And his dog--a blue heeler I think--that he has trained to turn around and lean against him for affection.
Twenty three years ago I was camping alone in the desert west of Yuma, Arizona.
It was Christmas day. This Cowboy walked up with a friendly howdy and invited me to Dinner. Thus began an enduring friendship nurtured from time to time by assorted adventures together.
Mac made a good living as a farrier (horse shoeing) bought a nice home and acreage
south of Spokane, Washington where he and his wife enjoyed many happy years.
I write about him because he has a rare quality of character that I much admire: HE MAKES HIS VISIONS REAL.---With a persistence I can only envy.
We recently connected in Yuma and he shared his new vision---now that his wife has passed on and so has his pack of 6 mules. In the past 2 years he has conceived an end-game vision I will share with you. He is 82 years old--- still beanpole skinny and very fit.
But first I will illustrate his vision and character via a poem I wrote about him 15 years ago.
Mac
Cleaned up a Square Mile
Mac
got it in his head to clean up a whole square mile.
You’d
have to have seen it to appreciate
the
audacity of his intention.
A
thousand piles of trash littered this landscape,
a
desolate stretch of desert west of Yuma
and
east of Algodones dunes.
An
informal campground for a hundred years
harbors
folks escaping winter’s chill
Locals
call the area Sidewinder.
It
deserved its name!
Passers
through in yesteryears camped here
gathering
strength to cross the dunes in daylight,
thumping
across the perilous wood plank road.
It
was a less conscious time
and
they left their trash, broken bottles,
tin
cans, oil cans, filters and more.
Illegals
crossing here
leave
a standard grouping of trash:
inner
tubes, cast off clothing, plastic bags and jugs.
One
day, six years ago, my friend Mac,
a
slender, spirited cowboy from the Northwest,
just
got it in his head to clean up the whole darn thing.
And
he began immediately, a pile at a time,
down
on his knees picking up every bit of broken glass
and
every piece of trash. He bagged it,
carried
it to the dumpster and hurray!
One
pile of trash was gone. Then two!
Then
a hundred by the end of camping season.
When
he returned next season he began again.
This
time, a hundred and fifty piles were cleaned.
Sometimes
his buddies would help
but
mostly Mac worked on alone.
I
have seen him scrabbling far out on the desert
in
the early morning hours.
Six
long winters later our desert mile was clean
and
lovely in its desert way
as
every landscape has its beauty
and
every landscape can be marred.
I
noted as the trash was disappearing
a
better breed of campers came.
Dusty,
angry loners went away,
I
suppose in search of junked-up land
more
compatible with their inner state.
The
new folks build up friendly fires
well
attended in the night,
hold
pot luck dinners, walk together,
do
favors, exchange information,
sit
quietly together at sunset,
drink
in tea and color from the sky
and
at Christmas decorate
scrubby
creosote.
No
one litters now.
Our
consciousness has been lifted.
Only
his wife and friends know who
accomplished
this transformation
without
permission, prompting, pay, or praise.
I’m
humbled by this awesome deed.
It’s
as if a man declared
he’d
drink a barrel of water
and
eat a buffalo,
then
did it!
A
Herculean labor
that
would make Paul Bunyon proud.
Step
by step, Mac made his vision real
with
persistence spanning years,
cleaning
up a wasteland
to
make the desert bloom
with
hospitality.
More
than a whimsical deed;
a
blueprint for saving the earth.
Mac
is in my hall of heros
and
in the foremost ranks
because
his challenge came from within.
Is
it fate or accident
that
his surname is McLean?
Mac's new vision is this: He is going to sell his place build a Movable BUNKHOUSE on skids to live in . Why a bunkhouse? Because he lived in bunkhouses during his cowboy days and wants to re-experience that ambience. He has a sizable collection of saddles, tack. bunks and cowboy paraphernalia to fill it with.
Why on skids?-----Aaah---for a very good reason: It allows one to avoid a host of complexities such as building permits---county oversight. (movable buildings are exempt he says) In short he wants to go off the radar of civilization. His many friends have agreed to haul his bunkhouse on a flatbed trailer wherever and whenever he wants a new location. All would welcome him on their land. I quizzed him about some details like sewer and water and power. He's got all the bases covered----in his mind. And given the above achievement do you doubt he will accomplish his vision?
If you would like to see Mac's cleaned-up desert---exit Interstate 8 at Sidewinder rd then go south to the long term visitor area. the desert--As far as you can see west and south of that service station was his project. And happily---IT IS STILL CLEAN.
Great story!
ReplyDeleteWhat an amazing man.
ReplyDeleteThat's the best one I can recall in some time, Great Job!
ReplyDeleteA delightfully positive tale. I'd like to meet Mac someday. His dog looks like an Australian Shepherd.
ReplyDeleteWhat an inspiration! Go Mac!
ReplyDeleteLove the poem, btw.
Susan
Amazing story... amazing man. Not too many around like Mac anymore. I wish him the best "exit" possible.
ReplyDelete