Don't Tell the Oaks

Don't Tell the Oaks

Noel Laflin

5-29-30

This variety of succulent, dudleya lanceolata, commonly referred to as lanceleaf liveforever, is my favorite plant in Irvine Park. But don’t tell the ancient oaks that.

I thought that there were only two of them, the dudleya's that is, in the entire park, sitting in regal splendor on a rocky throne high above the oak-filled valley far below.

Then, out of curiosity, I walked over the rocky ledge, just a bit, from where the royal couple hold springtime court and counted at least two dozen of their offspring dotting the slope below - all in glorious color.

Seeds from the pair above have been rolling down the hill, for years apparently, and taking root steadfastly, blooming their little heads off, quite literally right now.

There’s been a lot of generational liveforever begatting going on behind my back all these years, I guess.

It was a glorious find, at least to this unabashedly geeky nature lover.

I can’t begin to tell you how happy it made me feel. But don’t tell the ancient oaks that either as they seem to live forever too and have been known to hold grudges.

I Remember You

I Remember You

Noel Laflin

5-9-20

Ray Bradbury wrote a poem entitled “Remembrance’ nearly fifty years ago. I know it was that long ago because my mother spotted it in a magazine, carefully clipped it out, and mailed it to me while I was working at summer camp back in the early 1970’s. There was just a brief note attached saying that I’d probably like this poem.

And I did.

It’s a story about a middle aged man who returns to his old home town, sees the house, in which he was born and raised, then traverses the old ravine that he and his brother used to explore some forty years before, spots a tree that he recalls climbing as a kid, and decides to climb it again.

High in the tree, and clinging on for dear life, he discovers a hole in a large branch that looks familiar. Recalling a distant memory, he reaches into the hole and finds a faded folded piece of notebook paper, creased forever – paper he remembers quite well, and handwriting that he recognizes as his own, albeit a lifetime ago. On the paper are just six words: ‘I remember you, I remember you.’

There was something in that poem that my mom instinctively knew would appeal to me, just as it did to her apparently.

Thus, with Mother’s Day fast approaching, I take down that old, carefully clipped-out poem, the one that has been residing in a frame on the same wall for nearly forty years, look for creases that were made by the loving hands of a woman (younger by a decade then, than I am now), so that it would fit into an envelope and find its way to her young man away for the summer, exploring trees and ravines of his own - long, long ago - and repeat the words: ‘I remember you, I remember you.’

Shout Out

Shout Out

Noel Laflin

5-2-20

My folks were married on this day 78 years ago. They eloped – isn’t that romantic!

May 2, 1942 just happened to fall on a Saturday too; nothing like a weekend to spur a young couple across state lines.

While checking old calendars to actually see if it was a Saturday – and yes, it was – I happened to look at what else occurred on that particular date. Most of it was bad war news … Japanese sink one of our ships, Germans sink one of our ships, the Poles sink one of their own ships by mistake, etc.

But, on the bright side, a horse by the name of Shout Out won the Kentucky Derby that day!

So, in that spirit, here’s a Shout Out to the folks that brought me and my siblings into this world, once all the bad war news was old news

Dennis Gray

Dennis Gray

Noel Laflin

May 1, 2020

We shared a mutual love for Calico Ghost Town, Joshua Tree National Park, Abraham Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln Elementary School, the lost statue of Abraham Lincoln that once greeted students at Abraham Lincoln Elementary School  – which was lost, found, lost again, found again, eventually restored and given back to the school from whence it disappeared some fifty years ago.  We also shared a love for a beloved summer camp, now long gone. And we shared a love for bad puns.  I know the list could go on, but I have forgotten all the rest right now.

I am proud to have known Dennis for over sixty years, as he was the younger brother of one of my best friends in grade school - and then Boy Scouting brought us closer together in our teenage years where a difference of just two years in age was no longer a big deal.  He was in the troop sponsored by the Methodists, his parish.  My troop met in the basement of the First Christian Church just two blocks away down on Broadway in Anaheim.  We saw each other at every local camporee and even at one of the last that I ever attended, which was in Joshua Tree. I have an old photo of Dennis in a group shot with all the kids and adults standing, sitting, or leaning against a backdrop of Jumbo Rocks somewhere around here. And the icing on the proverbial cake of our Scouting connection was that Camp Ahwahnee was our mutual retreat up in the mountains.  All in all, they are wonderful youthful memories.

We lost track of one another until the advent of Face book, and then the old friendship solidified once again, as true friendships do, even though we rarely saw one another in person. The irony over the past ten years is that we actually only saw one another at funerals for mutual friends; that is, until, he threw a donut party at his home just a couple of months back. And that was a rather special gathering, and a time for us to talk face to face for the last time.  He said he always liked my short stories. I said I always liked his taste in short story selection. I told him one final humorous one as I crouched on the floor and he leaned back in his chair. He laughed, God bless him.

There have been some fine tributes to Dennis, and I’ve got a feeling that there’s going to be a lot more, and rightly so; every one of them well deserved.

There is so much that I will miss about my old friend – his humor, his love of Jill and family,

his love of history (especially if it concerned our 16^th President), his love of puns, his love of Ferndale.

He taught us all how to stare adversity directly in the face, even the most dire kind, and wrestle it to the very end.

And to that very end he remained himself - honest, compassionate, kind.

Dennis left us way too early - there is no disputing that; and the void he leaves behind will linger for way too long, no doubt.

But damn, if he did not teach us all a thing or two about living! And yes, about dying too.

Safe travels, old Scout.

And in that journey, when you do eventually meet up, please give my regards to Mr. Lincoln.