Operation Banana Drop took place after a conversation with a Sasquatch requesting I bring bananas as an offering and a way to build trust. It was to see if I would I listen. You can read more about the initial experience of meeting a Sasquatch here.
I set out to Drug Mart to buy a hand of bananas. That was new to me. I didn’t know the clusters were called hands. The clerk probably wondered why this tall human held two hands of bananas with a big smile on his face. Several times, I almost broke out laughing hysterically. It’s by far one of the most exciting things I’ve done and one of the craziest requests I’ve had.
Doug, the juniper gnome, and I waited until three, as requested. We left right before three to get to the park. When I pulled in, I found a great number of cars, more than usual.
“What if there are people there?”
Hetoe, the black Sasquatch from a few days ago, replies telepathically. “Don’t worry. We clear them out.” He taps his head, showing mental suggestions.
I get out of the car with my hiking pack, bananas and some apples inside, so I don’t look like a nutter walking into the woods during a chilly December day with bananas.
As we walk down the road that angles over the ridge, I see people in the distance walking towards us. Some are on the bridge. Another is farther away. Fishermen are fishing the river. They won’t be a bother.
Every person on the trail left immediately. They didn’t wait. They left. Immediately.
The only people who stayed were the fishermen standing in the middle of the river.
“What about them?”
Hetoe replied, “They don’t pay attention.”
I tried to go to my normal spot where I offer nuts and berries to the river. A group took up the area fishing, pushing me down the trail. They already told me I wouldn’t stop here. As always, they made a comment.
“See. We told you.”
I kept going. A little later, I found a spot by the river, away from human eyes. My offering made its way into the roaring waters. Away I walked.
Hetoe kept telling me which paths to take. Once I came closer to the downed trees, he said, “Over the trees.”
I walked over the trees they intentionally knocked down to block the path. Ahead he guided me to a tree someone cut with an ax on each side, just enough to keep the tree standing—an incredibly cruel act to do to any living thing tree or not. It made little sense to me. I stood there looking at the tree and apologizing for the stupidity of our counterparts.
Hetoe’s voice saddened. “That’s why we block trail.”
It’s not just the tree. There’s garbage everywhere. A thought ran through my mind. Maybe I’ll bring a garbage bag out. I usually have bags in my pack. For several reasons, one being a rotting beer can leaking in my pack to stain my journal with a foul scent, I no longer pick up trash without having ways to secure everything. Normally, I carry bags. Today I didn’t have them.
Hetoe picked up the thought. Thoughts are never private in telepathy.
Excited, he asked, “You clean trash?”
“Not today. I’ll try to come back with a bag.”
“Where do you want the bananas?” I don’t just place offerings anywhere in the forest. They tell me where to leave things. It’s more appropriate since they have places cleaner than a bare forest floor.
“I don’t see it.”
“Not here. Follow me.” I see him walking ahead of me.
This is about when I realize the image I saw of him a few days ago was accurate. I hadn’t been in this area when I saw him. It was long after. He telepathically connected. I watched him standing in a place of tall, dead grasses, muck, and several bare trees sparsely spread around the river. This was it. This was his spot.
I followed him to the ridge. Keep in mind, he’s not visible to my physical eye. My third eye does the work to see him in his natural form.
There’s a fisherman on the other side of the river drawing my attention. Humans bother me in the woods. Most aren’t kind. It’s the reason I have such a hard time building relations with nature beings on the East coast. We’ve damaged much of their world. In the South West, where the deserts keep us away, they are much more open and trusting.
Hetoe notices. “Don’t worry. He won’t bother you.” He guides me to a tree.
I walk to the tree and realize the base is what I call a portal tree. These are trees with multiple trunks from one source, sometimes multiple trees growing so close together they appear to be one. This base had at least six trunks. I forgot to count them.
Hetoe says, “Put bananas inside.”
I take out the hand of bananas.
He says, “Don’t forget to keep one. One apple too. For Sootee.”
I knew I needed to go to Sootee. She stood by the bridge pillar behind dense grasses taller than me. I’m six foot two inches tall. Those are some tall, dead grasses… potentially full of tick bombs. If you don’t know what a tick bomb is, it’s a head of grass filled with hundreds of deer ticks. I’ve had them explode on me in the woods, luckily never getting bitten, but covering myself, clothes, and pack in armies of the tiny blood suckers.
Seeing the grasses, I thought, Hell no. I’m not going through those.
After I dropped the bananas into the center of the portal tree, he said, “I’ll guide you there.”
Now, a portal tree isn’t necessarily a “portal” in terms of travel. I call it a portal tree because it’s an intense place of conscious energy where things are amplified. Fae beings (elves, pixies, goblins) often stand by these trees. They don’t always live in the trees. They use them for conscious work.
This was Hetoe’s tree, a place he could pull energy from.
He told me to walk along the base of the ridge. The ridge is steep. It’s not a gentle climb. You can walk the base a few feet, and then you’ll drop to hands and feet to walk higher. It’s experienced erosion over the years, releasing piles of shale and sandstone. That makes climbing especially difficult and dangerous.
I couldn’t see a path to take. Trees have fallen down the ridge. Grasses grow towards the edge, and you couldn’t pay me to walk through them.
Hetoe said, “Don’t worry about ticks. We protect you.”
“Uh, okay.” My hesitation was noticeable.
Hetoe guided me along the ridge, over stumps, down slopes. “Over here.” “Go that way.” “This way.”
It wasn’t the first time, nor will it be the last, that I’m guided by a spiritual being. The first notable time was in New Mexico when an ET friend guided me along paths in the desert, “hidden trails,” as he called them. These are trails I could see in my mind as he gave me directions. But when I looked at the physical nature of the world, there was no trail. Nothing. No animal signs. Nothing.
Yet, I found the trail.
Hetoe did the same thing. I could see the path long before I came to the location. He crossed me down deer trails and back off again when they turned.
We came to a waterfall.
“You camp here? We said we find good camping spot.”
I look around and realize I could camp here. There’s some trash, but it’s hidden far off the trail. Fire is unnecessary since I cold camp. This would be a perfect location to sit at night on a full moon. Just a small waterfall, a six foot flat spot, and the Sasquatch.
Hetoe was happy and smiling. “We go to Sootee.”
I climb the path with him behind me. He’s telepathically guiding me.
At times, he warns me of slippery areas, holes, and trees. “Be careful. Don’t slip.”
One time I slip and fall. He pushes his hand against his forehead and shakes his head. “I told you.”
Every time I’ve met a Sasquatch, they seem to be childlike, playful, joking. Don’t take that for a lack of intelligence. They are extremely intelligent, but they enjoy life. Everything is loving, even the sarcasm and jokes.
We come to Sootee by a bridge pillar raising hundreds of feet into the air. Cars drive over the highway.
Sootee is a little smaller than Hetoe. She has dark brown hair covering her body. This shy Sasquatch looks around the pillar, peeking like a child. There’s a hesitation.
The whole time, I talked to Hetoe. Sootee rarely connected. She connected briefly and told me where to place the banana and apple.
Now… I’m wearing a backpack, standing by a bridge pillar, and the first thing I think of are all the movies I’ve seen. They run through my mind at a hundred miles an hour.
Looking around, I make sure nobody can see me standing there.
There is no tree cover. I’m below the bridge so no cars above can see. But the area is open aside from extremely tall grasses on the other side of the pillar. The trail several hundred feet in the distance is also visible, coming out of the forest along the grasses before weaving back in.
I don’t want anyone to see me reach into my pack and drop something by a bridge pillar. That could be… bad until they realize it was a banana… and then I’m just some loon dropping a banana.
Nobody is around. I drop the fruits. Sootee thanks me, continuing to hide on the other side of the pillar as she peeks around.
Hetoe follows behind me. “You can go through there.”
I look up. Nothing but high grass stands in front of me with the ridge to my back. “I’m not going through there. I’ll go back.”
“No. You go through. There’s a path.”
I look and see a deer path, so I start walking.
Hetoe says, “Not there.”
At this point, I’m frustrated about the grasses. “I’ll use the deer path.” I can see the edge of the woods fifty feet through the grasses too. Either I go into the woods, or walk through the dense grass for hundreds of feet with swampy land around.
Hetoe says, “Wet there. Slippery. Soft.”
I walk. He’s right. At the base of the trail, I sigh as I debate walking into the grasses of the deer trail. My mind turns to tick bombs.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’ll go back.
Hetoe says, “I told you.”
I walk up to the ridge and over to the next bridge pillar. There are grasses, but only for ten feet and very sparse.
Hetoe says, “See. Better path. No ticks.”
I push down the grass, feeling bad for snapping it. Just the compassionate side of my nature for plants.
Hetoe states the obvious, “Don’t worry. Grass dead for winter.”
I walk through. He takes me down the ridge again to find the trail as we talk. There’s a downed tree blocking my way. I can’t go along the tree without hitting wet, swampy ground. The only way is over or under.
Hetoe shows me an image of him vaulting the tree with ease.
“I’m not that tall.”
“You can jump. Jump high.” He puts a leg on the tree. As though teaching me, “Like this.” He pushes over the tree.
There’s no way I’m vaulting this tree. “I’ll go under.”
“If you go under, you get dirty.”
“I’m fine with that.”
He turns to Sootee in the distance. “Human fine with dirt!” They clap and laughing happily.
“Uh, yeah. It’s just dirt.”
He’s extremely happy that I’m not worried about the dirt. I worried about my shoes the first time I met him because they were my everyday shoes, not my “let’s destroy these” hiking shoes.
I get down and crawl beneath the tree.
“Be careful. Pack get caught.”
I drop my back lower. The pack scrapes the tree. Before this, Hetoe would point out the branches I walked underneath. “Lower, pack get caught.” Occasionally, he laughed playfully when it caught and I got stuck. “Told you.”
We walked away from the tree.
He suddenly asks, “You no see at night?”
“Not very well.”
“Go now.” It’s almost forceful, like I angered him somehow.
“What? I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“No. Go now. Dark soon. Dark fast here.”
There are a couple of things to know. I’m in Northeast Ohio where it’s cloudy all the time. Today, the sun never broke through the clouds. It’s been gray all day with no way to tell the time. The area I’m in is a thin valley with ridges on both sides. When the sun sets, it’s going to get dark fast. The thoughts never even crossed my mind because I’ve never been out here after dark. Checking my phone, it’s also only four thirty… but… winter.
“I didn’t realize what time it was.”
“You go now. Don’t hurt yourself.”
“I’m going to go this way some more. I have time.”
“NO! Trail there!” Hetoe points into the distance.
“I’ll be okay.”
“Dark soon. Might trip.”
“I’ll be okay, Hetoe.”
“Human fragile. Take trail.” When he says human, it sounds like Whoomon with how deep his voice is, but it’s easier to read “human.”
I can feel his concern for my safety. He’s really concerned. It’s interesting. This isn’t the first time others have been concerned about my safety. Hetoe is genuinely concerned with me getting to the trail before it gets dark so I can get home safely.
I follow his instructions. We say goodbye, but he’s telepathically linked.
Then he follows me again.
“Are you still following me?”
“Yes. Human dumb. Don’t listen.”
Others might take it as an insult. It is said with the most loving intention ever. Hetoe states it as a fact. Nothing more. Not an insult. So he follows me.
I also have a tendency not to listen, to adventure and explore. He wants me gone from the woods before dark.
So then I slip.
I can feel his concern. “Not safe. Trail there.”
The paved trail appears. Then I see another trail, a more natural trail but one hiked on by others.
“I’m going to go this way.” I walk as it follows the paved path in the distance.
Hetoe shakes his head in disbelief. “Go trail. Dark soon.” He gets frustrated.
“I’ll be okay, Hetoe. I promise.”
“We worry. Protect you.”
It becomes an intense struggle to debate with him over this trail. Then it splits to the side. I can feel him pushing hard for me to go home. Deciding to head down the split to the paved path, he breathes a sigh of relief.
“Human don’t listen.”
We say our goodbyes. I head down the paved path for a mile or so to the parking lot. On the way, Hetoe follows for a distance.
“Are you still following me?”
“You don’t listen.”
Writing this, I’m laughing.
The conversations were serious, but looking back, they were pretty funny. He followed me to the hollowed, red oak trees where some Fae beings sit. At that point, the parking lot wasn’t far, and he was satisfied I would head straight home.
And operation “Banana Drop” was a success.