"Letters to Wakoski," my epistolary essay to Diane Wakoski, my mentor and former professor. Also about being a fire lookout, and life and stuff, appeared in SOUTH DAKOTA REVIEW. Print. Volume 56, no. 3. Fall 2022. And! Made
it to the "Notable Essays" in the back of this year's Best American
Essays 2023. That means it made it to the top 100 essays. Third essay of mine to do so!
i
Diane—
Bon
jour from Tower Point Lookout in Central Oregon—
different
from last year when grass cured by the time I came up
+ I
had three fires already called in + $1,000 of overtime.
now, approaching July, still lupen + Indian paintbrush
air
cool mostly tho finally getting warmer w/scattered rain.
one
lightning strike west of West Maury Mountain two weeks
ago
+ this southwest wind may or may not be the start of what passes for
monsoons
here. Mostly winds come from the northwest, the Cascades
forming
a sort of wall—far south I've watched huge nimbus clouds
roll
east w/lightning + storms at night over northern California.
west
I have the Sisters + Mt. Jefferson, to the north the Ochocos,
west
Snow Mountain on the Malheur National Forest, + south
Hampton
Butte + Hwy 20 between Bend + Burns—Prineville
nearest
town w/groceries w/a couple cafes to sip tea + even
a
small movie theater tho only mostly schlock Hollywood stuff—
still,
on a hot afternoon w/not enough time to go hike in the woods
when
I only have one day off, I like to just sit in the cool dark
+
stare at the glowing screen. right now I'm still getting
two
days off + eight-hour days—shower at the BLM Cache +
indulge
in restaurant food then car-camp out in the pondos somewhere
+
day hike—I dont know anybody around here + just pass through
Prineville
like a ghost, get my groceries for the week + come back
up
here. a bald eagle built a nest just to the north off the butte—
I
think w/a mate tho dont see her as much. Other raptors come
in
when they're not around—when I catch mice + squirrels in traps
on
the catwalk I leave the bodies out on a rocky point as offerings
ii
got
invaded by critters last night. or a critter. squirrels
+
mice climb right up the walls apparently + slip in the cracks in
the
attic. or something. spent the morning cleaning it out.
someone
years ago left a sleeping bag up there, now a cotton nest
in
every corner—one right on a pile of mice poison pellets.
I'll
fill out a CA-2 mañana when I go into town on days off
for
potential exposure to hantavirus. fun.
I
switched from peanut butter to cheese in the traps,
squishing
it down so they have to really work to get to it.
left
a couple at the end after I sprayed the place w/bleach
+
five minutes later caught the invading critter: a mouse.
rock
squirrels come up at night on the catwalk. I put traps
out
there to catch the mice before they go further but maybe
that
just attracted the squirrels. didnt have this problem
last
year, tho the LO before me had packrats, which ate poison
+
died + rotted, which drew maggots, which spread down through
the
ceiling. more fun. this is an 'historic' tower + neglected.
fixing
requires red tape but the fire cache guy bought blinds—
all
it takes is some engine guys seeing me using cardboard boxsides
to
block the sun. they pity me. makes me wonder why blinds
have
never been bought before, in all the decades, but in the last
decade
the LO lived in a trailer below, also invaded
by
critters. I feel if you live at the tower you need to live
in
the tower—part of the job catching smokes in the off hours.
clouds
building. more lightning. but coming w/rain
iii
big
dark cell formed west of the Maurys + tracked northeast
into
the Ochocos w/lightning—which has been the weather
the
last month—lightning but w/rain so crews + engines chasing
single
trees, holding off on calling them controlled for a few days
so
as to keep earning hazard pay when they put their foot in the black.
that
first day you came to class w/yr silver hair newly cut short
wearing
a Silver Surfer t-shirt—I the only one to take both yr
Contemporary
Poetry + Intro to Poetry Writing—people who
write
poetry dont seem to want to read it + those who read it
just
want to analyze it. you had us work in forms to develop
discipline.
I was the only one in class to get that japanese form
right.
that summer I actually made money from poetry: one guy
working
the Greyhound station gave me half-price to Jackson
because
he liked my stuff. meanwhile in your Contemporary
American
Poetry class I was floundering enjoying everything
esp.
when you played Anne Waldman reading 'Empty Space'
which
changed my poetry life but couldnt understand how to write
about
poetry—my natural response to want to write a poem back.
fortunately
since it was a summer class you dropped
the
big essay at the end. otherwise I would have failed.
as
is, I got a 2.0 while being the only one in the writing class to get
a
4.0. the Maury Mountains named after a Colonel Maury—
no
military training, just the richest white man in the territory
during
the 'Indian Wars' so an indian killer. I have not
found
out what the native name is but would love to rename
the
tower. Tower Point being redundant. mañana down
for
two days off. no high fire danger yet so no overtime.
I'll
car-camp somewhere + do a day hike on Wednesday morning.
maybe
tuesday see a movie in the afternoon. anyways, yr classes—
Fortuna
shifted my Fata, music shifted to words.
iv
still
cool, even in July w/clouds forming over the higher elevations.
the
tower gets warm in late afternoon tho when the sun comes in
horizontal.
I move my chair out on the catwalk put on a jacket
+
read in the wind. or play guitar. I've taught myself mandolin too—
I
play Bach everyday sonata und partita which purifies my soul
tho
I'd really like to play bluegrass w/other musicians. Sacrifice
of
the lookout, not to be able to jam. a previous lookout
now
plays cello for the London Philharmonic. he played other
instruments
+ engine guys would bring a case of beer + listen
+
talk into midnight, back when there was a guard station.
occasionally
an engine drives up to collect my time
+ I
go in on days off to fill my water + take a shower.
they
all think I'm crazy or that I'm off because not as crazy as
previous
lookouts but at least they think I'm good. one thing
you
always encouraged was to end a poem on an image rather
than
go for the cliché wisdom, which I encouraged in my writing
students
which confused them because they'd been brainwashed
to
always end with a thesis statement even in a story so
I
probably ruined them for future classes but maybe not for life.
you
warned me not to go into academia but I did anyways.
fortunately,
o Fortuna, I escaped + made my way to this mountain.
I
had some great students from whom I learned a lot but wonder
what
would have happened if I'd started lookouting earlier instead.
either
path would have lead here. Fortuna contra Fata. Anyway.
I
still have lupen + indian paintbrush + aggregating flutterbies
+
nighthawks + wolves up on the Warm Springs Reservation.
v
another
two-day weekend. luxury. actually, the horror: nothing
to
do in Prinetucky. tweaked my knee too somehow so cant run
or
go for a hike or hardly a walk—maybe just going down the
stairs
wrong + too fast so had to stay in town. new movie house
over
in Redmond, small w/drinks + meals. Hollywood mostly
but
saw a documentary on the Laurel Canyon music scene of the 60s—
plus
a bookstore down the street. bought Billy Budd for four bucks
just
to support + finally read it—on reserve since I checked out
a
lot of library books—have to stock up in case I get a dud or two.
two
short story collections, Bolaño + Chekhov + Horizon
by
Barry Lopez. also teaching myself Latin—at Aztec Lookout
Ed
Abbey's old LO I just read all day—after that figured I'd
spend
some time doing something not more productive but
different
yet still language-related. good to be alone. I get lonely
around
people though I miss poetry nights chez toi: good food
+
good poetry + good people + good wine + tea—magic nights for
three
or four years. Tim the only one I can tell who still writes—
Heather
now into knitting. you always said writing poetry helped
people
figure out what really interests them—mathematics or music
or
politics. you never approved of MFA programs but wrote LORs
for
us. I loved having dinner w/you + David Trinidad in New York
+
taking you to the Blade Runner sequel two years ago. magic
times.
I
have an artificial owl to scare off squirrels trying to nest in my
truck.
I've
named her Athena.
vi
getting
too warm in the tower in the afternoon. not unpleasant
to
read out on the catwalk in a cool wind to keep flies off
+ so
far yellowjackets aren't bad at all—I was proactive
+
set traps early to catch the queens. at chez toi gatherings
you
showed how if a poem wasn't quite working that simply
moving
a line or two—usually the strongest one to the beginning—
opened
it up tho at the end of your tenure you chose to teach
intro
classes because younger poets were more open to suggestion
and/or
you wanted to give them the discipline before they studied
in
programs where everyone receives a participation ribbon.
you
cared particularly about trope—all imagery in a poem
relating
to the main setting or idea, like catching a fish or exploring
a
wreck any similes or comparisons would involve the sea or water.
you
told students what wasn't working + helped them figure it out.
I
suppose if someone offered me another teaching gig I'd take it.
I
still occasionally send out a curriculum vitae but I think those
days
are past unless I publish a best-selling book of poetry (ha)
or a
Great American Novel (double ha). the flying ants are here.
down
in the southwest that used to mean monsoons. up here
in
central Oregon it's only sort of true—we do get July moisture
w/some
lighting but not dowsing rain. two different winds:
Zephyrus
comes in south of the Cascades tho mostly Boreas
down
from Canada + the Columbia. some days clouds come
in
from both directions + merge like influences.
vii
cool
cloudy morning. yesterday lightning down in
the
Glass Mountains—farthest south section of my territory
tho
I can see further—called in a weather update to Dispatch
which
was enough to extend me an hour—for once I worked longer
than
the Forest Service towers to the north of me—no smoke tho
+
another cell formed + left rain on the area tho that cell
dropped
lightning just to the south of Hampton Butte—a blind spot
but
the cumulus so thick they're turning into a stratus layer.
fifteen/twenty
years ago I had the idea of collecting
from
all yr former students, Sapphos + Troubadors, things learned
from
you + assemble them in some kind of Confucian text but
poets
herd like cats + I never tried tho did write an essay
about
you for the collection that Heather + Carrie were to do
which
also never went anywhere. I wrote about your table—
gathering
at it to eat + drink + read poetry + how I hoped
to
be able to do that one day—still do—except I'm rarely
around
poets, or not any that I know, though for about a year
when
I was teaching in Jackson I did gather fellow teacher poets—
I
couldn't host but Martha, who you met once after reading there,
did
+ good food + drink + poetry were had. we even met
on a
night the whole city shut down for a blizzard. I walked home
right
down fourth ave through snow drifts. never understood why/how
people
get so traumatized when told that something in a poem
isn't
working—with you, you were always right. I've learned—
at
least a little, how to be critical. sometimes it takes time:
I
just revised two long poems I considered done for five years.
viii
back
to Tower Point Lookout from another 2-day weekend.
for
end of July that's amazing—last summer I was on 10-hr days
w/just
one day off. my knee better so did short hikes in Mill Creek
tho
nothing epic + still had time to see two indie movies in Redmond:
American
Woman + The Last Black Man in San Francisco—both
about
merikan lower-class life, white + black respectively. if the poor
could
just stop infighting the guillotines could come back out! kidding
tho
I'd fall in love w/a woman who wore guillotine earrings. tower life
is
voluntary poverty—excuse me, simplicity—but at least I'm free.
the
key is not paying rent, to keep moving in the off season + visit
friends
(what little I have)(left) + see the world + yes I'm a white male
+
national forests are kind of white spaces tho hispanic + natives
were
not uncommon down at Cerro Pelado Lookout in New Mexico.
I
still haven't learned the native name of these mountains—
at
least this isn't Maury Lookout—that would gall. still windy +
cloudy,
still
some Indian paintbrush + lupen hanging on tho the grass curing
+
Prineville felt Phoenix-hot when the sun came out yesterday.
I
could actually drive up tomorrow on the clock but if I'm going to
camp out
might
as well just come up to the best view around. remember when I wrote
from
Chile? I didn't know what else to do after graduating so went
to
Pablo Neruda's country to hear the birds + ocean. I needed to tell
myself
maybe that I was keeping poetry in my life but also to say
thank
you + ask permission—you who wouldn't think I was crazy.
or
maybe you do. I wrote asking what I should do w/my life
+
you said when one gets lost there is usually a sign nearby. which
took
me that long to realize you were saying keep going.
ix
called
in my first fire of the season way down south past Hwy 20
actually
on Lakeview District tho we weren't sure until helitack
got
on scene. two Rivers South BLM engines got dispatched tho
stood
down. at least I got them some overtime. I think I finally
broke
double digits on my OTs. the fire an acre, probably
lightning,
a big cell formed around there + tracked northeast.
so I
feel useful finally, end of July. at least Forest Service LOs
to
the north have to take days off now too. their supe works
wonders
w/fire numbers to keep them on + extended. End of this
pay
period we'll be in August! already! re-reading Jim Harrison's
Essential
Poems. he passed away earlier this year, supposedly
at
his desk writing. which is how I'd like to go. I think he'll be
remembered
as a poet more than novelist tho Dalva will live and I
went
thru his novellas in a phase about fifteen years ago. that
long?
loving Letters to Yesenin especially, tho hadn't before—
and
his general irreverence to people but reverence to land
+
animals. same as Ed Abbey. I just cannibalized some poems
to
save a longer poem from my Aztec Lookout time—added large
sections
in, as is. they weren't working on their own, just
needed
to be part of a larger whole. these are the things that keep
me
absorbed for hours. I'm not sure what normal people do. watch tv.
not
sure what I would or will do after being a fire lookout.
living
the dream + better than working in a cube staring at a screen.
most
of the state lookouts got replaced by cameras which dont work
very
well—effective range ten miles and some poor kid has to
sit
in an office all day and stare at six to nine screens (!)—
technophiles
+ the progress of man. o fortuna.
x
smoke
haze today from a big fire down along I-5 milepost 97
another
in the mountains above La Pine. end of July + fire
season
has finally sort of come, tho here I'm still finding lupen
in
the shady north faces. worked one of my days off last
week
but not tomorrow. no lightning. would be warmer except
for
gusty afternoon breezes. open my window + door
+
sit outside on the catwalk reading + playing guitar. Singing.
birds
around here cant quite figure me out. they'll come
perch
on a nearby tree + listen for a while. I played an Eagles
song
to an eagle. I've been revising, rescuing poems out of
my
shite folder + converting them to stories + essays, experimenting
w/keeping
them flashy and micro. why do they work as prose?
changing
the Romantic 'I' to third person allows some distance
for
readers (if any) tho I find myself adding thoughts about other
people,
since stories seem to require tension between humans, unless
you're
Jack London, who I've re-read recently. not everything, I'm
avoiding
the dog stories he's remembered for now, but at one time
he
was the best-selling writer in America and a marxist if not an
anarchist.
anti-capitalist in any case tho able to make money outside
industrialist
economy, making his publisher rich of course, + buy a ship
+
just sail away to adventures, writing as he went. even popularized
surfing.
w/my revisions + editing I always hold the question WWWD—
What
Would Wakoski Do? tho it's so ingrained now. cant bring myself
to
try to be pithy—you explained that word to me—like, say,
WS
Merwin, who we lost this year. so I go with the image.
I
wrote him, thanking him for his writing and including my chapbook.
I
mentioned you. he wrote back + said to tell you hello.
xi
lightning
season in Central Oregon. strikes to the east, at 0800.
isolated
cells dropping strikes everywhere the whole day. engine
guys
running around just containing a fire going on to the next.
nothing
around me tho—strikes yes, but no fires. starting to take
it
personal, but last year I had more stupid human tricks—abandoned
woodcutter
warming fires. not a lot of people in the mountains
this
summer, neither campers nor visitors which I'm also
starting
to take personally tho not complaining. and now
getting
some overtime! plus nice cool air—thirty degree difference
from
yesterday. my favorite time, rain on the roof, thunder rumbling.
no
bugs. I expect more of the same mañana. in the 2nd week of August!
went
into town for a day off yesterday. no good movies so just
sent
poems + stories into the ether. every morning I run or walk
unless
like now I'm on the clock early. then a pot of tea + yoghurt
while
I read a poetry anthology, the Oxford of American currently
tho
the fact that you are not included is fucking bullshit.
after
a good dose I dive into writing revising or editing—better
in
the morning, radio quiet, unlike now—almost dark w/rain—
they
could leave all these single-tree fires, won't go anywhere
might
burn up some fuel and go out but adrenaline is pouring
out
of the speakers. you should see the clouds:
huge
towering cumulus anvilheads. wall of rain to the north.
xii
after
a week of august heat a week of lightning and blessed
cool
clouds, plus overtime + firefighters running all over
chasing
smokes. so everyone is happy. I've finally felt useful,
calling
in some smokes tho, for example, I called in two
last
saturday then the whole area submerged in rain all night.
three
days later + still puddles on the road. now on two days off
two
months to go if we dont get a season-ending event
or
the government doesnt shut down. or the zombie apocalypse.
reading
Han Shan + Stone House in maybe not greatest translation
but
still the refusal both to participate in a corrupt economy
+
corrupt spiritual practice even if—for Stone House—
he
was the head of that power structure. I prefer the chinese
mountain
men to the american version. here I'd have to wear furs
+
own lots of guns so people would leave me alone. in China
I'd
be respected. or that's my Romantic vision based on poetry
500-700
years old. any loners retreating to the woods now
are
probably rounded up + put in internment camps. or forced
to
work in smartphone factories. but we're americanos, let's not
think
of those things. still tho, puertoriqueños just ousted a corrupt
governor
w/huge street protests—when will that happen here?
I
know, what am I doing about it. well, not making things worse.
I
hope. I really do believe tho that creative people, especially poets,
create
the world, like Heidegger wrote. too bad about the nazi thing.
but
then, most college professors I've known and worked with
always
kowtowed to authority. what did their students learn.
xiii
mid-august,
Tower Point Lookout. warm + sunny this morning
then
low stratus clouds pour over the Cascades + rain all afternoon.
'socked
in' in the clouds + it's my day off so I'm earning overtime.
with
luck my duty officer will forget I'm up here + I'll extend
until
2000 as previously scheduled. not a season-ending event but
we're
not going to get into severity this summer either. fire danger
got
to 'high' last week but will go down to moderate tomorrow
tho
by friday will be dry + sunny again tho breezy. nothing to do
but
curl up in bed + read—Jim Harrison + Stone House
'discovering'
Katherine Mansfield finally at 50 via Chekhov
tho
she wasn't brought back until the 90s + postcolonial studies.
Stone
House lived like this for 15 years all year round—asked
to
then lead a zen monastery which he did for seven years then quit
+
came back up to his mountain for another twenty—he had more
temperate
weather but some poems got so cold he burned saplings.
I'd
never read Harrison's first novel Wolf I realized so now am—
one
last pleasurable jewel to honor his passing, actually the poet
I've
seen most, or heard, at readings—twice at MSU + at least
once
in Santa Fe tho maybe twice—didn't appreciate him until
my
thirties when I left New Mexico + came back to Michigan
to
help mom build her retirement house near Empire. I've been
writing
about Michigan this summer. I never explored the beautiful
parts,
the northern parts, until my 40s when Jackson sucked me back in.
never
had a problem w/the land tho I never cared for the winters.
the
people tho mostly disappointed. bitter + angry. every time I go
back
there I get hurt so much I forget the kindnesses like your poetry
nights
+ good food. any friends always left because no jobs. my mother
+
father who I finally stopped trying to please much too late.
that
was part of the early hurt, the divorce + being exchanged
'like
a potted plant' as one therapist said in Ypsilanti during grad school
when
I almost quit from frustration + anger—she didn't save my life
but
was the first person to take my point of view + show it to me.
that
was the winter I'd drive an hour one-way in a blizzard
to
your house just to be with poetry + wine. I wonder could I have
skipped
those last few years in Michigan + gone directly to fire lookouting.
dinner
time here. something warm. boil rice + heat up tikka masala
my
sister brought me w/toasted pita. add cayenne pepper.
xiv
moisture
from a pacific tropical storm in from the southwest—
huge
anvilhead cumulonimbus. lightning out in the southern
desert
+ just east on the mesas. whole area got a soaking tho.
already
one engine going after a small juniper down south
of
Hwy 20. more smokechasing tonight + tomorrow—all little
stuff
that would just go out or putter around + burn fuel.
I
give weather updates over the radio—they have radar of course
+
lightning maps but apparently do listen to me—
hard
to believe—+ pre-position engines. also just getting folks
out
of the field when this weather moves in—rain turns
roads
to mud. there's a bunch of cold wet bowhunters
in
the woods right now or maybe they all said fuck it + went
into
town to drink. flannel shirt weather. just plucking my guitar
watching
all directions clouds + waterdogs + ground strikes—
a
rainbow. I tried reading Faulkner up here but just dont care
about
a bucket of scorpion-rich white mississippians screwing
each
other over. I'm besieged by rats. or squirrels. something
skittering
around outside at night trying to find a way inside.
gnawing
at the vents + doors. HP Lovecraft's rats in the walls.
I've
gone full-on rat poison—I need to sleep + dont want hantavirus.
I
hope they go back to their holes to die w/o poisoning raptors.
hawks
come everyday to hover towerlevel over the butte.
+
eagles + falcons + buzzards. occasional crows. six weeks left!
xv
already
a week into september! rain has come—felt it
yesterday,
autumn is here. we had some lightning last week,
with
rain, tho the Glass Butte Fire down south—
alas
I didn't call it in, couldn't see it through the clouds—
burned
into the night, 10 acres, but finally washed down the hill
overnight.
I called in a single struck juiniper to the
southeast
but it too got rain. right now there's a dark wall
to
the west rolling off the Cascades—will probably
track
to my north, but anyways I'm back to 8-hr days
+
taking two days off—woke this morning in clouds—had the
windows
shut all day wearing long pants + flannel—No
bugs
or rodents at least. best time to be at the
tower—clouds
+ rain on roof, wind, no worry
about
missing the Big One. wish I could stay up
here
longer, look for something else—wolves maybe.
a
litter of them caught on camera up on the Warm Springs
Reservation
to the northwest—surprisingly close to Mt. Hood
w/Portland
just beyond. I hope they make it. seems like
they'd
come down to the Ochocos + if they crossed the
Crooked
River to the Maury's they'd have all kinds of space.
but
this is rancher country. Sacred Cows. they'll leave
straggler
cows in the forest to die over the winter but if a
wolf
pack killed one they'd howl (the ranchers,
not
the wolves). I had a wolf pack come down near Tripod LO
on
the Boise one summer—their howls not scary at all—primal.
they
killed one cow so the ranchers killed seven of them.
but
the moon rising.
xvi
I
seem to be in a 'season-ending event'—rained last night
'socked
in' most of today in the clouds w/more rain + tonight
snow
to 7000' + tomorrow down to 6500'. Tower Point is 6300.
my
boss warned me yesterday that I may be pulled down end
of
the month instead of going to mid-october + I cant see how
or
why they wouldn't. fire danger basically in the negatives
at
this point. I finally got the heater working—last night w/strong
gusty
winds I went through 15 matches. probably will be on
for
the remainder of my time. I still have tomorrow + wednesday
off,
if I can drive out thru the mud puddles. but I had a productive,
restful
day. read poetry for breakfast, then revised an essay
about
being a fire lookout that an editor actually requested—
about
a day from hell at Aztec Lookout, Ed Abby's old tower
+ my
first season—some prepper hunters messed w/me,
teenagers
showed up w/a cooler of beer to party all night
+ a
crazy guy appeared after hours + tried to force the trapdoor
+
threatened me + when the LEOs arrived they blamed me
for
everything + not being the welcoming Forest Service face.
the
District stopped staffing that tower after that. two years
later
the whole area burned up. I worked on a short story all
afternoon.
I'd started it, but was scared to attempt to finish it
because
I didn't know if I could or if it would be good or a waste.
I
have to label stories 'notes' in order to tell myself that what I
write
doesn't have to be good, tho usually take a lot of those notes
as
they are. (dont tell myself). like poetry, I never know what's
going
to happen but need to have a basic idea to start. the rest
gets
worked out in the process + hours pass.
xvii
well,
it's decided: staying up until October 11th. amazed
+
grateful. I would have been ok coming down next week
two
weeks early + had been telling my friends + sister that I was.
the
mountain drenched in rain. I've been on two days off.
drove
up this afternoon + almost got stuck in a mudbog—
I'll
have to use a different route down (I have three)—
cant
see the Sisters or the Ochocos so cant tell if they have any.
when
I arrived I had rain + a little hail. here for hunter fires—
no
restrictions, not like last year, but all hunters light campfires
even
if sleeping in trailers these days. I would too in a big group.
but
some tend to not put them out when they leave.
70%
of all wildfires human-caused + not just hunters.
Cerro
Pelado Lookout one summer one same guy camping
every
Sunday night caused an escaped campfire every monday.
+ he
probably never knew. but we've had four days of rain here.
cold
rain. winter has come. an fire wouldnt go anywhere.
but,
it's submitting season—in town I sent out a bunch of
writing—poems,
stories. all for what? all of us unknown writers
thinking
maybe someone will notice + offer us a book deal. ha.
so
then it's just for the process, submitting part of process,
creating
a space for words in + against a world that doesn't care.
but
when a complete stranger does care + accepts something—
a
miracle. for about a week. then back to the slog.
I've
been part of a new literary magazine in actual print
just
came out, proud of having brought out others' work.
who
knows how many people will read it. 300? on the other hand,
how
amazing that 300 people will read it. at MSU I was assistant
editor
of the Red Cedar Review—still kicking, though they
never
take any of my stuff. raining again. mountains in clouds.
xviii
surprise!
coming down early after all! pre-october!
so
this is it! last night at the tower! I am sad I admit
but
also ready to leave + go down into civilization like a
fool.
four different prescribed fires burning today—one
last
glimpse of smoke—they're getting them in before the cold
front
this weekend—snow down to 3000' thursday or friday.
rain
all weekend—which is why my boss is pulling me.
FS
LOs to the north all staying one more pay period. Crazy.
but
normal. I'll be back next summer—the BLM treats me
well,
w/per diem + mileage, + they mostly like me, tho some
think
they dont need the tower anymore. they'd rather spend
more
money on less effective new technology. I may be
the
last generation of fire lookouts, tho we're cheap + easy
to
please—just leave us alone. one guy over at Aldrich
LO
quit early. not for everyone. if I got an offer
for
a meaningful 'real job' which allowed me to survive
in
the 'real world' I might—if it were a new adventure—
teaching
again, tho I think that's done—maybe teach abroad,
tho
that doesn't pay well at all—I'm in voluntary poverty—
er,
simplicity, but I'm happier than I've been. ever.
wish
you could visit. you're welcome any time. I wish
we
could go to the movies together again. I wonder what you
thought
of the latest Tarantino. I miss Michigan autumns,
the
melancholy leaves, but I dont miss Michigan—too much
hurt
back there. no one can hurt me up here. but I'm leaving!
mañana
I'll be showered + presentable. alas.
thank
you for the company. un abrazo. vale.