My son and I made a new bed for our youngest grandson. At two, it became time for him to graduate from his crib to a different bed. Because he is still small, the mattress in his crib was large enough for him so we decided to stay with the same size. The new bed is a simple frame around a set of bedsprings and mattress that sits directly on the floor. It is easy for him to crawl in and out of the bed. We see it as a temporary solution. At some point he will graduate to a regular single bed like his brother and sisters and this bed is a simple solution for a time of transition in his place of sleeping.

As is the case with all of our grandchildren, I try to remember bits of my childhood as a way of imagining their experiences. My memory isn’t good enough to give me much information, but sometimes I can connect with what they tell me about their lives. This is especially true of the two year old because I have very few memories of being his age. As the children grow older, I have more memories of my own experience to inform my understanding of theirs. Nonetheless, their experience is unique. They have been born and are growing up in times that are different from my time. Technology is different. Culture is different. Politics are different. Sometimes my grandchildren roll their eyes when I start to talk about when I was a child. When I pause to reflect, I can admit that they are right. My stories may occasionally inform theirs, but their experiences are unique.

In my wandering mind as I was thinking about our grandson and his new bed, I began to wonder if it might be an advantage to have a bed that rests on the floor. There is no space under the bed. I have never heard him or his parents talk about fear of monsters, but if such a fear exists or occurs, he has a bed with no room to hide monsters. Since monsters are imaginary, of course, they could dwell anywhere and the choice of furniture has little to do with the fears of childhood.

I don’t remember ever being afraid of monsters. I grew up with very few fears that I can bring to recollection. I have a vague memory of being fearful when my father was away on a business trip that something might happen and he might not get home. Nothing bad ever did happen in that way, but I learned to listen carefully for airplane sounds. He was a pilot and I learned to distinguish his airplanes from others when they flew over. Because our home was a couple of miles from the airport, and because the winds were pretty steady from the same direction in our east slope location, I knew the pattern that planes flew when preparing to land. I learned to listen for the adjustments in throttle and propeller pitch as a plane descended. I learned to look for the gear coming down on retractable gear planes. I maintain that I could tell whether my father or another pilot was flying our Beech 18 because of the way he manually synchronized the engines as he made power changes. It sounded different to me. I still look up intently and sometimes run out of the house whenever I hear a plane with multiple radial engines. A pair of Pratt and Whitney Wasp Jr. engines give me a burst of excitement and joy that reminds me of how I felt when I knew my father was on his way home.

But I don’t remember any monsters or any fear of them.

Now in my seventies, retired, and living in the Pacific Northwest, a region of the country that is relatively new to me after having lived most of my life inland, I am learning about local legends of monsters bit by bit from reading the local news, talking with locals, and seeking out opportunities to listen to local indigenous storytellers.

Our local monster is named Sasquatch. I am no expert in monsters, but I will claim this one as unique to our area because the name comes from the languages of the Coast Salish people. Sasquatch is a word that first appeared in the 1930s in the writings of J.W. Burns, a Canadian journalist and Indian agent who wrote about the Pacific Northwest. It is his version of the Coast Salish word Sesquac, sometimes spelled Sasquits. The people who have lived between the Cascade Mountains and the Salish Sea in Washington and British Columbia have told stories of a large creature that lives deep in the forests of the Cascades. The stories feature a very large creature that walks upright like a human, is covered in hair, and hides in the dark forest undergrowth. Some people call Sasquatch “Big Foot” because of stories of finding very large footprints in the mud or snow high in the mountains and deep in the forests.

We claim Sasquatch as our own and don’t want people to confuse the creature with other similar ones with different names that are reported to live in different places. Rugaru is from the Ojibway language and lives in the northern plains of Minnesota, Manitoba, and Ontario. Witiko, also known as Wendigo, is from an Algonquin word from farther east, though sometimes might share territory with Witiko. And please, despite the popularity of the maker of high end water bottles and coolers, do not confuse Sasquatch with Yeti. Yeti lives in the Himalayan region which isn’t even on the same continent.

Whatever you do, be careful in your search for monsters. Tragically two men from Oregon perished last week while hiking in the snow-covered Cascades south of here near the Oregon border. They went into the Gifford Pinchot National Forest to search for Sasquatch and became lost. A huge search was mounted, but they were found too late, having perished from exposure. Conditions can be brutal in the forest at this time of the year. Water levels are high and snow depths are setting records in some places.

I prefer not to go searching for Sasquatch. I figure that if I ever see Sasquatch it will be because Sasquatch chooses to show themselves to me not because I have found Sasquatch.

I hope our grandson takes the same approach to monsters. No need to go looking for them. It is easier to sleep if you haven’t made the search.

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