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October 19. 2009
Elk Camp, Part II
I’ve been thinking about time and space lately. The
kind of time and space that makes you go back to the house
you grew up in and sit outside in your car and think about
all the things that happened in that house. We do that, we
all do, and it’s almost like those places hold something,
some remnant that reaches out and touches the memories you
have in your head and hold in your heart. It’s the connection
our heart and head strives for. I can’t think of any
science that supports this, but it’s clear. Places from
our past draw us to them, over and again. The trick is should
we always go back?
I am certain that Bob goes back to Electric
Mountain and Elk Camp and Colorado because he loves the camaraderie
of the guys and the beauty of the place and well, yes, there
is the hunt. Being that he is largely Silent Bob, we don’t
talk much about any other reasons he goes back. There is only
one reason, however, that I go back. In the weird way that
this kind of time and space works, there are no memories there
for me. It’s only one thing, where my oldest son went
to Heaven from and I go there, well, to get something. Whatever
God will give me. Elk Camp, the second time, 2009.
We started the long drive up from Houston,
Janet the Night Owl, driving through driving rain and far
west Texas and as the song goes, Amarillo by morning and by
the time we got through the pass that got us on the west side
of the divide, it was lunch time. “You want to go through
Jake’s canyon?” Bob asked. “Sure”
I reply. It’s the long way to Paonia, but it was the
way they had gone. As Bob and I drove, we both thought about
how Jake had wanted to stop and look over the rim of the canyon,
into the giant, beautiful crevice seared into that little
section of Rocky Mountains. Jake had made his uncle and dad
get out, with a golf club and balls and hit the balls into
the canyon. It was such a Jake thing to want to do, to take
the time to do. It matters little, that I actually never heard
Jake’s words or saw the golf balls fly down deep into
that canyon, it was only his Dad’s memories that placed
the story in my mind. But this Mother’s heart knows
her children too well, to not see exactly how those happy
moments played out on the rim of the canyon. “You want
to stop”, Bob ask. “Sure”, I say. The canyon
is beautiful, and as I listen to the hawk overhead in a clear
blue sky that shows nothing of the rainy night we just drove
through, I take a deep breath. I like this canyon. I like
how little it makes me feel and I like that my Jake really
liked it.
“Now what is your plan to get back to
Houston,” Bob asks, when we get back in the car and
start winding through mountains. In some places the Aspens
have lost their leaves and the bare ghostly white-barked sentinels
make a patchwork pieced with evergreens. I notice in other
places, more protected valleys, they still hold onto their
leaves, yellow and glistening coins in the sun, nature’s
own kind of currency. “I am going to use one of Neil’s
passes to get out of Grand Junction day after tomorrow. You’re
sure the guys don’t mind if I spend the night tonight,
right.” My silent Bob has asked them and I look closely
at him, for tell tale signs that the men of Elk Camp felt
forced into compliance by this request. “No, they are
happy to have you. Kenny and Mike said they were glad to get
to see you.” Bob says, and it’s the way he says
it that I know it’s true. Granted, there is a certain
measure of special dispensation given me, a mother who lost
her son at Elk camp, but after four years, well, who knows
when the statute of limitations runs out on these kinds of
things. They didn’t have to be generous about it. Tragedies
create so many undercurrents, for everyone.
“I think I will check one more time
to see what the loads coming out of Grand Junction look like,”
I casually mention to Bob. (For those of you uninitiated,
who have never had a beloved brother who, when becoming a
pilot for a major airline, provides you with the opportunity
to use passes, it’s all about standby). The second I
pull up the list I know I am in trouble, deep, deep trouble.
Both flights out of Grand Junction are oversold. I will never
make it out of there. The seriousness of this issue is dawning
on me as I eat my McDonald’s Angus burger and drip mayo
onto the only shirt I brought with me. Not one to be quelled
easily, I start scheming. I absolutely must stay only one
night in Elk Camp. It’s my own rule. I am the only woman
who has ever been allowed to even stay and there is no way
I would push for more. It’s not just them, you see.
I love that they let me in for the 24 or so hours that they
do, because for a lot of that time they pay me the greatest
compliment by forgetting I’m a girl and they just act
like they would if I wasn’t there. (I know this the
case because they talk almost exclusively about sex and they
have a lot of gas, although they do slip and apologize for
the occasional bad word.) It’s the closest thing this
side of heaven of being a fly on the wall I will ever have.
So, not one to wear out my welcome, I gotta get out of Elk
camp before the sun goes down on a second day. “Bob,
I’ll just take a bus or shuttle to the nearest town
that I can get a flight out of,” I say with great confidence.
“Stop at the next town and I will get some information.”
Three towns later and just outside Paonia,
I am trying to figure out how about 100 square miles of Colorado
towns and country side have no, I mean as in ZERO bus service,
taxis, or shuttles. “Stop anywhere you think I can ask
someone if they want to earn $100 to drive me to Denver,”
I tell Bob. Silent Bob turns to me and says nothing. Bob decided
a long time ago that this was the most productive strategy.
“Stop anywhere that might have someone who needs money
or might know somebody who does.,” I say as if this
is the most normal request a middle aged woman could ask of
her husband. He parks the car.
Within 20 minutes I got a deal with the local
real estate agency who is pretty sure that an agent who is
going into Denver will give me a ride. Good plan, except she
isn’t going for two days and Paonia Realty doesn’t
know about my one day only Elk camp rule. Meanwhile, Bob’s
been canvassing the locals and found out that the radio station
thinks it might be worthwhile making an announcement, but
if push comes to shove, the morning DJ says he can probably
make the trip in with me in the afternoon. The woman whispers
to me conspiratorially, “We know him, you can trust
him,” I’m feeling good now.
We stop at the local quick stop and I jump
out, just one more possible option to explore. The young guy
behind the counter seems a bit on the jumpy side and as I
explain my situation, his eyes get kind of glazy. “Lady,
I don’t even know anybody who owns a car.” The
old woman who is ordering a coffee, says, “I bet you
could just get on the road and hitchhike. There are always
people heading that way.” For the slightest second,
something way back in my brain, says I have pushed things
too far.
As we head up the mountain to a place where
not even Verizon knows how to get to, I know that everyone
in town knows my cell phone number (or will after the radio
announcements tonight) and I let my mind go back to the reason
I came this way. The tree Jake hit isn’t very far from
camp and we will pass it soon, as up and up over gravely road
we head. Fat snow flakes hit the window. They are wet ones,
melting almost before they land. Just before the curve, Jake’s
tree to the left and as we step out of the car, I wonder at
all the homemade white crosses and makeshift monuments that
mark a million roads. Families just like us and I marvel again
at that time and space thing and the heart or soul that makes
us humans want to visit and mark places such as this.
Bob and I have already made plans to repair
the plaque that marked Jake’s going home place and I
guess both of us just filed away what we would do before I
left tomorrow with, well, whoever I ended up with.
Camp was empty, looking a little bit like
a slightly battered village, the mess of tents testament to
how much preparation goes into the whole thing. I spied the
tiny, farthest away tent, and thought about that cold toilet
seat in the morning and the only slightly less farther one
where I could take a shower and then step out into 20 degree
wind. Mmmmmm. Okay, maybe I wasn’t completely honest
about the reason for the 24 hour rule. We started unpacking.
I began to get a little uneasy. We unloaded Bob’s cot
and then we unloaded Bob’s sleeping bag, and then we
unloaded Bob’s pillow (the guns and everything else
were coming out, but you might have some idea where I’m
going with this) and finally I said, Bob, where am I sleeping?
He thought he could be silent. “Bob, did you bring me
a sleeping bag or a cot?” He knows he has to say something.
“You can sleep with me.” I would like to think
that Bob had visions of He Dances with Wolves on his mind.
I might have been convinced if Bob has brought along even
one big ole buffalo hide.
I left Bob to his organization and for whatever
reason walked down to Jake’s tree. I don’t know
what Bob thinks every year when he comes to Elk camp and passes
by here. I know there wouldn’t be a single time that
I passed that it wouldn’t tear at my heart. As I got
closer to the tree I see its dying. I don’t know if
its old age or disease, odd bits of bark and deeper tree tissue
have fallen along the base. There is dead fall all around
it and I stand a bit away and let my mind think whatever it
wants and whatever prayers come. I don’t want to be
here and I don’t want to leave. What I will come to
know as I travel down this road about 8 times in the next
24 hours, to get a cell phone signal and message for my ticket
out of here, in daylight and dark, is that this tree lies
right at a turn in the road that banks left and down. I will
come to know that even in my car, let alone a four wheeler,
it only takes a little bit to lose traction on the gravel
that fits loosely in this road bed. It was a crappy, tragic
accident. As I stand there and let time and space flood me
with memory, it starts to snow. Big thick, heavy flakes, fall
and make no sound and stick and the woods are quiet as this
place is blanketed. I just stand until I am done. Flakes and
tears on my cheeks, I head back up to camp.
Of course, I wouldn’t be writing this
if I didn’t get home. I did. And no matter the road
to get back, which had little to do with my scheming and mostly
with my Silent Bob on the Colorado end and my beloved brother
on the other, it’s all about that time and space thing
and each moment its filled with that keeps me thinking tonight.
I think it’s a good thing to have memorials.
I think it’s a good thing to visit places that mean
something to you. Happy Monday and this week I hope that you
visit that place where time and space take you close to someone
you love.
Bible verse of the Day: Matthew 17 After six
days Jesus took with him Peter, James and John the brother
of James, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. 2There
he was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun,
and his clothes became as white as the light. 3Just then there
appeared before them Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus.
Peter said to Jesus, "Lord, it
is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three
shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah."
Quote of the day: When you are sorrowful
look into your heart
and you shall see that
you are weeping
for that which has been
your delight
~ Kahlil Gibran
|
Pat
Ferguson, Jake's friend from Guard, deploying to
Middle east soon. 
