Don't Spray My Truck

"Be sure to pump up more than twenty feet from the crummys."
Our hard hatted inspector had a brand new shiny yellow company truck. Sure enough when it came time to fill and pump up, Greg filled his tank and pumped it up right next to the inspector’s truck.
On about the fifteenth pump the hose blew off the end of Greg’s tank shooting a geyser of pink goop straight up into the air and all over the inspector’s new truck. Mr. hard hat was beside himself with rage.
One quick thinking brother kicked the tank over away from the truck and blasted the rear van seat where Terry the crew foreman was sleeping with the back doors open.
In late summer it was off to Mallot WA and apple picking. Up Interstate Five to Seattle and across the cascades to the apple orchards of eastern Washington.
After forestry the lush orchards with all kinds of fruit was paradise. There was mint for making tea. Tender wild asparagus could be found in the irrigation ditches. Kinda like Adam and Eve in their little garden.
I remember running with Lenard, an Iniut Indian from Alaska. Lightning strikes from huge dark thunderheads across the high desserts vast expanse. Ahhh the majesty of God, but only a glimpse.
Running with Lenard was like running with a great dark cat, a panther or cougar, long flowing black hair, rippling muscles and not an ounce of fat. Truly one of Shiloh's mighty men of valor. His almost paternal friendship affected me more than I could possibly know at the time.
In a real way Tahoe started for me here also.
I told the Lord, I couldn't do tree planting for another season and that if he wanted me to stay in Shiloh, he would have to get me out of the fast approaching season. I never told anyone one but I had decided that if tree planting was to be my lot in the late fall early winter; I would leave "the ministry." I just couldn't do it again. I wasn't going to, period.