Archive 102 Bigfoot and Other Giants

my grandfather retired around nineteen sixty eight. After his death in nineteen seventy two, my grandmother moved into town to be near her children, but the farmhouse and the acreage remained intact in the family. Half of the total acreage is planted with pine trees, thanks to the USDA incentives

offered at the time. However, as the property is located along the Gulf Coastal Plain, which marked the edge of the Gulf Coast in prehistoric times, the sandy lone quality of the soil is unfit to grow anything but cedar trees. In fact, for many years, families from our area harvested their Christmas trees from our property. Now I say all this because I spent much of my time growing up

on this land, and I know it well. Some years ago, I had decided to camp in this cedar covered area over several weeks to determine the feasibility of building an off dred cabin. The site was way off the main road and way out of sight. This event occurred on the first night that I camped there. It was in April of two thousand and sixteen. Sometime after three am. I woke for no apparent reason, and I sat up

in my cot. I looked around the tent, and I saw that everything was in order, and then I heard four heavy wax or thuds on the ground very near the Imagine the sound if you hit the earth with a baseball bat as hard as you could, only it was much louder than that. Next there came a scream unlike anything I've ever heard. Not only was it so loud that it made my ear drums distort, but it generated an immediate fear in me that I can only

describe as primal. It wasn't like I felt like I was in danger, but rather the scream produced an authentic fear that I have never known. I imagined a banshee mask. I made in the third grade during a study of myths and legends, The phrase she screamed like a banshee came to mind. Had I heard a banshee? Immediately after?

I heard what could only be described as bipedal steps running away from the ridge, and in an effort to rationalize it all, I assumed it was a screech owl that produced the scream, and the flappings of its large wingspan was what produced the sound of rapid footsteps. But that explanation provides an no rationale for what was thumping the ground. Now, bobcats can scream, for sure, but that

doesn't fit with the other things I heard. I have come to terms with the fact that whatever I experienced that night was meant to inform me that I wasn't welcome there. Now I understand territorial mentality, but that's my family's land, so if I decide to build there, we'll have to learn to coexist with whatever that thing is. I know I can gladly go the rest of my life without having to hear that scream again. Though. Next is UFO related, and it happened around the year two

thousand on this same property. Like many families who share land out in the sticks. We would often gather over a weekend of fish and cook out and mow grass, or just sit around a bonfire and hang out. The farmhouse could get a little when bedtime rolled around, so my crew would pitch a large tent in the back pasture. On this night, I was snoozing inside the tent with my middle school daughter when we both awoke to a

fairly loud sound. It was vaguely mechanical, like a turbocharger on a semi pulling a load up hill, but big rigs don't travel on our highway. Feeling a heavy drowsiness, I went back to sleep, but when I woke again, the sound was still there. My daughter was standing at the door of the tent and she said, Dad, you need to come see this. But I couldn't rouse myself from my cozy dream state. You fathers who have daughters will understand this. As a dad, there's absolutely nothing you

won't do for your daughter. On reflection, this should have been my first indicator that something was going on. Why did I not get up out of that sleeping bag and go look at what my daughter wanted me to see? It almost felt like the twilight sensation during an anesthesia procedure, just before the doctor tells you to count backwards from one hundred. When I woke the next morning, my daughter was safely tucked inside her sleeping bag. All was well

with the world. But later that day she said, Dad, you really should have seen that thing over the pond last night. Well what did you see? I asked her. My daughter is very observational and painted a vivid picture of what drew her attention while I was dead to the world. The sound we heard was coming from this thing that was really moving slowly over our pond at about treetop level. She said. I couldn't really make out the shape of it, but it had two big red

round lights at the back of it. It moved over the pond and kept going toward the north over the highway. As a point of reference, the pine is fifty yards from the farmhouse and where we were sleeping that night. Wondered if that sound we heard had the hypnotic effect of neutralizing me, Yet it didn't seem to affect my daughter in the same way. I've heard of abduction stories, but she had no recollection of anything other than watching

the craft ease its way to the north. She remembers getting back in her sleeping bag and dozing off, but no one in the house heard or saw anything unusual. Well, those are my stories, and they're probably too long to use, but I feel better for having written them down while the details are still fresh in my mind. And I think it's important to share our experiences in a safe environment. It's not only therapeutic, but it builds a community that

we all desperately need during these strange times. I live in the mid South, in a suburban neighborhood close to metropolitan Memphis. I went to school in Oxford, Mississippi at ol Miss and I married a Mississippi girl I met on campus. Life has been generous to us over the years. We are now in our seventies and we both have good health. We raised a family and all of our children have done well, and we are fortunate to have a lot of grandchildren who visit often. But there was

one incident that changed our lives forever. Neither my wife nor myself have ever told this to anyone before I die, and the story is lost forever. It needs to be told. Every word I'm about to write is true. My wife and I graduated in the spring of nineteen sixty five and were married soon after. I landed a job back in my hometown of Memphis, and we rented a small duplex in the Berclaire area. I was making a decent living, my wife was making new friends in her new city.

Things were great, and the sky was the limit as far as we could see. By nineteen sixty nine, we had two children, two of the most beautiful little girls God ever created. They were my life and I spent every waking minute with them. My wife's family lived in Smithville, Mississippi, and she would travel there with the children on occasion, sometimes staying two weeks at a time. I was happy she was close enough to her family that she could, in just a short trip, be back in her hometown

to visit and stay. It certainly helped whenever she was homesick. Her parents loved the children as much as we did. Usually, on the last weekend of her stay, I would drive down after work on Friday afternoon to spend the weekend with all of them. On Sunday afternoon, we would return home in two cars. I must interject that in those days, it was unusual for a young family to have two cars.

Our family car was a gift from my father in law to us on our wedding Dad, and the car I drove was a company car my employer allowed me to use as long as I compensated them for the mileage I put on the vehicle. My company car was usually packed with items for my job, so the girls always rode home with my wife, with me right in front of them or behind them all the way home. On a spring night in nineteen seventy one, we were leaving Smithville after spending the Easter weekend with my in laws.

The weather had been good all weekend, but on Sunday afternoon, one of those violent fronts began to roll through the midst south just as we left for home. It would be a rough drive back to Memphis on a stormy night. We pulled out of the drive around five pm, not knowing the storms were so close. The first four or five miles down the gravel road were pleasant. The sun was beginning to set in the west. I could see those ominous purple storm clouds moving toward towards us quickly,

but I didn't think too much of it. My wife is still a good driver today, and I knew my girls were in good hands. Before the rain began to fall, the wind picked up quickly. There was a steady blow with violent gusts often. It was not long before I suspected this system could produce tornadoes. My wife was a quarter mile ahead of me and I could not see her tail lights. She was creeping along the gravel road with her vision obscured. As the sheets of rain pelted

the windshield. The wipers were not keeping up. She considered stopping and waiting the rain out, but making it to the main highway was her goal and would have given her a bit of confidence feeling the smooth black top surface under her tires, so she continued on. Normally, at this time of day, there would have been a hint of light in the western horizon, but the storm clouds in the thick forest lining the road blocked any light. My wife was struggling and certainly scared for her children.

I could still not see her tail lights, which in my view was a good thing. That meant she was still moving ahead. My right rear tire went flat. I had flats on this car and was quick at making a change, but of all days to have a flat, it had to happen on this night with no rain gear. I quickly jumped back to the trunk and extracted the flashlight, the jack, and the spare, and went quickly to work

in the freezing rain. In another circumstance, I would have waited for the rain to ease up a bit, but I needed to catch back up with my wife if that was even possible. I went to work raising the rear end of the car. Approximately one mile ahead. My wife entered the worst of the storm. To this day, we believe a small tornado touched down a short distance away from her and then moved directly over her car, but the weather service back then had no way to

confirm this. In those days, a tornado was confirmed after the storm had passed and damage was assessed. There were no warnings. She was only three miles from the main highway when the rain stopped abruptly. Naturally. She thought she had made it through the storm, but within a few seconds her car was hammered by large hail. The front windshield was laying in her lap and all over my

three year old daughter, in chunks and in slivers. The wind was blowing straight into what was once a solid windshield. And then the wind picked up. Immediately, the trees on her left were breaking loose at the trunks and blowing across the gravel road in front of her. She mashed her brakes and was coming to a stop when a tree hit the car's left side, violently throwing the car into a deep ditch on the right side of the road. Due to the spring rains and the rain that had

fallen that afternoon, the ditch was full of water. When the car finally stopped moving, my wife was on her right side against the right passenger door, crushing my three year old little girl, and they were both underwater. I heard the roar of that wind ahead of me. I was tightening down the first lug and I picked up the pace even more. Finally, the tire was secure, and I ran back to the driver's side door, leaving the old tire and jack laying in the middle of the road.

My tires dug into the gravel and I was in motion, working my way through the gears as fast as possible, and I gained speed. I have no idea how fast I was going. When I hit the first tree that had been blown across the road. My body slammed into the steering wheel as the car lurched up over a large pine tree. When I came to a stop, I could not see anything through the windshield. It was covered with pine needles, and the rain fell in thick white sheets.

I gathered my wits about me and threw the car in reverse to try and get off of the tree. The car would not budge. I kept on the gas, hoping my rear tires would grip something and free me from this tree. But it was no use. I got out of the car and jumped three feet to the ground through the mass of pine tree limbs. The car was off the ground, with the rear tires barely touching the gravel. I needed weight on the back of the car, but where would I get it, and there was nothing

I could do. I was filled with rage. My three girls were in trouble and I could not get to them. My wife suddenly realized what was happening. She had raised her head above the water and caught a breath of air. She was alive, and her thoughts became clear and sharp. Mothers are that way when their children are in danger. There is something primal, almost animal like, that comes over a mother of any species that causes her to become crafty and clever in the most extreme conditions in order

to do anything required to keep her children safe. My wife could feel our daughter under her, kicking and clawing for air. She had reached below her and pulled her daughter to freedom beside her. Suddenly able to take in air, our daughter began to cough and spit water she had swallowed and inhaled. It is not like the movies when a drowning person is pulled from the water and someone does chest compressions causing the victim to spit water up, and then the victim smiles and all is good. Know,

when a human inhales water, it is very painful. Even more painful for the body to expel all the water from their lungs and throat. It takes a long time before they can fully breathe again. So our daughter suffered through the agony of expelling muddy ditch water from her lungs for days after this event. But as she coughed and vomited, my wife pushed her towards the driver's side door,

which was above them. Now she reached to roll the window down successfully and finally sent our daughter into the falling rain outside, where she held on to the window edge to keep from sliding off into the ditch again. But there was another child in the back seat who had been asleep. It was our nine month old little girl. She had been laying in a baby seat in the

middle of the bench back seat. My wife looked over into the back seat and saw her feet kicking, making small splashes in the water that filled the right side of the car. Still today, my wife has nightmares of those tiny feet wiggling in the water back at my car. My rage heightened at my predicament. In a fit, I jumped back onto the threshold of the door and climbed over onto the hood of the car, hoping to look ahead and see my wife's car. But the rain continued

to fall. I did not see any other trees ahead of me. I knew if I could just get free from this tree and get past it, I might have a chance to keep moving. I began to curse and jump on the hood of the car. I was very angry to be stuck here. I noticed the front of the car began to rock forward, and I kept jumping, causing the car to tilt or see saw back and forth. Then a loud pop, and the car settled onto the tree. A branch had broken, and the car fell some distance.

I jumped back off and saw that the rear tires were now firmly on solid gravel. I started the car, and this time I put the car in forward gear and mashed the accelerator to the floor. The car lurched forward a foot or two, and then it stopped. I punched the gas again, and I was moving inch by inch. Please keep moving, Please keep moving, I whispered to myself, over and over until I was free of the tree

and rolling down the road again. My wife tried to crawl back into the back seat to save our baby, but she could not get over the seat. The muddy water made the vinyl seat cover slippery, and she was in a bad position to work her body over the seat. She reached and could feel our daughter's sock covered foot, but could not pull her free because she was strapped into the baby seat, which was loosely held in place

by the old seat belts of those days. She began to panic and screamed at the top of her loans as she cried out to God to help her save her baby. The car moved. In her panic and agony, my wife felt the car move, then move again. She looked up at our oldest holding on to the car door, and saw her looking towards the back of the car. She had stopped coughing and her eyes were wide open,

almost in a trance. As my wife looked upwards through the driver's word, a large, dark figure hovered above our oldest. Oh God, what now, my wife thought, and my oldest disappeared from view. Within seconds, a large hand reached into the driver's window and wrenched onto my wife's shoulder. She remembers it being very painful. She was lifted out of the car and gently set onto the muddy gravel on the road. It was a huge beet standing in front

of and over the two women. Astonished at what she was looking at, and at a loss for words, she remembered our youngest and screamed at the creature that there was another child in the car. The creature cocked its head like a dog does when it hears a strange sound. My wife got up and ran towards the car, pointing

at the back seat window. She then ran off down into the water and began to claw at the undercarriage of the car, grabbing mufflers, exhaust pipes, anything she could reach to get up to the side of the car. She fell back into the water, came back up on her feet, and tried again. She could not climb to gain access to her baby. I was moving at at least sixty miles per hour when in my headlights I saw a car lying on its side in the ditch. I could see figures standing on the road next to

the car. Oh God, let it be someone else, I whispered to myself. The rain fell straight down, the wind was gone. I punched the gas pedal, and then I saw a large figure in the distance jump onto the side of the car. The car sank deeper into the ditch from the weight of this thing. I was closer now and I could see clearly what was happening. I slowed. The dark figure lifted its leg and broke the glass of the window. It laid flat on the side of the car and was fishing with its arm for something

in the back seat. I could see my oldest daughter now, and this confirmed my worst nightmare. This was my family. I came to a complete stop and jumped from the car and started running I could see my wife now in the water, clinging to the underside of the overturned car. She was crying and screaming at this thing on the car. I hit the ditch at a full run and climbed up the rear bumper, slipping and falling several times until I made it on to the side of the car.

I was about to jump onto the creature that was reaching into the car, when suddenly its body lifted upright in a quick motion. There was a wet yellow blanket in its huge left hand, my daughter. It had my little girl. I started to lunge and try to pull her from its hand, but the creature reached over me, clinching down on the back of my leg. It lifted me straight up, upside down and jumped with my daughter in one hand in me and the other to the road.

It gently laid me onto the gravel. It then moved to the ditch and moved my wife out onto the road beside me. If this was not strange enough, it lifted its left hand to see what it had removed from the car. My daughter's legs hung limp between the creature's fingers. There was no life there. My wife began to cry and moan and begged the creature to hand my daughter to her. But the beast just looked at

the baby in its hands. It clearly knew it held a baby, and I saw a gentle posture come over its whole being, taking a deep breath with a long exhale, the massive right hand moved over my daughter's body, and one large index finger gently pressed on my daughter's tiny chest. My wife went silent. All I can remember was silence and rain, And in the glow of those headlights, I watched a female sisquatch gently pushed water from my daughter's lungs.

One small amount of water spit above her little mouth, and then another, and then another, and then she coughed, and then she cried, and we all cried, and the beast looked at us and smiled in a strange way. She lowered herself on to one knee and handed our daughter to my wife. Then she stood up. She arched her back as if to say this was a good day. She inhaled a massive amount of air and expelled it with a loud moan. It sounded like a thousand pound wolf.

I heard others inside the trees. She stepped into the flooded ditch and came up on the other side. She looked aback once and then she was gone. Headlights from a tractor broke us from our trance. It was my father in law. He had no idea what was happening and had thought to patrol the road to make sure no one needed any help after that storm. He didn't know he would drive up on his own daughter's family. We had to wait in my car for an ambulance to get to us and take my girls to the

hospital to be examined. It seemed like ours. On the following Wednesday, we were back in Memphis and my girls were okay. We were a family again. It became obvious two years later that my youngest daughter had suffered minor brain damage from lack of oxygen on that day. There were no tests then to see what the effects had been, so we had to wait. The disability is not bad, and she is now a productive member of society now. The damage was not to her learning abilities. It was

only to a few motor skills and physical abilities. But she still plays softball with a group of girls she grew up with, so it has not affected her ability to enjoy her life, nor did it affect her chances to become a veterinarian. She works for one of the largest zoos in the nation and specializes in and cares for primates. My wife and I go back to that spot in the road every Easter Sunday and leave a huge bag of goodies a short distance into the woods.

We don't know who takes the bags, but the next morning they are always gone. We like to think that the sisquatch remember us too.