J. Michael Dew

I woke up at 4:30 am unable to sleep, so I went for a jog under a moonlit sky.  Strange how the world seems so different that early in the morning.  Human beings and the earth, for the most part, simultaneously enjoyed a break from each other.

It wasn't tall fescue at all; it was Bermuda.  I had sown thousands upon thousands of tall fescue seeds in a small patch of my yard, but time and time again, the Southern sun would burn them off and turn the soil into dust.  So I tried another type of seed.  The analogy presented itself. The ground can be fertile, but at the end of the day, it is the type of seed we plant that matters.

I remember the exhilaration of riding in the backs of trucks.  Do people still do that today?  Is it considered to be too dangerous?  The order came so casually out of the mouths of our parents: "Hop in the back of the truck.  We're going to the DQ."

It is true.  I hitchhiked in Australia with only a pack on my back and a worn out map.  I spoke my plans out loud so the driver at the petrol station could hear.  He took me to as far as the next town two hours away.  And then I stuck my thumb out and got lucky.  That driver took me to the beach, my destination, and from there, I was all by myself again.

I was a part of the beef team, a four-man cohort whose mission it was to pull the rope bridge taut.  After it was locked in, we'd check our Swiss seats, jump up, and clip in, our rubber ducks hanging from slings on our backs.  Rangers lead the way.  Low crawl, high crawl, PT studs the lot of us.  I still wonder why I put it on safety after only a year.