clearly, Beau is not so forthcoming."
"Stop, Dad, I just forgot."
"Yes, well, we age normally until we’re adults, like early 30-ish, then we slow down significantly. Hence the reason I moved out here. It's hard to have a son that looks the same age."
I approached Jake. "Sorry," I said, pulling him into a hug and kissing his forehead. "It just slipped my mind. The best news is that it also imparts upon our ‘mates,’ so you will be young and hot forever with me."
"What?" Jake exclaimed, clearly caught off guard. This would be a discussion for later when lots of new things were not flying at him.
We grabbed our luggage and settled into the cozy farmhouse. Dad regaled us with stories of his maple syrup business, emphasizing his commitment to producing small batches of the highest quality. I felt immense pride in his dedication to this craft, evident in the sweet amber nectar that filled the kitchen shelves.
"Speaking of forgetfulness," I said, tearing my eyes away from Jake and turning to Dad. "You know, Will mentioned that you got Bob and his daughter Tala to help me at the hospital. I thought this was a family secret. How did they know?"
Dad nodded, a modest smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I might've forgotten to share some of my wisdom."
"Oh, that's wonderful," I said, adding just enough playful condescension to give Dad some grief.
"Alright, this involves a bit of a history lesson," Dad began, folding his hands over his knee. “I know it from my father, who got it from his grandmother. And it’s not just a story—it’s truth. Bob and his people are proof of that. So is the tribe nearby here. Based on their own oral history, they were one of the original founders.”
I leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word. This wasn’t just one of Dad’s usual tales. There was weight to it. Something… ancestral.
“Centuries ago,” he continued, “as European settlers pushed into Native lands, a group of spiritual leaders from different tribes recognized that they had to come together. The balance was shifting. They knew the Sasquatch—who’d always been guardians of the deep forests—were in danger. Not just physically, but spiritually.”
“So they formed the Wiyotan Clan,” he said. “An alliance. Members came from all across the continent, chosen for their connection to nature, for dreams, for signs. They were trained to become protectors—not just of Sasquatch, but of the harmony between man, land, and the unseen.”
He glanced at me then. “Most were born into it. Some weren’t. But the Wiyotan believed that sometimes… the land itself chooses its guardians. And if it called to someone—Native or not—they listened. That’s how your great-grandmother became part of it.”
I blinked. “Wait… what?”
Dad gave me a knowing smile. “She was white. Scots-Irish, I think. Wandered west with her son after losing her husband. Local Wiyotan members found her after she walked into a grove and encountered a Sasquatch—without fear, without running. She said the woods had called her in. That’s not something you ignore.”
My chest tightened, like some ancient string was pulling at my ribs.
“So that’s where our bloodline comes from,” he said. “That’s why it runs in our family. You, me, the cousins.”
