I have a tendency to be a hermit, and of late, I’ve had more reasons than usual to hide from the world as much as possible.

But it’s autumn, and from what I see out the window it’s been beautiful out there. The brilliant fall colors have started to fade and die, so I figure now is a good time to venture forth. To find once and for all, the source or at the least the setting for my hometown’s older tale of a local witch.

This of course isn’t Cato’s cabin, but there’s a good chance if it didn’t stand here, it stood nearby. It was already gone in 1890, but the day felt witchy from the moment I stepped into the forest. Before going closer, I listened for the sound of a cauldron bubbling, and wondered if I’d stepped back in time.

I started the day looking for folklore. I ended up finding history. Some days are like that. It’s a strange tale I have to tell.