Conversational Analysis/Ear Hustling

Last night found me watching the Burney Basin fireworks show completely by happy accident. Driving back from a hay ranch wedding gave reason to wonder why at nearly 10 pm everyone was lining the roads in backs of their pick-ups. Which led to “I wonder if there’s fireworks here tonight” and further, “I wonder if you can see the fireworks from (ironically) the Fountain Fire Lookout.”

The answer is not only “yes” but also “you’re not the only one to think of this.”

The timing was laser precise. There’s no way I could have planned that to have occurred like it did, so it was already a banger of an experience. After wedging the civic amongst RVs, trucks with chairs in the beds, and thank Gawd a fire truck, a couple steps was all it took to see something pretty cool.

The stars were bright and the night was calm. The only noise was the distant mortars and some chat that I didn’t plan to listen to. “Plan.”

There in the perfectness of the night were 3 people sitting on the ledge appreciating the show. It was about the time that I heard the words “father squatch” that my attention was wrangled.

There was nothing in the tellings that led me to believe that anything I heard was intended to be ironic. To be clear, I like sasquatch memorabilia and I’d like to think that our universe has mysteries we’ve yet to understand. But I don’t believe in sasquatch.

That being said, I’m not in a position to make light of the beliefs of others. We all have our own personal understandings that drive our perspectives on our worlds. And so in the vein of immersion of alternative viewpoints, I ear hustled the fuck out of the conversation that unfolded before me.

The person sharing their story talked about sasquatch meetings in such a way that they sounded like spiritual encounters right out of the bible. They’d met squatch more than once (allegedly) and had been cautioned by others that if they’d ever helped a squatch they’d find more squatches coming to them for help. It sounded like the narrator had been given the ol’ “don’t feed strays” speech. Only the Bigfoot version.

They talked about how a mother sqautch radiated peace and understanding and that she essentially prophesied that our narrator would have a life that was blessed with harmony. As much as I wanted to whip my head around and see if I was being punked, it’s hard to want to harsh that kind of vibe of positivity.

The narrator gave great detail about the visual experience in which the bigfoot has revealed itself. Maybe not coincidentally it sounded like what I’ve heard a hallucinogenic experience is like. I kept waiting for someone to call “bullshit!,” but that never occurred.

Maybe it was because the orator had provided excellent detail. At one point the statement was made that a later measuring of the tree showed that father sqautch was “around 10’3” or 10’4”.’ That added questionable inch means the story must be true, right!? Maybe the speechmaker was someone’s beloved uncle who had a little too much hooch or Burney herb and they were just letting him spin yarn. Maybe they were punking people. Or maybe, just maybe, it all really did happen.

As the simulcast of “God Bless the USA” wound down, I toddled back to the grocery getter ready to take my poor sight and white knuckle down the mountain. I kept my bi-focaled eyes peeled looking for Sqautch. I saw deer, coyotes and carnival trucks; but no 10’3” (or 10’4”) Wildman.

However, thinking about the way in which all the events unfolded gave me a lot to smile about. Real or not, Squatch did spread peace and happiness on an already amazing day.

Thanks Squatch, and thanks for reading!