My last name used to be Jones, but where I live now last names don't matter. We don't call everyone Hannah or Michael or other popular names used far too frequently, so there is no need to define who we are as individuals. My name is Heather, but my tribe calls me GoldWolf. We'll get to that later though.

I have never retold this story to any civil men, other than my husband. Forgive me for my handwriting; I haven't written much in the last 23 years. I didn't have any type of paper or writing utensils. I stole this mostly-empty journal from a civilized man's camp. Now that I have access to paper, I can write down a bit about my life.

It didn't go as planned, but I wouldn't have it any other way; this is how we became odd people, and this is how my husband became king of the Wild Kingdom.

It all started during spring break of 1995, when I was still Heather Mary Jones, traveling through Acadia National Park with my friends in a 1989 civic. We were heading to Canada, but we decided to take the scenic route instead of the quicker freeways. I didn't think much of our little detour, but it changed the whole course of my trip.

We didn't spend $20 on day passes just for the scenery though; my aunt Eleanore lived in the park. I didn't know her terribly well, but I knew she could cook up a mean lunch. We had called before leaving and Eleanore was thrilled to see me and my friends. I knew she wanted to see me, but honestly, I think she was more excited about having guests to cook for. She didn't have any family besides an ugly, three-legged russell terrier.

My friends decided that thunder hole rock was a necessary stop. It was pretty cool; a little spot by the harbor where water would splash against the square rocks, covering an underwater cave when the tide came in. The trapped air would rush up, causing a geyser of water to shoot into the sky every ten seconds or so.

I had seen it a handful of times before from visiting my aunt, and I had seen enough. My car sickness asked me to just sit down by the gift shop while my friends went to take pictures.

I munched on sunflower seeds, sitting cross legged on a moist park bench. The delightfully bitter, wet air made the loose hairs from my bun twist into soft waves. The moisture left a thin sheet of dew on my hands and face. Cold, thick air filled my lungs, pushing out the pollution and grime I had accumulated from Bostson.

Don't get me wrong, I loved Boston; The people were friendly and polite, the architecture was beautiful, historical sites were literally everywhere and there was always something fun going on. But the city was stifling and claustrophobic. It's important for people to get out of their routine, out into the fresh air and the healthy dirt.

After a few minutes of waiting, imagining my friends laughing and playing on the rocks, I regretted hanging back and considered clambering down by the ocean side, but the mysterious, inexplicable magnet of laziness kept my fingers reaching for sunflower seeds and my eyes on the horizon.

I didn't realize how beautiful and open Acadia was; great clouds of fog misted the air, hiding far away islands and painting closer ones into blue shadows. Rocky tree-topped islands poked from the silver water, swimming together like colonies of turtles. People clambered down by the sea shore, playing in the salty waves, taking pictures or drinking bottled soda. One little girl wearing nothing but a blue tank top and a diaper chased an angry seagull. I would have been worried, but her parents were close by, chuckling as they called their daughter back.

Maine was a beautiful state.

The gift shop door bell tinkled behind me and I turned around instinctively to see who had open the door. A tall boy dressed like a park ranger stomped out, carrying a bag of trail mix and fumbling with the change in his hands. I looked away once he noticed I was staring.

The boy sat on another bench to the left of me and opened his trail mix. He looked annoyed and smelled like sweat and dirt.

I finally decided to get off my butt and go down by my friends; my head had cleared enough. I searched for a garbage can to throw my seeds in, but the closest one I could see was across the parking lot, so I quickly tossed them in the bushes. They were organic, right? They'd just decompose. Plant material was supposed to be good for the soil or something like that.

"Hey, mam', you can't dispose of your trash in the vegetation."

I turned around, feeling my head grow hot. The boy had stood up and was pointing at the bush. If he had looked annoyed before, he was angry now. Now that I had a better look at him, I realized he was about my age, sixteen or so. He looked like a surfer guy, with shaggy blonde hair that stuck up in all sorts of places and olive skin. Sharp hairs sprouted from his chin, making him look older than his scratchy, post-pubescent voice told me he was.

"Um, sorry." I said, unsure of what to say. The kid didn't have authority to tell me what to do. "They're just sunflower seeds, they're biodegradable."

"Yeah, they'll decompose after a year," he growled. "but until then they just look like garbage. Garbage that I need to pick up. So just take care of your litter, and I'll let you enjoy your day at the park."

"What does that mean? You'll let me?" I said, starting to get annoyed with this kid.

"Yeah, without a fine." He said, putting his hands on his hips.

"You can't fine me, you're not a ranger." I said, noticing the lack of an arrow-head shaped badge on his shirt pocket despite the whole green shorts-hiking boots get up.

His nostrils flared. "No, but I'll get one."

I gulped. I couldn't get a fine, I didn't have any kind of job to pay for it. My dad would kill me if he found out he needed to pay something-hundred dollars for my laziness.

I glanced around for some kind of distraction, anything that would get me away from the junior ranger's tree hugging anger. I noticed a guy in the parking lot doing his best to buckle in a screaming toddler.

"Hey, I'd love to keep discussing this, but my dad is having a hard time with my sister." I pointed to the poor guy who was now retrieving an angrily kicked-off shoe. "I gotta go help him, so, um, bye!

I flashed an apologetic smile before dashing off to the parking lot. Unfortunately, the boy ran after me.

"Wait! You can't just leave!" He called out.

He was fast, so I sped up to a little more than my average sprint. My cross country coach would have been proud.

I whizzed past the mini van, the toddler's fake crying echoing faintly behind the panic in my mind. The boy was still chasing me, so I plunged into the dense foliage on the outskirts of the parking lot. Leaves, branches, ferns, trees and everything else that comes from the ground grabbed my legs and made me summersault across the muddy ground, which was quickly becoming a steep hill. The panic from the boy grabbing me was quickly replaced by the terror of summersaulting through a thick forest,  possibly towards a cliff.

Miraculously, my tumbling was stopped by a large, dark rock. I thumped my back on it, landing with my neck on the ground and my legs up in the air like an idiot. I sighed with relief, but quickly held my breath when I heard it growl.

The rock was furry, and smelled like a wet dog. It was actually a black bear, the size of the mini van I had just zoomed by.

I scrambled away under a bush, breathing heavily. The bear turned my way slowly.

I used to think bears were cute; my dog from Virginia had been named Grizzly. Winnie the Pooh and other lovable teddy bears had convinced me that, deep down, bears weren't so bad.

I changed my mind as my body stiffened, realizing this bear wasn't going to offer me something sweet from a honey jar.

It groaned, making a sound like a dull chainsaw grinding wood. I could see fog from its hot breath, cutting through the cool air. It was deep and heavy compared my own hyperventilating. As it lumbered closer, I could see fresh, dark purple scars across its gigantic black head. The scars sank into its eye sockets, blinding the great monster, but only in the eyes.

It sniffed around, searching for whatever it was that had so rudely thumped him. I heard a rustle in the foliage, like someone had jumped into a nearby bush. The bear heard as well and turned its head with me.

The boy stood there quietly, shaken but undaunted. He noticed the ugly scars, and his eyebrows lifted.

The bear sniffed towards the bush, searching for what had made the sound. It moved powerfully, but with uncertainty, like a tank with only one set of wheels.

The boy beckoned to me slowly, glancing between the bear and me. Despite my painful scratches and bruises, I propped myself on one elbow, then rolled onto the other one. When it hit the ground, a twig snapped, echoing through the clearing like a gun shot.

It was quiet, then the bear roared at me, throwing foamy saliva in my face and across the foliage that shielded me.

The boy interrupted the bear, roaring even louder. The sound scared me almost as much as it scared the bear; It quickly deflated, crouching down and tucking its knobby tail between its legs. The monster turned quickly and ran away in confusion.

I didn't breathe until the bear had disappeared into the foliage, and I didn't sit up until the frantic rustling dissolved into the swaying of the forest and the hum of the ocean.

The boy emerged from his hiding spot. "Are you alright?"

I nodded, breathing heavily.

"Good thing he was blind. Not much you can do to frighten a black bear if you don't look scary." He said, offering a hand to help me up.

I accepted it timidly, thinking the boy looked scary enough.

He crossed his arms, then said, "now, about your fine."

My mind flashed back to three minutes ago, which felt more like three days ago. "Oh. Yeah." My brain had given up on expert escape plans and conceded to the idea of doing the right thing and paying the dang fine. "Listen, I don't have any money right now. I can't pay a fine." I said with exasperation.

"That's alright, pay it when you're done with your trip." The boy said, keeping his arms crossed and his dark eyes fixed to my darting ones.

"No, I don't have any money. Like, at all. I don't have a job, I just turned sixteen."

"I'm fifteen, and I've had a job since I was eight," He said smoothly, cocking his head a bit, "but I won't give you crap about that. You'll have to work it off, then."

"Wait, what?" I stammered. "N-no, no, I can get some money."

He stared at me for a second. I didn't think he believed that I was capable of earning money, but he shrugged it off. "Okay. Let's get someone to do the paperwork."