Healer Heal Thyself

Chapter 18

Parkers Lake - Pond

Summer 1976 was unique some in the nation tried to heal a few succeeded.

I know a thing or two,

I learned from you --

Kevin Raleigh – Love Hurts Parson, Harris Grievous Angel


Healer Heal Thyself

It takes a while before summer can build to a Sunday afternoon like this. Everything pushing peak in its growth cycle storing the energy. As the sun moves towards a resting place the heat radiates in a sensuous warmth not the stultifying sultriness of a 90/90 afternoon. Ninety degrees and ninety percent humidity or one hundred percent muggy. Today was a hot, that slowly simmered. The dusk coming gradually. The season still not noticing the shorter days that are coming. Summer yet verdant expansive reaching higher, aspirations without limit. Humanity and the world not knowing or pretending not to know, the waning time. A limit that ascension will soon yield to recession, birth and growth to wither and die.

I had decided to park up on the north end, off the road in the pasture. This would allow me to come to the Lake/Pond following the small stream that flowed from the spring. This area was fenced from cattle and other domestic animals. It always seemed much closer to the primaeval land. Yet, a person born of the land would know it wasn’t completely unadulterated. I popped up into the grassy area mowed usually once a year. What was a lake or what was a pond? Grandpa Eldon had built a dam making an entrapment the locals often called Parker’s lake, Grandma and Grandpa always called it the Hayes pond. It was not some livestock pond; it was constantly fed by a spring that diminished but had never dried up during the droughts. The overflow piped to follow down the draw for the cattle. A good fence always kept the herd away from the pond and draw itself.

Max Greene who rented the pasture kept it posted and monitored to keep people out. He had reported the big party, but I rubbed a few noses a kilter when I pressed the charges. Not allowing people in may be viewed as selfish, but people trample the fence, leave trash, and are a liability. After all none of them were paying off the loans or paying the property taxes. I always suspected that Max had made Carol Parker sound like a real bitch or maybe a kooky environmentalist former member of the Monkey Wrench Gang. Either way no one asked about fishing anymore and it made it private up here.

I came up and walked over the area where grandpa had added smooth rocks and sand. It was shallow for several yards out from the makeshift beach. I liked to wade into the lake from here. As I laid down my pack, I saw JB. He was fishing up closer to the dam. He was casting into the pond; I would stay with family on that pond definition. His back was to me and he would not know I was there. I sat and watched. Almost two years ago JB had insulted my truck and was about to kick me out of his yard. He had really become an indispensable part of the farm. He definitely had mechanical skills, also he had not gotten drunk or in a fight all year as far as I knew. JB seemed to have become more in control.

Possibly the time I came to drive him home, had changed him somehow. The bar had called, “There’s a new deputy, who is one of the people JB beat up a couple years ago. He is going to stop JB if he drives home.” He said, “I got a call to warn JB. It won’t be his first arrest, also, he would fight back. I think JB may spend a year in jail if they arrest him. Two old friends are making him stay put. He’s talking of doing something at your place in the morning and needing to leave. You will have no help for some time if you don’t come get him.”

“I will be there in about twenty minutes.”- I put on my boots, grabbed my leather fringe jacket, and fired up my truck.

I walked in; I must have been a rare sight. A tall blonde in a small-town bar. I caused a few stunned expressions. JB wasn’t too happy I was there to pick him up, but his two friends insisted with their powerful and more sober, muscles. Once he was in the truck, he began insulting my rice-eater. Then cussing all of the draft dodging flag burning communists. He had crawled through mud, dodged booby traps, all while the card burning homos were home stoned out their minds getting free pussy. He lost good friends and protestors did nothing but give comfort to our enemies. JB had learned to swear and demean women, maybe it was part of the training in the Army. He was so wound up the insults fell like a soft rain having little effect. I could hear the abandonment and disillusion in his string of hate. He had run out of steam as we got to his house. “JB we weren’t protesting you the soldiers, we were protesting the war, we were trying to get you home.” He stumbled on out towards his house, while screaming about a nosy higher than thou hippie cunt.

When I got home, I stood and watched the stars for a long time. My leather jacket shielding some of the cold. The beauty was crystal and too awe inspiring to not endure a little cold. I should have been furious to be called such demeaning names when I was just keeping him out of trouble. Still I had heard the deep hurt, the wounds of rage and fear. A confused man thrown into a hell with no redemption. JB felt discarded like an empty whiskey bottle.

JB rather sheepishly called about the middle of the afternoon. He said he figured out his truck was in town and I had driven him home. He said he didn’t remember much but he knew he had called me names. Cussing like he always did when drunk. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have. “

“I have your keys I’ll come take you back to your truck. Forget last night. While you are working for me, we are going to take some breaks, and talk about the war and the protests. We need to hear each other’s story. “

JB was a rather chastised man as I drove him back to the bar, Bill was there cleaning up the outside. He always picked up or mowed on Sunday when the bar couldn’t be open. Bill told JB about the Deputy looking for him, and why he called. Drunk driving was rather common on these rural roads. Most people keep it under control but were often over the legal limit. Normally the County didn’t make stops without obvious impairment. JB thanked Bill.

Ms. Parker, he said, “I’ll be over after work to finish that new raised bed.”

I drove home. After that day we paused to talk over the war, the protests, and the upheaval in the country on a regular basis. We learned we often agreed on facts but were looking from different worlds. JB knew little of the history of Vietnam, the colonial period, the cancelled elections, and I learned about daily life for the soldiers. JB came to realize most protestors were just trying to do the moral thing, and I came to appreciate how the soldiers had to rely on each other.

I had come here to swim and didn’t feel like changing my plans. I decided to invite JB to join me. I would chide him that the turtles might bite his dangly parts, but men were supposed to be brave. I decided to walk over to a time-bomb and see if I could defuse it. I walked over for my talk with JB.





photo Katie Nixon