Herne From Swiftwater Valley Stories Joseph Kantor   © Copyright 2026 by Joseph Kantor

Image courtesy of Freepik Spaces

I drove my antique Lincoln Continental across the acre of hardened ground between the road and the back door of my farmhouse. The headlights of the car bounced over the wavy lawn…an old pasture really…and danced on the white side of the house until the sensor lights above the back porch blazed alight. The other three acres of property remained dim or completely dark.

It was good to be home…finally… after a soul-sucking workday and a bit of grocery shopping. As usual, I stopped for a gallon of milk but ended up spending sixty dollars on items I could have done without. I pulled the bags from the back seat of the car, kicked the door shut with my right foot and turned toward the porch steps.

The groceries dropped to the ground and my lower jaw sank to my chest simultaneously, for standing twenty feet across the yard from me was what looked like a big man: six feet six at least and staring at me with deep brown eyes sparkling in the light. His legs like two tree trunks were slightly splayed. My heart thudded and my senses jangled, not only because he was heart-stopping handsome, but also because he looked as though he could inflict enormous damage upon my person. I could not say whether he exerted some sort of glamour on my vision, but it is the only way I can account for not seeing him clearly from the first as I was not inebriated with alcohol or drugs of any kind.

Large hooves supported those long, muscular legs that broadened into his massive chest and withers. His chiseled head sat atop a long neck and supported an enormous rack of antlers that seemed to go on several feet.

“Herne!?,” I stuttered in a dry-mouthed whisper. “Welcome!” What else could I say? Was I really speaking to a big buck?

His mouth curved a bit in an amused smile seeming to acknowledge my words and wonder. A slight nod revealed even more of his huge rack. My dazzled eyes could not count them, but it looked like there were dozens of points.

I had been feeding the does and their fawns since I had moved to the little farm. I loved to watch them chew on the slices of white bread I threw to them every evening. In the fall, I threw them ears of Indian corn and smashed whole pumpkins for them to eat. They, like the cats, relished popped corn and potato chips. On more than one occasion, these beautiful creatures climbed onto the back porch to eat the kibble I left out for the cats and any who needed to eat.

I was trying hard not to babble, but his sheer poise forced me to speak again.

“I’m so pleased to meet you and glad you came to see me.” Our breath hung in the frigid air. “You are always welcome here…all of you are safe here.”

His beautiful eyes gleamed even more as though he knew what I was saying, as though he appreciated the sentiment? I could not say, but he spoke to me without speech…touched me…so deeply.

Slowly he turned to his left exposing the full extent of his antlers and the length of his body. With unfathomable grace and rippling muscles, he made his way down the slope beside the house and under the apple tree to the road in front. His stateliness drove me to speak again.

“You don’t have to go!” I said, but he did not look back. Then: “Thank you for coming. You will be with me always.” Tears welled in my eyes.

I watched him cross the road and fade into the thick forest on the ridge across from my property. I knew I had been granted a gift from the universe, from the Great Spirit, that few ever receive or perceive.

Only later that evening, once I recovered from this otherworldly experience, did I realize that Herne was Lord of the Forest in British Isles mythology not a spirit of the woods in western Pennsylvania. Yet, I know I saw him and connected with him, fellow creatures on a cold, clear October night.

And I remain grateful for the experience to this day.

~The End~