Interesting Tracks

Posted on Mon Jul 14th, 2025 @ 1:56pm by New York Survivor Amythyst & New York Survivor Briar Maddox

2,301 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Safe Harbor
Location: North Ridge Trail, Near the Seasonal Pond
Timeline: September 17th 2010

Amy studied the trees Briar had brought back and directed them to be placed in the barn and for the root bowls to be watered with water from the well. 

She then sent Meredith to the house to get the book she had found under the couch earlier. It was a survival book. Meredith brought it back and Amy flipped through the book slowly. 

***Wintering bee hives is critical to ensure your colony survives the cold months. Here’s a clear step-by-step guide to properly winter your hives:---1. Inspect and Assess the Hive (Early Autumn)
Queen status: Ensure the hive has a healthy, laying queen.
Population: Strong colonies with lots of bees have the best chance of survival.
Pests & Disease: Treat for Varroa mites, Nosema, or other issues before winter sets in.---
2. Ensure Sufficient Food Stores
Bees need 60–90 lbs (27–40 kg) of honey to survive winter, depending on your region.
If light on stores, feed 2:1 sugar syrup (2 parts sugar, 1 part water) until cold weather stops feeding.
Add fondant or sugar bricks in late fall or mid-winter if you’re worried about starvation.---
3. Reduce Hive Entrances
Add a mouse guard or reduce the entrance to prevent rodents.
Smaller entrances also help bees conserve heat and defend the hive.---
4. Insulate the Hive
Use foam insulation, hive wraps, or build a windbreak to protect against harsh winds and drafts.
Consider placing insulated inner covers to prevent condensation (which is deadly).
In very cold climates, a quilt box (moisture-absorbing box with wood shavings) is useful.---
5. Provide Ventilation
Cold doesn’t kill bees—moisture does.
Ensure top ventilation via a slightly propped inner cover or upper entrance to allow moist air to escape.---
6. Remove Queen Excluder
Bees cluster around the queen in winter. If she can’t move with the cluster due to an excluder, she may die.---7. Combine Weak Colonies
Weak colonies likely won’t survive. Combine two weak ones into one strong one if needed, using the newspaper method.
---
8. Avoid Disturbing the Hive
Leave them alone through winter unless you're doing a quick weight check or adding emergency feed (like sugar bricks).
---9. Tilt the Hive Forward Slightly
To let condensation or melted snow run out, not pool inside.--***
Amy read the instructions out loud. She smiled faintly.  Then she flipped to the next chapter. 
---
WHY KEEP BEES?Honey: Natural sweetener, immune booster, wound treatment
Beeswax: Candle-making, waterproofing, crafting
Pollination: Essential for growing food
Trade Goods: Honey and wax are high-value bartering items---
HIVE PLACEMENT & PROTECTION
Best Locations:
Near gardens or orchards for pollination
Protected from wind, facing southeast
Away from livestock paths and noisy human areasProtection Measures:
Fence off hives or place on raised platforms
Avoid placing near water troughs
Use natural windbreaks (hedges, barn wall)Tip: Calm bees before inspection using a homemade smoker (tin can + bellows + dried leaves).---
SEASONAL CARE PLAN
SPRING & SUMMER:
Inspect every 2–4 weeks
Look for queen activity (eggs, larvae)
Add supers if honey builds up
Catch and rehome swarms
AUTUMN:
Ensure 60–90 lbs of honey stored for winter
Reduce hive space to retain warmth
Install mouse guards
Monitor for mites

WINTER:
Insulate hives with burlap, fabric, straw
Leave a ventilation gap to prevent moisture
Avoid opening hives
Use sugar bricks or fondant if honey is low
---
TOOLS & SUPPLIES (SCAVENGED OR HOMEMADE)
Item Use How to Make/Find
Smoker Calm bees Tin can + bike pump + dry leaves Hive Tool Open hive sections Scrap metal filed into flat edge Bee Suit Protection Layered clothes + netting veil Sugar/Fondant Emergency feed Boil water + sugar + mold into bricks Mouse Guard Rodent deterrent Wood or mesh entry

==
She studied the information and then with Austin's assistance she slowly set up the hives in the barn near a wall. The fourth hive was empty and Amy considered using it in spring. For now though she sent Austin's to the basement to look through the tools in storage.

He came back a short time later with a bag. He handed it to Amy. She looked inside and smiled. "Soon Austin we harvest honey."

He nodded. "We are doing well right Amy? We found cows, and they found honey and dogs!"

Pets. Against Dante's rules. But they would make it work. They had stuff they could feel them until they got more traps set and such.

Briar meanwhile had headed for the kitchen with the fruits and set about looking to what to cook for them and their new pets. 

After that the boys seemed to vanish.

***

"Careful, that log’s slick!" Patrick called, holding out a hand to help Andrew balance as they stepped across the mossy trunk bridging a narrow dip in the trail. A trickle of water ran beneath it — runoff from last night’s drizzle.

“I’m fine,” Andrew replied, eyes locked on the forest floor. “There’s more tracks.”

Austin was ahead of them, crouched low with a stick in one hand and a focused look on his face. “Same kind of hoofprints,” he said. “Bigger, though. Way bigger.”

The boys had come out looking for berry bushes to mark — maybe even a spot to build a secret fort. Instead, they'd found pressed earth just off the trail. Deep, wide hoofprints. At first, they’d assumed they were from the cows they helped wrangle yesterday. But these were... different.

“Too heavy for Pip,” Patrick muttered, poking at the edge of a print. “Even Bramble didn’t make ones like this.”

“Nope,” Austin said, his voice quiet now. “Look.”

He pointed to a tree just a few feet ahead. The bark had been *shredded*. Long, deep gouges carved by something heavy and determined. Sap still oozed faintly at the edges.

Andrew stepped closer and found what looked like fresh droppings nearby. He wrinkled his nose. “Definitely a bull,” he said. “My uncle had one once. He was mean.”

Austin’s gaze drifted into the trees beyond. The land sloped upward here, dotted with sugar maples and thick pine. The seasonal pond was just out of sight, but they could hear frogs croaking faintly through the woods.

Patrick scanned the brush nervously. “You think he’s watching us?”

“Hope not,” Andrew whispered.

The air suddenly felt *still* — like the forest was holding its breath.

Austin stood slowly, dusting off his knees. “We should head back. Tell Amy. If there’s a bull up here, she’ll want to know before someone stumbles into it.”

“And maybe we bring grain next time,” Andrew added. “Or apples.”

Patrick shot him a look. “You trying to *tame* it?”

Andrew shrugged. “Worked with Pip.”

“Pip didn’t have horns the size of dinner plates!”

They turned, a little quicker now, their voices fading into the trees. Behind them, at the edge of the clearing, something moved. Just a shape in the shadows, still and silent — too still to be wind.

But when they turned to look again, it was gone.

Backyard near the barn, behind the farmhouse

Amythyst was elbow-deep in cleaning out the chicken coop when she heard feet pounding up the trail — fast, messy, and urgent.

“Amy!”

She straightened instantly, brushing straw off her hands and squinting into the trees. The boys — Austin first, followed by Patrick and Andrew — burst through the underbrush, breathless and flushed.

“What happened?” she asked, immediately alert. “Is everyone okay?”

“No one’s hurt!” Andrew blurted out, holding up both hands. “But we found something. Big.”

Austin nodded, trying to catch his breath. “We think it’s a bull. A huge one.”

Briar stepped out from the garden path, dirt still on her palms from weeding. “A bull?” she repeated, brows lifting. “On this island?”

The boys launched into a layered, chaotic explanation — hoofprints the size of a dinner plate, claw marks on a tree, the massive droppings, and the eerie stillness in the woods. Andrew mimed the shredded bark with exaggerated arm movements, and Patrick kept insisting it was watching them, even though they never saw it directly.

Amethyst's stomach tightened. “You were near the northern pond?” she asked, frowning.

“Yeah,” Austin said. “Just past the ridge trail.”

“That area’s overgrown,” Amy muttered, thinking out loud. “Dense pines, lots of cover. If something big wanted to stay hidden…”

Briar crossed her arms. “So we’ve got feral cattle and maybe a half-wild bull lurking near one of the water sources.”

“I told you,” Andrew said proudly. “It was definitely a bull. You should’ve seen the poop.”

“Please stop talking about poop,” Patrick groaned, wiping his face.

Amy gave him a faint smirk but looked toward Briar. “If it is a bull, that could be good news — in the long run. Means we might actually have breeding stock.”

“Or a territorial problem,” Briar replied. “A bull that size, out there alone? If it sees one of our cows, it might charge. Or us.”

The boys fell silent at that.

Amy glanced toward the barn, where Matilda and Bramble were lying in the shade, and Pip was still chewing on the same bit of grass from twenty minutes ago. “We need to secure the barn better. Reinforce the pen gate. If that thing comes down from the ridge... I don’t want our girls in its path.”

“I’ll help,” Briar offered without hesitation. “We can start hauling extra fencing from the dockside pile.”

“I’ll come too!” Austin piped up.

“Me three!” Andrew added, puffing his chest.

Patrick hesitated. “Do I have to help carry wood?”

Amy gave him a look. “Yes.”

He sighed. “Okay, fine. But I’m not dealing with bull poop again.”

Briar cracked a rare smile and ruffled his hair. “Deal.”

As the group started moving toward the storage shed, Amythyst lingered for a moment, glancing north — to the hidden woods, the ridge, and whatever might be waiting just out of sight.

One cow had been luck.

Three had been a miracle.

A bull?

That was either a gift from the universe… or a challenge they weren’t ready for.

Either way, they’d find out soon.

--

The Barnyard

The sun was high and hot now, slanting through the trees with a kind of muggy persistence that made everything feel heavy. The chickens clucked lazily in the shade, and the cows — Matilda, Bramble, and little Pip — had retreated to the far corner of their pen, dozing in the straw.

But Amythyst wasn’t resting.

She stood at the gate with a length of paracord wrapped around her wrist and a scavenged hammer tucked into the waistband of her jeans. Her hair was tied back in a messy knot, sweat streaking her temples, but her eyes were sharp — scanning the structure of the barn with a quiet determination.

“Start with the main gate,” she told Briar, who had just arrived carrying two boards scavenged from the old boathouse fencing. “We need something solid to brace it if something rams it. Right now it’s just chained wire and hope.”

Briar nodded and set the boards down with a thunk. “We’ve got more planks at the side of the farmhouse. I’ll grab another load after this.”

“Good,” Amy said. “Let’s keep this tight.”

Near the pen, Austin and Andrew were untangling a coil of rusted chicken wire, while Patrick was doing his best not to get splinters from a cracked piece of plywood.

“This stuff’s trash,” Patrick muttered, holding it up.

“Then repurpose it,” Amythyst called over. “Tack it up along the lower wall so nothing can squeeze through. Even if it won’t stop a bull, it’ll keep raccoons or foxes out.”

Austin grinned. “She’s like a general when she’s working.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “And you’re on shovel duty if you don’t keep moving.”

The next few hours passed in a rhythm of nails, boards, sweat, and teamwork.

Andrew reinforced the fence joints with wire and a bent crowbar, muttering about structural integrity like some kind of tiny engineer. Patrick found an old metal sign in the barn’s loft and bolted it to the gate as extra protection. Briar and Amy worked in near-silence — efficient, focused — bracing weak slats and doubling the support beam on the eastern side of the barn.

At one point, they found an old latch door — heavy, water-warped oak — in the ruined shed by the dock. With effort, they dragged it up the hill and used it to build a makeshift barricade behind the main cow pen, just in case something charged the fence head-on.

By late afternoon, the barn looked different.

Not pretty — but fortified.

“We need a warning system,” Andrew said, panting, wiping grime from his cheek with the back of his arm. “Something that makes noise if anything pushes on the fence at night.”

“I can rig some cans and line from the attic,” Austin offered. “Hang them near the posts.”

“Do it,” Amy nodded.

Briar tested the new supports, tugging hard on the outer rail. It held. “Not bad for a half-day’s work.”

Amy allowed herself a small, tired smile. “Not bad at all.”

They stood for a moment, all of them, looking at what they’d built — not just a barn, but a wall between safety and whatever might come crashing out of the woods next.

“I still think we should name it,” Patrick said suddenly.

“The barn?” Amy blinked.

“Yeah. Like a fort name. ‘Fort Cowington.’ Or... ‘Bovine Base.’”

Austin groaned. “Please stop talking.”

Briar shook her head with a faint grin. “Keep working, Patrick. You can name it if it survives the week.”

As the sun began to lower behind the hilltops, Safe Harbor’s makeshift defenders gathered their tools, their laughter trailing behind them. The barn stood stronger than before.

But so did they.

 

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