The night I met Aurora

Plus a bit about why I wrote it.

The night I met Aurora.


I remember a frigid night long ago, when I had my covers tucked tightly around me, and Grandfather touched my forehead with one finger. As children do I popped instantly awake. The look in his eyes silenced the protest in my throat. A man of few words, he whispered," Dress warmly and follow me as quietly as possible."

I slept in long johns. Early winter morning, before the fire was lit, left the bedroom cold enough to see my breath. I looked out my window which had been decorated with the crystalline brush of Jack Frost. The naturally beautiful crystals formed complex patterns waiting for the light of day to display their full beauty. I could not tear my eyes away for a moment.

He gently cleared his throat telling me to hurry. I put on the heavy woolen pants that my mother told me were once a coat that kept a soldier warm in a far off place called "Bastonne." My mother fashioned salvaged army clothes we got from the nearby army base into wonderful things that kept us warm: boot liners, smaller coats, and "outside" pants. I would not wear them next to my skin ever again after I learned the hard way that, to prevent chafing, you had to wear padding between your skin and the warm, but rough and abrasive, surface of the wool.

I hurried up behind him, he checked my coat and my mittens to see if they were adequate against the sub-zero temperatures outside. Then he pulled his parka snug about his face exactly like he had done to mine. He lagged long enough to make sure the door was left secure for the women, against the cold weather and possible unwelcome intruders, of either four- or two-legged variety.

The snow was so cold that it did not pack well. Under our feet, it gave off a squawk with each step as we walked out to the barn. A garage had grown over the summer from the side of the original building. The garage logs were much newer than the barn's. Grandfather had not been an automobile owner long, and he enjoyed the mobility that the early 1927 Pontiac gave him. It had been well cared for for nearly seventeen years before Grandfather bought it from a friend of a friend. "Besides, it came with important spare parts to keep it on the road for a long time," he declared to my grandmother.

She grumbled, "That old fool is going to kill himself in that old heap of rusted junk."

It saved much time and provided a growing assortment of foods, comfortably sealed in jars, in the cellar. The old woman would sometimes ride with him to Sturgis, to shop for staples and dry goods. Sometimes my mother would ride along too. I never went anywhere, except church of course,with both of the women telling him how to drive. I felt sorry for the old man, but it pleased him so very much to drive, I guess it evened out.

He touched the door, its almost frozen hinges protested loudly. I settled myself into the right seat and wrapped a soft fur blanket around my bony shoulders. He secured my door carefully before he began his checks under the hood. This machine was not allowed to drip oil. Grandfather would have been busy tracing the source in seconds. "Many others follow one drip," He declared to me a few months ago right after he got the car. The car may well have been the only six-banger L-Head Pontiac in the world with oiled rawhide gaskets.

Soon the engine was humming smoothly, and we set off into the night. A few twists and turns brought us to a gap in the barbed wire with a two-rut road pushed deep into the frozen mud. I rose to replace the gate in its proper place. He shook his head no. I now realize that he wanted to keep me as warm as possible as long as possible. He pulled off into a wide spot where he could turn the car around. When he opened the door, I really did not want to give up my warm cocoon of soft fur, in which I had become quite comfortable, for who knows what lay outside in the winter night. I heaved a sigh and decided that I had come this far with my grandfather, so I should find out what was so important that he had taken me from the warmth of my bed and brought me here.

"We must hurry. She will be here soon." I had no idea who she was.

We climbed the rather treacherous path up the leeward side of Bear Butte in South Dakota. In the summer, with no ice, it is still a challenging climb. But now it seems impossible. He stopped, motioning me to his side. He said nothing, just reached out and took my hand. "She will not wait for us, and she could be completely gone if we don't hurry."

His gloved hand tightly clasped over my woolen mitten seemed to put new life into my legs and did something to my feet; I didn't slip once more on the way to the top. "She will be here soon."

After a short wait, there came a sound like none I had ever heard before. Pure energy arcs move from place to place. (Of course, I did not understand that at the time.)

Suddenly, the whole horizon lit in shades of color, then a buzzing, the loudest I ever heard, occurred with the appearance of two giant streams of peacock blue that twisted around each other like strands of rope. A few seconds later, wavy ribbons of violet and pink unfurled noisily in the night sky.

Something all over my body tingled, and strands of fur from my collar bushed out as if the animal beneath had suddenly regained its life force.

I was exhilarated beyond expression, yet gripped by an uneasy fear of something never before experienced.

The old man looked to the heavens, "Thank you for one last time, Aurora." I looked up at his face, a tear meandered its way down his cheek, and froze into a crystal gem in his very sparse beard.

Minutes later, the sun began signaling its arrival by a hemisphere of light.

We did not talk on the return trip. In fact, I was fast asleep in the warmth of the fur blanket when we arrived home. I did not know it, but the older man would join the great spirit that very night.

Today, I wonder just how he could have known to take me to one of the most spectacular things I'd ever see, on that particular cold winter night. I don't ask why or how anymore, as the answer doesn't matter as much as I WAS THERE!

Never will I forget the gift Grandfather gave me that night.