Manzanita

I’m not a collector. No stamps, no classic cars. Not even extra pairs of shoes.   On the other hand, I’m a reluctant discarder. My wife throws away my shoes for me.  And my tee shirts. It just doesn’t occur to me that wearing something with holes and scars isn't de rigueur.  With some regularity I’ll miss something, and learn that Muriel “unsaved” it for me. “Honey, it was ten years old, out of style, and it looked moth eaten.”

Really? I didn’t notice holes.”

So, I’ve had this root of manzanita wood for, let’s see, since David was in fifth grade, and he’s retired now.  It’s still a quiet decoration in a quiet corner of the living room. I do think it’s kind of, well, pleasant, with its Oz forest-like gnarled shape, although I don’t recall anyone ooo-ing and oh-my-goodness-ing over it. No sense of....uh, and like that.

Even I didn’t stop in awe when first I came upon it.

San Bernardino Mountains, Southern California

At the time I was director of a Boys’ Club summer camp in the high San Bernardino mountain range. A group of boys had hiked up near the top of a 9,000 foot peak, and I went to check on them. Near their overnight camp, up by the last part of the trail, I saw part of a root of a manzanita sticking out, creating a hiker’s hazard. I made a mental note to tell one of the counselors about it when I got to the hikers.

Reaching the hiking group's camping spot, I found that one of the boys had hurt his foot. The two counselors had been discussing how to get him to a vehicle so he could be taken into Riverside for treatment.  I gave the pickup keys to one of the young men. Leaving the other counselor with the group of boys, we two carried the injured boy the couple of miles to the pickup. Counselor and boy started driving down the mountain.  I prepared to walk back to main camp.

 Then I remembered the manzanita root.  I returned up the trail, and, with a pocket knife, worked the root loose.  Instead of tossing it in among the trees, I kept it, toting the five or six pound piece of forest junk back down the trail.  At least it was all downhill, and the hot part of this July day had passed.

Manzanita root: polished and saved for decades

Somehow, it never quite got tossed. It did get scraped, polished, oiled, and rubbed down. At home, I stuck it under my desk.  Over the next several decades iy has passively hung around.   If anyone had ever asked me why it was there, I’d have turned red.

If you ever get an irresistible urge to own a wavy, Oz forest looking piece of deep orangey red and taffy colored something, c’mon over. It survived several moves, even though it was never on the “to move” list.  It has been treated like a lurking electric eel.  It just didn't get tossed.

Spell Check doesn't recognize this thing, which means, I suppose, that it doesn't actually exist. Maybe it doesn't, as nobody seems to notice it but me.

     

One more thing: don't ask me to show it to you. Even though it's been under foot for decades, if you do, I won't be able to find it.