It was the morning of a fifth day some years back, I was on one of my solitary sabbaticals and had chosen Juniper Canyon as a base camp. This last hike was a somewhat shortened one, I would be pulling out for Ozona in a few more hours where a badge and a gun waited impatiently for my return.

These far too few trips were a regular fare during that part of my life, I tried to coincide them with family outings to share precious lessons and memories with my wife and two sons. But there were times when I needed to head for the high lonesome and if I did not see the sign of any other human, it was a very good thing.

For those five days I wandered west on the Dodson, down the Elephant Tusk, up to Boot Canyon and over and around canyons, creeks and hills spreading out in every direction. It was late September I recall, and the seasonal rains had been plenty and in just the right spots with the right amounts.

The springs were flowing, the tinajas were full and green grass surrounded the sojourner wherever he ventured, often enough in thick clumps tall enough to touch a horse’s belly.
They say Heaven is a place of beauty impossible to describe. I have no doubt of that, but this land at this time was sure pushing the same challenge in trying to do so.

These blissful reprieves were always welcomed and for me seemed to come at the very nick of time. For my entire life if I was hurt or confused or needed a special solace in which to think clearly, this is where I came like a wounded animal seeking familiar shelter.

My chosen profession had a bad habit of leaving a man in this weary state of mind. Like in trying to describe that beauty, words fail when trying to describe the assorted horrors one can experience as a peace officer in the performance of his duties.

On occasion a man has to look long and hard for the proverbial milk of human kindness, and you still find yourself making certain you can see both hands.

So now I was standing in all this glory, staring up at Crown Mountain and down to where it morphs into Hayes Ridge. There was life and death here also, but here both were involved in a necessary struggle for survival. Sheer cruelty in either seems to usually be a human sort of a thing, which does not speak well for our particular species.

Then there are those who don’t even reach that level, human or otherwise. Looking back now some fifteen years after retirement, I am sure glad the beauty won out over the horror.

Thank you, Lord.

God bless to all,
Ben

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