Nature Trek: Heartbreak & Healing 1
Mart was awed, amazed, and more than a little humbled. When he had met with Preston Davis and Ted Jannings way back in early March, he had mentioned that in addition to his duties as an assistant cook, he would be interested in having a garden plot in which to demonstrate the joys of growing food to the campers. It had been only one of many things they had discussed, and Mart had shelved the idea somewhere in the back of his mind. Preston Davis had not. Mart stood at the back door of the kitchen, looking out on nearly a full acre of garden--his garden, almost exactly as he had described it during his interview. Four rows of corn, a patch of bush beans, a patch of snap peas growing up a trellis, two barrels of potatoes, an area devoted to carrots, parsnips and turnips, and a low fence for six different varieties of tomatoes. It had all been planted in mid-May and carefully tended in preparation for his arrival. Now it was his turn, his domain, to share with the campers that would arrive in the morning.
Mart looked at his schedule. With the help of Dan, Jim and Cookie, he had set up times for each group of campers to work in the garden. He was really looking forward to the sessions, getting his hands into the soil, and passing on his love of growing things to a new generation. He grinned at the thought of being important enough to change lives. It did sound a bit pompous, he thought, ruefully. Still, he did hope he could at least influence a few of the boys. There was something very calming about feeling the soil under his fingers, something satisfying about watching something you had cared for and tended reaching the table. With a smile of satisfaction, he folded up his schedule and headed back in to the kitchen to start chopping vegetables.
Brady’s jaw was clenched, his hands fisted and his amber eyes bleak as he processed the news. Sam’s eyes filled with tears, and he wiped at them fiercely, shaking his head in disbelief, while Luis just looked from Jim to Dan and back to Ted for confirmation.
“So... he’s dead? Like for real?” Luis asked.
“Yes.” Ted’s voice was calm. “Kris died. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be angry. But I want you to remember that it’s okay to be happy, too.”
“Are you guys happy?” Brady challenged. “Cowboy? Ranger? Are you happy?”
“Right now?” Dan met the challenge for both of them. “Right now, Brady, I’m all three things Ted just mentioned. I’m sad about Kris, and I’m angry that his life ended because it didn’t have to happen, and it isn’t fair. But,” He looked directly into Brady’s face. “I’m happy that I’m alive and back here at camp with Jim and our friend, Mart. I’m glad that five of you six boys are healthy and three of you are back. I’m excited to get to know our three new campers, and I’m hopeful that we’ll have a great camp.”
Dan stretched out his hand, inviting Brady closer. The boy jerked forward, his shoulders still tight. His emotional struggle played out on his face before he hesitantly placed his open hand on top of Dan’s. Jim covered Brady’s hand. Sam wiped his leaky eyes on his arm and added his hand. Luis topped the pile. Jim cleared his throat. “Let’s make this a great camp,” he said huskily, “For Kris, and for all of us.”
Sam lay on his bed, listening to the rest of his cabin sleep. The five other twelve and thirteen year olds seemed nice, so far. Digger had been a counselor the year before, so Sam was comfortable with being in his cabin. Mustang, the second counselor, seemed nice, too, although the noise coming from the counselors’ room indicated that he was definitely a snore machine. Still, despite the regular breathing of his fellow campers, Sam couldn’t sleep.
Quietly rolling onto his side, he reached into his pillowcase and pulled out the peanut butter granola bar that Dan had handed him after the meeting at which they had learned of Kris’ death. Sam fingered the wrapper, looking through the darkness toward the moon-bathed window. He felt oddly empty inside--not hungry, exactly, just hollow.
The clock on the wall read 11:15, the glowing red numbers taunting him. Sam struggled with himself. It was an ongoing battle between his knowledge of the rules, and his instinct to leave the cabin, that unending urge that drove him to seek air, solitude and food.
He didn’t have a buddy this year, and he was okay with that. Sam had always found it hard to attach himself to people--his experiences before Camp Kensey had mostly been unpleasant. Still... the kitchen wasn’t more than two hundred yards away from Cabin Five. He wouldn’t go in, just sit on the steps and stare at the stars for a while. No big deal.
His decision made, Sam slipped from his bed, retrieving his shoes as he went out the door. Within five minutes, he was sitting on the back step of the kitchen, enjoying the peace of the night.
“Who goes there?” a voice asked, startling Sam. He jumped, his eyes flashing wildly under the flashlight of the speaker. “Whoa. It’s okay.”
As Sam tried to catch his breath, a shirtless figure in pajama pants and boots, his tousled blond hair standing up in spikes, stepped out of the shadows.
“Hey!” the young man said. “It’s me. Mart... I mean Shakespeare. Take it easy.”
“I...I...I...” Sam struggled for words, but Shakespeare didn’t seem to notice. He sat down on the step and stretched out his long legs.
“You’re Sam, right?” he asked. Sam managed a nod. “Dan... I mean, Cowboy, told me I might see you. You hungry?”
“I... I thought I w... was,” Sam stuttered, composing himself under the assistant cook’s calming presence. “But now I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” Shakespeare agreed, “I get that way myself sometimes. I’ve got some fruit in the cooler if you want.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay. C…Cowboy gave me a granola bar.” Sam allowed himself to relax a little. “I was just looking at the stars.”
“It’s a nice night for that,” Shakespeare commented. “I was out trapping earwigs.”
“Ear-whats?” Sam looked at him, perplexed.
“Earwigs,” Shakespeare replied. “Nasty little bugs that come out at night and eat anything they can get to. I noticed that something had been gnawing on my lettuce, so I thought I’d set a few traps tonight.”
“What kind of traps?” Sam asked.
“Non-toxic ones,” Shakespeare answered with a grin. “I like my food chemical-free. I put out some newspaper rolls, and some tuna cans I filled with vegetable oil. Hopefully, they’ll do the trick.”
“Newspaper and tuna cans?”
“Sounds silly, doesn’t it?” Shakespeare grinned. “Da... Cowboy’s dad taught me those tricks. The earwigs like to hide in things. If you put out a rolled newspaper, they crawl in, and in the morning, you just pick up the paper and dispose of the bugs. The same is true with the tuna cans, except they drown in the oil. Either way, they’re out of the lettuce.”
“That’s kind of cool.” Sam gazed up at the older boy. “Do you know a lot of stuff like that?”
“I know enough, and I’m learning more every day. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you show up early, and you can help me check my traps?”
“Really?”
“Sure.” Shakespeare stretched. “I’ve got a pretty big garden happening here. I could use a few helpers.”
“I could do that.” Sam shifted on the step, gnawing on his lip as his eyes darted toward Cabin Five. “I should probably get back to my cabin.”
“Probably a good idea.” Shakespeare rose and extended his hand to Sam. Sam hesitated, but took the proffered hand and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. “I’ll walk you part way back, so you can use my light. You sure you don’t want an apple or something?”
Sam thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, thank you. I’m good.” He waited for the light, and they walked silently back toward Cabin Five.
Two Weeks Later
He was a hard worker, Sam. Mart watched him from his own spot among the peas. Jumpy, and a little on the thin side, but strong, and his hands gravitated naturally to the earth. In some ways, Sam reminded Mart of Dan when they’d first met, except Sam didn’t try to hide his fear behind a mask of sullen indifference as Dan had.
Mart watched as Sam’s long fingers worked methodically to strip the vine of the plumpest of the peas, leaving the smaller ones to continue to mature. Every once in a while, a pea, still in its edible package, would make its way into Sam’s mouth. It made Mart grin to see that Sam no longer hid his occasional nosh. In the two weeks since their midnight meeting, Sam had become Mart’s official garden partner--and unofficial shadow. He soaked up gardening tips and growing information like a sponge, relaxing and smiling as his hands worked the earth.
All of the campers shared the weeding, planting and harvesting chores, but Sam, alone, seemed to find peace in the garden. Lately, he had started to open up a little to Mart. At first, Mart had been somewhat disconcerted, but Dan had set him straight.
“He trusts you. That’s a good thing, Mart.” Dan’s dark eyes had been glowing with encouragement. “Sam doesn’t trust many, and he doesn’t trust easily, but he trusts you.”
And so it had begun. Sam began to come by the kitchen and the garden during his free time, watching Mart as he went about his duties, listening as he spoke about different plants, their preferences and uses. Pretty soon, he was making suggestions and asking questions.
“How much space do you really need to grow a garden?” Sam asked, setting down his bucket of peas.
“It depends,” Mart answered. “This plot is almost an acre, but I know people who live in the city and grow salad greens in containers on their apartment patios.”
“Really?” Sam chewed on his lip, his light blue eyes focused on his hands. “So, if I had a pretty big backyard, do you think I could grow stuff?”
“Sure, depending on where you live.” Mart grinned. “Places like Arizona and Alaska have conditions that limit what can be grown. Where do you live?”
“In Sacramento now.” Sam hesitated, his brow creasing. “In the suburbs. Before, I lived in Oakland, but I’ve been with the Millers for more than a year.”
“You like them?”
“Yeah.” Sam shrugged. “They’re my third family, but they’re nice at least.”
“Do you have a big backyard?”
“It’s pretty big,” Sam said. “Do you think I could make a garden?”
“Definitely. That part of California is great for growing things. There are tons of farms.”
“Do you think I could grow stuff like here?”
“I don’t see why not. They grow stuff year round down there. Do you think your foster parents will let you have a plot in the yard?”
“I think so.” Sam seemed to relax a little. “They’re pretty okay, I guess.”
“Then, sure.” Mart placed a hand cautiously on Sam’s shoulder, pleased when the boy didn’t pull away. “Just ask them when you get home. I can set you up with some seedlings before you leave camp. Even if you can’t get them into the backyard, you might still grow them in small containers.”
“Cool.” Sam’s pale blue eyes were bright with excitement. “Maybe I could ask them when I write my letter on Saturday.” He smiled. “Thanks, Shakespeare.”
“My pleasure,” Mart told him sincerely. “I think it’s great that you like farming so much.”
“I like growing food,” Sam admitted, looking intently at his dirt stained fingers. “If everyone grew their own food, no one would have to be hungry.”
“That,” Mart told him, choking back a surge of emotion, “is very, very true. Farmers feed the world, and that is super important.”
Sam nodded his agreement, and went back to harvesting peas for that night’s supper.
Dear Nani,
Camp has started with a bang. It’s harder this year, I think, because I miss you so much. Last year you were mostly a memory, but now, well, I miss you. With a capital M. We told the kids about Kris, and they didn’t really take it that well. The new kids are oblivious because they didn’t know him, and I think Luis and Brady resent that. There’ve been a rash of pranks lately, and I think I know who is behind them.
We have three new campers: Bailey, Justice and Mike. They’re good kids. Bailey needs a haircut in the worst way, but I wouldn’t suggest it to him. His stepfather uses haircuts as punishment—among other things. Mike is almost an orphan. His mother is dying, and his father is already dead. He knows it’s coming, and I think he’s just numb. It breaks my heart, because I know how he feels. I’ve been there, and it isn’t fun.
Justice is the one I want to tell you about. I’m 99 % sure he’s Hawaiian, but his last name is McCallum. He looks Hawaiian, except for his bluish eyes, and his middle name is Pu’aloha. I don’t know much about him, just that he claims his parents moved to Idaho from some place called Cuckoo when he was a toddler, and his mother died in the car accident that put his father in a wheelchair. He’s been shuffled around a lot, because his dad goes through periods of time when he can’t take care of him. Are there McCallums in Hawaii? Is there a place in Hawaii called Cuckoo?
Mart has a shadow. Do you remember me telling you about Sam? He’s our food hoarder from last summer. He’s latched onto Mart. Sam follows Mart around, working in the garden, and absorbing every growing tip Mart throws out. It’s very cool to watch, even though it makes Mart a little uncomfortable.
Well, F.O.B is about over. F.O.B. stands for Flat On Your Bunk. It gives the kids some time to relax, and the counselors some well-needed quiet. I guess it’s time to rally the troops and head out to chow. I keep your picture in my Bible–-which is probably a sin of some sort—and I think of you every day.
Have fun on your beaches, and remember that I love you, sun, moon and stars.
Your Kane
(Who is known around here as Cowboy—yes, like your horse.)
Author’s Notes:
Thank you to my beloved editors! Dianafan, Susansuth & WendyM.
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