The Dynamic Duo

I had a rather interesting morning yesterday, at least interesting to me. Lately I have been taking ” the boys” for some monster walks. Murphy and Rowdy have become so used to our morning walks that if it starts getting a little late and they are afraid I may have forgotten, they come and get me, stare fixedly at their leashes and then try to pull them down. On this particular day, we were walking by Carlin Pond, a very small body of water on the edge of town. The area around the pond is also called “The Chinese Gardens” because of the Chinese immigrants who used to live there and grew extensive vegetable gardens. Now it is also a nature walk/study area. Anyway, as we approached the pond, I could see a boy fishing, and it looked he had just caught a nice trout about a foot long. The little pond is occasionally stocked with trout from that elusive fish hatchery UltraDad and I couldn’t find (see Mud, Maps and Mystery). The boy looked up and I cleverly commented “Looks like you caught a fish.”
“Yeah,” he said, “But I can’t get the hook out of his mouth.” On closer inspection, it was evident that Mr. Fish had swallowed the hook. As far down as I could reach I couldn’t feel any part of the hook; just a mess of worms. “I guess you’ll just have to pull it out,” I offered. “But I want to throw him back. Guess I’ll just have to cut the line and let him go.” That generated a conversation on whether or not the fish would survive with a hook in his gullet. Finally Jeremiah (I later asked his name) asked “Do you want him?” “Uh, sure!” I said with sudden decison. “If you have a sack I can carry him home in.” Jeremiah emptied his plastic Walmart sack and gave me the fish. I was a tiny bit nervous as I had not yet purchased my fishing license, so the boys and I hightailed it home, cleaned the fish and put him in the fridge.
UltraDad’s reaction, when he got home from work that evening, was not what I expected. “Why did you take the fish?” “Well,” I answered uncertainly, “I thought it would die with that hook , and I thought we could eat it.” “I’M not going to eat it,” he declared. “And he would have been fine with the hook.” Well how was I supposed to know that? Seems to me that swimming around with a fishhook in your belly would make living a bit uncertain. And now I have to eat it just to prove a point…I’m not really sure what point, but that doesn’t matter. Anyway, kind of fun and different.
Easter (today) was quite different at my house without any actual kids around. I didn’t even get any Easter cards or packages sent out this year, which is something I usually try to do, at least to my children. I thought perhaps they really didn’t even care, but when I mentioned this to Jimbo today, he said, “I know” or “I noticed” or something that made me think he did care and wished I had. Instead I bought a couple of Easter toys for my new boys, Murphy and Rowdy. I got them a package of sparkly, glittery, jingly, cat toys and they have had great fun dismantling them. I even caught Polly, the actual cat, playing with one of the little catnip mice. But no chocolate candy and no colored hard boiled eggs. Sigh. I did go to church this morning and sang in the choir, and we sang all the old lovely standard Easter songs: Christ the Lord is Risen Today, He Lives, In the Garden and Lord I Lift Your Name on High. And I brought home a spare Easter Lily which is livening and ‘spring-timing’ up my house This afternoon the boys and I walked over to Pat’s house, and then invited her to give us a ride home and stay for lunch.
You may remember in the post about Jim’s visit when I mentioned our visit to the Mike P. Jordan Memorial Tree Grove. I said I would tell you more about it at a later date. This seems a good time for that, since this is turning into a relatively short post. I have an inmate working in my store now who used to work in this tree grove. Yes, he was still a prisoner at the time, but at this minimum security ‘conservation camp’, as it is called, prison work crews go out every day and perform a variety of tasks, including city clean up and firefighting, and just about anything else you might think of.
‘Brain” is a 50ish year old black man who has been in prison for much of his life. He once told me he was given the nickname “Brain” from a young inmate who told Brain that his bald head reminded him of Brain from the cartoon “Pinky and the Brain,” and it stuck. One of the officers told me it was because he was smart and always thinking, which is also true. I hired him to work in the prison store after firing Travis, whom I was pretty sure was stealing from me. Brain and Ricky, the other guy who has been with me for nearly a year now, are great in the store, and the frequent shortages have become a thing of the past. Brain likes to write and sometimes brings in stuff for me to read. This particular piece was written a couple of years ago when he was, for a time, the caretaker of the tree grove. I found it interesting and hope you do also.

Die or Fly

In this Great Basin, there is a not so well known botanical masterpiece. Nestled between the Youth Training Center Campus and the Nevada Division of Forestry, and a field of tumble weeks and grazing cattle is the Mike P. Jordan Memorial Tree Grove.
But before I go any further, you should know a little background. on March 3rd 1977, Mike Jordan, an employee of the Nevada Division of Forestry, developed a plan for what was to be a plant materials testing facility. And with an agreement between the Nevada Youth Training Center and the Nevada Division of Forestry, combined with the assistance of Botanists from the University of Nevada, trees and shrubs were planted between 1980-1983.
Today, in the midst of this desert, lies a gated (to keep out livestock and rodents) a 2 and 1/3rd acre oasis. Within this oasis flourishing are Ponderosa Pine, Norway Spruce, White Fur, Lombardy Poplar, Japanese Rose, Mountain Mahogany, and a total of 45 different species of trees and shrubs. It’s a summertime must see for anyone who has the opportunity.
The tree grove became an unsuspecting habitat for bats, turkey vultures, hawks, doves and owls and her lies the real story.
I’m ‘Brain’, a guy who has lived 50 plus years without making one positive contribution to my family, my community or this nation. For over a decade I have been serving time in the Nevada Department of Corrections for one of my many negative contributions. Now I am allowed to work for N.D.F on an inmate work crew. My responsibilities include the instillation and maintenance of the tree grove’s irrigation system, and the pruning and thinning of trees and shrubs. I’m also preparing a walkway and more interpretive species signs for public viewing. What it boils down to is: I’m the caretaker.
I’m not sure of when or how Mike Jordan died, but I do know that I’m honored to nourish his dream and legacy.
Though this opportunity has been rewarding, my life has been such a waste that reflecting upon it is very painful. So much so that I’ve felt at times that dying would be less painful than thinking about or remembering the wasteland I have called a life.
Once during the early fall, while planting new seedlings, I wanted to just lie down in the autumn leaves and not wake up. Yes, I wanted to die. I sat down on a dirt mound thinking, “####, I’m tired of being locked up. But I have 3 more years to go. When I do get out, what the hell am I going to do? If I die right here in this tree grove, how would my mother take it?” And then, out of nowhere, this owl flies up, lands 10 feet away and just looks at me. The owl was so close I felt I could read his expression. He knew how I felt, and he felt sorry for me. I laughed so hard my side hurt, but the owl didn’t fly away. The crew boss called for me and I had to return to the prison.
The next day, while spreading pea gravel in a walkway, the owl returned. This time, he landed on a fence post. I started to talk to him and tell him about my life. No, he didn’t talk back, but I swear he was listening. Rarely does a day go by that the owl doesn’t visit me. Sometimes he just circles, but he lets his presence be known.
Now that I am at a place in my life where I desperately want to live, I’ve realized that the owl was actually the spirit of Mike P. Jordan watching over his tree grove. And in turn, he was also watching over me. And just like that fateful owl, I too “want to be like Mike!”

Free!

To live and make a positive contribution.