I
Annunciation
NOVEMBER 10-NOVEMBER 13, 1999

The girl's errand in the forest that day was to gather chanterelle mushrooms in a bucket to sell in town at dusk. According to her own account and the accounts of others in the North Fork Campground who would later be questioned by the diocesan committee, by Father Collins of Saint Joseph's of North Fork, by the bishop's representative, and by reporters covering the purported apparitions--including tabloid journalists who treated the story like a visitation by Martians or the birth of a two-headed infant--the girl left her camp before eight o'clock and walked alone into the woods. She wore a sweatshirt with its hood drawn tight. She didn't speak to others of her intentions. Setting out with no direction in mind, she crossed a maple bottom and a copse of alders, traversed a creek on a rotten log, then climbed a ridge into deep rain forest and began searching for mushrooms in earnest.

As she went the girl ate potato chips and knelt beside rivulets to drink. She swallowed the antihistamine that kept her allergies at bay. Other than looking for mushrooms, she listened for the lonely music of birds and--she confessed this later to Father Collins--stopped twice to masturbate. It was a still day with no rain or fog and no wind stirring branches in the trees, the kind of stillness that stops time, or seems to, for a hiker. The girl paused often to consider it and to acknowledge her aloneness. She prayed the rosary on her knees--it was Wednesday, November tenth, so she said the Glorious Mysteries--before following an elk trail into country she hadn't visited or perhaps didn't recall, a flat grown up with Douglas firs, choked by blowdowns and vine maple draped with witches'-hair. Here she lay in a bed of moss and was seized by a dream that she lay in moss while a shape, a form--a bird of prey, a luminous man--bore down on her from above.

Rising, she found chanterelles buried in the interstices of liverworts and in the shadows of windfalls. She cut them low, brushed them clean and set them carefully in her bucket. For a long time she picked steadily, moving farther into the woods, pleased because it was a rainless day on which she was finding enough mushrooms to justify being there. They drew her on like a spell.

At noon she read from her pocket catechism, then prayed--Give us this day our daily bread--before crossing herself and eating more potato chips and a package of two chocolate donuts. Resting, she heard the note of a thrush, but muted, faint, and distant. Sunlight now filtered through the trees on an angle through the highest branches and she sought out a broad, strong shaft of it, stippled with boiling dust and litterfall, and lay on her back in its luminous warmth, her face turned toward heaven. Again she slept and again she dreamed, this time of a furtive woman in the trees, lit in darkness as though by a spotlight, who exhorted her to rise from the ground and continue her search for chanterelles.

The girl got up and traveled on. She was lost now in an incidental way and the two strange dreams disturbed her. Feeling a vague desire again, she put her hand between her legs, aimlessly, still walking. A cold or flu had hold of her, she thought. Her allergies and asthma seemed heightened too. Her period had started.

The newspapers reported that her name was Ann Holmes, after her maternal grandmother, who died from sepsis and pneumonia a week before Ann was born. Ann and her mother, fifteen at Ann's birth, had lived with Ann's grandfather, a long-haul trucker, a man with complicated gambling debts, in a series of rental homes. The newspapers, though, did not uncover that her mother's...

 

In an economically depressed timber-rich region of Washington State, a runaway 16-year-old girl sees a vision of the Virgin Mary in the forest. The vision forces a reaction on the part of many in the community, among them a local priest who struggles with faith and desire, an out-of-work logger who has made himself detestable to all who might have loved him, and the girl's older, cynical friend and caretaker. Blair glides easily from one to another, not by doing voices, but by communicating personality characteristics. She identifies and then reflects what is most essential in each, whether piety, skepticism, anger, or scorn. M.O. (c) AudioFile 2004, Portland, Maine

 

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"Another virtuoso performance from David Guterson . . . Gripping . . . Marks an expansion of his vision . . . Transporting . . . Balances on the tension between belief and despair without ever losing its sense of mystery."

 

"Spellbinding . . . Mesmerizing . . . Brilliantly conceived . . . A marvelous and affecting spectacle, both timeless and contemporary, that makes for electric reading."

 

"Explores a complex and challenging set of questions without a hint of condescension . . . The dimensions of this compelling novel are catholic in the larger sense."

 

"An intense and affecting journey of faith, miracle and humanity."

 

"Blends some of the appeal of Stephen King's uncanny tales . . . and John Updike's fables . . . Thoroughly absorbing . . . Guterson writes virtuoso dialogue."

 

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"An intense, gripping read . . . Finely etched characters, the most intriguing and fully realized cast in any Guterson novel . . . Should resonate with many readers searching for belief in the post-9/11 world."

 

"Surely one of this year's best novels . . . Outstanding . . . [Displays] heart, compassion, and a willingness to tackle the most fundamental, and insolvable questions of faith, belief, and personal responsibility."

 

Our Lady of the Forest by David Guterson
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