The Beer Can Lesson

I use a woodstove to heat my house. Leading up to the eight-month long winters, I gather up to nine cords of firewood every year. This entails going into the bush as we call it up here, felling dead trees with a chainsaw, trimming off the branches, bucking the trees into stove-length pieces, then hauling the logs home in my truck. There’s even more involved in this arduous process, but I’ll save that for a future post and how my Sasquatch brothers and sisters got involved.

Not long after I’d asked the Sasquatch if they would be my teachers, (see: Sasquatch School is Now in Session) I was on a friend’s property culling dead trees for my woodpile. It’s not far from my home and is located on a bluff that overlooks the Susitna River and some of its tributaries. It also offers a view of Denali as a nice bonus. It’s about an acre of raw land, with a driveway that goes up the middle to a small clearing where eventually he might build a house. The neighboring lots are also empty of buildings and most times, I’m the only one there. In fact, I spend more time at that spot than even my friend who owns it. If I’m not clearing dead trees off the property for my woodpile, I’m there just to enjoy the view.

I stand in a particular spot at the edge of the cliff that sports a 75’ drop to the creek below. From this high point, I gaze in wonder at the achingly beautiful scenery—rivers and trees all the way to the distant horizon. The view is everything you could imagine about the Alaska wilderness. You might see eagles riding the thermals, or a grizzly ambling across the sand bars while it looks for salmon. Moose, wolves, and foxes are also residents of the area.

Standing atop this overlook never fails to calm me. If I go too long without visiting it, I experience something along the lines of a spiritual craving.

On this day, I’d already harvested trees on the property for several afternoons in a row. I had about a dozen left to cut down and as I worked, my mind drifted to a succession of mundane and random thoughts. One was that I wanted to try new beer varieties offered by the local microbreweries. I resolved to switch from bottles to canned beer which was all that the local microbreweries offered. Like I said, random, mundane thoughts.

My next visit to the property was either the next day, or a few days after the beer can thoughts. As always, before I started up the chainsaw, I went to the overlook to get my fix. But in the exact spot where I always stand was an old, empty beer can! I burst into laughter. Sasquatch school was now in session.

I picked the can up. It oozed wet, black river mud out of the missing tab’s opening. Later, I researched the can and discovered that the beer maker had stopped using this design forty years ago.

The ramifications of this first lesson were profound, no, ARE profound and complex.

As with most of their teachings, each lesson from the Sasquatch is many-fold. The appearance of the beer can taught me:

1. The Sasquatch can read my mind. Now I laugh at the memory of me yelling out that I wanted to learn from them. I’d simply needed to think it.
2. The Sasquatch had very recently dug up the can which was obvious because of the presence of the wet mud. Either they had already known of it, or else they had somehow found it. Because the can had long ago lost any beer scent, it’s highly unlikely that a wild animal would have bothered to dig it up and haul it up the 75’ cliff only to abandon it there.
3. The Sasquatch have a sense of humor, and it’s a dry one at that—just like mine. I’d had thoughts that I wanted to try a new beer in a can, and they gifted me one, albeit an empty can but for the mud.
4. The Sasquatch had observed me standing in that exact location enough times to know that I’d return and discover the beer can. The lesson was: we watch you closely.
5. The Sasquatch are real. The moment I saw the beer can, I went from being a believer to an experiencer.
6. The Sasquatch had clearly agreed to be my teachers. This aspect of the lesson was the most exciting. And I think on a deep level, it also scared me.

Believe it or not, I left the can there. I went into denial about what was happening and what I was learning. If the Sasquatch could read my mind, what else did they know about me? Was privacy an illusion? I couldn’t see them, but they could see me. They’re huge and me being 5’ tall I’m small even by human standards. Would they gain my trust and then lure me into a trap?

And so, I walked away from the beer can. The next day, I asked my friend who owned the property if he’d visited without me knowing it (almost impossible because I was there every day) and if he’d had something to do with the beer can (he doesn’t even drink beer). He told me it wasn’t his and he’d never seen it before.

The next day the wind came up, hard enough to blow down trees. I started thinking about that beer can, and I worried that the wind would blow it back down the cliff and I’d never see it again.

I went back to retrieve the can and was overwhelmed with relief that it was still there. I’d come to terms with what it represented and felt ready to move forward with my schooling.

I held the beer can in the air as if I were making a toast. As I slowly pivoted 360-degrees so that the Sasquatch could see me from all directions, I sent them the thought, “Thank you!” I had tears in my eyes from the gratitude I felt for their willingness to tutor me.

While holding the can in the air, I heard what sounded like two trees knocking together. It came from somewhere near the river below. I walked along the cliff edge, looking down to see what was making the noise but was startled by a bald eagle that rose from a treetop below me. It came toward me then circled before flying toward the distant horizon. Had my new friends made the knocking sound? Was it intended to draw my attention to the eagle?

The next lesson they taught me focused on wood knocks. I’ll share that in my next post.

My life changed forever the day of the beer can. My spiritual journey with them began and it hasn’t stopped. I hope it never will.