Here’s a photo of the title page of a book I’ve kept and read several times. First published in the 16th century, and relevant to my life now and the times we all live in now.
Pack Creek Ranch, San Juan County, Utah
Early winter weather – freezing overnight, warm mid-afternoon.
The prediction is for a significant storm on the way this week.
THE BOTTOM MAN
(To avoid confusion, the word “bottom” in this essay is not a reference to part of the human anatomy. The “bottom man” is one who has a particular responsibility in a survey of evidence of human habitation in one of the many small canyons in Canyonlands National Park, established by legislation signed in September 1964.)
Backstory:
Every day had a plan.
The bottom man walked the streambed of the minor canyons, carrying extra water, food for lunch for all, and first aid supplies. Five or six students were staged up each side of the canyon to look for artifacts. They were not to remove or touch anything they found – just photograph the item, describe it in a notebook, and mark the location on the topographic map they carried. (Before the age of drones, hand-held GPS devices, and mobile phones that could be used as cameras.)
They kept in touch with each other and the crew on the other side of the canyon – much like a line of police in a detective story. But they were not looking for evidence of a crime, but for evidence of the life of those who lived here a thousand years ago.
The bottom man was not just the crew’s pack donkey, however. One of his jobs was to be acutely aware of evidence of flash floods – how high the previous flood marks were and what might indicate another flood on the way.
I remember one clear calm day.
Suddenly there was a rush of air from up the canyon, carrying the smell of rain and wet sagebrush. Followed by the rumbly sound of a freight train made of rolling debris of boulders and dead wood.
Danger.
I blew my whistle and quickly moved to higher, safer ground.
Flash floods move about feet per second – fast – and this one came at full speed, filling the canyon floor. I and my crew were all safe. An hour later, the flood had passed, but the shape of the canyon had once again been altered by the force of the flood.
Why am I telling you this? And what does it have to do with a man writing in the 16th century – Michel de Montaigne?
He wrote a book of essays about his ongoing life and times. One still reads today for his candid eloquence about what he thought and experienced – and how his mind changed over time.
Notably, for me, he understood how his place in life was affected by the events of his day. He accepted the effects of aging – and kept writing his truth. Montaigne was a bottom man.
And I, in my 88th year, have become a bottom man.
That’s a metaphor, of course.
A flash flood is coming.
I know what a flash flood smells like.
I know what a flash flood sounds like.
I know how dangerous a flash flood can be.
I know how much damage a flash flood can do.
But I also know how to find higher ground.
And I know that flash floods don’t last forever.
And that survivors will prevail.
Onward!