Wilderness Empire by Allan W. Eckert was a book I read time and time again as a young teen.
It was a gripping narrative of the 18th century struggle of England and France to win for themselves the allegiance of the New York Iroquois in a war for territorial dominance, yet without letting these Indians know that the prize of the war would be this very Iroquois land.
It is the story of English strength hamstrung by incredible incompetence—of French power sapped by devastating corruption.
It is the story of the English, Indian and French individuals whose lives intertwine in one of the greatest territorial struggles in American history.
I carried the worn-out book with me wherever I went…like a security blanket or a close friend.
It may sound strange that a book could be a friend to a boy who liked to spend most of his time wandering around in the woods with his dog, scoping out day-to-day activities.
But the book drew me into finding images from the story in the forests, hillsides and lakes around my house.
My dog Mutt and I often bushwhacked our way along old deer trails imagining we were in hot pursuit of fierce Seneca warriors, who with war clubs in hand, intended to burn our home.
We would pause every so often to look for moccasin tracks or broken twigs.
Interpreting strange sounds as an incoming war party creeping up on us, we would take off as fast as we could pushing our way through thick Beech, Spruce and Maples.
Out of breath, we would take refuge behind a downed log and curl up so we would not be found.
The book was best read when I was out in the woods where I could smell the decay of the forest floor and feel the breeze of the day as it crept through the canopy.
Reading a chapter, then trying to reenact the unfolding story became a ritual of mine.
Mutt seemed to share in the adventures I was creating. Every time I pulled the book from the shelf next to my bed and stowed it into a rucksack, her whole body would shake in anticipation of a hike into the woods.
Though my adventures in the woods are fewer these days, when I have the chance I tuck Robert Burns and his poems in my backpack as I venture up mountains and over streams.
And I still relate my experiences in the forest to words I read and write.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller,
lives at Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com