Girl Hobo found herself in the Ocala National Forest during her travels through Florida, where most of the visitors there are campers and fishermen, and nobody would notice a ragamuffin traveling alone. When Girl Hobo reached the forest, it was early spring and beginning to get quite hot. This is the time of year when many hobos started leaving the Southern states and traveling up north to escape the muggy weather, but Girl Hobo had heard from other hobos that there were beautiful springs in Ocala, places where you could swim and there was plenty of fresh water to drink. Sometimes campers were messy with their food, leaving potato chips and hot dogs lying about, and Girl Hobo received tips from the older hobos about how to snatch an occasional snack, and also find some fun and friendship with the vacationing campers.

She wandered into Salt Springs, a recreational area where there were many children swimming in the springs, and Girl Hobo blended right in, splashing in the cool, clear water, and diving deep into the crystal pools. There she saw many varieties of fish and even an enormous blue crab in the sand, and the mothers of the other children warned them all to stay away from the swampy estuary, where alligators stalked their prey, and small children would make a tasty meal. Girl Hobo was offered hot dogs from the picnickers, and was thrilled that she didn’t have to steal any food or poke about in the trashcans for leftovers. She gobbled down hot dogs, pickles, potato salad and coleslaw until she could eat no more, then shared some of her magic trail mix with the other children. Nobody seemed to think it odd that a little girl was on her own and carried a bandana tied to a stick, her magic bindle. But as the older hobos warned her, “don’t hang around too long, or people will start to ask too many question.”

Girl Hobo noticed that there were two secret hobo symbols etched into a tree at Salt Springs. One was a circle with an X in it, that meant “good for a handout”, and Girl Hobo agreed that this was indeed the best and easiest place to get food in all of her travels so far. But then another symbol was worrisome – it was two double crossed lines that looked like television antennas, and that symbol means “danger!” Girl Hobo looked around. What could be dangerous about this place, and this beautiful national forest? There were hiking trails everywhere, safe roads, park rangers, fresh water, certainly no danger that she could see.

At a kiosk in Salt Springs, Girl Hobo read a pamphlet about the Florida Scenic Trail, which stretched north to south through Ocala, winding through scrub prairie and pine forests, where she would find adventure with other hikers. “Sounds like fun to me!” exclaimed Girl Hobo, who was rejuvenated after her swim and bountiful lunch. She read that she would hike through several miles of forest and scrub, before coming to a small, shady oasis boasting a sinkhole filled with fresh water, along with a blackberry patch that stretched as far as the eye could see. “That would be the perfect place to make my camp,” thought Girl Hobo. “And I’m certain I’ll meet up with other hikers or hobos.”

To prepare for her afternoon hike, Girl Hobo drank many cups of water and nibbled on some secret trail mix for energy before she left Salt Springs. At the roadside, there was a spur trail leading to the main trail and when Girl Hobo looked up at the sky, she could see that there were no clouds, there was no breeze, and this was going to be a very warm day. At the end of the spur trail there were four hobo symbols painted on a rock, and none made her trip look very promising. First there was another danger symbol, a rectangular box with a dot in the middle. There was another symbol that was an arrow pointing down the trail with a big circle over it, that meant, “don’t go this way!” And two other symbols that Girl Hobo didn’t recognize. One was a crude drawing of an animal, maybe a dog, with a big X over it. “Does that mean no dogs allowed?” wondered Girl Hobo. Then another was a capital B with a big X over it. Girl Hobo had no idea what that meant. She looked up at the sun, briefly studied her map and figured that she could hike a few miles to the sinkhole without worrying about water. And even though the hobo symbols were negative, Girl Hobo felt protection from her Creator, who always provided whatever she needed. And after all, she had her magic bindle, which had never run out of trail mix. And with no further ado or fear, Girl Hobo stepped onto the Florida National Scenic Trail.

The trip started out through a hot scrub prairie that eventually led to a comfortable pine forest, shady and smelling of green needles and warm, moist earth. But only a mile later, Girl Hobo walked out of the forest into an enormous burn area, where there had been a significant fire two years before. When Girl Hobo entered the region, her heart leapt into her throat, as the odor of burning wood brought back a terrible memory of something that happened in her past. She shook her head, trying to remember what it was. And when she looked toward the horizon she realized she could see nothing but burned tree stumps, with small patches of young green grass in between. It looked like a long, very arduous hike without any water, with the sun beating on her back. An ominous feeling came over her. Girl Hobo was scared.

Gripped with anxiety and confusion, Girl Hobo stopped, thinking that perhaps she should turn back, and go home. But then the sadness came over her as she remembered that she didn’t have a home, that she was a hobo, destined to travel the world forever. It would have been better if she had a companion, but Girl Hobo knew that even though she had met many other hobos on her travels, she never found anyone to be her permanent traveling companion. So now, here, in the wilderness of the burned out Ocala National Forest, Girl Hobo was very much alone, and feeling small and vulnerable.

She reached into her magic bindle, and pulled out a handful of secret trail mix. While she munched on her snack, she suddenly felt comforted and brave again. Girl Hobo thanked her Creator for the trail mix, and felt blessed that she had two strong legs and enough determination to walk boldly through the burn area alone. She then knew that she could go on, so she took a deep breath, swung her magic bindle over her shoulder and continued along the Florida trail toward the steaming horizon.

Several miles into her trip, Girl Hobo realized that this was going to be a tough adventure for her. There was absolutely no shade, and the charred trees stood like ancient gravestones, with seemingly no sign of life anywhere. The smoky smell got stronger and stronger as she walked, and Girl Hobo felt like she was walking through a blast furnace. She had no water with her, and as the sun stayed high in the sky, the temperature went higher, as well, and Girl Hobo wondered how she was going to make it to the sinkhole.

Mile after mile went by, and Girl Hobo began to give up hope of ever finding that oasis and the sinkhole. She tried to keep her wits about her by eating handfuls of trail mix and pinching her arm to stay focused on the trail. “I just need water,” said Girl Hobo to herself. “If I can go just a few more miles I know I will find the sinkhole, and the blackberry patch.” Sweat was pouring down her face, and she began to feel sunburned and exhausted. Girl Hobo was wishing she had paid more attention to the hobo symbols. They had obviously warned her that there was danger on the trail, but because she couldn’t understand their exact meaning, she figured it was okay to take a chance. “I have to get there soon,” gasped Girl Hobo. “I’ve been walking for hours. I know the sinkhole can’t be far away.”

As Girl Hobo reached a pinnacle on the trail, that horizon which seemed at every turn to be an endless journey, she was overjoyed to see an island – the oasis, about one mile away. In the scrub prairies of Florida, the islands are places where you can find water and food. They seemed to grow out of nowhere as emerald, lush, mini-forests where families built their homesteads years ago, where animals could satisfy their thirsts, and ragamuffins, like Girl Hobo, could finally rest and get out of the hot sun.

But as Girl Hobo began her final trek to the island, a prickly feeling came over the back of her neck and she felt like someone, or something was watching her, and perhaps had been watching her for some time. Determined not to let the feeling keep her from her goal of getting to the island for her much-needed water and blackberries, Girl Hobo tried to ignore it. But as she walked she couldn’t shake her intuition, so she stopped suddenly, and looked about in alarm.

The prairie was vast, hot, dry and quiet, with only an occasional Swallow-Tailed Kite flying overhead. And then suddenly, she saw him. The charred trees had offered some camouflage. But there, he moved. Girl Hobo looked up and prayed it wasn’t so. She closed her eyes, blinked twice, then opened them, and there he was, unmistakable. Just a few hundred yards away, in the heat of the stifling grasslands, stood the largest bear that Girl Hobo had ever seen in her life. Not to mention that he was the only bear she had ever seen in the wild. And here he was, looking at Girl Hobo, not with curiosity, but with resentment, for the way she seemed to saunter boldly into his territory. And then Girl Hobo made the worst mistake she could ever make, the one that adventurers and wilderness travelers say you should never do. Girl Hobo looked the bear straight in the eye.

As soon as she did it, she wanted to take it back, but knew it was too late. The bear was enraged beyond belief, that this child would challenge him as such. The bear dropped to all fours and charged toward Girl Hobo. She looked about in fear, trying to think of some way that she could escape from the clutches of the bear, but there was no way – the bear was huge, strong and fast, and only a few seconds from being upon her. Girl Hobo was tired, thirsty and now more afraid than she had ever been in her life. Her heart stopped. Her breath caught in her lungs. The bear was so big, and Girl Hobo thought this would be the last adventure she would ever have – being eaten alive by a wild animal. And there would be no witnesses around who could tell the terrible tale of her last moments on Earth.

Then suddenly, Girl Hobo did the strangest thing. She looked down at the ground, as a feeling of peace and acceptance came upon her. She knelt on the hard, dusty earth, bowed her head low, and closed her eyes, just as the bear was about to tear her to pieces. The bear stopped suddenly. What on earth was this small child doing? She didn’t scream. She didn’t run. This never happened to the bear before. He became confused and walked over to Girl Hobo gingerly, as if he had never seen a human before.

“I’m sorry that I walked into your territory, Bear,” said Girl Hobo humbly. “I never should have done that without asking. And I never should have looked you in the eye. And I ask you to spare my life today.” She kept her head bowed and her eyes closed as the bear put his face right up to her head to have a sniff.

This bear was not just any of the regular black bears of Ocala National Forest, who spend their lives eating out of trashcans and terrifying campers. This was the oldest and wisest patriarch of the clan, named Ol’ Brownie, because he was more cinnamon-colored than black, and feared not just by campers and hunters, but also by his own bear family. Ol’ Brownie ruled the forest. He looked down on the other bears, and chose for himself a life of eating berries and nuts like proper wild bears should, while chasing hikers, campers and hunters off his property, who he felt were ruining his forest. After years of coming across trash and tainted water caused by human encroachment, Ol’ Brownie had no patience for people being in his precious woodlands.

The bear knew that Girl Hobo was headed to the island, the sinkhole filled with water, and his personal blackberry patch. That enraged him even more, but as he sniffed Girl Hobo, he breathed in her hunger and thirst, that made him recall the times when he himself was hungry and thirsty. Ol’ Brownie circled Girl Hobo, trying to figure out what to do with her. She was hardly a tasty morsel, at best, and didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon. He wondered why a small child would be so far out in the woods without grownups to watch over her. Ol’ Brownie walked around and around, sniffing and thinking, and one time sneezing a big old sneeze, to which Girl Hobo politely said, ”God bless you.”

This was too much for Ol’ Brownie, who had spent his life scaring the pants off of humans, that he sat down on the trail and gave a big bear out-loud laugh. “You, Girl Hobo, are an unusual human. And I’m going to let you be. I can see that you’re hungry and thirsty and I believe I’ve had my fun for the day, watching you bow to me on your knees, and asking for permission to pass through my territory.”

With that, Ol’ Brownie bent his gigantic frame over Girl Hobo and licked the top of her head, a wet and sticky lick, smelling of hay and sunshine, that would leave a protective scent, keeping her safe from the other bears. Then Ol’ Brownie turned around, and headed back to where he was grazing in the prairie. And that’s when Girl Hobo believed it was safe to stand up, dust off her clothes, and continue to walk wordlessly to the island, not looking back, grateful to Ol’ Brownie and his favorable countenance.

Coming upon the island, Girl Hobo thought she would drop from thirst and relief. Her knees were shaking from her encounter with Ol’ Brownie, and her skin was hot and dry, a sign that she was terribly dehydrated. The island’s moss-draped oak trees offered welcome shade, and not long after, Girl Hobo spotted the sinkhole. She looked down into the hole, that was deeper than she thought she would have to go, but knowing that there was a spring down below gave her the energy to make her way to the bottom. Weak from lack of water, Girl Hobo had a hard time holding onto the roots and eventually slipped and tumbled, hitting her head on rocks and debris until she came to rest right at the water. Exhausted and sore, she plunged her entire head into the water, drinking hungrily, as is she had never tasted water before. And even when she felt that she had drunk her fill, she drank more, and more, until her tummy was as round as a beach ball.  She then clawed her way back up to the top of the sinkhole where she looked north on the trail and saw the most beautiful stand of blackberries she had ever seen. Delighted, she practically ran to the bushes, where she plucked the juicy fruit off the stems, stuffing them into her mouth until her lips and tongue turned blue and juice dripped onto her clothes. What a sight she was, and Girl Hobo laughed giddily about her good fortune. She realized that those hobo symbols were giving her a warning about Ol’ Brownie, along with the danger of having no water to drink. “I’ll sure to be more careful from now on,” said Girl Hobo, sighing with relief. “It feels so good to be alive.”

It was early evening and time to make camp, so Girl Hobo cleaned up at the sinkhole and found a soft pile of leaves to sleep in. That night Girl Hobo had a scary dream, a nightmare you could say, that she was surrounded by hungry, wild animals, growling and yellow-eyed, and she slept fitfully until she remembered that Ol’ Brownie would protect her. Then she drifted off into a nicer sleep, where she dreamt about diving into the clear waters of the spring, and eating hot dogs on a stick with her newfound friends. Unbeknownst to her, several black bears came upon Girl Hobo as she slept, hoping to catch a glimpse of the child that was anointed by Ol’ Brownie. “That’s her,” said one the bears. “She doesn’t look so special, does she?”

“Well, there’s got to be something about her,” said another, “that Ol’ Brownie would let her live.”

“She’s barely big enough to be a snack to any of us,” said a third. “There’s the lick, though, right there on the top of her head. That means we have to leave her alone.”

“We have more important things to do this evening, anyway,” said the first bear. “I heard there were a bunch of campers having a weenie roast at Juniper Springs. Let’s say we go on over there and have us a big old time!”

Laughing, the bears trotted off to terrorize the campers, and Girl Hobo slept peacefully under the safety of Ol’ Brownie’s highly regarded authority.

© 2009, Karen Miller. All rights reserved.