drexnexlo

Old Blue

From the mountain he would come, about halfway through our visit to lay on the deck near the table and the food, by the railing that looked down the slope and to the creek. We'd have cherry seed spitting contests, Blue underfoot – cherries from Washington, sweet dying cheeks and tongues, over the side, I don't think we ever measured who won, and how can you see a cherry seed land into a field of grass when the summer wind is tickling your scalp and camp robbers sing in the pines? I can't say I was friends with Old Blue, but at the time I imagined it very so. Blue was a mountain dog and he had little time for play or games, but he was old and he was tame and he liked to be around people, and so I came to love him and expect him each visit, though he was a complete mystery. Nobody knew where Old Blue came from and he would vanish off into the woods at dusk. He would appear out of nowhere – perhaps a week or so into a summer stay – around supper of course or lunch at times. We thought he belonged to the cabin across the glade, the next road down – the one that turned to an old logging road about a quarter mile up, but Arthur talked to them and they knew Blue, but knew not where he came. Forest Green was too far, and the small cluster of cabins across the highway was scarcely inhabited. So Blue lived, seemingly feral in the woods and came around each summer to pay us company and beg some gristle. In my mind he was free and fought bears and mountain lions on a daily basis. So I began to watch the forest path, as I play among the trees and creek – up through the meadow beyond where I should venture alone, but often did. I would imagine I'd see Blue or a bear – patterned with the leaves and needles of pine. A bear beyond the cattle gate, who couldn't cross the metal grate, I'd peer as though my eyes were made of magma, so wishing and forceful – past fallen trees and rotten logs and ferns, please let me see the black tuft of a bears ear, or a hear an unfamiliar sound crying from the ravine.

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Eucalyptus

On my days off, sometimes I would ride down to the Berkeley Marina to the Seabreeze Cafe to eat fish and chips with a can of Tecate and watch the seagulls and other birds who I did not know, and eye my sketchbook.... next time, next time.

There was a giant and grand old eucalyptus tree that stood there right at the entrance to the jetty - in Berkeley Meadow, and I think there were more than one, but the one I remember was huge. If you ever saw it, you'd remember it too. I don't know how fast eucalyptus trees grow, but this one seemed to be over a century old, its olive colored leaves and seeds such I had never seen before. I came there with friends or alone to this tree and sat beneath it, back against bark and enjoyed its long cast shadow among the grass and dirt of the earth. I must have seen a eucalyptus before, but I never noticed one until now. Vince, Catherine, and I couldn't get our combined arms around it - or at least that's how I remember it going. The first time we saw it, Vince and I stuffed our pockets with seeds and brought them back to our apartment off Ashby and Shattuck and we placed them along the windowsill that looked out behind our kitchen sink. From this window we could see the sun set over west Berkeley - where lie the marina and tree, but there was never an indication of water or the bay, or the city beyond. Those seeds sat there and glowed in the sunlight, occasionally getting misted by soap or water, I think for the entire time we lived there. When we moved out, I suppose they were tossed into the trash or chucked into the shrubs outside the building.

There was one day, while visiting from Davis several years later- I rode over to the park and saw the trees all gone. I had thought I made a wrong turn somewhere even though I knew that was not possible. Signs were posted about invasive species removal and natural shorelines restored. Couldn't they make an exception, out of respect for a being so old and beautiful? There had to have been a moment of hesitation in the axeman's hand. There had to have been, right?

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