Dottie and Gordon’s kid

When I was quite young back in my hometown I had a friend named Donnie, and we would often walk into the woods directly from the edge of his backyard. Those were the Everett Woods, and back before progress and housing developments, the only sign of people going deep into the woods was the fire road that traveled from South Main Street to Bodfish Avenue – like it sounds, a route for apparatus should there ever be a fire.

I tried reaching out to Donnie any number of times these past 10 years, until I was informed by his brother’s wife that Donnie had lost his memory. That means I’m the one who has to keep lit the memory of walking with Donnie in the Everett Woods – and the zillion times we went fishing – for both of us. It’s both a deep sadness, and an honorable invitation.

I find myself walking in woods often these days, and as my ‘practice’ continues and grows, I find myself more at home there. In the woods and as the woods. It sure would be great to have Donnie walking the Bob Jones Trail with me these days. Donnie pulled my ass out of the flames any number of times the middle years of this life I still get to live, and mostly remember.

There’s Donnie, with my youngest, Spenser (now 32).