#adam park might be the caretaker in question

[ajgrey9647]

lol Can totally see Skull here!

@augment-techs

Whumper, the tall one: They beat my ass.

Caretaker: Who?

Whumpee, the short one, coming in covered in blood: Me.

[pcttrailsidereader]

July 9, 2010 . . . A (Trail)Magical Evening at Drakesbad

By Rees Hughes

There are certain magical days on the Pacific Crest Trail that stand tall; days that rise above that broad forest of glorious days.   These are the days that your memory immediately races to when you reflect on your life on the trail.  There was the day we guessed our way around snow-covered Mt. Adams ending on a ridge with a commanding view of Mt. Rainier and a solstice sunset; the day we swam our way down Falls Creek marveling at the granite walls above Grace Meadows only to while away an afternoon in the soft, lush grass basking in the warm sun near Wilmer Lake; or the day we walked south from Cook and Green Pass past Kangaroo Springs to Lower Devils Peak with its ringside seat to the conflagration raging across the Klamath River Valley.  Every hiker has their transcendent days.

Such days do not always represent a confluence of everything wonderful.  It is their enchanted quality, what English writer Nan Fairbrother calls “exquisite moments,” that sets them apart. ��Besides, time seems to blur the difficult and brighten the best experiences of these stellar days.  Such was the case this particular day.

The day dawned with vestiges of the tumultuous evening resting on the peaks above Lower Twin Lake in Lassen Volcanic National Park.  We tried to shake off as much moisture as possible but there was no alternative but to pack the tents wet again.  Dr. Howard tended to Don and Eli’s ailing feet.  Wet boots and long days had chaffed their feet raw with blisters compounding their discomfort.  There were unspoken thoughts of an early exit from the trail as it is no fun when each step hurts.  Perhaps a short day will improve spirits.

Speed bumps of late season snow gave way to long stretches of snow sheltered by the dense tree canopy.  I always find these situations wearing if not exhausting.  Climbing up and down the steep edges of the snow banks; picking your path around downed trees; add in a couple of postholes.   We carefully crossed several creeks swollen by the melt water and preceding night’s rainfall. About midday we reached the crest of a line of basalt cliffs that comprise Flatiron Ridge high above the Warner Valley and, more importantly, Drakesbad.

Drakesbad, initially established clear back in 1900 as a guest ranch, remains a rustic refuge accessible via a corrugated unpaved road seventeen miles in from Chester (which is pretty remote itself) or on foot.  There are only nineteen units at Drakesbad some of which still rely on kerosene lamps.  However, the price for a night rivals the cost of a month on the PCT.  Yet, during much of the summer, accommodations have been reserved for years.  It really is a Northern California Shangri-la.

As we made the long traverse down, we could see the steam rising from the hot spring pool set out in a broad meadow.  The siren song of happy voices pulled us forward.  Our own chatter focused on the possibility of reserving a space for dinner.

We set up our tents in the Park Service’s Warner Valley Campground, hung a line and did our best to give the high mountain sun a chance to dry out our saturated gear.  Howard and I were nominated to walk the half mile to Drakesbad to ask about a table for four in the well ventilated section.  We donned clean tee-shirts and tried to sponge away the most offensive trail musk.

As we stepped into the closed space of the dining room, even our deadened noses became aware of the aroma that accompanied us.  The colorful tablecloths festooned the light wood of the dining room.  The room was set for dinner.  Salad forks.  Second spoons.  Wine glasses.  The ambiance was simple but elegant.   The realization that we didn’t fit here made us yearn for the opportunity that much more.

A tall woman brusquely emerged from what appeared to be the kitchen.  She had the air of a person with a long list of urgent tasks and little time for hiker trash.  Our first efforts to turn on the charm bounced off her and fell impotently to the floor.

We continued, “Any chance, any chance at all, that there might be a way to handle four more this evening?”  We weren’t above inserting a hint of desperation in our request.

“The Ranch is full and we usually only have enough food for our paying guests,” she replied without a hint of sympathy.  There was a pause as she saw our crestfallen faces.  “I will check with the chef and see if there is likely to be extra food.”   Perhaps it was her Germanic accent that underscored the futility of our quest.   Perhaps it was that she didn’t seem to be heading off to ask anyone anything.

We turned to go, tails between our legs.  Don and Eli will be so disappointed.  We had hoped this would be an antidote for their blistered feet and bruised morale.

With one foot out the door, Howard asked if it might be possible to use the phone for a quick call home as our cell phones had not been working along this stretch of the PCT.

It was if Howard had uttered a magic incantation that had propelled us into a parallel universe.  We were Dorothy trying to get into Oz.  “Why didn’t you say you were on the Crest Trail,” Billie Fiebiger exclaimed.  “We always have enough food for PCT hikers.”  In fact, Billie gave us the key to the city.  “Use the showers (please) and the pool.  Make yourselves at home.  Come back at 7 p.m. although you may not be seated until later.”  Still shaking our heads at our good fortune and this rather mysterious turn of events, we hurried back to tell Don and Eli the news before the spell was broken.

As the four of us returned the dark clouds that had dogged us the past several days were building quickly.  But, the warm showers and the hydrothermal pool kept us occupied until the rumble of thunder became more aggressive. Within minutes the remaining blue patches of sky vanished.  Lightning forced us reluctantly to vacate the pool.  The hail drove us for cover under the eaves of the bathhouse.   The gusting winds pushed tentacles of rain toward even the most protected corners.

Valiant employees raced down the trail to the pool in an electric cart to rescue the castaways three per trip.  The meadow had been transformed into a Sargasso Sea and the pyrotechnics kept us all jumpy.  Eventually we were deposited in the Lodge where we were to wait until dinner.

The photo albums and memorabilia in the Lodge deepened our appreciation for just what a special place Drakesbad is.  For two generations the Sifford family had built and tended this Guest Ranch.  For over 60 years they reclaimed the facility after each harsh winter for its four months of annual operation.  It had to be a labor of love.  The facility was incorporated into the National Park in 1958.  For the past 19 years, Ed and Billie Fiebiger have served as the hosts, caretakers, and stewards of Drakesbad.

Ed, in his chef’s apron, called us for dinner.  We crossed to the dining hall and were promptly seated.  There were several choices of entrees.  Or, Ed suggested, “Try them all!”  Heaping plates were brought to each of us.  The folks at the adjacent table took a special interest in our story.  One of their group had come annually for nearly fifty years.  Another from their table was sent back to their cabin and instructed to return with some of their wine stash to be shared with us.  “White or red?”  “No”, she instructed her husband, “bring one of each.”  We were peppered with questions and asked quite a few of our own.  We soaked up the attention that comes with being minor celebrities.

Ed pulled up a chair.  He had a bigger than life quality and exuded a warmth that permeated the hospitality of this magical place.

My cynical side wanted to peer around to make sure that we were not being fattened up by some wicked witch.  But, Drakesbad is a place that replenishes your faith in the generosity of the human spirit.  Distrust, doubt, and skepticism have no place here.

And, there was desert too.  In fact, there were three kinds.  “Try them all!”

It was tempting to linger much longer than we did.  I confess that it was all I could to restrain myself from asking if they served breakfast too.

Eventually we said reluctant goodbyes and enthusiastic thank yous.  The rain had stopped by the time we walked back toward our campsite.  If we weren’t walking down the road with our arms around each other, singing and talking loudly, then it felt like there was that sense of conviviality. 

The storm had spread our clothes across our campsite and sent cascades of water around our tents.   But there was nothing capable of dampening our spirits on this magical day.

[gastricpierrot]

Title: Heartbeat

Series: Promare

Pairing: GaloLio

Rating: T

Summary:

Lio turns himself in after the final battle, the start of a new life he must get used to.

This is a story of how Lio Fotia navigates through the days that follow, learns that support comes in more forms than he’s ever familiar with, and deals with his alarmingly developing feelings for Galo Thymos.

Also on AO3

[Prologue][Chapter 1][Chapter 2]

[Chapter 3]

“Get on, Lio. We’re gonna go have lunch with the boys.”

Is the first thing Galo says when Lio walks up to him. Lio fails to suppress a smile at his wording.

“Galo, what the heck,” he says, accepting the helmet Galo passes to him nonetheless. Galo straps on his gear as he explains.

“Gueira and Meis have been going on and on about treating you to something nice once you’re out so,” he seats himself, “lunch’s on them today. They should be waiting for us when we get there since it’s closer to their place.”

“I see.” Lio climbs on after Galo, putting his arms around his waist and interlocking his fingers. Galo starts up the engine and goes over the usual routines with habitual ease, then glances over his shoulder when he notices Lio slipping into silence.

“You okay?” his voice comes through a hidden speaker built in his helmet. And honestly? Lio isn’t quite sure himself. Everything still feels a bit unreal. The silence, the blue skies, the fact that he’s right here now and not at the site doing the labor that’s become a usual for him. Even the fact that he’s now speaking to someone else so freely without a time limit looming over them—Lio seems to have yet to process them all.

“Just a little tired,” Lio replies, which he guesses pretty much sums it up too.

“What, you’re that excited about today that you couldn’t sleep?” Galo teases, to which Lio only hums ambiguously because he’s not wrong but he doesn’t quite want to give him the satisfaction of being correct. “It’ll take a bit of time for us to get there so feel free to lean against me and get some rest. Just don’t forget to keep holding on, though—wouldn’t want you falling off halfway.”

And Lio only hums to that again, seizing the chance to get comfortable yet not too much so before Galo starts on their way to the diner.

It’s...been a while since he had such close contact with another person, it eventually dawns Lio as they cruise through the roads of the city. Galo’s so much different from the pillow he’s hugged for comfort on nights where his chest feels hollow enough to hurt. He's warmer, solid. Alive. There, with him.  

Lio holds Galo just a little tighter, leaning against his back as he’s offered. Just until the sudden wave of something in his chest goes away, just until the sounds of traffic around them and the rush of cool air against his skin could distract him again.

The pizza diner is a quaint little place in the middle of a lively district decorated with colorful banners and flowery bushes along the sidewalks. It looks like there’s either going to be a festival soon, or one has just passed. Galo manages to find a parking right outside the restaurant, and Lio has just climbed off and barely removed his helmet when he hears a couple of enthusiastic, familiar voices calling for their Boss.

He manages to put the helmet away just before Gueira and Meis sprint over and envelop him in a crushing three-person hug.

Everything about them screams familiarity: their touch, scent, warmth. It finally begins to sink in. How long Lio has actually been away, how long he’s been separated from the people he considers his family. They might have developed the habit of calling him their Boss, but  Gueira and Meis have always been more like his older brothers, his caretakers when he’s not out there presenting himself as the leader of Mad Burnish. They respected him, no doubt, but they also loved him as their own. Always supporting him in the wild things he does, always knowing when to make sure he doesn’t go overboard and hurt himself.

Lio misses them. He misses his brothers so much.

“You guys,” he swallows the lump in his throat, holding them closer, “it’s so good to see you again.”

“Bosssssssssssss!” Gueira proceeds to wail, almost overlapping with Meis’ demands of “Why did you suddenly run off and do that all by yourself!!!”

Lio does his best to calm them, promising he’ll tell them in a bit so why don’t they just go grab a bite first? The two are quick to start enthusiastically listing out recommendations as they start heading towards the diner, and part of Lio still can’t seem to get over how...unchanged they seem. It feels like home, with them. Safe, accepting, anchoring.

He turns around to prompt Galo to come along, too, and sees the fond smile he’s wearing while he watches them.

“Galo,” Lio feels himself returning the smile as he beckons him over, “let’s go.”

Meis has already made a reservation beforehand, so they’re immediately led to a table by the window once the staff confirms the details. Lio easily gets coaxed into being squished between his brothers on one side while Galo takes the other alone. Lio assures them he’s fine with anything when asked for any preferences, and in no time their orders are placed (with specific requests to exclude onions, of course; they still remember how much Lio dislikes them) and they finally have time to themselves.

Gueira and Meis are quick to resume their questions; Lio can’t blame them. He'd made that drastic, spontaneous decision all by himself back then, after all. Of course they’d still be in the dark with a lot of details. Gueira recounts how he’d actually decked Galo when he found out Lio had been arrested, thinking he had let it all happen despite having just teamed up with him to save the world (“Sorry ‘bout that, bro.” “I told you already, it’s cool bro.”) Meis apparently had even almost gone as far as planning to break into the detention center itself to get Lio out of there. It was a mess. It’d taken Burning Rescue a lot of yelling and reasoning to get the agitated Burnish to calm down and listen.

“We really thought they were going to lock you up for life, Boss,” Meis admits, staring at his own clasped hands on the table. “And I'm sure if it weren’t for the firefighters and that team of researchers, they would have.”

“I know we haven’t thanked you properly for all you’ve done for us and the Boss,” Gueira adds, then grimly faces Galo without a shred of hesitation. “So thanks, Galo. For all your help.”

“No, no need to thank me in particular! It’s all team effort!” Galo is, in true Galo fashion, instantly dismissive. “We couldn’t possibly have just left all of you by yourselves after all that. The Burnish had gone through enough as it was.”

“But what you have done,” Lio reminds him, “is keep me company through those five years. And that alone has saved me more than you can imagine.” He looks up to meet Galo’s gaze. “So thank you. Take credit for at least that.”

“It’s nothing, really!!” Galo insists, face turning slightly red from all the sudden gratitude directed at him. When he realizes this, he covers his face with his hands and just lets out a meaningful “AaaaaAAaaa!!”

“Just accept it, Thymos, because from now on we’d probably die for you.” Gueira says like it isn’t even a joke. “Right, Boss?”

“Please cherish your own lives and don’t do that,” Galo pleads. The pizzas arrive in that moment, giving him the chance to steer the conversation another direction. “A-Anyway, enough of all the serious stuff now that food is here! Let’s eat while it’s still fresh!”

And so they do. Lio pulls out a slice of pizza, still steaming hot and dripping with cheese. He's somewhat gotten used to the feeling of heat on his fingers now, though on some days it’d still feel so foreign and unfathomable. On some days he’s still inexplicably tempted to find out how far he can go before it’s unbearable, before his skin blisters and burns when he’s been immune to injuries like those almost half his life.

Lio takes his first bite, and immediately has to take a deep breath. He's gotten too used to the bland food of the detention center, he realizes. The richness of the cheese and the tomato paste and the olive oil simultaneously assaults his taste buds, and he’s almost overwhelmed.

Meis is the first to notice his lack of enthusiasm and quickly offers, “Boss, if you don’t like it we can—”

Lio raises a hand and shakes his head, stifling a burp. “It’s not that I don’t like it, Meis. I’m just...not used to it yet. I’m sure it’ll get better in a few minutes.”

“Just don’t force yourself if you really can’t have it, yeah?” Gueira insists, brow furrowed. “We can always get something easier to stomach for you, like garlic bread or something.”

“No need.” Lio is just as adamant. “You guys are sharing something you like with me. I can do at least this.”

He tries his best, with many sips of water in between. Their conversation eventually picks up again, and Lio lets himself to be distracted enough to ignore a portion of the pizza’s richness that’s making him sick. He encourages Meis and Gueira to share all about what they’ve been up to and they do; they’ve started out mostly acting as representatives of the former Burnish, aiding Heris and her team in their efforts by providing detailed testimonials of the terrors they had witnessed and experienced. Once that was mostly settled and they found they could not be much use anywhere else, they’d started looking for jobs, knowing they can never rely too much on provisions from an unstable government. Many other adult Burnish must’ve thought the same, gradually finding the courage to put themselves out there again when Heris’s campaign began gaining more momentum.

In Gueira and Meis’ case, there had been no question. Galo had told them about Lio’s community service and involvement in restoring destroyed infrastructure during his detention. They couldn’t let him carry such burden all by himself. So they’d found a company that couldn’t care less about them being past fire-wielding hooligans as long as they could do a good job and, like Lio, had learnt to rebuild instead of destroy.

Lio’s already heard about some of what they’ve been doing from Galo as soon as they got the job. It is his first time, however, hearing their motivations. If they couldn’t be close to Lio in person, they’d do it in spirit. They could indirectly share similar experiences, similar aches, even similar doubts and frustrations. He’s not alone. They refuse to let him be, even if he doesn’t realize it.

“You’d be dumb to think we’ll let you go off on your own so easily after everything.” Gueira ends his recollection with a grin, slinging an arm across Lio’s shoulders. “We’ll always be here for you, Boss. No matter what.”

And of all the times Lio has had the sudden, unexplainable urge to cry that day, this is the first where he fails to keep the tears back. Those five years...he’d been lonely. So ridiculously much so. He might’ve gotten used to being by himself, but that didn’t stop the invisible weight from pressing down on his chest, didn’t stop him from feeling like he’s so disconnected and isolated despite Galo’s fleeting presence. It all comes crashing over him like a tidal wave. The past five years hadn’t been extremely hard on him physically; he could bear with the soreness, the harassment, the other petty less-than-ideal things even in his standards. But it had been so unbearably lonesome.

No one makes a fuss when he cries. His brothers hold him, offering support in silence. Galo averts his gaze to give him some privacy, though if Lio had been looking he’d see how misty his eyes are, too.

Lio feels like a child again. It’s been so long since he’s had such a privilege; to just bask in their unwavering presence, their scent, their warmth, their affection—without having to worry about how weak he might look, how unreliable he’d seem to others if he ever bared the cracks in his being. Lio cries; he cries until his throat hurts and the cheese on the pizza tastes even worse than before.

And once it’s all over, once the knot in his chest has finally faded away, he laughs. And he admits he can’t stomach the pizza anymore.

“So what do you plan to do after this?” Galo asks a little later when Lio’s munching on the tuna sandwiches they ordered for him after he’s calmed down. Lio sniffs and takes a moment to think it over, not quite sure himself what’s going to happen next.

“Is there anyone who are still in the shelters? Maybe I could just drop by and see how they’re doing.” He decides that could be a good place to begin.

Meis and Gueira exchange a look at that. “As far as we know, most of us have already found our own places to stay,” Meis tells him, “the ones who remain are mostly those who aren’t willing to leave because they still get free provisions.”

Lio hums in more thought before deciding it’s still worth a try. “I want to have an idea of how it was for you guys when I was gone, anyway. Plus I'll need somewhere to stay at in the meantime, so I might as well.”

“You could always just stay with us, Boss! It’s really not a problem!” Gueira’s quick to offer, but Lio’s already made up his mind.

“You and Meis are both busy, and I'm sure you guys need your privacy too. It really doesn’t matter to me.”

They bicker back and forth about that for a bit; they’re understandably stubborn about not leaving Lio by himself. He’s been away for such a long while and all he’s got with him are the clothes on his back. They're the only people he has contact with, and the only people he can directly count on at the moment. Lio’s silly to still insist on trying to handle everything himself and refusing to rely on the only people he can, he knows. It’s just something he thinks he’s got to do, some rite of passage he thinks he must go through before he earns the right to ask for help.

“Lio, listen.”

Amongst the bickering, Galo eventually speaks up. He waits until they’ve quieted down, until Lio meets his gaze before he continues.

“Burning Rescue accepts recruits a few times a year, the next being in about a month,” he tells him. “There’s not much prior qualifications needed for the job as long as your physically fit and you’d get to stay in a dorm during the training period. If it’s something you want to try out, I can ask the Captain to throw in a recommendation for you.”

He then looks at the other two. “Meis, Gueira—this is still open to you guys, too.”

There he goes again, doing...this. Butting into people’s lives, needlessly trying to help even in the littlest ways.

“You don’t have to decide so quickly, though!” Galo hurriedly waves his hands in front of himself and adds when the others lapse into a minute of thoughtful silence. “Just know that if you have nowhere else to go, you guys are always welcomed in the FDPP.”

“That’s very reassuring.” Lio genuinely means it. “Thanks, Galo.”

Galo grins, and Lio is once again reminded of how fortunate he is to have him by his side. He’s always been there for them, always been ready to help without expecting anything in return. Lio’s hit by the sudden, overwhelming urge to give back to him; ten-fold, a thousand-fold. He isn’t sure how and if that’d even be possible in his lifetime, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to try.

If it’s for Galo, surely he’d be able to do anything at all.

xXx

They spend the next few hours more just talking about everything and anything, just sharing laughter and anecdotes. Just like every other group of close friends.

And then it’s time for Meis and Gueira to prepare for their shift in the evening, and they have to leave. Galo again offers Lio a ride since the shelter is a little out of the other two’s way to work. Though, it might be a little more accurate to say he’d insisted to do so, refusing to listen to even a syllable of argument from Lio about being a bother to him. It's been five years, and Lio still doesn’t know what he’s going to do with this childishly stubborn side of him.

“Lio.”

But there’s one thing he’s learnt, and that there’s always so much more of Galo under his daily boisterous façade. Lio once again catches of a glimpse of it when Galo calls his name a little while after he’s begun driving.

“It didn’t feel right for me to say this in front of the guys just now,” Galo starts, his voice calm and quiet through the speaker, “but you can always stay at my place too next time if you want. It’s pretty big and I live alone so it’s cool even if another person comes over.”

Galo doesn’t stop trying to keep giving and giving, especially to him. Part of Lio still can’t quite comprehend why he’s willing to go such lengths for his sake when he’s got nothing to gain from it. Doesn’t it grow tiring at some point? Isn't it enough that his entire career is based on the idea of helping others in need? Doesn’t it grow exhausting when he lets it extend to even personal matters like this?

“Galo,” Lio’s asking before he can even properly sort out his thoughts, “why are you so kind to me?”

“Mmm, isn’t that obvious?” Galo sounds genuinely confused that Lio doesn’t understand something so simple. “It’s because you’re my friend!”

Lio frowns. “That doesn’t mean you have to do so many things for my sake.”

“Lio, I don’t have to do it,” Galo says, patiently, “I want to do it. Also, don’t get so full of yourself—a lot of it is for my own sake too, y’know. I’m much more selfish than you might think.”

“That’s truly a surprise,” Lio can’t help but snark to that last bit, and it prompts a playful protest from Galo that leads to some laughter shared.

“Nah, but really,” Galo says once the mirth has faded away, voice taking that quiet, gentle tone once more. “I don’t get it all myself, but I just feel like the way our paths crossed, the way coincidences somehow brought us together to literally save the world—” he takes a breath— “don’t you think it feels a bit like destiny?”

Lio blinks, trying to process the actual words that’d just come out of Galo’s mouth. Destiny? It’s such a fantastical concept, something out of the fairy tales Lio had read when he was a little child. It’s something Lio doesn’t expect to hear in this day and age, yet it doesn’t sound too far-fetched to have come from Galo. Galo, who constantly boasts of other fantastical things like his burning spirit and blazing heart and being the best firefighter in the universe.

“Galo Thymos,” Lio observes, amused, “you’re a surprisingly romantic man.”

“Anything wrong with that?” The pout is evident in Galo’s response even though Lio can’t see it. He sighs, smiles.

“None at all.” You’re amazing the way you are, he manages to stop himself from adding despite truly believing so. He isn’t quite prepared to face the embarrassment of telling him that just yet. Perhaps the day will come when he is, perhaps it will never. Lio doesn’t bother mulling over it.

They soon slip into a comfortable silence, content with simply sharing the space, the moment. Galo must’ve heard Lio yawning at some point, pulling over to shrug off his jacket and tie its sleeves around both their waists. Lio figures it’s to help prevent him from falling off as easily if he passes out, and the comfort of knowing so eventually adds to the effects from his full belly and fading adrenaline. His eyelids grow heavier by the minute, and he finds himself nodding off.

And the next thing he knows, Galo waking him and telling him they’ve arrived at the shelter.

It’s not a very big place, though Lio understands that they’ve gradually downsized the premise as more and more people left. There’s a small reception space at the front, then a hallway that leads to a canteen, shower stalls, and the toilets. The sleeping quarters are further back, in what looks like a small hall with cement floors and large windows at intervals across the walls. There are some used blankets and mattresses strewn across the back corners of the hall, rubbish and dirty laundry littering the space around them. Compared to the rest of the place that’s maintained so perfectly, those areas seem like dumpsters.

“You sure you want to be here?” Galo asks one last time as Lio begins filling the paperwork, frowning in obvious disapproval at whoever’s been hanging around.

“I’m an ex-terrorist who's been in detention, Galo. I know how to take care of myself.” Lio assures as he finishes up and hands the documents back to the receptionist. He tries to ignore the uncomfortable stare he gets from him—maybe he shouldn’t have said that first bit out loud. Oops.

The pout in Galo’s frown intensifies as he tries to come up with more reasons to argue, but he ends up giving in this time. He instead asks for a pen and a piece of paper, scribbling down some things before handing it to Lio.

"Here’s Gueira and Meis’ numbers,” he says, shoving the note into Lio’s hands and folding his fingers over it. “Mine’s there, too. Call us anytime if you need us, alright? Use this place’s landline or a payphone or something since you don’t have a cellphone yet.”

He can be so overprotective at times, Lio muses. “Will you be dropping by every night again?”

He'd meant it mostly as a joke, but Galo’s serious when he answers, “If I can!”

“Please don’t,” Lio pleads, though he knows it’s mostly impossible to change his mind at this point.

“There’s no way for us to reach you if you suddenly up and disappear, Lio!” Galo’s a little more agitated than necessary when he reminds him. “What if something happens!!”

“It won’t,” Lio soothes, gesturing for him to lower his voice. “I’ll be fine, Galo. You’ve worried enough about me.”

“And you can’t expect me to stop now.” Galo crosses his arms across his chest.

Lio gives him a look, like really, what am I going to do with you. “Just go, Galo. It’s been a day for the both of us. I want to wind down soon too.”

“I’ll try to come here after work tomorrow—maybe around seven? We can have dinner together or something?” Galo asks as he lets Lio steer him around and gently push him towards the exit.

“Just do what you like.”

“It’s settled then!” Lio walks right into him when he suddenly plants his feet on the ground and stops to turn around and face him again. “Be careful if you’re going to go out wandering later, yeah?”

“Yes, yes.” Lio smiles crookedly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Galo.”

Tomorrow. Yet another tomorrow with Galo to look forward to. Yet another thing that Lio’s glad remains unchanged.

[oumiyuki]

Teachers don’t date teachers (but You-sensei and Riko-sensei definitely are) Ch8

Summary: The whole student body and teachers teases the gym teacher, Watanabe You, with the new art teacher, Sakurauchi Riko, that they make a cute couple. How long can You deny this when Riko isn’t helping to reduce the rumours?

Pairing: YouRiko

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Slice of Teacher Life ;D

Words: 2507

 Author Notes

Seems like I can go for monthly updates instead. :)

(but I’m full of surprises! So who knows XD)

May you enjoy~ XD

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Tease08 - You-sensei is Riko-sensei's caretaker (even in Riko-sensei's house)

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You had just driven Riko’s car out the school’s car park when the art teacher wakes and groans. You slows the speed as she looks over Riko worriedly.

Did the sunlight wake her? Is she feeling worse?

Dazed hazel eyes open and tries to focus into bright, very much focused blue eyes. “Why..? Where..?”

Okay…doesn’t seem like a bad case scenario.

You reassures herself and smiles softly to Riko who was looking up from the passenger seat, head not bothering to raise off the headrest; though in the art teacher’s case, she probably can’t. “We’re in your car. I’m driving you home so you can get proper rest, Riko-sensei.”

Maybe she might not recognize me due to the fever?

“And I’m You-sensei.”

Riko’s lips turned into a smile, You swallowed subconsciously at the sheer simplicity and beauty of that. The gym teacher could not help but feel relieved that Riko finally smiled today too. But what the art teacher said next made You frown.

“I can drive…”

You shakes her head. “You wish you could.”

“I-”

“I’m driving you back, and that’s final.” You purposefully steps the pedal a little more to make her point, concealing a grin.

Riko-sensei is so stubborn.

“The way…” Riko mumbles, trying to look out the window.

You slows to a stop at the traffic light and turns to look at the art teacher. “Like what you see?”

Riko turns back to You, still clearly groggy, but surprise in those sweet hazel eyes. You puts on a proud smirk. “I already remembered the way to your house from that one time I brought your things back. And the few times we had meals together.”

Riko’s eyes widen a little.

When Riko-sensei is sick, she’s extra cute…

You swallows on purpose this time, eyes back on the road. “So just close your eyes, relax, and take a nap, Riko-sensei. You’ll be home safely soon.”

Riko sighs, feeling the weight of her head pulling her to sleep almost immediately. She is indeed stubborn, however, as she tries to stay awake at least a few minutes longer, to look at You’s driving profile. She fell asleep in the next minute.

  Reaching Riko’s place, You intended to help carry Riko up to the apartment, but the art teacher wakes just as the gym teacher took the seat belt off.

“I’ll carry you up.”

Riko shakes her head. “I can walk…” The auburn-haired teacher breathes out heavily and made to get out the car on her own.

You allowed the adamant teacher to use her as support. It was a shaky stand but the ash-brunette already came to terms that Riko, despite having a high fever and clearly being quite incapable of getting around on her own, would want to try. “The lift is that way.”

Riko nods and starts walking after You prompted her to; her body felt like lead but she had to move on her own; the art teacher was against troubling others after all.

It’s good to have tenacity…but you can rely on me more, Riko-sensei…

You adjusts Riko’s bag on her left shoulder and took note of how tightly Riko was holding onto her right arm. She was assisting a lot already, but more would never hurt anyone.

.

.

.

In the lift heading to the twenty-first floor, Riko gave up trying to stand all on her own (not that she was) and took a daring step over to You so that she could rest her head on the gym teacher’s shoulder. You jumps slightly in surprise before she pursed her lips at Riko who had her eyes closed already.

You sure do whatever you want to when you’re sick…

You looks up as the numbers change rather slowly.

Or maybe you always do… I think art teachers are quite free-spirited after all…

You’s eyes lowered into a squint as she remembers the Head of Art, Ohara Mari. Art teachers are very free-spirited she concluded as she moved her hand around the slumbering art teacher’s waist to help Riko out the lift.

At the door, You asks in a not too loud voice. “Um, Riko-sensei…where do you keep your keys?”

“Mm…pocket…” Riko drawls, cheek squished against You’s shoulder.

You nods. “Can you get it on your own?”

The auburn-haired teacher nods, stands a little away from the sturdy shoulder she liked resting on before reaching over and slipping her hand into You’s pocket.

You jumps a lot more this time, her cheeks growing red fast too. “N-Not my pocket, Riko-sensei.” You hisses in her state of surprise. Thankfully, it was her hoodie’s pocket and not her pants pocket; that would have got the sensitive-to-touch gym teacher to be ultimately self-conscious in a second.

Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Riko-sensei? Sheesh…

Riko hums weakly and confusedly before resting on You’s shoulders again, more from the front now.

And you’re doing all of this unknowingly…

You sighs, blushing. “I-I’ll help you then…don’t mind if I do…”

You searched all of Riko’s pencil skirt pockets and blazer pockets but could not find any key. “Riko-sensei… Your keys… Home keys?”

Riko tries to stand again. “Bag..?”

You blinks and finds Riko’s keys in the bag easily.

I should’ve searched the bag first! If her neighbours saw us earlier, they might think I’m taking advantage of Riko-sensei!

You’s cheeks were almost as red as Riko’s feverish face as she opened the doors and helped Riko in; lamenting her own slow mind for not thinking of searching the bags for a key earlier! Though she could try to defend herself for she keeps her own key in her pocket… You shakes her head multiple times as she brought Riko to the room; regardless, that scene outside Riko’s door was embarrassing and she hopes Riko doesn’t remember it.  

   Riko’s high fever seemed to have gotten higher as the art teacher’s laboured breathing increase. You looks down to Riko resting against her chest while she was locking the door; her heart tightening and a grimace at the sight.

Riko-sensei…You’re home now.

You nudges Riko slightly so that they can start the walk to Riko’s bedroom.

You can get proper rest now…

It wasn’t hard to find Riko’s room as the apartment only had two rooms, and the ash-brunette did glimpse upon Riko entering which room the other time she was here. They reached the side of the bed and You expected Riko to gravitate to it as any normal person would, yet, the auburn-haired teacher lingered on You’s shoulder.

“Um…Riko-sensei, you can lie on the bed..?” You blinks a myriad of times; nervous and conscious about the pretty art teacher resting on her.

Rest is best on the bed, Riko-sensei..!

After much prompting and edging centimetre by centimetre closer to the bed, Riko finally gets on. You sighs in relief but clenches her hand open and close, her nerves eating at her once again as she reluctantly looks to Riko.

“I…”

Should help her clean off…some of that sweat right..? That’s normal right?  It’ll be better for the fever to go down…

You kept questioning herself; whether it was right to do so or not as she brought over a basin of clean water and a cloth. The ash-brunette frowns at the sight of Riko, face red and sweaty, hair sticking to her skin and looking uncomfortable.

What I’m doing will help her…

You takes a deep breath once…twice, three times before taking another deep breath again, till she finally helps Riko into a sitting position. “I…I’ll just help you wipe off some sweat, kay? …P-Pardon me…”

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this…

Shaky hands holding the wrung cloth slowly get close to Riko’s body, another hand shakily lifting Riko’s shirt slightly, blue eyes trained on the corner of the bed to stay sane; or well, for the innocent gym teacher to not overthink things.

Mm… Riko-sensei…

“Is really sweaty.” You blinks once and turns her head to confirm what her hands was feeling. The art teacher’s shirt was drenched with sweat.

You shifts Riko’s shirt back down and thinks.

Should I..?

I shouldn’t right..?

I can’t…

But Riko-sensei…

You stresses out in her mind over whether she should help the art teacher get changed or not; it’d be overall better for Riko to recover if she was in fresh clothes instead of sweat-drenched ones, but!

You groans internally for another minute or two before placing the towel beside the basin of water. “R-Riko-sensei…Do you want a change of clothes?”

Riko doesn’t say anything for quite some time and You thought perhaps she should just go back to cleaning Riko and calling it a day, but Riko sounds, “Mm…”

You gulps. “You…you got to say ‘yes’, if you really want it…” The ash-brunette waits in anticipation; fingers crossed for Riko to reject her.

“…Yes.” Came Riko’s drowsy reply.

You’s eyebrows furrowed as pink dusted her cheeks. “D-Do you… Are you okay with me helping you…change…into fresh clothes?”

Say no? …Wake up and say that you’ll do it yourself?? Riko-sensei?-

The art teacher gave You plenty of time to feel embarrassed before sounding another “Mm…”

You averts her eyes from the art teacher whose eyes were barely open. “You have to say ‘yes’, if you really want me to…”

“Yes…” Riko’s reply comes much faster than earlier.

You’s heart skips a beat as she closes her eyes, resigning to her fate. “O-Okay…”

Since Riko-sensei gave me permission to…

The gym teacher rigidly walks to the closet to grab a new set of clothes for Riko to change into; she avoided taking any lingerie after debating with herself that Riko would prefer it that way too.

A painstakingly long and heart-racing fifteen minutes later, You heaves a long sigh of relief that she was done getting the feverish art teacher clean and changed. You pouts tiredly at the now slumbering teacher. “Be glad that I’m the one taking care of you instead of some lecher…”

To think it’d be so tiring to take care of someone with a fever…

The red on You’s face darkens as fresh memory flashed through her mind of helping Riko get changed. She shakes her head rapidly and hurriedly grabs the basin to the bathroom.

Once done with that and her heart and mind have calmed considerably, You inspects the fridge only to frown upon it. The ash-brunette pops her head back into Riko’s room. “I’m going to get some stuff from the mart…” You smiles at Riko’s sleeping face. “Lunch will be good.”

  You noticed that Riko’s house was missing a few essentials like cooking oil, fresh meat and vegetables and surely one might like to eat some ice cream some days, so You grabbed that went to make the purchase.

Home before Riko could notice her absence, You gets busy in the kitchen; filling the refrigerator up so it’s more normal and healthy than the desolate one before which only had a bottle of mixed fruit jam that Riko herself stuck a note to say “For sandwiches”. You was puzzled at the note; what else could she use it for…

Not painting right?

You shook her head; she should ask when the opportunity arises.

.

.

.

“Ri…ko…sensei~” You sing-songs in a soft voice; not wanting to startle the resting art teacher out of her deep and much-needed sleep. You places the bowl of warm soup on the table beside the bed and smiles small, a hand reaches over to gently caress Riko’s forehead, pushing some hair back.

Beautiful…

You gazes softly at Riko for a minute before blinking out of her reverie. “R-Riko-sensei…I’ll help you up to have lunch…”

The ash-brunette props Riko up, back on the pillow and the auburn-haired teacher opens her eyes slowly. “Mm… …”

She’s awake.

“How are you feeling Riko-sensei? Better?” You waits patiently for an answer.

“Mm… ‘m…kay…”

Mmkay, huh?

You’s lips pull upwards slightly as she observes the long eyelashes move with each sleepy blink Riko did, and the red but kind of dry lips that breathed in and out heavily. The ash-brunette passes the glass of water she prepared for such a case. “Have some.”

Riko reaches over but before she could even move the cup closer to her lips, her hands falls back to the bed and she furrows her eyebrows at what just happened; not expecting her own body to disobey her.

She’s still weak…

You shuffles closer from the side of the bed and carefully brings the cup over to Riko’s lips; the art teacher gratefully swallows each drop with a blissful sound. “Thank…you…”

You smiles wider and puts away the glass. “I’ll feed you lunch.”

Maybe she’ll refuse me out of embarrassment?

The gym teacher still had a 50% hope that the pretty art teacher would get better at any moment and return to the much more reactive lady You has come to know; teasing her when an opportunity arises. You blinks at that thought.

Why am I okay with Riko-sensei teasing me..?

You shakes her head, lost in her thought until she hears Riko’s voice.

“Yes…please…” Riko looks to You with bleary, half-lidded eyes, hair still a disarray that You finds charming and endearing in its own way, and fingers edging closer to the food.

Riko-sensei isn’t a mean teasing machine like Mari-chan, that’s why. Yup.

You settles for a simple reason as to why she would like this art teacher’s teases over the other one before blowing a scoop of Watanabe-cooked Get-Well-Riko-sensei soup for Riko to drink.

It didn’t take long for Riko to be done and You heads off to clean the dishes.

When You returns to check on the art teacher with a high fever, Riko looked like she was fully back in dreamland and asleep. The ash-brunette walks over quietly to get a better look, staring for a good minute before thinking she could wait outside, but the tug on her right hand stops her.

“Riko…sensei?”

“…Stay…” Riko murmurs and You’s heart skips a beat.

“What?”

Is she sleep talking??

“I’ll feel…safer…with you…” Riko’s hold on You’s hand tightens at ‘safer’ and pulls You over feebly but determinedly at ‘with you’. You sighs.

“I can’t refuse you, right?” You returns a reassuring squeeze to Riko’s hand and sits on the floor. “Just until you’re sleeping again…”

Then I’ll go outside…

Riko responds by holding You’s hand tighter.

You falls asleep with Riko, her head resting on the bedside of course, until dinner time came and You felt a blush of embarrassment for falling asleep mid-day and falling asleep on Riko’s bed; even if it’s only her head and hand that’s on that bed.

…

…

Ahhhh..!

You falls on her butt in her panic, detaching her hand from Riko’s hold before holding her breath, a hand over her mouth, and eyes watching Riko carefully, not wanting to wake the still-sick art teacher. When Riko doesn’t make a move, You breathes out tiredly.

I’ll go make dinner…

  Author Notes

Aaaand~ I’ll go make dinner. XD Just kidding, I already did. But I’m purposefully stopping here :3

You-sensei needs to cool off a little in the kitchen and stare at her hand for a bit, maybe? Like, how many hours did Riko-sensei hold my hand??

XD I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter!

You-chan is really the best at taking care of others. Ahh, I want..! *O*

Leave a comment if you like~ (You-sensei will be back to taking care Riko-sensei in the next chapter! :P hehe~ who would’ve thought this became an arc? Wahaha. Let me know your favourite parts? Pretty please and a You-chan on top~? OxO` (XD))

[pavspatch]

I’d rather play than manage — Keogh

AT the end of the day it didn’t feel right. Andy Keogh may go on to be a manager. He may even become a manager of Mossley. But not now. At this point in his life he’d rather make the most of what’s left of his playing career.

When the news emerged today (Thursday) that Keogh had turned down the Seel Park job there was a general air of surprise.

Since he took over as caretaker boss in February, following Dave Wild’s decision to take a coaching post at Matlock, the assumption was that he would be properly appointed at the end of the season.

It was his assumption too — and the club’s. However, ten weeks of lockdown gave him plenty of time to ponder the pro’s and cons of management. When the call finally came he decided to say no.

“I enjoyed my short time as manager but it would have been easy to get carried away. Next season could have been a totally different kettle of fish when I had to start getting my own players and sorting money out,” said Keogh.

“If the job hadn’t come along as it did, would I have been looking for it? I realised I needed to be sure if I wanted to be a manager at this time. It would have been wrong for me to take it and then, say, get to November and decide it wasn’t for me.

“The fact is, you’re a long time retired and I feel I still have two years in me as a player, whether that’s at Mossley or somewhere else. After that I might feel differently.

“A non-league manager’s workload is ridiculous and I’d rather be playing. There’s also the problem that when you’ve been on the inside, as part of a team, it’s very difficult to suddenly move to the outside.

“Plenty of people have messaged me to say I’m stupid to turn the job down but it’s the way I feel. To be honest, I just want to enjoy what football I have left.”

The question now is who Mossley will appoint, and it would seem they’ll have make an announcement fairly quickly. In a normal year, non-league clubs would be only a month away from pre-season training with friendlies starting shortly after.

When the post became vacant, Seel Park vice-chairman Callum Irving said the club had received the top end of 30 applications, adding: “There’s a real spectrum. Some applicants have a strong pedigree and their names are well known in non-league. Some are up-and-coming, and there are people working in other areas of the game who want to coach. It’s a really interesting group.”

No clues were given as to who the applicants might have been. Speculation surrounded John Flanagan and Steve Halford, and there was talk about former central defender Adam Jones who is in charge at Stockport Town. However, Mossley revealed nothing.

Keogh said: “I realise the club need to get a move on. I let them know my decision as quickly as possible so they could get the wheels in motion.”

[killingthebuddha]

“If you focus too much on only a personal relationship being the core tenet of your faith, then it means that you’re more easily able to marginalize topics like human suffering, which in some cases is spurred by climate change. We are embodied creatures in this planet, so let’s live like we are,” said Sean Lyon. Credit: Meera Subramanian

WHEATON, Illinois — Diego Hernandez wasn’t thinking much about climate change until last summer, when he was traveling with his family along the Gulf Coast in his home state of Texas, where his ancestors—cowboys and politicians, he said—reach back to the 1600s. His mother suggested they take the “scenic route” for that summer drive, Diego said, his fingers making air-quotes because there was nothing “scenic” about it. All he saw were oil refineries.

“At that moment,” said 19-year-old Diego, who considers himself a libertarian, “the switch kind of flipped for me.” Why are we putting refineries in this beautiful place? he thought. The impacts from Hurricane Harvey, which had hit Houston the previous August and had affected some of Diego’s relatives, were also still lingering in his mind.

“I used to be like, oh, there’s oil, go start drilling, you know, because of course it’s all about the money, right?” he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. But after that family outing, he began to ask questions—”What is it doing to our environment? How is it going to affect us in the next 10 to 50 years?”—and since then he’s had climate change on his mind.

Diego is a clean-shaven, lifelong Christian wearing a cyan blue button-down and polished cowboy boots, and a sophomore at Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois, which has been called the Harvard of Christian schools. The entrance sign, framed by a glowing bed of zinnias in full bloom, pronounces the school’s motto: “For Christ and His Kingdom.” But while Diego has all the credentials of a true political conservative—president of Wheaton’s Young Americans for Freedom chapter, a cabinet member of the College Republicans—he also finds himself genuinely baffled by the right’s stance against acting on climate change.

While many evangelicals are preoccupied with the long-term state of human souls and the protection of the unborn, Diego and the other students I met at Wheaton are also considering other eternal implications and a broader definition of pro-life. They are concerned about the lifespan of climate pollutants that will last in the atmosphere for thousands of years, and about the lives of the poor and weak who are being disproportionately harmed by the effects of those greenhouse gases. While Diego was just shy of eligible voting age in the 2016 presidential election, he’s old enough to vote now. He and other young evangelicals thought hard this year about the politicians on offer, the issues they stand for, and who deserved their votes.

  What’s an Evangelical to Do?

Evangelical Protestants—one in four American adults—are a political powerhouse. They are the single largest religious group in the nation, and they are nearly twice as likely to be Republican as Democrat. And while Baby Boomers are currently the strongest political voting bloc, that’s only because the older you are, the more likely you are to vote.

The current crop of younger people—from Gen X to Millennials to the newly minted adults I met at Wheaton—are poised to dominate the eligible-voter body politic. They would definitively tip the voting scales—should they become engaged. There are signs they might be doing just that. From the Parkland school shooting victims to Millennial political candidates, the youth of America are speaking up.  And, significantly, they accept the scientific consensus on climate change at a much higher rate than their elders.

This is true even of young evangelicals, as the existence of the Young Evangelicals for Climate Action (YECA) attests.  YECA is a ministry of the Evangelical Environmental Network that aims to mobilize students, influence religious leaders and pressure lawmakers into passing legislation to address climate change. I met Diego at a climate change discussion event on campus that was organized by Chelsey Geisz, a Wheaton junior and a YECA climate leadership fellow.

From Colorado Springs, Colorado, Chelsey, 20, always loved nature, she told me as we sat together in a gazebo in Adams Park, near campus. She’d taken a few classes on sustainability at Wheaton, and last year spent time working at Eighth Day Farm in Holland, Michigan, where Christian volunteers have turned the dirt once trapped below strip mall pavement into garden plots to grow vegetables for the hungry. These experiences meant she was primed when she heard about YECA.

Though non-partisan, YECA is targeting conservatives, since that’s where the facts of climate change have failed to lead to action. According to the organization, they’ve engaged more than 10,000 young evangelicals so far. Along with Chelsey, there are another half-dozen fellows at other schools across the country, helping to build the grassroots movement. The fellowship includes a summer training session that covers the science of climate change, as well as the socio-cultural and religious aspects of the issue. As a YECA fellow, Chelsey organizes campus events such as the session I attended in September and she serves as Wheaton’s executive vice president of campus sustainability, a new position that YECA helped develop.

It can be tough to be an evangelical who cares about climate change, Chelsey said, “because the environmental activists don’t trust you and the evangelicals hate you.” Or they could hate you; she was quick to point out that the evangelicals she knows personally are generally tolerant of her views. “I’m not encountering anyone at Wheaton, even among my most conservative friends, who disagree with climate change,” she told me. She’s having some trouble with her father, though, who’s troubled by her YECA work. He holds a Harvard law degree, works at a company that invests in resource-rich properties, and associates Chelsey’s transformation into a “climate activist” with a liberal agenda he finds suspect. “For a man who has such well-reasoned opinions, I just feel like there’s so much emotion for him that it’s not about the science at all,” she said.

As for liberals themselves, Chelsey said, some of them do treat evangelicals like her with some suspicion. After all, aren’t evangelicals the ones who elected anti-environment Trump?

“I think there’s some misunderstanding about what our faith compels us to do,” she said as the sun set behind her, creating a halo around the edges of her auburn hair.

  Praising Natural Systems

Sean Lyon is a recent Wheaton graduate who was also a YECA fellow while he was in school. He feels that he was born to love the natural world; his first word as an infant was “bird,” after all, and flying creatures remain a passion he can’t quite explain. While in school, he created his own interdisciplinary major of biology and business and spent significant time in Tanzania working with ECHO East Africa, a faith-based sustainable agriculture organization. He still lives in the town of Wheaton, easy commuting distance to Chicago, where he’s volunteering at the Field Museum of Natural History.

Sean, 23, grew up in upstate New York, among “classic North American white evangelicals,” where climate was not a concern and politics were conservative. But his love of the natural world shifted his perspective. He saw heaven on earth, and something worth saving, in every wingbeat he witnessed.

“Every ecosystem carries His creativity in it,” Sean said, “and every species is a mark of His design.” He had a thick brass bangle encircling his wrist, and blue eyes behind clear Lucite-rimmed glasses. Sean drew an analogy to his sister and grandparents, who are all artists. “So how would I treat the art that they created? If I love them, then I’m going to treat their art well. I’m not going to deface it. I’m not going to ignore it. I’m going to really honor it. And so when I see my God as having created everything that I’m interacting with, I want to honor it because that’s a way that I can show my love for this Creator.”

But God didn’t just create singular works, Sean said; he created systems, natural systems that every living being relies on. He hoped that all Christians—no, he corrected himself, all faiths—would unite to protect those systems.

“That’s my current prayer.”

  ‘Structural Sin’

Climate science isn’t questioned at Wheaton College the way it often is in the wider evangelical community. The school is a brick-and-mortar rebuttal to the myth that science and religion must be at odds with each other. When Wheaton students step into their-state-of-the-art science building, for instance, they are greeted with signs stating that a “sound Biblical theology gives us a proper basis for scientific inquiry,” and a display featuring locally excavated Perry the Mastodon, which carbon dating shows to be more than 13,000 years old.

The school is not alone in intertwining commitments to love God and protect the earth, often referred to as “creation care.” The Cape Town Commitment, a global agreement between evangelical leaders from nearly 200 countries, includes acknowledgement of climate change and how it will hurt the world’s poor (and it is required reading for Wheaton freshmen). Katharine Hayhoe, an atmospheric scientist at Texas Tech University and an evangelical, has been an outspoken advocate for climate action. And in addition to YECA, there are numerous groups active in this arena, including the Evangelical Climate Initiative, Climate Caretakers, Care of Creation and A Rocha.

In late 2015, the National Association of Evangelicals (NAE)—the biggest umbrella group of evangelicals in the country, representing 43 million Americans—issued a statement accepting climate change, acknowledging the human contribution to it and encouraging action. YECA’s advocacy helped bring that statement, called “Loving the Least of These,” into being. In it, NAE argues that Christians should be compelled to care about climate change as a matter of social justice, equating those without the resources to adapt to failed farming or dry wells or rising seas as the modern-day equivalents of the widows and orphans of Jesus’s day.

When Chelsey reads the Bible, she hears this gospel of social justice, too.

“Instead of talking about climate change,” she said of her work as a YECA fellow, “I talk about environmental justice. There’s definitely a guilty complex, especially among the white evangelical community, about how complicit we’ve been, and apathetic. People really want to redeem that.”

Chelsey’s framing reveals that she is steeped in a liberal arts ethos friendly to intersectionality, the idea that humanity’s ills, which disproportionately affect the most vulnerable, cannot be conquered until root causes are addressed. This perspective is shaping academic dialogue in both secular and faith-based schools.

But does fighting climate change detract from evangelism? Here there’s a rift within the evangelical community. Should the emphasis be on saving souls or saving God’s creation? And are the two really at odds?

“That’s the Billy Graham evangelicalism,” Chelsey said of the personal salvation perspective, referencing Wheaton’s most famous alumnus. “It’s your faith between you and Jesus.” But the problem with that approach, she said, is that it doesn’t force Christians to deal with larger systems of injustice. “The evangelical community is really limited when it comes to talking about systemic and structural sin rather than individual sin. Most of us have never heard about systemic racism and climate change in church,” she said. Even as evangelical organizations embrace the need for action, the message isn’t coming across from the pulpit. “These things never come up because they’re apparently not gospel issues,” Chelsey said, “But at Wheaton, we think they are.”

For Sean, there’s not one speck of conflict between his love of God and the gospel and his fierce desire to see action on climate change. They’re complementary, he said.

“If you focus too much on only a personal relationship being the core tenet of your faith, then it means that you’re more easily able to marginalize topics like human suffering, which in some cases is spurred by climate change,” he said. “We are embodied creatures in this planet, so let’s live like we are.”

Could his concern for the climate be a threat to his faith? I asked him.

“Actually, I see more of a threat in the idea that we can divorce our lives on this earth and the lives of other people and the lives of other creatures from our life of faith,” Sean said. Better to revel in God’s love. “How much deeper and how much more beautiful is a way of loving Him that involves my whole being and the whole world around me rather than just simply the status of my soul?”

  When Pro-Life Means Entire Lives

Abortion was the entry point into American politics for many evangelicals, after the Supreme Court affirmed abortion rights in Roe v. Wade in 1973. Before that, evangelicals were generally unconcerned about abortion rights, which had the uncontroversial support of Republicans; they were also generally disengaged from voting. Today, the single-issue anti-abortion preoccupation of many evangelicals, now considered a given by many political leaders, confounds some of the young evangelicals I met at Wheaton.

“If we say we’re pro-life, we have to care for people who are experiencing incredible environmental degradation and so directly affected by climate change,” Chelsey said. “If we’re pro-life, that’s a bigger issue to me than abortion.”

Sean agreed. “So many people are now saying, okay, if you’re going to be pro-life you have to be pro all-of-life, lifelong pro-life, which has primarily come up in the immigration debate. If you’re pro-life, how can you be separating children from their parents?”

Diego sees it a little differently. “Abortion is definitely a deal-breaker for me,” he said, even though he said he’s not generally a one-issue voter. He echoed Sean and Chelsey to some degree, agreeing that “being pro-life doesn’t just mean being pro-life to the baby at birth. It also means the life of the mother and the life of the baby after birth.” But when he watched the 2016 presidential debates, he found himself agreeing with some of Hillary Clinton’s points … until he was appalled by what he saw as her “gung-ho” support of abortion rights. He decided he could just not get behind someone with those views.

Young evangelicals wrestle with these difficult choices in the voting booth, confronted with either/or candidates, unsure who will best represent their hopes for life on earth, all life, all of God’s creation. Right now, anti-abortion rights Christians typically have only one party to get behind. And it’s that party, represented in the White House, that is aggressively rolling back climate protections, from pulling out of the Paris climate accord to promoting coal.

  Future Powerhouse at the Polls?

Diego, Chelsey and Sean are the future. This younger generation has grown up with the realities of climate change and political polarization since they were swinging on monkey bars, and they aren’t hesitating to break rank with evangelical Baby Boomers on the issue. They remain faithful and politically conservative for the most part, but they are more concerned about a climate that they will have to live with much longer than those boomers heading into retirement. The shift aligns with a recent Pew poll that found that among Republicans, young adults were far less likely than their elders to support reliance on fossil fuels.

“Every one of the people who I’ve talked to who’s come to my events and engaged in climate issues from a Christian perspective said, ‘My parents don’t agree with me,'” Sean told me.

But even with this clear shift toward accepting climate science among young Americans, the quandary for young evangelicals in the voting booth remains.

Sean, who said he couldn’t in good conscience vote for either party, opted for Jill Stein in 2016.

Chelsey, as a busy freshman in 2016, followed in her father’s footsteps and voted for Trump.  Her father had been singularly focused on getting a Republican on the Supreme Court. Now, she hangs her head about the decision.

Diego, about to vote in his first election, grew up in a struggling, hard-working family in San Antonio. His father showed him how to mow lawns when he was six, he said.  His mother would pick up her raggedy old Bible and tell Diego, “This is what you should base all of your beliefs and all your values on. It shouldn’t be what you hear from someone on TV or C-SPAN or NPR.”

Surveys show that the way people view climate change is determined more by political affiliation, along with race and ethnicity, than by religious affiliation. So while 81 percent of white evangelicals voted for Donald Trump, it’s important to remember that about a quarter of the country’s evangelicals are not white, and it is among minority groups that the evangelical community is growing. And on the issue of climate change, Diego’s Latino background makes him part of the American demographic that is most concerned about climate change. He wonders whether his mother deliberately pushed for that “scenic route” to wake him up a little.

What are the choices for these faithful young? With church membership in decline and the Republican party in flux, how vocal these young people are could shape the future of the climate debate. If the Christian right wants to hold onto the next generation, getting right with the planet might prove as important as getting right with God.

Many concerned about the environment rally for more evangelicals to understand climate change and embrace leadership positions on the issue. “It would be a milestone if you managed to take influential evangelists—preachers—to adopt the idea of global warming, and to preach it,” Nobel Prize-winning economist Daniel Kahneman told the host of Hidden Brain, an NPR science show. “That would change things. It’s not going to happen by presenting more evidence, that is clear.”

And in the book The Creation: An Appeal to Save Life on Earth, renowned biologist E.O. Wilson wrote a long letter with the salutation, “Dear Pastor.” It is an urgent, heartfelt plea. “We need your help. The Creation—living Nature—is in deep trouble. Scientists estimate that … half the species of plants and animals on Earth could be either gone or at least fated for early extinction by the end of the century. A full quarter will drop to this level during the next half century as a result of climate change alone.”

These new sermons and stories are unlikely to come from older pastors and preachers, most of whom have become representatives of the Republican Party platform that doesn’t want to even acknowledge that climate change is an issue to discuss, let alone embark on the massive undertaking necessary to begin to solve it. But for the young, who will live with the catastrophic predictions that worsen with each new iteration of the UN climate report, there are new stories emerging. They are conversion stories of a new sort, springing from dirt once buried under Midwestern parking lots and held aloft on the wings of Sean’s beloved birds. Preachers and politicians seeking to keep the young religious right in their midst may need to leap past the quagmire of a questionable climate change debate and get right to the root of finding solutions for the generations that will be living into the long tomorrow of a warming planet.

  This story was originally published on InsideClimate News. 

[ruubzway-blog]

Becoming a black man: as more people of color transition between genders, the ways that racism is different for men and women come to the surface.

He also believed in which God created miracles. 7 train in Queens, she realized that she was becoming followed by a man. they [Black trans men] can speak with us concerning being women, along with we could talk to them about DWB." Mitchell concurs. What he we had not counted in had been changing the means by which he drove. Within a number of months involving starting male hormones, "I got pulled over 300 % a lot much more than I had in the prior 23 many many years of driving, almost immediately. in Brazil, a court ruled within August 2007 that sexual-reassignment surgery will be covered by the particular constitution as being a healthcare right. "More than the actual usual trans man, I'm any Black man," Mitchell says. so he had been somewhat surprised about the changes that will came after he began taking injections with the hormone testosterone--the degree in order to which in turn he became any target as well as the emotional changes he felt like a Black man. [ILLUSTRATION OMITTED] Near the finish involving 1970, when Mitchell was 18 a extended time old, he hitchhiked with a pal in order to Corpus Christi. Finally, he could be taken seriously through the guys at House Depot. Regarding example, your woman says, there is actually lots of hostility within the white transgender neighborhood towards Christianity, and some of the will be justified. Talking to Mitchell, it's straightforward to imagine him in the pulpit. With the actual chronilogical age of three or perhaps 4, he knew that he would become a boy, no matter having been born into a girl's body. "Many with the items that I notice in the globe and lots of of the items that I react to in the world have an overabundance to accomplish using how I am treated as a Black man as opposed to how I am handled as a trans man." Roberts also highlights yet another tiny however important detail associated with trans life for folks involving color: There's any amount of animosity between trans ladies as well as men inside the white community that does not are present to the identical diploma inside the Black community. "We had been almost all raised inside a church." Trans men of colour are finding which some things stay the same on both facets in the gender equation. "I'd maintain intensive treatment by the time these people realized I was a new trans man." She concedes your woman knew which Asian women had been exoticized, but "it's a essential factor reading with regards to some thing in the guide and another to end up being operating along the street." Mitchell furthermore finds in which he's inside a special situation now to mentor small Black men. Gomez says that a guy would phone him a new "bitch" and then leave it from that. Regarding example, several a lengthy time before transitioning, he ended up questioned by a cop for simply sitting in his own car late at night. Cultural expectations, with regard to example, are hard to shake. Inside typical men's locker-room humor, his sergeant produced a penalty jar where the cops needed to deposit 0.25 if they referred to Ward by method of a female pronoun. At the conclusion of the day, Roberts furthermore says, "People don't see me like a trans woman. This ended up being the first occasion the health-related clinic in the United States performed the particular surgery, and thus while it remained uncommon in order to be approved with regard to surgery, it was at least a possibility. Listening to always be able to Monica Roberts, it's difficult to imagine a time when she wasn't a new leader. She's adamant which Black trans people need their own spaces. "She sees here is man, nevertheless your woman understands this man can be the girl daughter." [ILLUSTRATION OMITTED] Prado Gomez, the 33-year-old Chicano that transitioned throughout 2001, describes the actual circumstance along with racism and also violence as a "trade off." Now Park finds herself occasionally the target around the subways inside New York City, where the lady lives. "At a few point they would discover I was female" as well as that might diffuse your situation. At the actual time, a Black transsexual woman had already been the first person to be able to undertake sex reassignment surgery in John Hopkins University, according for you to Joanne Meyerowitz's classic book How Sex Changed: A History of Transsexuality in the United States. Avon Wilson's transition in 1966 with John Hopkins marked any turning point pertaining to the transsexual community. Your transition around the job had been no small feat, since it meant relocating for the men's locker space along with showers. But Ward's coworkers and supervisors, like his family, accepted him. He didn't want to run the risk of drawing awareness of himself as a Black man and the girl as a mixed-race Latina that sometimes is actually perceived as white. . I can't be likely 90 miles an hour or so along the highway. Maybe it was due for the toll that living in the "tranny closet" had taken on the girl self-esteem. Texas, in which the legal drinking age group was lower than within California. Left largely unexamined, however, has been your issue regarding racism and how trans men and some women encounter it. [ILLUSTRATION OMITTED] He fulfilled several Black trans men at a conference nevertheless took many many years to think concerning his own transition. "Cops known as me an asshole until they will noticed the particular F on my license," he recalls, and small verbal fights on the trail back then didn't escalate. It's difficult to say how many regarding these tend to be individuals of color, yet 1 on your internet group pertaining to Black trans people called Transsistahs-Transbrothas features about 300 members, and another group specifically regarding Latino trans men provides 98 members. It's distinct with regard to Black transsexuals, Roberts says. "There's a new great deal of information sharing ... while trans women inside many cultures get been marginally accepted, they will have been mostly limited to traditionally feminine roles as caretakers--a scenario which is changing now throughout places like Ixhuatan, Mexico, where Amaranta Gomex, any muxe, or even trans woman, ran for political office throughout 2003. Whenever he and the wife moved via California in order to the East Coast, Mitchell refused to allow the woman's drive around the cross-country trip. "She drives too fast," he says, chuckling and also adding, "I didn't want to get pulled over. He anticipated which he'd develop a beard, which usually he eventually would and enjoys now. she got positive reactions, your woman says, "because I was basically doing the actual classic perform involving Black females inside the community in terms associated with uplifting the race." Experiencing racism as a Black man, though, doesn't necessarily give Mitchell and also Ward the bond with their peers, which grew up in Black male bodies, experiencing racism as Black boys after which men. He finds that people now look at him along with concern in bars and restaurants where he when utilized to go for a excellent time. As somebody who came regarding get older inside the lesbian community and it has feminist politics, Mitchell jokes with Black boys who talk about "fags" and also reference women as "bitches." He pulls the teenagers aside as well as uses a little reverse psychology, telling them that will it's okay if they're gay. I became the enemy." Targeted pertaining to "driving while Black" wasn't new to Mitchell, who is 46 years old. "It is much more with regards to integrity and a a sensation of becoming the truest individual I could be," he says, adding that his gender transition has been concerning "having my insides and my outsides match finally." Rather than see himself as joining a bunch associated with men that are perpetual targets, he feels he's joined a new community associated with men which are strong however, not embarrassed with their tenderness. The transgender neighborhood provides experienced any boom inside visibility in the final decade. Louis Mitchell is the type of man who right away puts folks at ease as he advises them about how exactly inexpensive the housing is within Massachusetts. He calls himself "a large Black man" (he's 5 feet 9 inches tall and also 250 pounds). Several involving this originates with regards to through well-liked culture, including the particular acclaimed 1999 film Boys Don't Cry plus more recently with Mike Penner, the actual Los Angeles times sports columnist that arrived on the scene as transgender and it is now referred to become able to as Christine. Several of that is due for the fact that white trans females in many cases are dealing using a loss associated with energy within public life, while white trans men tend to be coming in order to positions involving energy and all its ensuing emotions and also consequences. Now, Mitchell finds which he doesn't engage within small transgressions similar to jaywalking or even spitting about the sidewalk. Inside 2006, after much soul searching, he began attending divinity school. "You may use a minister up here pontificating about the pulpit about Sunday," your woman says, "but the particular real energy at the rear of the throne will become the women's auxiliary that's meeting on Tuesday." Trans people involving color are usually discovering which they come along with an extremely different relationship to become able to gender transition when compared with white people. In case I'm going 56, I want being concerned." "More when compared with I'm the trans man, I'm a new Black man," he says. He knew his voice would deepen and that his relationship along together with his partner, family along with friends would change in subtle and, he hoped, good ways, all involving which in turn happened. Monica Roberts, who is 45 many years old, transitioned in 1994. Once the teens protest that will they're not, Mitchell says, "You have no respect for women, and you're simply fixated about gay men. It was astounding," says Mitchell, who's Black and transitioned while living inside the Bay Area region along with now resides in Springfield, Massachusetts. In short, individuals associated with color know that racism functions differently for men and women, as well as transgender folks such as Mitchell and also Ward are generally getting to experience this coming from each facets with the gender equation. "I perform a great offer of online shopping now," says Ward, that got tired of getting followed within e-book as well as garments stores. In the final 4 years, there's in addition been an boost in the number of individuals seeking top surgeries, or even elimination of their own breasts, according to Michael Brownstein. most of the particular leadership within the Black community is actually made up regarding very powerful women. she ran house and slammed the doorway shut. "I often wear shoes I may operate in," Park says. Johnnie Pratt, any Black trans man who lives in the San Francisco area, additionally jokes he now enjoys certain perks. "What I did not prepare for had been becoming a new Black man," he says. http://www.thefreelibrary.com/Becomingablackman:asmorepeopleofcolortransitionbetween...-a0173677740 However, Mitchell continued to spot as being a butch, even though he felt he has been masquerading as a lesbian. They Will observe me as Black ... There, he satisfied drag queens, and in which he felt hopeful for the really first time. Throughout the particular cross-country trip along using his wife Krysia, he refrained from being affectionate with asian tranny her throughout public. He will be simultaneously warmhearted along with sure of himself. The Actual widespread use of the World wide web and additionally the new on the internet social networks may additionally be helping to break the isolation that will trans individuals usually feel inside their own communities. Being an effeminate Asian male, Park says, "tends to--if anything--put an individual either in invisibility or derision, ridicule [and] harassment. but in the wedding it arrives for you to Black trans folks, she says, it's impossible to merely disappear from your church. "You can't omit Christians in the wedding you want individuals of color" from a conference, your woman says. The idea just is. He could offer a new two-bedroom condo just as easily as convincing a congregation to become honest using God. Roberts as well as the woman's Black trans-women pals possess experienced something else since transitioning: "We've noticed the power shift," your woman says. a small exchange associated with words could lead for you to more violence. A 44-year-old police officer, Ward began hormone treatment options inside 2004 and transitioned although operating for the LAPD, where he's now an instructor with law enforcement academy. The Lady in addition writes these days for a nearby LGBT outlet and also sites at transgriot.blogspot.com. and that's the thing that folks notice. Just what am I supposed to think?" Her father, any nearby radio commentator, attemptedto groom Roberts for leadership as his eldest child. "I didn't feel regarding it therefore much," he says with regards to cops. She didn't determine it had been as they observed the woman's as an Asian woman as well as a transgender Asian woman. The Lady understood the influence of Black women. I am a new Black man, and therefore if one thing can be stolen although I'm in the neighborhood, then I am the suspect." These social and also political changes possess ushered inside a period when it is increasingly suitable for men and a number of women to improve their physical bodies to complement his or her gender identity. He had grown used to ladies clutching their purses at the sight of him. Yet Roberts furthermore noticed a difference within the responses the girl received using their own company individuals to her leadership as a Black woman. but in case an individual are perceived being an Asian woman, what happens will be the exact opposite, which is sexual fascination and also even harassment." Mitchell already had a goatee without getting hormones along with had been used to getting followed in stores. "I never know if they're just awaiting one thing to occur in order to roll up, and also I do n't need locate myself in custody. There's a lot of this during my hometown." As Well As consequently as Roberts transitioned, she has stepped into that role. "I am the only one my mother trusts," he says. It's similar to gravity. "When people are afraid of you, a person quit wanting for you to hang out in these places," Ward says. Growing up within West Covina in Southern California, Mitchell attended church together using his mother and also devoured history books. That Will would be just precarious along with dangerous throughout so many ways." Ward, similar to Mitchell as well as Gomez, felt he had planned pertaining to just about each and also every adjust that will belly using transitioning. In certain countries, trans activists are going in order to court as well as winning crucial changes in public policies. Therefore he prayed which he'd develop into a boy's body when he reached puberty. but "he did certainly not really sweat me too much once he came up towards the automobile as well as divined that I was female," Mitchell recalls. Just as crucial continues for you to be the task regarding transgender individuals themselves, who have transitioned due for the a lot more widespread availability of hormones and surgeries. Park is currently 46 years old along with a founding member of the particular The Huge Apple Association regarding Gender Rights Advocacy, which in turn got legislation passed throughout The Huge Apple Town to protect transgender folks through discrimination within housing and employment. Mitchell says his manhood isn't concerning the racism he encounters. In transitioning via living as an Asian man to an Asian woman, Park found that she ended up being finally capable of have "the joy regarding actualizing something I've often wished to be," Yet the lady additionally finds that they has gone coming from invisibility to a visibility that's at times unwelcomed. When living in San Francisco, he moved out in the historical gay neighborhood of the Castro while he got tired of being followed in stores. While is common with regard to Latinas, Gomez features raised his brother's 2 kids together using his partner, Mariah, and is now taking care associated with his mom, which suffers via Alzheimer's disease, Gomez sees no contradiction inside the fact that like a man, he bathes his 60-year-old mother. Now in the Black male body, however, Mitchell may be pulled aside for little infractions. Her mother is a teacher, and he or even she has been surrounded by females who were historians and leaders in the community. The Actual important thing is, we're Black first." Pauline Park additionally found that transitioning to become able to become a woman of color altered the woman's place within the world. "I'll become capable of walk down the trail and never end up being raped, unless they are totally aware my status [as a new trans man]", he says. Inside 2006, she took over as third Black individual for you to get your Trinity Award, which recognizes individuals with regard to their contributions for the transgender community. A Korean adoptee who had been raised in the Midwest, Park transitioned in 1997 yet made a selection to not necessarily physically alter your ex body. The idea required a bit bit longer [to drive cross-country] 'cause I had to drive like a Black man. "It's will simply no longer some strange factor that they notice. Recently, when she got off the actual No. "But there's any various type of threat coming from men." LOUIS MITCHELL EXPECTED the great offer of adjust when he started taking injections regarding hormones eight years back for you to transition from a female body to the male one. London Dexter Ward, an LAPD cop who transitioned within 2004, sums it this way: a white person who transitions to a male physique "just became a man." Through contrast, he says, "I became the Black man. in current years, there's also been the developing number of memoirs, such as the Testosterone Files by the particular Chicano as well as American-Indian poet Max Valerio, as well as more academic publications on the subject, similar to the Transgender Research Reader. Roberts was raised throughout Houston, Texas, and in the Black church. Yet, it absolutely was merely following transitioning that Roberts felt in a position to adopt on this kind of leadership role. Now, Gomez is aware of he offers to be a lot more careful. Rather when compared with passing as heterosexual, an escalating number of these inside the final decade have got identified as "trans" and begun support, advocacy and also legal-rights groups. Then, 15 years ago, any friend of his began the complete procedure of transitioning into a male body. As more people regarding colour transition, Mitchell's experience is becoming an increasingly typical one. The exposure to racism is actually flipped in any few ways pertaining to Black trans women. In 2005, Roberts and other transsexual along with transgender activists started the initial conference with regard to Black trans people. "Black culture will be matriarchal-based ... Since a Black woman, she is satisfied for you to will simply no longer become considered, as the girl says, "a suspect." Since transitioning, she's got certainly not been pulled over for "driving while Black," although the lady rapidly adds that it has happened in order to a buddy whom can also be the Black trans woman. "It's a few living with regard to them, at this point," Mitchell says. that didn't happen, significantly to always be able to his surprise. While it's incredibly difficult to say how many individuals identify as transgender, your National Middle with regard to Transgender Equality has estimated that will around three million people are transgender nowadays in the United States. Prior To transitioning, he says, "They'd always be considering me like, 'Shut up girl.' Now they want to talk to me." Before transitioning, Gomez was utilized to getting pulled over within the car along along with his brothers simply by cops within San Francisco. any well-known physician specializing in gender surgeries throughout San Francisco. He can with regards to four for you to six top surgeries any week, and the particular man notes which although 3 decades ago, trans people would come to his office alone, these people are actually arriving together with partners, siblings and also buddies with regard to moral support. He didn't consider a lot of about racism. "That lit a new fire which I couldn't place out," he says now. The racism in which Black trans men encounter is just section of the story, regarding course. He considered the particular consequences of transitioning, which includes your impact on his mother, who he's very attached to, as well as the loss regarding him associated with his lesbian community. Daisy Hernandez is actually managing editor involving ColorLines. London Dexter Ward in inclusion has seen his lifestyle change because involving the ways in which racism is gendered. In Asia, Latin America and also Africa, the actual place associated with transgender people is likewise changing. In case your queens might be women, his thinking went, then there may be options for him to live as being a man. Before transitioning, Mitchell recalls becoming "cavalier and reckless" by what he would in public areas along with with regards to his interactions with police officers. The idea happened in Louisville, Kentucky, exactly where she now lives

[pcttrailsidereader]

The Best of the PCT Continues

The countdown continues with Rees’ Numbers 8 and 7.  See Howard’s in yesterday’s post.

By Rees Hughes

NUMBER 8.  THE MAGICAL EVENING AT DRAKESBAD, July 9, 2010

 There are certain magical days on the Pacific Crest Trail that stand tall; days that rise above that broad forest of glorious days.   These are the days that your memory immediately races to when you reflect on your life on the trail.  There was the day we guessed our way around snow-covered Mt. Adams ending on a ridge with a commanding view of Mt. Rainier and a solstice sunset; the day we swam our way down Falls Creek marveling at the granite walls above Grace Meadows only to while away an afternoon in the soft, lush grass basking in the warm sun near Wilmer Lake; or the day we walked south from Cook and Green Pass past Kangaroo Springs to Lower Devils Peak with its ringside seat to the conflagration raging across the Klamath River Valley.  Every hiker has their transcendent days.

Such days do not always represent a confluence of everything wonderful.  It is their enchanted quality, what English writer Nan Fairbrother calls “exquisite moments,” that sets them apart.  Besides, time seems to blur the difficult and brighten the best experiences of these stellar days.  Such was the case this particular day.

The day dawned with vestiges of the tumultuous evening resting on the peaks above Lower Twin Lake in Lassen Volcanic National Park.  We tried to shake off as much moisture as possible but there was no alternative but to pack the tents wet again.  Dr. Howard tended to Don and Eli’s ailing feet.  Wet boots and long days had chaffed their feet raw with blisters compounding their discomfort.  There were unspoken thoughts of an early exit from the trail as it is no fun when each step hurts.  Perhaps a short day will improve spirits.

Speed bumps of late season snow gave way to long stretches of snow sheltered by the dense tree canopy.  I always find these situations wearing if not exhausting.  Climbing up and down the steep edges of the snow banks; picking your path around downed trees; add in a couple of postholes.   We carefully crossed several creeks swollen by the melt water and preceding night’s rainfall.  About midday we reached the crest of a line of basalt cliffs that comprise Flatiron Ridge high above the Warner Valley and, more importantly, Drakesbad.

Drakesbad, initially established clear back in 1900 as a guest ranch, remains a rustic refuge accessible via a corrugated unpaved road seventeen miles in from Chester (which is pretty remote itself) or on foot.  There are only nineteen units at Drakesbad some of which still rely on kerosene lamps.  However, the price for a night rivals the cost of a month on the PCT.  Yet, during much of the summer, accommodations have been reserved for years.  It really is a Northern California Shangri-la.

As we made the long traverse down, we could see the steam rising from the hot spring pool set out in a broad meadow.  The siren song of happy voices pulled us forward.  Our own chatter focused on the possibility of reserving a space for dinner.

We set up our tents in the Park Service’s Warner Valley Campground, hung a line and did our best to give the high mountain sun a chance to dry out our saturated gear.  Howard and I were nominated to walk the half mile to Drakesbad to ask about a table for four in the well ventilated section.  We donned clean tee-shirts and tried to sponge away the most offensive trail musk.

As we stepped into the closed space of the dining room, even our deadened noses became aware of the aroma that accompanied us.  The colorful tablecloths festooned the light wood of the dining room.  The room was set for dinner.  Salad forks.  Second spoons.  Wine glasses.  The ambiance was simple but elegant.   The realization that we didn’t fit here made us yearn for the opportunity that much more.

A tall woman brusquely emerged from what appeared to be the kitchen.  She had the air of a person with a long list of urgent tasks and little time for hiker trash.  Our first efforts to turn on the charm bounced off her and fell impotently to the floor.

We continued, “Any chance, any chance at all, that there might be a way to handle four more this evening?”  We weren’t above inserting a hint of desperation in our request.

“The Ranch is full and we usually only have enough food for our paying guests,” she replied without a hint of sympathy.  There was a pause as she saw our crestfallen faces.  “I will check with the chef and see if there is likely to be extra food.”   Perhaps it was her Germanic accent that underscored the futility of our quest.   Perhaps it was that she didn’t seem to be heading off to ask anyone anything.

We turned to go, tails between our legs.  Don and Eli will be so disappointed.  We had hoped this would be an antidote for their blistered feet and bruised morale.

With one foot out the door, Howard asked if it might be possible to use the phone for a quick call home as our cell phones had not been working along this stretch of the PCT.

It was if Howard had uttered a magic incantation that had propelled us into a parallel universe.  We were Dorothy trying to get into Oz.  “Why didn’t you say you were on the Crest Trail,” Billie Fiebiger exclaimed.  “We always have enough food for PCT hikers.”  In fact, Billie gave us the key to the city.  “Use the showers (please) and the pool.  Make yourselves at home.  Come back at 7 p.m. although you may not be seated until later.”  Still shaking our heads at our good fortune and this rather mysterious turn of events, we hurried back to tell Don and Eli the news before the spell was broken.

As the four of us returned the dark clouds that had dogged us the past several days were building quickly.  But, the warm showers and the hydrothermal pool kept us occupied until the rumble of thunder became more aggressive. Within minutes the remaining blue patches of sky vanished.  Lightning forced us reluctantly to vacate the pool.  The hail drove us for cover under the eaves of the bathhouse.   The gusting winds pushed tentacles of rain toward even the most protected corners.

Valiant employees raced down the trail to the pool in an electric cart to rescue the castaways three per trip.  The meadow had been transformed into a Sargasso Sea and the pyrotechnics kept us all jumpy.  Eventually we were deposited in the Lodge where we were to wait until dinner.

The photo albums and memorabilia in the Lodge deepened our appreciation for just what a special place Drakesbad is.  For two generations the Sifford family had built and tended this Guest Ranch.  For over 60 years they reclaimed the facility after each harsh winter for its four months of annual operation.  It had to be a labor of love.  The facility was incorporated into the National Park in 1958.  For the past 19 years, Ed and Billie Fiebiger have served as the hosts, caretakers, and stewards of Drakesbad.

Ed, in his chef’s apron, called us for dinner.  We crossed to the dining hall and were promptly seated.  There were several choices of entrees.  Or, Ed suggested, “Try them all!”  Heaping plates were brought to each of us.  The folks at the adjacent table took a special interest in our story.  One of their group had come annually for nearly fifty years.  Another from their table was sent back to their cabin and instructed to return with some of their wine stash to be shared with us.  “White or red?”  “No”, she instructed her husband, “bring one of each.”  We were peppered with questions and asked quite a few of our own.  We soaked up the attention that comes with being minor celebrities.

Ed pulled up a chair.  He had a bigger than life quality and exuded a warmth that permeated the hospitality of this magical place.

My cynical side wanted to peer around to make sure that we were not being fattened up by some wicked witch.  But, Drakesbad is a place that replenishes your faith in the generosity of the human spirit.  Distrust, doubt, and skepticism have no place here.

And, there was desert too.  In fact, there were three kinds.  “Try them all!”

It was tempting to linger much longer than we did.  I confess that it was all I could to restrain myself from asking if they served breakfast too.

Eventually we said reluctant goodbyes and enthusiastic thank yous.  The rain had stopped by the time we walked back toward our campsite.  If we weren’t walking down the road with our arms around each other, singing and talking loudly, then it felt like there was that sense of conviviality. 

The storm had spread our clothes across our campsite and sent cascades of water around our tents.   But there was nothing capable of dampening our spirits on this magical day.

NUMBER 7.  Harvesting pine nuts south of Walker Pass, May 10, 2011

I wanted to include a representative small moment that happens along the trail.  These are times when you slow down, stop, and absorb the nature that surrounds you.  These are the countless quiet, gentle experiences that occur, if you let them. I like to consider these my Mary Oliver moments.

When I section-hiked the PCT from Tehachapi to Walker Pass several Mays ago, as we neared the northern end of that trip we took a lunch break one day under a grove of piñon pines.  As we reached into our pack for our usual lunch of cheese, rye crackers, and salami, we began to notice that the forest floor was littered with pine nuts.  While some had become food for rodents, squirrels, and other foraging animals since dropping to the ground the prior autumn, most were so very edible.  Soon we were each on our hands and knees collecting cones and harvesting their delectable contents. I ate my fill and packed an empty bag with more nuts that I brought home with me when I left the trail.  It helped me understand the important role that pine nuts could play in the diet of Native Peoples. One pound of these nuts can contain up to 3,000 calories.

Another one of these small moments took place on the sandy bank of the McCloud River in Northern California on a section of the trail that most thru-hikers treat as an unfortunate 83 miles necessary to get from spectacular Burney Falls to Castle Crags and the beginning of the more dramatic Trinity Alps.  I was hiking with my friend, Bruce Johnston.  We had made excellent time from Deer Creek and decided to stop in the early afternoon and enjoy easy access to the McCloud River from the Ah-Di-Na Campground, located on the site of a former Wintu village and eventually a lavish resort owned by newspaper mogul William Randolph Hearst (the family still owns an estate, Wyntoon, ten miles upstream).  By the late 1950s the Hearst family had razed the resort buildings and in 1965 the Forest Service had acquired the property.  The one constant throughout was the beautiful McCloud River.  Bruce and I set up camp and retreated to the edge of the river where we could lie flat on a sandy bar. There was just enough wind to avoid the mosquitoes that had been feasting on us in camp.  For the next two hours we watched the evolution of the evening sky, the dance of the bugs, birds, and trout, the breeze in the trees.  All of this accompanied by the soundtrack of the McCloud River.  In a trail culture where it is all about perpetually moving forward, there is much to be said for slowing down. “We are Nature,” Walt Whitman says, “long have we been absent, but now we return.”  Being more mindful has been an important life lesson for me.