First of all, I apologize for the length of this blog. I usually like to keep it short and relatively simple but that just isn't possible this go ‘round. If you so choose to take the time, sit back and relax with your favorite beverage and/or snack and read on.
Legacy
Not something I’ve thought much about.
Until this year.
The realization that Life’s slipping by and my “bucket list” seems to have a hole in it, was one of several reasons my thoughts kept going back to that topic. Rather than randomly rush into a million fragmented actions meant to haphazardly patch my rapidly leaking bucket, I sat back and waited to see what would come.
That’s where the true adventure would begin …
A “let’s stay home this summer plan” rapidly changed to a “let’s take a work camper job in Yankton, South Dakota plan” after I’d already made “staying home” commitments. Great….
Again, I reminded myself, “just sit back and wait to see what comes.”
Commitments were renegotiated and we set out for a summer in South Dakota.
Travel went smoothly. Time with family and friends was well spent and enjoyed. Work camper job was going well, new friends were made, our campsite was secluded, the campground was quiet and the paycheck was an added bonus.
Then, legacy opportunities began sprouting up like the crops in the fields surrounding us.
For the first time, in the 9 years we’ve been work campers, we were working shoulder to shoulder with high school and college students, instead of retirees. Whereas retirees will talk your leg off, these young adults didn’t even talk to each other, much less a couple of old folks! HA!
So…. we began a simple word exchange process with them. Nothing as scary as, “good morning, how are you?” Simply, “morning.” I figured anything more personal, which would require more than a one syllable response, would initiate a panic attack, or worse,
Bit by bit, during lunch times and while waiting for the day to end, an inkling of what could be considered the infant stages of a conversation would be attempted. Baby step victories.
The most interesting was a young man who was a high school senior. We had been warned that he was a “cocky-SOB-bully”, NOBODY enjoyed his company and he was avoided like the plague. Seeing this as a challenge, we both made efforts to speak to him, as an adult, not as a cocky-SOB-bully, and just see where it led. In a few short weeks, he openly began a friendship with Dave, based on Dave’s firefighter career, especially his Hotshot experience, which the young man thought was “bad ass.”
In the midst of all this, Dave applied for a Park Ranger job at the Granite Mountain Hotshots Memorial State Park, which you can see from our back porch, on the side of the Weaver Mountains. Again I think, “just sit back and wait to see what comes.”
And it came. The job offer.
Our bailing out of our South Dakota State Parks obligation was graciously accepted by supervisors and co-workers. On our last day the “Cocky-SOB-bully” respectfully said, “Dave, I won’t forget you," firmly shook our hands, sincerely wished us good luck and was clearly disappointed we were leaving.
Will this brief interaction with a couple of retirees, in some small way, have a lasting effect on this group of interaction deficient young adults? Time will tell. I hope so.
In the 6 weeks we were in Yankton, I was able to take the short hour-long drive back to my birth home weekly, thanks to my brother and sister-in-law’s loan of a spare car.
Mom & I would have coffee and rolls at a downtown bakery and then go shopping. My 50th class reunion was a catalyst that led to a mini reunion of “us girls” for dinner (supper in Nebraska) drinks and a “sleepover” at a dear classmate’s nearby home, followed by a personal tour of her & her family’s golf course the next morning. It pays to know the right people! (smiling big). Another day was spent with a very precious girlfriend who let me drag her along to a mini family reunion a few days later. She’s a saint!
I was disappointed that these types of experiences, that I had planned on enjoying until September, were ending prematurely, but again told myself, “just sit back and wait to see what comes.”
And, we came home.
The State Park where Dave will work is basically a parking lot with info, a hotshot memorial monument and a trailhead. It’s a steep 3.5 mile trail to the location where the 19 Granite Mountain Hotshots perished. We’d not hiked the trail and agreed that before his July 9th job start date, we needed to.
And we did.
I wasn’t sure I could complete the 7 mile round-trip, 1,200 feet climb. It’s a bit above my endurance level. Well OK, it’s a LOT above my endurance level, but heck, why not? The worst that could happen would be I’d make a fool of myself trying.
5 A.M. July 4th we began this physical and emotional journey. Most of you know, we worked with, and knew, one of the Granite Mountain Hotshots who perished. Anthony Rose. Dave’s past as a Prescott Hot Shot was another connection to this place that’s become hallowed ground. It’s a profession that you never really leave. You are forever connected to those who came before you and those yet to come. It just is.
It was the picture of a perfect morning with the sun not yet breaking the horizon. Dave soldiered ahead, I climbed slowly, pausing to take pictures and catch my breath as he hiked out of sight. I felt completely alone on the mountainside, but yet part of everything around me.
The view was what the ravens and vultures see when they surf the high gusty air currents. The little town of Congress was spread out and gave the illusion of a much larger place. Our North Ranch neighborhood was a vivid patch of homes plopped in the midst of an open expanse of desert. With binoculars I may have been able to see our backyard.
An early morning train literally looked like a snake crawling in a “S” through the flatlands below. A minute later it sounded its horn at a crossing. The lonely sound vibrated through the air like a knife slipping through soft butter. I smiled.
Between the steep climb, altitude and the “take my breath away” scenery, I stopped often so my lungs could catch up.
Dave called from the halfway point to check on me. He said there was a sign marking the halfway point and a covered bench. I told him I’d shoot for the halfway bench and decide if I wanted to continue.
When I got there I thought, “holy buckets, this is only halfway?!” But after a spell of rest, I got my second wind and moved on. The trail leveled out a bit and I’m thinking the worst is behind me. HAHAHA! (more on that later)
A short time later Dave made it to the end of the trail and sent me a pic of the actual marked memorial site. One glance at the image and I knew I couldn’t stop. No matter how much my body protested, I needed to stand where he stood and pay my respects at the 19 crosses that marked where they had lain as the fire swept over them. The “I’ll stop when I’m exhausted” choice was scratched off my list.
My thigh muscles were screaming. My old hiking boots had begun to pull apart at the front seam. I felt warm blood oozing from a blister I had on my right big toe. Yeah, yeah, I’m a sissy! Plus, there was always the trek back to the parking lot start point!
It was time for a talk with Self! “It’s only flesh, blood and bone you out-of-shape old woman!” “Get over it and keep moving!” “Do it for those who can’t walk!” Do it for those who think they can’t!” “Do it for those who think you can’t!” “Prove ‘em wrong!”
I made it to the “memorial wall” where hikers can leave tokens in honor of the 19 and the actual incident site was in clear view, 400 feet below. My leg muscles seized up and my right big toe blister went into convulsive throbs just thinking about walking back up, but down I went.
There was only one other person there with us as we walked around the circle of Gabion baskets, one for each of the 19, connected by chains that represent their eternal team. Crosses engraved with the individual names are in the center, where each was found.
A sacred place.
A peaceful place.
Birds sang, lizards scampered through the rocks, under a brilliant blue sky, a not-yet-hot sun that peeked out between fluffy white summer clouds.
It was difficult to imagine what the day had looked like on June 30th, 2013 through the smoke and flames and heat as these men deployed their shelters and laid upon the rocky desert ground in front of me.
How insignificant my sore muscles and bleeding toe were. I felt a fool for even considering turning back, but at the same time completely understood how important it is sometimes to “just sit back and wait to see what comes."
I made it back up that 400’ hill.
I made it the entire 7 miles.
I soaked my feet when I got home. By noon the throbbing was gone.
I gimped around a few hours after we got home. I had muscle twinges for a few days. That discomfort is gone.
The physical price was minimal.
The experience was beyond description.
The knowledge that I’m still stubborn to the point of self-destruction?
Priceless…
My bucket list just got a new secure patch and it feels good.
Just sitting back and waiting to see what comes next.
Super.
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