…when I visited Beaver Hollow I had become accustom to taking a short jaunt to a cliff that over looks the camp in the late afternoon. I enjoyed sitting there on the rocky ledge reflecting upon all the work we had accomplished during the day. Mowing the huge lawn, weed eating the surrounding forest back, seeing the progress we had made on what ever project we had going at the present time. It was fun to hear and watch the little kids running around in the field below laughing and playing. Our American and Oregon flags seemed to constantly wave on their gleaming white flag pole in the cool afternoon breezes. Most people who visited camp did not realize the gleaming object on top of our flag pole was actually two aluminum hub caps that my Grandpa Buster had welded together many, many years earlier for another flag pole he had built somewhere. I think for the Wolf Creek Community Center. I don’t remember how I ended up with them but they are proudly mounted on Beaver Hollows flag pole now.
I had been watching this one guy who had traveled to camp with our beat up American heroes. A younger fellow, no visible parts missing, not limping, seemed well spoken, he actually appeared quite normal. I invited him on my walk with me this particular afternoon. We set there together on the cliff edge marveling over natures splendor as the sun slowly sank over the distant mountain tops. That was always the sign for me to get the evening bonfire going so we headed back towards camp. I couldn’t stand it any more. I finally asked him. What’s the deal, why are you hanging out with these guys? He sort of looks downward and scuffs his feet along. Meekly he tells me “I hear voices sometimes”. Naive me, I ask what do these voices say? Glancing over to me he confesses, “some times they tell me to do not very nice things”. I went and picked the pace up a bit so we could get back to camp sooner and start that bonfire.
No comments:
Post a Comment