When I visited my son in San Diego I would tour the city on foot, and if I was a bit bone weary take a bus back to his part of town located in Bankers Hill. The Bankers Hill area had a canyon of sorts that interrupted the city and provided a natural park like setting that was rarely maintained like Balboa park which is the dominate city park.
In the first few weeks of visiting, I found this particular canyon within a stones throw of my son's apartment. Being an early riser, I would visit the Maple Canyon park and see rabbits, hawks, crows, falcon, squirrels and coyotes. During hot days I noticed the canyon remained cool and a afternoon breeze would sneak up the canyon from Coronado bay.
I remembered I had my camping hammock in the back of my truck and a plan was formed
The next day I took a day pack I had and put the hammock, a book of by Thomas Merton, an iPod with opera on it, a couple of bags of peanuts, small binoculars, my camera, and a healthy sized water bottle and headed to the canyon at noon. I could write a lot about it but this is about the homeless man I met there.
A rough looking character with scraggly mustache a beard, soiled hat, oversized shoes and ruddy complexion brought on by the 30 mike mike beer that appear half gone came down the Maple Canyon trail and he stopped in the lanky tall trees I was tied on to. He gave me a glance, a barroom nod and made himself at home a few yards to my right on the uphill side of the canyon trail.
The fragrance of the Eucalyptus trees was no match the aroma emitting from the man as he took off his shoes. A uphill breeze prevailed and I was spared the duty of pointing out his condition.
Some days later I saw him again, and well in his cups, he asked me how long I had been homeless. Before I could correct him, he gave me information like any newcomer to a friendly neighborhood.
He knew it all from the kindly Mexican house keeper who passed out bean burritos, to the laundromat that had a "free" washing machine that gave in with the gentlest of coaxing. When Mark came into the canyon I put down my book and halted Placido Domingo's tenor in La Traviata. We talked sometimes; other times we shared the silence. He took pride in keeping trash out of his small domain as I did each time I rolled up the hammock to leave the Canyon,
Each time I came to visit my son, I spent time in the canyon. We talked. Shared stories of our Military service and goings on in the homeless community, I watched him get a job, deal with drug addicts, buy a bicycle and improve his lot.
Of me, he only asked where I bought my hammock. So I offered to get him one on my next trip.
He told me not to put myself out. That was Mark. Time passed, I quit being retired and took a director job in Oregon and forgot about the hammock and Mark.
Just this year I came back. I was walking to a coffee shop on 5th and Redwood and saw crime scene tape and forensics team on 4th and Spruce,
I got to the coffee shop and a great old friend said a homeless man named Mark had been struck and killed by a hit and run driver over on Spruce and 5th.
I then remembered the Hammock and grieved the loss of a friend. I spoke the prayer of the departed at his departure site and......walked home.
2 comments:
some leave their marks on our hearts my friend :)
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