Where Nashoba Walked

A fine line to a toxic world

Nashoba was tracking deer along the Feshaw River when a snake spooked his horse. Ordinarily, he would not have lost his balance, but lately, he had fallen victim to Head-In-Clouds Disease. He had thrown stones at She Who Loves Butterflies, and she had not responded. The horse warned him, then reared into the air. Nashoba came down hard, hit his head, and his horse was off and running most likely back to the village where maybe She Who Loves Butterflies would notice he was missing.

Nashoba meant “wolf” in Choctaw. His grandfather Restless Wanderer had been a part of the great Choctaw tribe that had broken off and come to Texas. It was hard country, for sure, but the buffalo did come through, and the wild horses pounded across the plains.

As Nashoba became conscious and stood on his feet, he felt oddly out of place. Things looked different; things felt different. The river bank was somehow transformed. He must have gone further than he imagined, now he must be careful and on the lookout for renegade Apaches, fearsome enemies of his tribe. He walked along the trail and ahead he saw a strange board and some sort of enclosure — proof those pale men were about to create their carnage. What was this?

There was a board with futuristic symbols that read: RICOR PARK. Where was the hunting ground? All around Nashoba was brown grass waving lightly in the wind, no buffalo could graze here. The trees were dying too and the river, once powerful like a striking…