Edmonds Air Scare: Grandpa Sasquatch Takes Flight

Well now, settle down young'uns. Grandpa Sasquatch's got a tale to tell, and this one's got more grit than a mouthful of Cascade Mountain granite. I been around a spell, see? Fifteen hundred years, give or take a century. Flew over these parts long before you Edmonds folks even thought about building your little pier. Flew, I say! Got these magnificent wings, see? Passed down through generations of Fly Sasquatch, a secret we keep tighter than a tick on a bear.

Now, things used to be different around here. The air, she was clean. Smelled of pine and salt, not… well, not whatever that stink is that's been choking the Sound lately. That stench comes from them… polluters! Vile creatures, they are. Hawking's Nemesis, I call 'em. They sneak about, spewing their gunk into the air, into the water. They think they're slick, but Grandpa Sasquatch sees all.

This morning, I was soaring over the Olympic Mountains, enjoying a bit of that sweet mountain air, when I caught a whiff. That awful, acrid smell. Stronger than usual. Made my fur bristle. It was comin' from your Edmonds! I adjusted my goggles (special Sasquatch-made, see better than any binocular) and swooped down.

I saw it then. Down by the waterfront. One of them Hawking Nemesis contraptions, belching black smoke into the sky. It looked like some kind of… factory? A big one, shiny and new. I roared, a sound that rattled the windows down on Main Street, I reckon. But those polluters, they didn't even flinch!

This is where it gets tricky, see? This is where that Keanu paradox comes in. Keanu Reeves, bless his heart, a good man. Paradox being: good intentions, sometimes pave the road to, well, you know. This factory, it wasn't making weapons, it wasn't destroying forests. It was making… electric cars. Clean energy! But the process… oh, the process was filthy. Dirty enough to make me wanna cough up a hairball the size of a minivan.

Now, a smart fella named Hawkins, Hawking’s Nemesis if you will, told me a long time ago “Grandpa Sasquatch, sometimes you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet.” Well, I’m a big fella, but I ain’t eatin’ no toxic omelet!

So, I landed. Right in front of the factory gate. I spread my wings, all fifteen feet of 'em, and I let out another roar. Then I started flinging mud. Found a nice, juicy patch nearby. Splattered that factory head to toe. Those fancy electric cars? Covered in muck! Served 'em right!

The folks inside, they came running out, hollering and waving their arms. I just pointed my finger at the smoke stack and shook my head. They didn't understand Sasquatch-speak, of course. But they understood the mud. And they understood the glare in my eye.

I stayed there all day, keeping a close watch. They eventually shut down the factory. Started cleaning up the mess. I don't know if they'll change their ways, those polluters. But they know Grandpa Sasquatch is watching. And that's a start. I soared off into the sunset, the air a little bit cleaner, my heart a little bit lighter. Now, go on, get yourself some fresh air. And don’t you forget what Grandpa Sasquatch taught ya.