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Last Letter to Bob
By Peter Christensen
Op-Ed Commentary
In memory of Bob: I ran across this Last Letter to Bob in my files and thought I would share it. Even if you did not know Bob, you might read it just to have something to think about beside all the overwhelming political machinations of these days. There is a couple of poems included, but don’t let that scare you, they are just stories!
Dear Bob,
When it comes to news about a friend who is dying it surely gets my attention. There is no such thing as a perfect death. I want you to know that I have no problem with what you are doing or with your reasons why. I have been ‘cold hearted’ enough to put down some good dogs when it was time and as a hunter and farm boy am no stranger to life and death, though the last time I killed a deer I got sentimental as I was gutting it, set the heart aside and said a little prayer of thanks for a life given so that others may live. Maybe a bit of nonsense but it made me feel better.
I also have had health issues that caused me to ponder the end of things; however, for good reasons I recovered enough to make things worthwhile. I guess when those reasons are not good enough then one has a choice to make, which you have made. Thank you for letting me know. One of the many reasons I liked you Bob is that there is no bullshit, well, very little anyway.
You have certainly given Yvonne and I, and others, at lot to think about with your letter of intent. I suspect that has always been one of your goals, to give people something to think about. You lived with consideration for others and with intention, two things of great worth in our world and rare enough. I am sad this fate has come to you; more visits and Christmas letters would have been good.
This is goodbye then, whatever the coming journey. It was good knowing you, you stood for what you believed in. Here’s’ a couple of poems you might enjoy. Maybe a reminder of good days in the hills or when working in the fields.
I am not an activist
only one of many small souls
who was acted upon
I saved no continents
waved no placards
did not go to jail for
my beliefs
did not demonstrate for isms
in front of cameras
wrestled into action
by videographers
I did not instruct
at colleges of higher learning
nor was I good
at being instructed
I have no credentials
only a few incidents
I staked my life on.
When I was young
I wore a uniform and
asked people to tie up their dogs
keep their campfires small
I walked in desserts
built trails in mountain country
climbed snowbound hills
wandered on grasslands
botanized plants
stuck my nose into cities
collected my pay
sang Halleluiah with Cohen
while driving sweating trucks
loaded with logs
down steep narrow roads
ran bright yellow machines
that moved the earth
packed and rode horses
I wrote manuscripts
for bureaucrats and saviors
that overthrew me
forgot more than
they will know
yet one thing
I do remember
is the time
I watched you
stand in a mountain stream
gather glacial water
pour it over you
to wash away the sweat
of horse and fire.
I gave your name to that meadow high in the south fork
where we watched our horses jangle their way
to the stream touch their muzzles to it
suck up water and drink deeply.
In the Shade of the Tractor’s Wheel
Every day my mother
delivered to the fields
where my father toiled
a mid-day meal
of hard-boiled eggs
and buttered wheat bread
slathered in wild raspberry jam
she brought boiled coffee in a mason jar
wrapped in newspaper and towels
I’d watch her pop the rubber seal
with the edge of the golden band
that had held the flat lid down
pour the fragrant drink
sweetened with molasses
and thickened with cow’s cream
into a green glass cup
to stand alone and cool a bit
before my father sipped
the drink and let it wash away
the dust and sweat of harvest
that sweet drink followed
by a little sleep in the shade of the tractor’s wheel.
– Peter Christensen is a Columbia Valley-based writer and poet
