Winunktahassett Inn

Winunktahassett Inn
By
P.L. Ellars

Barley was pretty excited on his drive home from work that day. He had finally decided on where to take Winnifer for their 15th wedding anniversary and he couldn’t wait to get home and tell her. The last time they had gone off together was before the children were born and the kids were now 8, 10 and 12.
“Hi lovey lips, I’m home.” Barley said as he came in through the kitchen door.
“Hey you, what’s up? You seem to be in pretty good spirits. Get a raise or something?” Winnifer asked when she saw him.
“No, I did not get a raise but I did get next Thursday and Friday off and have made reservations for us to go away for a long weekend to celebrate our anniversary next week.”
“But what about the kids? Are they going too?” Winnifer wanted to know.
“No way, Winnie. It’s just you and me, a book, some well earned silence and…and…and…”
“And who is going to watch the kids?” Winnie asked.
“Well, we’ll ask Granma and your sister to watch them. The kids love them and we’ll be gone only four days. They can come and stay at our house or we can drop the kids off at Granma’s house on our way.”
“On our way where?” Winnie asked with the slightest tinge of anxiety in her voice. She had known Barley long enough to know that some of his surprises were more surprising than others. In fact, some turned out to be shockers that on one memorable occasion had the distinction of including a visit by the police with a free ride in a squad car for Barley. Nothing serious, and after some questions he was allowed to go home.
“Listen, snugglebumps, I hear, very faintly but clearly, that little bit of anxiousness that appears in your voice every so often when I have a flash of brilliance. It is like your voice tightens up a little and goes up about 1/10th of an octave. I know something about you, you know!” he exclaimed, not really surprised at his wife’s concern.
“OK, then, where are we going for this idyllic, peaceful four days of rest and relaxation that I admit sounds like heaven?” Winnie queried.
“One of the guys at work was telling me about this place he and his wife went to up in the Sierra Nevadas that was absolutely breathtaking. It’s called Winunktahasset Inn. It’s at about 4,000 feel elevation, clear skies, clean air, mountain streams, hiking trails, horseback riding, archery, canoeing on the lake, 4 star restaurant, pool, fireplace in the room, and not very crowded. It used to be a stage rest stop and hotel right after the Civil War and has operated as an inn since. It oozes charm from every board and the place is crawling with nature. It’s oozing. It’s crawling. You’ll love it.” He realized that he was starting to sound like the Inn’s website, but, what the heck, from the pictures he saw it looked like just the place they could relax and unwind.
“OK, OK, sign me up! I’m ready.” Winnie said excitedly. “A long weekend of room service, drinks with little umbrellas, I’ve got a great book going and to be able to read it in a comfy chaise lounge and nature all around with no distractions does sound good.”
“Great!” Barley was excited too. He knew that these vacations were too few and far between for them. They both worked hard and were good parents and he was hoping they could actually get away as planned without feeling pangs of guilt for the pleasure they were expecting to immerse themselves in.

Thursday morning arrived and they were off. It took Barley a little over three hours the night before to eliminate all the evidence of children and clean out the minivan they were going to use to drive up to Winunktahassett Inn.
Barley and Winnie were acting like children themselves again. They hadn’t done this in so long that it felt a little strange at first knowing that they were selfishly running away to enjoy some time alone without their beloved children. The pangs of guilt kept gnawing away until finally Barley pulled the minivan over at a rest stop and said: “Listen, Win, we have to make a pact and agree that we are GOING TO HAVE FUN this weekend and not feel guilty about taking this time for ourselves. Otherwise there will be these three little clouds over our heads all weekend. Okay? Can we do this?” His eyes were larger than normal and Winnie could see the “edge of strain” starting to descend on Barley. He was normally pretty stable but could wind himself up tighter than an idiot’s watch if left to himself and those internal “conversations” as he called them. Stress affects people in different ways and Barley was definitely no exception. It was his stress induced spiral windup that got him that little ride with the police a few years back.
“No problem, Kemosabe.” Winnie replied. “I can definitely do it – can you?”
“Why, yes. Yes I can.” he said in this curious, almost theatrically calm voice.
“Good. Then, let’s get going. We should get there in time to check in and have a cocktail in the bar before the evening festivities.” Winnie offered.
“Excellent!” Barley yelped in his best imitation voice of Meistrich from the movie ‘Imposters’.
Winnie started to relax at hearing that. She knew from past experience that when Barley started quoting lines and impersonating characters from their favorite movies he was starting to unwind and have fun.

It was shortly after 3pm when they arrived at the front door of the Winunktahassett Inn. It was a charming place. It reminded them both of the old Stanley Hotel, used in the movie ‘The Shining’ with their favorite whacko Jack Nicholson. Not a large and pretentious building but one that was solid and comfortable and stood out with its freshly painted white clapboards against the rich, dark green forest surrounding the area.
After checking in, they were introduced to Mr. Glibby, the General Manager of Winunktahassett Inn who welcomed them and hoped their stay would be all they imagined it would be and if there was anything he could…blah blah waffle waffle. Barley’s eyes started to glaze over. The porter helped them to carry their luggage up to their room on the second floor.
“Doesn’t Mr. Glibby look like the spitting image of Franklin Pangborn to you, Winkums?” Barley asked Winnie on the way up to their room.
“Who?”
“Franklin Pangborn, you know, that unctuous character actor from the old 30’s and 40’s movies. He even has some of Pangborn’s mannerisms. Central Casting at the Winnunktahassett Inn certainly got their General Manager right!” Barley said.

The room was at the front of the inn just off to the left side from the main entrance. It commanded an incredible view of the Winunktahassett Valley floor below and they could watch the other guests come and go through the front entry way from either of the two windows. The room was decorated completely in antiques.
“Barley, look at this! I don’t think there is anything, other than the bed of course, and the ceiling fan, that is newer than World War Two in here. Just look at these antiques!” Winnie was jumping up and down over the furnishings. Their home was, by necessity, childproofed. Their house was tastefully furnished but it definitely had the look of active, healthy children living there so that if anything broke (an inevitability) you did not feel like crying over it. To be here in a room filled with such antiques was, for Winnie, like staying in a museum. She was thrilled and even threatened to not leave the room for the entire four days. Barley, on the other hand, was less enthusiastic.
“Yeah, yeah, very nice. Just be careful and don’t break anything. Probably cost a small fortune to replace any of it.” was Barley’s romantic answer.

“OK, Winkers, what say we mosey on down to the bar and wash some of the road dust down with a little aperitif or two before dinner? We are, after all, on vacation.” Barley said heading for the door.
The bar was one that exuded old West elegance. The original dark mahogany bar gleamed from 140 years of being lovingly oiled and polished. The walls had various western paintings and the occasional animal head for decoration.
As it was mid-summer, it would not be dark until nearly 9pm that night and the temperature was still comfortably warm. They decided to have their drinks out on the terrace just off the bar through the wide French doors. They chose the corner table near the front of the inn so they could watch the sun as it slowly lowered itself in the sky and bathe the valley below in what they like to call “the pink hour”. The railing around the terrace was wide enough to act as a ledge to set your drink on as you leaned on the rail gazing at the view.
The waiter came and took their order.
“I’ll have a glass of Merlot, please.” Winnie said to the waiter. “And I’ll have a White Russian!” Barley said, probably just a little too loudly. The waiter took their order and left. Barley was starting to have fun. Looking around he noticed some Western scrub jays watching them from the rail. He remembered seeing bowls of peanuts on the tables inside the bar and went inside and took one from an empty table.
“I wonder if these guys will eat these peanuts out of my hand like the ones we feed at home?” Barley mused holding out a peanut to the nearest jay. The jay looked straight at Barley and then cocked his head first on one side and then on the other. He would not come closer than 2 or 3 feet so Barley ended up tossing the peanut to the jay and exclaim “Stupid bird!” The jay grabbed the peanut and took off towards the ground with the idea to bury it. As soon as the first bird took off another one took his place waiting for his peanut. He too, would get no closer than 2 or 3 feet so Barley, feeling a little peeved, tossed him a peanut, too. More jays saw what was going on on the deck and they swooped down to get their share. First it was scrub jays and then Stellar jays. It did not take more than 5 minutes to empty that bowl of peanuts. Barley was in the process of feeding the last peanut to a particularly aggressive Stellar jay when the waiter came out to see it they wanted more drinks.
“Please, sir, we would rather you did not feed the birds. That’s why we don’t put peanuts out on the deck tables. These birds tend to get aggressive and we have to chase them off.” the waiter said.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know. We have them at home and I get them to eat out of my hand.” Barley told the waiter. “I’ll have another White Russian, please.” Barley said to the waiter. “How about you, honeychunks?”
“No, thanks, I still have half a glass.”
They finished their drinks and headed back to their room. Passing through the bar Barley quietly grabbed a handful of peanuts from one of the tables when he thought no one was looking.

Back in their room they unpacked and relaxed a little before going down to dinner. Barley stood at the window and, glowing with White Russians, enjoyed the panoramic vista that spread out before him.
The birds were still pretty active. In fact, they were getting pretty noisy out there. Probably out having their own dinner before settling down for the night. Barley remembered the peanuts he took from the bar and fishing them out of his pocket he set them down on a small table near the window. He tried opening the window with the idea of tossing a few to his feathered friends. The window was stuck and would not open. He felt like it wanted to open, it just needed some encouragement. Using the palm of his hand he banged on the top part of the lower frame of the window. He thought he felt it move a little. He also thought he heard that cracking sound a window makes when it breaks free. He banged it again with his palm. It’s starting to move he thought to himself. He gave it a tug and then a harder bang.
“Almost got it.” he said to himself. He gave it an even harder bang and this time the glazing around the glass crumbled away and the pane fell out, just scratching the edge of his bare foot, giving it a small cut.
“Oh, Great!” he yelled. “Damn birds. This is all their fault! Honey, do you still carry bandaids in your purse?”
“Yeah, why?” Winnie yelled back from the bathroom where she was getting ready for dinner.
“I’ve cut myself and need one.” Barley giggled. He was going over in his mind what had happened and, probably the two White Russians had a part in it, thought how utterly stupid the whole scene must have looked. While waiting for Winnie to bring the bandaid he looked back at the window to see how much damage had been done. There, sitting on the wooden frame that once held a window pane was perched a jay. It was just sitting there eyeing him and looking around the room. It’s eye stopped when it came to the peanuts on the table by the window. The jay looked at Barley, and then at the peanuts, and then back at Barley. Barley just stared at the bird. He did not want to move otherwise he would drip blood all over the place. This was getting funnier and funnier to Barley and he started giggling again when Winnie arrived with the bandaids.
“Here, let me look at your foot. How on earth did you do that and what are you giggling about?” Winnie asked. “Well, it’s nothing serious. Just a tiny scratch. A little rubbing alcohol and the bandaid should do it.” It was then that she noticed the missing window pane and the jay perched there surveying the peanuts on the table. Before either of them could move the jay had swooped down and snatched a peanut and was out the window.
“Good Grief.” Winnie sighed. “Come on, Barley. Let’s get you patched up.”
“Here, I can do this, Winklets. Why don’t you call the consommé and have them…”
“Concierge.” Winnie said quietly.
“What?” said Barley.
“Concierge. You said consommé and I’m sure you meant concierge.”
“I’m sure I used the right word, Miss Winktionary!” Barley quipped. “Anyway, call that soupy Franklin Pangborn looking guy and tell them we heard a loud thump and when we came in the room, the window pane was on the floor. Tell them it was probably a bird or something. I’ll finish my foot.”
Winnifer called the front desk and yes, they would send up a maintenance man right away.

Dinner was a long drawn out pleasure. They could not remember the last time they were able to spend time over a meal like they had that night.
When they returned to their room the window had been fixed and there was a note on the small table. It read: ‘Window fixed. Found several jays stealing peanuts from this table when I came in. I was able to scare them off but they made a mess, which I also cleaned up. I guess a bird did knock this window out. Sorry for the inconvenience. Both windows should now open. Maintenance.’

The next morning was Friday and they decided to go horseback riding after breakfast. The weather was in the high 70’s and the sun was shining brightly. A perfect day to be out-of-doors. On their way to the stables Barley stopped in at the mini-mart to get some bottled water, snacks and he also found a bag of peanuts he thought he’d take along in his day pack to feed the birds.
It was a little after 10 am when they arrived at the stables.
Jim, the manager of the stables, was very helpful after Barley told him it had been a long time since he and Winnie had ridden a horse. Jim said “No Problem. We get lots of guests that haven’t been on a horse in a long time. I’ll give you Buttercup and Bluebell, our two horses that are most guest-friendly. You should have no problems at all.”
“Great!” said Barley. “We’re only going to be gone for about an hour or so. We want to be back in time for lunch.”
“Fine.” Said Jim. “Just stay on the trails and don’t try and gallop the horses – I don’t think you could anyway. They like to mosey along and smell the roses, if you know what I mean.”
“Sounds perfect.” Winnie said.

After a little confusion at the start with communicating the right signals to Buttercup and Bluebell they were on their way down the trail.
They had been gone for about half an hour and were about a thousand feet higher than the Inn and on a single-track trail when Barley noticed quite a few jays around them. He actually heard them first which made him take notice of them.
“Hey, Winkster! Does it seem like there are more birds up here than down by the Inn?”
“Yeah, I was just starting to notice that, too. I thought it was my imagination that I was hearing a lot of these jays. Why don’t you toss them a peanut or two?” Winnie said.
So Barley fished the bag of peanuts out of his day pack and tossed 3 or 4 out onto the trail in front of Bluebell, the horse he was riding. The birds swooped in from several directions. One came swooping in from behind Bluebell’s head and just brushed her ear. Bluebell gave a startled little jump, which caused Barley to grab for the saddle horn spilling his bag of peanuts directly under the horse. The sudden rush of dozens of squawking and fluttering jays directly under Bluebell’s belly was more than she could stand. The birds were in a feeding frenzy, fighting each other over every peanut, raising quite a commotion and a cloud of dust. They were fluttering into her belly and flying between her legs and in and out of her tail. It only took a few seconds of that before Bluebell panicked and bolted at a gallop down the trail ahead in a wild, desperate attempt to escape. Barley was trying to reach the reins that he had dropped when he grabbed the saddle horn. He couldn’t stand up in the stirrups because his legs just barely reached them. His first sensation was that Bluebell seemed to be going up as he was coming down and the painful pounding he was experiencing convinced him he would never have children again, and if this kept up much longer, he might not have marital relations ever again, as well. Bluebell was in a panic. Ears flat and mane flying, it was all Barley could do to hang on. He tried to clench his jaw shut, but the terrible pounding he was receiving from the horse caused his mouth to open and shut painfully. He looked like a ventriloquist’s dummy chatting away on a runaway horse. Every time he and the horse collided and his teeth snapped shut, his vision went blurry. He could not even see the trail ahead, let alone focus on it the bouncing was so bad. Each pounding jarred his eyes to the point where he felt he was looking through Karo syrup. The only sensation that seemed to be working was his hearing and he didn’t trust that either. He could have sworn someone was singing opera out there. Later, Winnie told him she started screaming when she saw Bluebell rear up and tear off down the trail with Barley on the back hanging on for dear life. Barley was on the edge of tears and wondering how long this was going to last when Bluebell took one final, desperate leap and then came to a sudden stop launching Barley over her head into a berry bush. With the weight off her back and the birds gone, Bluebell started to settle down into her old, composed self and occupied herself with nibbling the berries. Barley extricated himself from the thorny berry bush just as Winnie came up crying and practically in shock. He must have looked a sight. He had cuts and scratches everywhere. His shirt was torn and bloody from the abuse he had received. He got up to walk over to Bluebell and was acutely aware of another pain the pounding in the saddle had caused. Winnie helped him back on Bluebell.
“Winkth, I can’t wide back. Thith ith too painful. Bluebellth hath gibben me bluebalth.”
“What are you saying? I can barely understand you!” Winnie looked at him with amazement.
“I bid my dung, thweetumth, theberal timeth in all that damb bounthing awound!”
He would have to walk back to the Inn. Taking Bluebell by the reins he and Winnie slowly made their way back to the stables, stopping frequently to rest and drink from their water bottles, occasionally dabbing away the blood from the deeper cuts.
Jim saw them coming and ran out to meet them.
“What in the world happened to you?” Jim exclaimed. “Is anything broken? Do you need a doctor?”
“No, I juth fell indoo a bewwy bush. I’ll be okay wunth I get back to my woom.” Barley said. Jim gave Barley a long and searching look, wondering if he had been boozing it up out on the trail.
“Well, hop in my jeep and I’ll drive you folks back to the Inn.” Jim told him.
“Thankth.”

When they got back to their room Barley took a warm bath and soaked his sore parts for awhile. Winnie took the ice bucket down the hall and filled it so Barley could put some ice in his mouth to relieve his swollen tongue. It felt wonderful to be back to the safety of their room and clean again. They both took a long nap before dressing and going down to the restaurant for dinner. That night Barley had an extra White Russian and Winnie had a second glass of Merlot.
“How’s your tongue feel, love?” Winnie asked.
“Much better, thanks. That ice really helped the swelling go down. It just hurts like hell.
Tomorrow” Barley said “we go canoeing. No more jackhammer horses. We’ll just float on the lake and maybe do a little fishing.”
“Sounds good to me. What could possibly happen out on a lake?” Winnie chuckled.

Saturday morning found them both up early and famished for breakfast. Apparently the activities of the day before had sharpened their appetites. On their way down to the lake Barley again stopped in the mini-market and stocked up with sandwiches, soft drinks, some candy, chips, pretzels, string cheese, beef jerky and a couple bags of peanuts.
“WHAT! More peanuts! Are those for the birds? Haven’t you had enough yet?” Winnie practically shrieked.
“Hey, relax, Winkareeno. It wasn’t the bird’s fault yesterday. It was that skittish horse.”
“Right. Come on. Let’s go fishing.”

Sharon, the boat lady, was very friendly and full of local knowledge. She was glad to rent them the canoe and enough fishing gear to keep Barley and Winnie both happy for hours. She gave them an extra net bag so they could keep their drinks cold by hanging them over the side of the canoe.

Winnie got in the canoe first and steadied herself in the bow. Barley climbed in aft and started rowing them in the direction of a cove Sharon said was a good one to fish from. It was about a mile from the boat rental place. Barley had also not rowed a canoe in a long time and it took several hundred yards of rowing before he sorted it out and was able to row in a more or less straight line. Winnie lolled in the bow resting her head on a cushion and breathing in deeply the clean, pine scented air. This was more like it.

After three quarters of an hour of rowing they arrived at the cove Sharon had told them about. They were the only ones there. The cove was no more than a quarter of a mile wide and surrounded with pines right down to the water. They positioned themselves close to the middle of the cove and Barley started to get the fishing gear together and bait the hooks with worms.
“Barley, this was a good idea! I’m starting to relax and forget about yesterday already. How about you?” Winnie asked.
“Yesterday? Did we have a yesterday?” Barley asked. “Haven’t given it a thought, la belle Winks.”
Barley gave Winnie her prepared fishing pole and she cast the hook out. Barley got his and cast his hook on the other side of the canoe. Then they both got out their books, propped themselves up on cushions and got on with the serious business of fishing.

After an hour they had still not caught anything. The fish here were very clever at removing the worms from the hooks without injury or loss of freedom to themselves. Barley was feeling peckish so he broke out the snacks and sandwiches he brought along.
While they were having lunch Barley would occasionally tear off small pieces of bread from his sandwich and toss them into the water and watch the fish come up to the surface and feed. Turning around he saw that Winnie was dozing away in the bow of the canoe and above her head watching his every move was a single jay perched on the top curve of the canoe’s bow. Barley tossed a piece of bread to the jay which the bird completely ignored. He remembered the peanuts so fished one of the bags out of his day pack and tossed a peanut out into the water. Well, the jay liked that and was able to scoop the peanut out of the water without getting wet. It flew off towards the shore, either to eat the peanut in peace or to bury it. No sooner had the one jay left than a second one appeared on the bow of the canoe. Barley tossed another peanut into the water and at the same time heard a third jay land on the canoe’s stern behind him. Turning around to feed the newest visitor he noticed 4 or 5 more jays heading towards him from the shore. He immediately flashed back to the previous day’s fiasco with birds but figured nothing could happen out on a calm lake. After all, whoever heard of a skittish canoe? He had things under control, tossing the occasional peanut out in the water and then watching several birds go for it. The lucky one would snatch the peanut out of the water and then head for shore squawking its head off. It wasn’t long before most of the jays in the neighborhood could see what was going on out there on the lake. Meanwhile, the canoe was drifting closer to the shore. The squawking of the jays and the flapping sounds eventually woke Winnifer up. Seeing all those bluejays flying around the canoe and Barley throwing peanuts left and right made her relive the day before, too. She shot up into a sitting position immediately yelling “BARLEY! What are you doing?!” Barley was just leaning over to the port side throwing a peanut out when Winnie’s sudden yell and movement to sit up quickly started the canoe to lean over rapidly. Barley thought the canoe was going to capsize and quickly grabbed the opposite rail with both hands. That sudden lunge spilled one half pound of peanuts into the bottom of the canoe. The jays did not miss a thing. Suddenly a dozen or more jays were dive bombing the canoe in a swift attempt to get the peanuts. Barley started swatting at the birds and Winnifer started yelling and trying to stop the canoe from its sudden side to side motion. Unfortunately, they both happen to lunge to the same side of the canoe at the same time and before they could stop it, the canoe went over. Fishing poles, drinks, food, bait, everything they brought out with them for the day went over the side as the canoe capsized. Fortunately they had drifted to within one hundred yards of the shore so were able to swim towards it without much trouble. They had only gone 50 yards or so when they could feel the bottom and walk the rest of the way.
“Win, go on into the shore. I’ll go back and get the canoe and whatever’s floating and bring it in.” Barley told her.
Barley turned around, walked out to where the bottom gave way, swam to the canoe, collected the oars and his daypack, put them in the canoe, and pulled it in towards the shore. He knew trying to climb back into the canoe would be useless.
Once on shore they sat down on a fallen log and caught their breath. Looking around they were surprised to find that they were being watched by dozens of bluejays, all of them making a horrible racket.
After they got their breath, they got in the canoe and paddled their way back to the boat house.
“Barley?”
“Yes, dear?”
“I’m wet, cold, I’ve lost my book which now I won’t be able to finish, will probably come down with pneumonia and, in general, am having a memorable anniversary weekend. You know, the kind you tell your grandchildren, if I get out of prison in time to see my grandchildren AFTER I KILL YOU!!!”
“Well, Winklets, I really don’t see how you can possibly blame me for all this! You’re the one that shot up in the boat like an Atlas rocket taking off, first one way, then another. There I was trying to save your life, and you, trying to feed me to the sharks. Don’t you know to sit still in the center of a boat?”
It was a long, uncomfortable trip back to the boat house.

When they got there, it was all Sharon could do to not laugh, let alone smile.
“Well, what happened to you two?” She asked trying to suppress a chuckle.
“I suppose you could call it a difference of opinion in boat management.” Winnie said.
“No Way! It was killer birds! I was…I mean, we were attacked! We’re lucky to be alive! They were blue raptors! Big leathery, vicious, hawk billed raptors. Hundreds, no! thousands of them. We didn’t have a chance!” Barley barked. Winnie gave him a quick look. She recognized his ‘hysteria on the horizon’ building up in him. If she did not nip it in the bud quickly, it wouldn’t be long before he launched himself and somehow manage to involve everyone in a one mile radius in God knows what. You couldn’t tell with Barley. It was different each time. Usually, nothing harmful, just eccentric behavior that eventually needed to be explained to some authority figure.
“Come on, Barley, let’s get back to our room, take a hot bath, build a fire and have a hot buttered rum. Come on, let’s hurry before we do catch pneumonia.” Winnie pleaded.
Barley stopped winding himself up and looked at Winnifer. It was a few seconds before the nostrils stopped flaring, breathing returned to something approaching normal, and that unidentifiable, peculiar look left his eyes.
“Right! Let’s go.”
“Shall I put the lost items on the same charge card as the canoe rental?” Sharon asked.
“The what?” Barley said giving her a quizzical look.
“Well, the fishing poles, reels, net sacks, bait bags, you know, all the stuff you took with you this morning which you came back without.”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I guess so. We lost it somewhere in the cove.” Barley was starting to think this whole weekend was beginning to get a little more expensive than he originally thought. And he was beginning to think of taking up bird hunting when he got home. Horses, birds, canoes, how much more nature could he take. Oh well, tomorrow was Sunday and they would be headed home…home sweet home.

That evening, after a long hot soak in the tub and an even longer nap, they went down to the bar to have a cocktail before dinner.
“This…this unusual weekend is not exactly what I had in mind when I thought we would get away for a quiet, romantic weekend.” Barley started off.
“Yes, I know, Barley. It has had some unusual moments. You know, though, on the whole, it has been memorable. I wish I had been able to get some pictures of you yesterday on the runaway horse. And some of you banging on the window in the room breaking it, and some of you swatting at those birds in the canoe.”
“It’s just as well you didn’t, I suppose.” Barley sighed.
They could not help overhearing a conversation between two older couples that had just sat down at the next table.
“Damndest thing.” the one older gentleman was saying to the others. “Stephie and I checked in last Monday and for the first few days it was very peaceful, very quiet, here. Almost too peaceful. And then Thursday evening we started to notice…well, we actually heard it first, birds gathering outside. Not just one or two, like you usually see, but dozens and dozens. Probably more birds that night then we had seen or heard since our arrival. It was verified the next day on our nature hike. I asked the guide about it and he said he noticed it, too. “Just look around you now.” He said and sure enough there were twice as many birds as we had seen all week. And today there are even more birds. I’d say that we were on some migratory flight path except all these birds are jays..bluejays and stellars. Quite remarkable. Here, see for yourself. Look out there on the deck. There, on the railing and flying around. And listen to that racket! I think jays have one of the most unpleasant calls in all of birdom. Let’s go out and have a closer look.”
With that the two couples got up and went out onto the deck to watch the gathering birds.
“Well, Barley, maybe the birds have heard of your generosity with peanuts and they are looking for you!”
“Crikey, Winkums. Give me a break. They’re just stupid birds looking for a free meal. You know how they are. Look, I’ve got another bag or two left in my daypack from today’s, ahem, adventure. I’ll toss them out in the field tomorrow before we take off. They’re welcome to them.”

Sunday morning came and with it a pretty loud squawking sound from outside the windows to their room. The sun was shining brightly and it was starting to warm up.
“Winks, would you turn on the overhead fan and get some air moving in here? Thanks.”
Winnifer turned the overhead ceiling on high and went back to finish dressing in the bathroom. Barley peered out over the blankets towards the window where he could hear the birds making their raucous noise. Several were perched outside the window on the sill looking in at him and at the table by the window where he had spread the wet peanuts from his daypack out to dry. He threw a towel at the window hoping to frighten them off but without success. He looked around for something else he could throw. His shaving kit was on the nightstand next to the bed and from it he pulled his plastic traveling soap holder.
“Maybe if I hit the wall with this it’ll scare ‘em off.” He thought.
He gave the soap holder a toss, not too hard, but hard enough to make a good bang on the wall. Mid-trajectory the soap holder opened. Barley thought it looked like a flying oyster opening its shell and spitting out its precious cargo, but in reality, it was a nearly new bar of Irish Fling soap. Very big and very heavy. The plastic holder fell to the floor while the bar of soap continued on its trajectory to and then through the lower left window pane.
The tinkling of broken glass brought Winnie rushing out of the bathroom.
“What the…!” she exclaimed.
There was more yelling coming from outside the window, down near the front entrance to the inn.
Barley leapt out of bed and crawling on his hands and knees so as not to be seen, approached the window. He had to get into a squatting position in order to see over the window ledge to the scene unfolding below. A red faced, middle aged, stoutly built man with a bald head was holding up the bar of soap, yelling and pointing to Barley’s broken window. Mr. Glibby, the General Manager of the inn, was racing down the front steps to see what was going on. Barley is to be forgiven for being distracted by all the commotion going on below and therefore not see the first two jays power dive through the window to get at the peanuts on the table behind him passing within inches of his head. He was caught completely off guard. He let out a whoop and his arms shot skyward, probably in a sign of surrender, but the birds did not know that. From his squatting position he started traveling backwards rapidly. He was trying to regain his balance but it turned into a cross between a backwards duckwalk and a leap that brought him into contact with the table and the peanuts. They both went down with a crash, Barley rolling around on the floor and the peanuts pretty much staying where they landed.
By now the third and fourth jays were coming in through the broken window. Barley jumped up and started waiving the birds off trying to keep them from coming in.
“BARLEY! DO SOMETHING!!” Winnifer was screaming.
He ran to the bed and grabbed the first thing he could put his hands on that might work as a cape to shoo the birds back out the window and keep any more from coming in. He ran back towards the window waving it frantically over his head.
“NOT MY SWEATER! BARLEY! NOT MY BLACK CASHMERE SWEAT…” Winnie did not quite get to finish her sentence. Her volume and commanding tone arrested Barley’s attention. When he turned to look at her in mid swing he was holding on to one of the sleeves of her sweater. The other sleeve was suddenly being held by the overhead fan, which Winnifer had turned on high at Barley’s request. It was a matter of seconds before the fan had made about ninety-eight revolutions wrapping Winnifer’s expensive, yet delicate, black cashmere sweater around the hub. By the time Barley felt the tugging on his arm, all the slack the sweater had to offer had been taken up. Barley, in his surprise, looked up in time to see two things happen simultaneously: one of the four fan blades break off and the plaster holding the fan to the ceiling give way. Now the fan was making a horrible gronking noise as it started to wobble back and forth. A few more revolutions and the plaster gave way and the fan dropped three feet to the end of its wire, cocked itself at a 30 degree angle and wobbled violently back and forth. Barley was beginning to wonder who was becoming more unbalanced, he or the broken fan.
The broken, now detached, fan blade, thanks to centrifugal force, arced out across the room taking one of the antique water pitchers next to the bed with it on its journey to the floor. Barley let go of the worthless sleeve now and returned to the front lines by the broken window where more jays were coming in. Overhead, the fan was wobbling more and more, and hanging down by its cord swinging wildly in the middle of the room but still rotating the best it could. The next thing Barley was aware of was a thwacking sound followed by a thump and sometimes a thwacking, a thump and a crash of something. Looking around he went nearly rigid when he saw that the sound was being caused by jays flying into the broken, yet still oscillating, fan and being swatted, like golf balls at a driving range, to various points of the room. Thwack, thump, crash, there went a bird into the mirror on the wall next to the armoire. Thwack, thump, there went one into a bare spot on the wall. Thwack, thump, crash, there goes one into the painting over the fireplace. Next to go was the reading lamp on the bedside table. “Good Lord!” he thought. He had to keep these birds out before they completely wrecked the place. Racing back to the window he started waving his hands at the birds again.
“WINKERS! Turn off the fan! Turn off the fan!” he started yelling frantically.
Winnifer ran to the light switch panel by the door and started furiously flipping switches up and down. Lights were going on and off all over the place. Floodlights, table lights (those that were left), in fact, every light in the room could be controlled by that one panel but not the fan, it was controlled by a chain hanging from the hub. Barley was getting desperate. He wasn’t used to this kind of stress. It was at that moment that Mr. Glibby, having recently come from placating the first of Barley’s victims, reached their floor and was rushing down the hall. He could see what looked like a lightning storm going on in the offending room. The first thing he saw after striding through the open door was Winnifer hunched over the light switches maniacally flipping switches with a curiously detached look in her eye. The light show was very disconcerting and gave him a little pause. Had Mr. Glibby been watching where he was going instead of distracted by Winnifer’s strange performance, he would have had the pleasure of seeing Barley put the finishing touches on a particularly athletic reverse spinning backhand in amongst the birds. Instead, he felt the sharp pain of walking directly into it, receiving the full force of the blow, breaking the third metacarpal bone of Barley’s right hand and his, Mr. Glibby’s, one and only nose. Fortunately for Mr. Glibby, (or not) the blow sent him reeling backwards at great speed, arms wind milling, directly into the armoire where the back of his head crashed into the heavy glass mirror on the door breaking both mirror and door of the armoire and bringing Mr. Glibby heavily down to his knees in a limp heap where, falling face first, he received his third and final blow. Mr. Glibby, mercifully now feeling no pain, was down and out for the count.

“Well, Winks, I hear the ambulance. It’ll be here shortly. Why don’t you pack up our stuff, check out, give them whatever contact information they need from us and pick me up at the emergency room down in the town. I imagine it’s going to be one hell of a bill with all the antiques and whatnots added to it.” Barley and Winnifer were sitting in the lobby of the Winunktahassett Inn. Barley’s right hand was swollen and turning black and blue. Mr. Glibby was still up in the room. It was felt that it was best not to move him as much as possible. Leave that to the ambulance personnel.
Winnifer had retrieved her cashmere sweater and put it on to see if it still fit. Other than having sleeves hanging10 inches below her hands and a diagonal cant to it, it didn’t look that bad. She would probably garden in it during those cool months ahead.

“Well, Winkums, all in all it wasn’t a bad weekend. It could have been worse…somehow. You know, it’s been a great 15 years being married to you and I want you to know how much I love you. How much I love you and the kids. I’m just glad they weren’t here to see all this. It would be all over town and every kid in your school would know about it by day’s end. It wouldn’t do to let children know that teachers are human too. So there is something to be grateful for.”
“And I love you too, my BarleyWarleyPooh.” Winnie said putting her arms around his neck, letting her sleeves hang halfway down his back.

They heard the ambulance arrive in front of the inn. Winnifer walked Barley out to it, holding his left hand in her cashmere covered right. They both stood off to the side as the gurney carrying Mr. Glibby was wheeled out and down the steps, a little too roughly, Barley thought, poor guy, and into the waiting ambulance. Barley and Winnifer kissed one last time before Barley headed for the paramedic to be helped in to sit next to Mr. Glibby. The paramedic, a young man in this early thirties, asked “What happened here, mister?”
“Birds, my friend, would you believe it? Birds.” was Barley’s quiet reply.
“ That’s probably why this place is called Winunktahassett Inn.” said the paramedic.
“What do you mean?” Barley asked.
“Winunktahassett is an ancient word from the local Indian tribe. It means ‘Birds on Warpath’.” Barley turned to look at Winnifer. She was standing at the foot of the stairs at the entrance to the inn, waving goodbye with what looked like a little black flag. Their eyes met and nothing had to be said. As he turned to climb into the ambulance, Barley heard one last chorus of raucous squawking and felt something soft land in his hair. Ah well, insult to injury, he thought philosophically