Pete squatted low to the ground like a fat toad and stuffed the plate and utensils into his backpack, but still had trash leftover from breakfast lying nearby.

"Here's a bag to put that in," I volunteered.

"I'm tossing it out."

"Don't do that. You should follow the motto Take only photographs; Leave only footprints. If you packed it in, it should be packed out."

"It's only a plastic bottle."

"I'll look the other way if you want to throw out an apple core or sour grapes, but a plastic bottle is not natural. It won't bio-degrade."

His chubby cheeks became flushed with rage,"Come on, give me a break!"

"It could cause a chain reaction that is catastrophic."

"Nobody is going to take away my right to litter." He picked up the bottle and leaned backwards as far as he could, and heaved it farther than a shot-putter on the U.S. Olympic team.

"Noooo"!" I dashed into the woods while it was still in flight. I searched near ferns that glistened with last night's raindrops and by a pile of rocks that sparkled with quartz, but did not see it.

"The great eco-warrior can't find it," he heckled. "I thought you had radar like a vampire bat, but you can't do anything out here without your GPS."

When I drove back to town, neither of us said a word. All I could think was: How could I not find such a shiny thing? I dropped him off, and we went our separate ways. I could never figure out why he threw the bottle away much less comprehend how it would shape the woods' history and beyond …

Nothing happened for quite a spell. Even rain clouds and fog refused to settle in the valley, allowing the blazing sun to scorch every inch of soil until it became bone dry. One day a red fox spotted a mouse that would make a tasty and moist morsel.

But Buster, the mouse, saw the fox drooling, and was a brash tough guy as far as mice go. No hawk, coyote, black bear, or fox was going to take him easy. He scurried around a tree trunk with the fox less than a step behind.

The fox was ready to snag him in his teeth when his foot slipped on the plastic bottle, making him fall. He bounced up just as quick, but his breakfast was gone. Buster had dived into a hole underneath a root, as safe as a stash of cash in a bank vault.

Buster wasn't the only mouse saved that day. Scooter was smaller and faster. As fast as a bullet sometimes. If the fox had eaten breakfast, he would have had a burst of energy to catch Scooter for lunch. But he saw the mouse dart into a clump of grass and decided right there not to give chase because of his gimpy foot. For the rest of the day he ate nothing but bugs and worms.

And Scooter, like most folks, was unaware of his good fortune. He lived in a comfy home inside a hollow log, ate super-sized meals in a farmer's field, and was blessed with a happy-go-lucky wife who never complained. But he never woke up in the morning and said thank you for all the gifts he received.

The next day Buster and Scooter sneaked their families into a nearby farmer's field to feast on a smorgasbord of bell peppers and peas, squash, onions, tiny ears of corn, and eggplant. They were nibbling on some sweet strawberries for dessert when Blackie, the crow, came by and perched on the fence to watch. He cawed to his buddies in the woods and before long a half dozen crows were cawing with him. "Boom … boom … boom … " The mice heard the giant's footsteps shaking the ground so they hid underneath the leaves of plants and the straw mat covering the field.

"What's this?' thundered a voice. "You darn pests are eating my vegetables."

The leaves and straw stirred as the mice trembled.

But the giant cocked a shotgun and snarled,"I'll show you cackling at me." A blast sent a sound wave that rocked everything nearby and pellets smacked against the fence and caught several wings, making feathers fly.

"Kraak" shrieked the crows in terror as they scattered.

The farmer stomped into his barn and found several flimsy pieces of wood that had once been part of a fence railing busted apart by a bucking steer. He had fidgety fingers and a forlorn face from always having too much to do, but was determined to end this problem. He carried the wood into the field and hammered a frame for a scarecrow, one fence railing being the backbone and legs, and another mounted horizontally for the arms. He slipped a pair of old pants on it and a blouse from his wife's wardrobe which would scare the dim-witted crows with its bright colors and sequins jingling in the breeze. On top the post he placed an old cap and a tinfoil pie pan for the face. Several scarecrows were erected in this fashion until his hands were full of blisters and every bone ached.

He trudged into the farmhouse kitchen and collapsed.

His wife fixed him a cup of coffee and gazed out the window. "Where'd you get all those rags for the scarecrows?"

"I borrowed your blouses."

"My blouses?"

"Yep." He sipped the coffee. "We got to protect our crops."

"You cut up my clothes?"

"You weren't using them for anything."

"Maybe I would use them if you took me out once in awhile. I remember when we used to dance at the American Legion on Saturdays."

"We're not spring chickens anymore," he chuckled.

"No, you're not." She tossed a potholder onto the table. "Since then you've turned into a snail that doesn't love me anymore."

"Martha, we've been married forever. We got two grown daughters."

"That's right. We do. I'll pack my stuff and visit one of them this weekend." She huffed and stomped out of the room.

When Martha arrived at her daughter's house, the pounding of her shoes woke up her son-in-law, Pete. "Uh? What?" He had been snoozing in-between the innings of a baseball game and now heard her jabbering nonstop to his wife. Why was she there inside his house on the other side of town? He hunkered down on the sofa, hoping she didn't see him.

"Get your feet off the coffee table," Martha roared.

"I'm sorry." He slid them off. "I didn't know this was your home."

"Pete," sighed his wife,"my mom will be staying with us for a few days."

"What did we do to deserve this?"

"Oh, you know how it is. She needs a break from the routine. Isn't it wonderful having her here."

He glanced behind him at the two women. His mother-in-law had a large nose that got longer when she pried into other people's business. So he had to please her,"Sure, it's wonderful."

"Your father is the rudest man I've ever known," she whined to his wife. Then she went into a long-winded spiel about how her blouses were torn up to make clothes for scarecrows, and she emphasized the word scarecrows as though that was the dirtiest word in the language. She paused and lashed out at him,"Why are you watching TV when you should be working?"

"The Nationals are playing. They might win today. The Phillies pitcher has an ERA of over six runs per game."

"You're watching a game," mocked his mother-in-law. "A real man would be working around the house helping his wife."

"Doing what?'

"Weeding the garden, trimming the bushes, cutting the lawn, painting the front door, unclogging the storm drain, shining the doorknobs, cleaning the kitchen floor!"

He didn't know how long she would be standing there yelling at him, but he knew it was going to be a l…o…n…g weekend.

If only Pete had known when he threw away that plastic bottle that it started a chain of events that could not be stopped, maybe he would have had second thoughts. But he wasn't smart enough to put two and two together. And like most stupid things done, they boomerang their way right back home.