Letters to Michael

My epistolary essay, "Letters To Michael," appeared in SOUTH DAKOTA REVIEW. Vol. 55 No. 1 & 2. Fall 2020. (order the original issue here)

 

Michael—

Found an old closed off road thought of you here in the Maurys + you probably found it too in your walks. It curved + opened on the edge of whatever unnamed hill that is between Tower Point Lookout + Drake + I could look back + see the tower + thought you must have seen it too + must have of course been up in the tower a time or two to visit whoever was staffing it—wish I could ask you about the apparent relationships + breakups that have happened as evidenced by the graffiti in the old outhouse. Would've been good to see you up here even if we hardly spoke at meditation except to see which one of us would be timekeeper. I appreciated how even if you couldn't stay (being too busy with helping others hosting alcoholics meetings and/or studying for whatever one studies for a doctorate of divinity) you still made us tea. Spotted two fires in the Maurys already + just June—both woodcutter warming fires—maybe even same guy—the bigger Hammer Fire over off West Maury Mountain just south of Hammer Creek Trailhead, another place I'm sure you spent time in along w/the agate beds, which rocks you left us in the garden surrounding the Buddha statue. And then you were gone. You should have seen the funeral! The UU church filled to overflowing with atheists + agnostics + buddhists.

—john

tower point lookout, iunius 2018

Michael—

Drove the 1750 Maury backbone trying to find Hammer Creek Trailhead—old Ochoco maps have it but not new ones. Forest Service shut down spur roads to 'manage' visitors better + keep them more visible + have less work for the rec folks + the patrols + preventions. I'm for that mostly even though I'm one of the 'users' who likes to find obscure roads to camp away from RVers but to get rid of a trail seems a waste—even if they don't have any trail funds anymore seems like they could just leave it or find some volunteers to service it—only 7.5 miles + the only trail in the Maurys. Or was. Anyways, I couldn't find it—directions online varied and wrong—imagine that—but did get to drive by the Hammer Fire along 16. Temps coming back up + still dry + windy—so nice coming to the tower having a cool breeze. The 1750 a little sketchy there in the middle, one of those roads you're thinking, 'will I be able to back out of here?' I'm sure you drove it in yr explorations. Glad I did it, not sure I'll do it again—got to the top of Drake but couldn't see Tower Point until farther down the road—So instead of a hike I got a long bumpy car ride. I was always a little curious about you—you reminded me of myself if I had been a good person. I had thoughts of being a minister when younger except I don't believe in God + don't really like people. —I don't hate people, I just feel better when they're not around (C. Bukowski from Barfly)—I just liked the thought of studying religion(s) which I did anyways sort of on my own. The UU church I went to when I was a kid had an altar with 'GOD IS LOVE' carved on it meaning not that some bearded white dude loves us all but that the shared love between us all is somehow a sentience—except I don't believe in love either—bell hooks says it's something we choose, and an ongoing process—which sounds like God—but also living—love as a creative process, God as a creative process, life as....I've been trying to understand Nietzsche's der will zür macht + I think the translation is wrong, not the will to power but the desire to(wards) making/creating (this with a little help from Heidegger + his lectures on N. plus my high school german) which may just be what I want it to mean, which also sounds like God or religion or Life. Another glorious sunset up here. Think I'll play some guitar. Maybe sing a little.

—john

tower point lookout, iunius 2018

Michael—

Hiked Lookout Mountain yesterday. Not all the way due to my hurt heel—overdid it, of course, just so content to be walking in the woods, moving instead of sitting—not a great trail but an honest one, no hoodoos or caves but once you get up past the ponderosa into the mixed conifer they break open to see Jefferson + the Sisters + of course our Maurys, the main reason I wanted to get up there, see my mountain home from another viewpoint though couldn't see the tower, couldn't really even figure out which bump was Tower Point—nothing looked familiar, all the old clearcuts which you can't ever get away from in Oregon if you gain any elevation so I don't know what I learned but what felt like four hours was more like six—all of which you know—I'm sure you made that trek too—I'll go back when prepared for a longer day—foot just a little sore recovering faster which is a good sign. Every morning here I do laps around the tower—a half hour of walking listening watching thinking. Do you know Latin? Or did you for your studies? Do Unitarian-Universalists study Latin? Translating Ovid: id quod fuimus aut sumus, non cras erimus: that which we were or are, we will not be tomorrow. He, and I suppose most romans, thought we transmigrate (or our souls do anyways) when we die. So tell me—did you? do we? Where'd you go? Did my friend Shelley go somewhere after her suicide? Someplace better? Some body better? Hopefully still in Japan—I wouldn't want her to end up back in the American Empire. Amazing people still want to migrate here but this is where the pecunia is, trickling down supposedly. Imagine all the poems Ovid wrote after he was banished: Vita est flumen; tempora nostra fugiunt / et nova sunt semper! Some mornings fog forms on the Crooked River which from up here are clouds—I wonder if you ever saw that—surely you must have. Surely you found a clear cliff to camp on here + wake w/the sun + wind on your face to see the valley.

vale,

—john

tower point lookout, iunius 2018

 

Michael—

Went to Smith Rock on a day off, weird beautiful island of rock in the flats of the Deschutes River plain—too bad about all the people. Like the Grand Canyon—one of the great sacrifices that everyone goes to leaving the rest of the treasures to the rest of us. Did Misery Ridge loop, like Camelback Mountain in Phoenix, a line of people who don't normally exercise all making the pilgrimage to the top, where I think I saw the Maurys—I think now I can see the tip of Smith Rock from here. Four climbers attempting Spank The Monkey on the back, that big rock turkey drumstick—I didn't wait for them to try the round upper part. Chalk mark routes on walls along the River Trail—I wouldn't have been opposed to learning how to climb, just never knew anybody that did and I was a flatlander from Michigan though heard a story from the owner of Herringbone Books in Redmond about a woman came in who hitch-hiked from New Jersey just to come to Smith Rock to learn to climb. I never had that calling to do anything, or maybe I did? I certainly knew my way was out west, drawn to high desert even if sucked back into the black hole of Michigan a couple times. + taught myself to run along the way. We both hoped she would write her story. Second day off (amazing in mid-July) went to Bend + walked Deschutes River Trail, nice cool misty air + water current sound + rapids. More people of course. You can't escape them. Bought hojicha tea + good bread. Glad to be back at my mountain home. Supposed to get to 103 in the valley this weekend! Reading Simone de Beauvoir about existing vs. being. Existing as in creating or making the world (better?) versus just being an Other for other people though I wonder about helping other people somehow still being a way to exist for oneself like you did with your life—I resist dependence on others + others on me which I know is impossible but seems to hurt less + I hate compromise tho feel lonely when I go down like a fool into civilization being around all those people some of whom I find interesting—fortunately I come back up here before I do something stupid like make a connection. Reading too Amiri Baraka trying to learn how to write righteously, poems of protest thinking I could at least do that, protest in words, inspire, though if you have to try maybe it's just an ego thing? Anyways a fire lookout is very much a white space as are forests which I try not to think about. Not sure if you ever saw, but every evening I have nighthawks—hawk body, swift wings, swifting around the tower catching bugs. Plus owls.

—john

tower point lookout, iunius 2018

 

Michael—

Had an interesting visitor yesterday. Guy named Don. Maybe you met him in your explorations. A local. Lookout up here in '81 + '82 + a firefighter before w/crazy stories of seasonal guard stations, guys living in a big tent all summer. Said another lookout who is now a cellist in the London Symphony (!) had eight different instruments up here. Don + the other firefighters, sometimes six people, would bring beers + sit + listen to the guy play until one in the morning which sounds wonderful. Don went on to be a bodyguard + security. When the Rolling Stones came thru they'd call him up. Still looks like a Hell's Angel-type tho just a small-town Oregonian but even got hired by Bush the Second to watch the twins because the Secret Service guys spent most of their time in Bend drinking w/strippers. His wife died last year + he's retired. I said, Why don't you be a lookout again? He said he might. Still knows all the peaks + ridges valleys + ranches better than I ever will but for now just drives BLM + FS roads especially the closed-off ones hoping they'll give him a ticket so he can go to court to use some Supreme Court ruling about the basic right to travel. I wouldn't mind if he visited again to just pick his brain. I've met some other interesting men—all of them quiet just out exploring like you + I—maybe there's something about the Maurys or Central Oregon but anyways cooled down nice last evening w/a much-needed breeze. Clouds cleared out after sunset tho today hot again—no lightning—if a fire happens it'll be a stupid human trick. One of my buddha statuettes got knocked over (by me) broke the head off so I set it back on its ledge w/the head next to it which seems fitting. He's still smiling anyways.

Listening to Bach. When you died, no one would (or could?) say how. Which started to sound weird—like did you kill yourself? But no, I'm still not clear, but you had a heart attack and/or hit your head on the pool edge at Breitenbush. If you had, that would have sent the whole damn sangha into a spiral of self-doubt—so everyone just didn't ask. I asked. An accident—if there are such things. I guess. Not fair though. I would've enjoyed your company. You + Don + I could sit on the catwalk in the wind, laughing or getting serious. Finding common ground. This common ground. These mountains.

vale,

john

tower point lookout, iunius 2018

 

Michael—

Another fire! Down by Cemetery Ridge so of course it's the Cemetery Fire. Which made me think of you again because didn't yr ashes get scattered out here? or am I totally making that up + what I want to believe? My friend Shelley who committed suicide was flown back—or her body was anyway—to Jackson the place she hated. This was a lightning strike over the hill from me so the spotter plane spotted it first, damn them. Another two minutes and I would have seen the smoke. The wind funneled thru a canyon between mesas and it came roaring uphill to the south into the Maurys, smoke column flopping 180 degrees four times, almost burning over some ranchers come up, as folks do around here, not waiting for the feds. In fact a farmer died on another fire up near the Dalles yesterday or the day before driving his tractor around for a fireline but the flames got him. All the lives + money + effort to save a chunk of land. By the way, nighthawks come out in the morning too. I never see hawks or buzzards or eagles in the morning. A fawn + two does walked by yesterday. I was meditating facing out the window. They never looked up. Don said one night a bear came up the stairs. Fortunately (or not?) he had the trapdoor down as I do though I'm more scared of two-feeted visitors, some early morning enthusiast decides to walk up the road or a pesky hunter wanting to glass the area. I sleep through sunrises, wake with sunglare coming in horizontal— temp rising twenty degrees. We've had gusty northwest winds last couple days, very welcome + keeps the temp down + bugs away. Coming off the ocean or up the Columbia. We don't have monsoons here which feels strange. New Mexico's fire season basically already over. Driving to Portland mañana, coming off the hill tonight. I chipped a tooth, flossing of all things, three weeks back, this the soonest the dentist can get me in. The joys of being poor. Even then it might just be an exam: 'Yep, you've got a chipped tooth, let's make another appointment—how about in a month?' Meanwhile chewing on one side only. But death. And fire. The wind has stopped. Inversion layer on the Cemetery Fire lifting. Two miles away. Trees torching at night which some would call sublime though I only think of as beautiful (i.e. without the danger) they didn't catch it so much as the wind changed direction + blew the fire back into itself for a night plus rain. Next day they painted the hill with retardant + bucket drops. Now crews in there doing 100% mop-up because the smoke would scare everyone if left to burn tho who knows, another big wind event could send it ripping—I'm cynical. I miss firefighting a little. Only a little. Anyways, consider yourself buried out here. Vale.

—john

tower point lookout, 16 iulius 2018

 

Michael—

Hot! End of July + will probably continue on into August. We get a round of towering cumulus every two weeks or so, helped by the heat + if ocean moisture gets blown over the Cascades—I had a day off in Prineville yesterday + had to go in Phoenix-mode staying on the shady sides of streets as much as possible. And indulged in ice cream with M&Ms tho didn't feel that great afterwards. Went on a minor walk, top trailhead to Lookout Mountain though got misplaced + ended up on some kind of nature trail w/signs + a small 1/4 mile loop—tho seemingly abandoned mid-construction + way out in the woods—people who like those kinds of things tend to stay closer to civilization. With one day off I had to rein in my hiking tendencies so as to still have time in town—to fill my water jugs, take a shower, go to a yoga class + maybe indulge in a movie which might seem off to those in town all the time but I'm in the woods all the time + on a hot afternoon sitting in a quiet movie theater feels wonderful—thankfully a slight ridgetop west wind to cool off with up here—just sitting out on the catwalk + reading—inside gets just a little too warm even w/the windows cracked + the flies + yellowjackets tend to find their way in—tho less when I'm not inside which might mean it's me they're attracted to (like flies to....) you understand.

Lightning down around Hampton Butte last evening, clouds south of the there right now—different weather pattern maybe not blocked by the Cascades? But cumulus forming over the Maurys so who knows. Cloudshade definitely helps keep the temp down. Cemetery Fire still smoking a little—unclear whether the District will do 100% mop-up or let it smoke all summer—the two Incident Commanders came up to visit two days ago—nice folks, not sure how they've survived in Fire this long except firefighters up here in Region 6 (Oregon + Washington) were always a little different, always more women for one thing which makes the men behave better—I should've moved out here sooner, should've become a fire lookout sooner, should've maybe never gone to grad school, but then, well, I would've missed that rainy Autumn night in Ann Arbor walking back to my hovel + a brand new building, just the steel I-beam frame, lit up w/with security bulbs glowing while raindrops rattled metal—they should've left it like that, as a big sculpture.

I sent pictures of the fire to the sangha folks. They all think I'm saving lives up here but I'm not sure, not really—we could let more fires burn + the Cemetery Fire only stopped because the wind shifted blowing the head back on itself + a light rain fell—what would've happened if we'd just let it go? What if we let the fires in our hearts burn?

—john

tower point lookout, iulius 2018

 

Michael—

Full moon tonight. Blood moon. Hot. Spending most of my time out on the catwalk in the wind, also helps keep the flies away. Supposed to stay like this maybe a week + even then just a chance of moisture coming over the Cascades + thus maybe lightning. In the meantime I swear I saw a car fire—long black column but disappeared + neither Pisgah nor Stevenson Lookouts saw it—Pisgah said he saw an 'ash devil' from some 'ash rock' area—do you know it? How could there just be an area of ash? But I saw a smoke—I fear my good start to the season is hampered by three false alarms recently but hell at least I'm looking—I don't get a sense that Stevenson LO does anything except schmooze w/the lady dispatchers tho I'm just jealous and grumpy because not feeling like I'm doing much now, no big projects, not throwing myself into das Welt like I should instead just being, in my safe place or its da moon or the wind always in my ears keeping me cool but dehydrating, playing the same songs on my guitar + mandolin, too much of a routine tho up here you have to, or I do + the guacamole I made tonight wasn't great—the avocado not quite ripe not sure if out of season even tho I still ate it all like a pig—maybe too not able to nap b/c of heat + flies. I know, the trials of the fire lookout.

Surrounded by smoke from fires around Oregon—nothing in District, nothing in the Ochocos or Maurys. Cemetery Fire continues to sputter but nothing showing tonight—still some light haze in the mornings though—If I heard the weather right by Monday it'll be even hotter with even more winds—hard to be creative times like these—either too hot + buggy inside or staying cool in afternoon breezes sipping tea all day still—what's Latin for tea? Not in my dictionary, though I know the Romans made it to India—or was it the Greeks. Anyways Genghis Khan made it to Europe but maybe the Chinese held on to the secret. (had to check—no coffee either, but South America came way later in colonization). Isn't it quaint that I checked a book rather than my phone? With the winds + sun my face should be leather by October—Wilson Prairie Fire to the northeast in John Day + Carr Fire at the California border. Substation Fire up by the Dalles—Fire names don't seem as exciting as they used to be except our Cemetery. Vale.

—john

tower point lookout, 26 iulius 2018

 

Michael—

Socked in w/smoke can't even see Highway 380. Not sure where it's all coming from w/a light northwest breeze, Washington + British Columbia or still northern California, Mendocino my firefighting beginnings where we always joked we had the Asbestos National Forest now largest fire in California history. Hottest day of the summer yesterday—Still hot today + not much wind, just reading out on the catwalk all afternoon swatting yellowjackets. Too hot to do anything inside w/o opening windows which bring in flies + sweat bees + moths at night but better than staring at a screen all day, better even than teaching tho I might do it again if someone asked but no one will ask, tho I'd probably be miserable. Not b/c of the students, but the system, my jaded bitter colleagues—Secretary of Education had her yacht unmoored. Everyone in an uproar about that's going too far as a form of protest as if a Secretary of Education w/not one but ten yachts sounds reasonable. Not that I'm a fan of Democrats embracing Wall Street. And nazis are demonstrating in Portland as a joke. People responding w/violence against them and the cops—what if they just ignore the nazis and nobody came? Meanwhile Israeli snipers gunning down Palestinians protesting their ghettoization in a dark irony of history + I wonder if I should be down in the streets protesting or doing something, writing something protest-y? Tho I'm not sure living on a mountain isn't a form of protest as in what if everyone just went off by themselves and were quiet for a while but nazis and politicians don't do that + would love for us to do nothing so I don't know + unmooring a yacht sounds fun. At least I'm not working a job making some rich person richer.

I think the smoke is making me loopy. Or lupe-y. The travails of a fire lookout. What was this mountain called before Tower Point? + who was this Maury person the mountains are named after?And what is the native name for them? When's dinner? If you were here you could have tacos with me. I wonder which of us would talk the least. The smoke seems to have driven the nighthawks away tho today a hawk circled eye-level to the north—I wish he or she would catch the chipmunks + rock squirrels around the tower—I think they're building a nest in my truck's air filter. Two more months barring a government shutdown. Seems like I've been up here more than two but no—Seems like you died years ago—was it last fall? I don't miss you—I never really knew you—But good to have someone to talk to up here.

—john

tower point lookout, mid-augustus 2018

 

Micheal,

Got cold here last night + last couple days + we're still in august! One time up at Tripod—my lookout in Idaho—had a blizzard on Labor Day. I built two huge bonfires to burn all the junk wood. The guy who worked up here last year came up. He's on an engine now. Said he wanted to be around people. His last day mid-october was 18 degrees so I think they'll keep me up no matter what to catch any hunter fires—bow started yesterday—unless the government shuts down which it might if the Democrats ever get a spine which they won't. A pox on both their houses, I'm anarcho-socialist. Finally read The Communist Manifesto—not unreasonable tho the critique of socialists almost comical being that socialists want to work within the system while the communists + anarchists want to start over. I'm torn on that tho a contingent of democratic-socialists in Portland favor violence against demonstrating nazis which makes me uncomfortable yet untying the Secretary of Education's yacht (!) I thought justified since she's setting american education adrift and has nine other ones. Captain America + Indiana Jones punched nazis but in that case the nazis were using violence first. I'm for free speech + the right to assemble which means for people I don't agree with to do so—then you just ignore and/or make fun of them. Easy to do unless you've lost your sense of humor, which I'm with Emma Goldman—not coming to the revolution unless I can dance—except I can't dance, but I'll play in the band. Would probably miss my chance to hook up w/Emma but that's ok but should I be doing that? Revolutionizing + protesting + debating? Am I living in bad faith by sitting up on my mountain? While the forces of evil and less evil battle? I pay my Green Party dues + if seasonals had a union I'd join even tho I'm a federal employee—my boss the Secretary of Interior wants to open up fracking everywhere + take away national monuments + use the threat of wildfires to increase logging—but the Democrats were/are pro-fracking + free trade + Obama deported more people than the Bush + both parties hire their Treasury Secretaries from Goldman-Sachs.

a pox a pox a pox a pox a pox a pox a pox a pox

The real question maybe why don't I go full-on Han Shan, vanish into the hills writing poems on rocks. I would certainly lose some weight that way. I heard about a guy down in California who did that, not the poetry part but living in the wilderness except he'd steal campers' food and womens underwear. I'd probably do that too tho also still write poetry. They'd put me in prison with the Unabomber.

—yrs

tower point lookout, augustus 2018

 

Michael—

Turns out the Maury Mountains were named for Colonel Rueben Maury who had no real military training, just rich + killed indians out here in the Oregon Territory during the Civil War so an indian killer. Not sure if you knew this. Have to find out the indian name. This info gotten from the museum in downtown Prineville, really a propaganda piece for logging w/a quote from the Ochoco Forest Superintendent in 2008 saying people who come out here to recreate don't want to see burned + rotten logs + thus the need to 'manage' the forest when no, asshole, we don't want to see clearcuts. Which there are plenty of here in the Maurys as you know. Maybe that's why they closed the Hammer Creek Trail, the only place for self-propelled recreation in this desert island. Bow hunting season started this week upping my visitors. After a couple cold days (+ nights!) things warmed up again and the smoke haze is back down from Washington and BC. I had a day off but didn't do anything fun—by the time I drive down there + shower + do a food buy + catch up on writing business like submissions + queries I don't feel like driving another 45 minutes out to a trail and then back to the lookout + they changed the movie times, not that there's ever anything good playing here but still the magic of sitting in a cool dark room w/a large glowing screen on a hot day. But more books—delving back into Jack London after reading a bio—I see my life emulating his a bit tho hopefully w/o the schlock—and hopefully w/o the dismal angry end to a short life—but for a while he was the best writer America had, known now for dog stories for boys instead of his critiques of capitalism + colonialism—now just a dead white man. Gusty north winds. I may only have six weeks left! So fast! Not sure if there'll be anymore lightning—maybe just abandoned hunter fires at this point. Tho the hunters I've met lately are camping in style in big trailers w/heat + electricity + booze. I'd be more into huntin' if it was for food for poor people rather than antlers for middle-class white men but at least bowhunting requires some skill + physical activity. Some chunky preppers came few weeks back decked in cammo carrying pistols and their jeep full of rifles. I said, was that you guys shooting down there this morning? And the 'leader' said, yeah, just shooting some coyotes. I tried to hold back my anger + instead mock him—Why, did they attack you? But he took me serious: No, they eat deer. Which is to say he just wanted to kill. Shot from his jeep too. He could barely walk up the stairs. I called Dispatch to see about any illegality. Might have been—if an LEO had been around he might have given them a talk but nobody cares. Except Brandy the dispatcher. I think we bonded in our sadness for coyotes. I still have to visit the agate beds. That's why you came out here. Vale.

—john

tower point lookout, september 2018

 

Michael—

Prairie falcon just landed on the roof. Swooped in at window level so I saw its underbelly. Hopefully it'll get a squirrel or two—they come up at night sometimes + skitter around playing or looking for a hole to nest in tho I seem to have fought off the mice—kept traps out on the catwalk until the squirrels figured out how to pop them + get the peanut butter. Cold, end of september, finally have the heater on. Figured out where the yellowjacket nests, plural, are—one when I was meditating directly in my lowered gaze tho don't know why I didn't see it before. The other more recently during my morning laps. I'll take them out—with extreme prejudice—before I leave, which should be october 13^th or thereabouts—still dry + windy, still red flag danger until end of the month tho finally got a day of rain yesterday—I just curled up in my sleeping bag + read all afternoon. Neil Gaiman Wallace Stegner Jim Harrison. My phone got not-renewed until the end of the fiscal year—our illustrious Secretary of the Interior's way of saving some money—so I'm back to old-school lookouting—just me + books (tho still have my computer with which I can play music—playing along to + singing all the early Beatles stuff on guitar). Had a breakthru on Heidegger on Nietzsche—that eternal return means the process of being as becoming, growing, but needing stability to grow so growing a bit, settling in, growing more, which says more about Heidegger than Nietzsche I think. I used to think eternal recurrence was an 'as if' as in live your life so that if you had to do it all over again you wouldn't despair which I think mostly I could be ok with? Except for stupidity during middle school + high school where I did a few idiotic things like grab a girl's butt on the dare of some other idiot boy who I didn't even like. Still cringe about that though recently got back in touch via the interwebs with a woman from back then + apologized but she didn't even remember so maybe I should forgive myself but yes regrets—only really for people I've hurt. Anyways, I always thought Vonnegut the only one to get Nietzsche right on eternal recurrence w/Timequake but looking thru The Will To Power for like the fourth time maybe Heidegger was right if longwinded tho none of N's pre-humous writing was that clear about it nor am I even yet clear on der will zür macht nor is Heidegger which still seems to me a will to make/create rather than power but I could be wrong—it's happened before. Bowhunters have been quiet + friendly (those that came up). Rifle season starts in a week when the slobhunters will come out so I may catch an escaped campfire or two. Or not. Otherwise absorbing all the cool clear stars I can before my eternal return to discontented civilization. Thank you for keeping me company up here—I plan on returning, tho not eternally, next summer but I'm not sure yr ghost will still be around. I'll always think of you when I pass the agate beds sign. Vale!

—john

tower point lookout, october 2018