Where the Weeds Grow

Where the Weeds Grow

Notes on Wildness

by Curt Melliger

Table of Contents

Title Page

Introduction

In the Wild

Where the Weeds Grow

Made on Earth

The Beautiful Trail

The Very Next Moment

In a Split Second

Line Drive

Slow-Motion Wildfire

The Fastest My Feet Will Ever Fly

Because of Death

A Different Drumb Beat

Fellow Travelers

The Vincent Van Gogh Memorial Truck

The Day I Spoke With Weeds

The Best Hotel

The Smell of Salt Water

Once Upon a Beach

A Spring in the Desert

Back When There was Rain

The Dance of Opposites

The Roots of Winter

The Counter of Clockwise

When the Geese Come Flying In

The Souls of Animals

Wild Girl

River of Wolves

The Raven Family

The Owl People

The Lost Cabin

Rapture in Stillness

A Ripple on the Surface

Water Borne

Rainy Sunday

The Arrangement of Objects

The Ring of Objects

The Surrounding Symphony

Child of the Moon

Sleeping Beauty

Paradise Canal

Two in a Million

The Day Afer Labor Day

One Last Autumn

Your Ride's Here

Into the Mystery

The Last Warrior

Twin Peaks

A Meeting on the Mountains

Where the Rails Meet

Final Thought

References

About the Author

© 2021 by Curt Melliger

All rights reserved. No part of this book, in part or in whole, may be reproduced, transmitted or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, photographic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from Ozark Mountain Publishing, Inc., except for brief quotations embodied in literary articles and reviews.

For permission, or serialization, condensation, adaptions, or for our catalog of other publications, write to: Ozark Mountain Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 754, Huntsville, AR 72740, ATTN: Permissions Department

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Where the Weeds Grow by Curt Melliger -1956-

We are all looking for the ultimate, something wild and beautiful beyond our wildest dreams.

1. Wildness 2. Spiritual 3. Nature 4. Earth

I. Melliger, Curt, 1956 II. Metaphysical III. Wildness IV. Title

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2020950893

ISBN: 9781940265797

Cover Art and Layout: Victoria Cooper Art

Book set in: Bell MT and Adorn Frames

Book Design: Summer Garr

Published by:

PO Box 754, Huntsville, AR 72740

800-935-0045 or 479-738-2348; fax 479-738-2448 WWW.OZARKMT.COM

Printed in the United States of America

For my brother Bruce Melliger 1955-1985

* * *

Special thanks to Becky Durham, Dr. Jurgen Herbst, Joseph Rael, and Doris Melliger.

* * *

Fellow Travelers originally appeared in Alaska Magazine.

Back When There Was Rain originally appeared in New Mexico Magazine under the title Stark Relief .

Slow-motion Wildfire, Sleeping Beauty, and The Last Warrior originally appeared in Four Corners Free Press.

The Owl People originally appeared in Snowy Egret.

Twin Peaks originally appeared in Mountain Gazette.

We are all looking for the ultimate, something wild and beautiful beyond our wildest dreams. The reason I hit the road, went to skid row, and climbed high peaks was to search for the raw, pure holiness that I suspected permeated all of life. You see, I was not seeking religion, salvation, or even success. I was tracking down the truth. I was pursuing the source of all this. I was hunting wildness. And I found it.

I discovered it within wild deserts, wild mountain ranges, wild seashores, wild animals, and wild people. I experienced it during epic journeys, outrageous adventures, and numerous close calls with death. I witnessed it in the middle of nowhere, in the heart of the city, and in small-town alleys late at night. I felt it in the sudden surge of adrenaline, the involuntary howl at the full moon, and the sheer excitement bubbling over from inside like champagne from a shaken bottle.

Enclosed within these covers are tales of magic, of wonder, of things that last only a split second and others that endure forever. Some of the chapters are concerned with consciously confronting wildness, approaching it, touching it, and then becoming it. For to travel the ancient, almost forgotten but still available pathway to paradise is to return to the simple yet glorious joys of being free, of being untamed, of being utterly and completely alive, therefore drawing nearer, ever nearer, to our wild, oh-so- wild place of origin.

Curt Melliger

October 9, 2020

Dolores, Colorado

Wildness comes in many forms and countless flavors. It abides in places that are not on any map, and the unmowed corner of your backyard. It exists in the movement of water, the flow of blood, and the changing of seasons. It lives in the souls of animals, both feral and domestic. It takes place when you leap off a cliff, and again when you plunge into the cold lake. It occurs when time seems to stop moving, and when it flies at the speed of light. It materializes in the human mind during a near-death experience and never leaves.

Wildness is visible in starlight, touchable in the feathers of a pigeon, and audible in the howl of a coyote. It rings in the sound of a bell, in the strings of Eric Clapton’s guitar, and in Linda Ronstadt’s vocal chords when she hits the high note in Heat Wave. It appears in the campfire late at night, the bolt of lightning, and the perfect rainbow. It lurks inside of caves, at the bottom of the ocean, and on the surface of the moon. It swirls in the blizzard, the tornado, the smoke billowing from an exploding volcano. It resides within certain people, within men and women who will never be tamed, within renegades who do not know the meaning of the word behave. It is personified by magic, miracles, and things we do not understand. It is the most powerful force in all of creation. Yet we tend to forget.

In this current twenty-first-century environment we have been led—or rather, misled—to believe that mankind is supreme, nature has been conquered, and wildness only happens where and when we allow it, such as in certified wilderness areas. The fairly recent proliferation of computers has brainwashed us into assuming that nothing is beyond our comprehension, that we now control everything, that we alone of all the myriad entities have been given the reins of power. We have evolved from humble to arrogant, from natural to neurotic, from savages to civilized, and from free spirits to slaves. Most people presume that our present domesticated lifestyle is preferable to the previous one, that wildness is no longer necessary, that it doesn’t even actually exist anymore.

How wrong they are. For the wild is everywhere, literally everywhere in one way or another, even when hidden. We need only be aware of it to reap its rewards. Because within the core of wildness lies the answer to our questions, the destination of our journey, and the culmination of our primeval longing for where we come from. It is more genuine, a million times more genuine than the new, invented, artificial mumbo jumbo. For wildness was here first, and will never go away. It preceded Homo sapiens by a billion eons, and will outlive him by even longer.

We should accept the undeniable fact that the most stupendous events are not of human origin, but rather nonhuman, indeed, far beyond human. Therefore, the force that produced this cosmos without any help whatsoever from mankind is not subject to any of its constraints or regulations. Because, you see, the civilized side of man has all kinds of limits and boundaries, while our older, freer, original self has none.

Within our blood, within our DNA, within our heart of hearts we are still more like animals than robots. In our minds we are still more instinctive than intelligent. And in our very souls we still possess a powerful desire for the wild things.

Wildness is essential. Indeed, it is the essence, the source, the reason for life. It is the pass to all mountains, the gateway to wisdom, and the fastest access to heaven, yes, heaven itself. Yet so few people nowadays take advantage of this ancient doorway to the divine because they are too busy staring downcast into their omnipresent electronic devices. They have been sucked into a shallow, fake, virtual reality that is nowhere near as deep as the real, authentic, tangible realm. For the most outrageous app of them all is only available to those who pull the plug, who cut the cord, who escape from the worldwide spiderweb. Folks who leave the crowd, the herd of sheep, the social media behind. People who follow their first thought and not the second, who go beyond what is normal and acceptable, who hit the road and never return. The ones who answer the call of the wild, who allow their dreams to come true, who die with smiles, not frowns, on their faces.

There’s a big difference.

For what is most pure, most natural, most unfettered be the goal, and nothing less will suffice while living a full life, a worthwhile life, a life without limitations. Because, you see, freedom is free. Wildness comes straight from the fountain. And the Ultimate is always available, if only because it is never very far away.

Some things in this world are so stubborn, so tenacious, so ubiquitous they seem impossible to get rid of. It’s almost as if a higher power decided that certain entities shall forever remain prolific in spite of how much we despise them, curse them, and attempt to exterminate them. So it is with weeds.

Every place I have ever been to has had weeds. Weeds, weeds, and more weeds. For they are the ultimate opportunists and need only the barest of necessities to survive. Indeed, given the slightest amount of dirt, moisture, and sunshine, the minuscule, almost-invisible seeds of weeds will arrive uninvited, insert themselves into the soil, instinctively switch gears from dormant mode to fully active, swell, sprout, and emerge into the light within a matter of mere days. Spreading like a green wildfire in slow motion, the vigorous beings quickly inhabit any space not currently being used by the human race. For weeds are kind of like skunks, spiders, bad weather, lousy drivers, and long-winded politicians.

They’re everywhere.

Weeds do not discriminate. They flower and flourish from the filthiest slum to the fanciest palace, from barren badlands to fertile farmland, from the Far East to the Wild West, from the Arctic Circle to the steaming equator, from the very bottom of Death Valley to the summit of Mount Whitney. They will germinate, propagate, and proliferate almost anywhere on Earth. For such a small, humble, seemingly feeble creature as a weed can yet poke through a slender crack in a concrete sidewalk, spring up on a suffocated beach shortly after an oil spill, come forth from dead soil following a forest fire, suddenly appear in the supposedly sterile sand of a remote Pacific island within weeks of a nuclear bomb test, and even grow out of solid granite. For weeds are tough. Weeds are mighty. Weeds are invincible.

That’s not all. Like little messengers from something much larger than ourselves, weeds are constant reminders that man is not the master of creation he pretends to be. No matter how we try to kill them off—by hand, by weed whacker, by Round Up herbicide, by airplanes spraying poison—we can’t. They just keep coming back. For weeds are sneaky as snakes, crafty as coyotes, and persistent as infomercial salesmen on late- night television. They will not go away.

In fact, the ever-familiar weed family fares well wherever they are allowed to, that is, any place we are not actively and continuously slaying them. They grow in graveyards and playgrounds, in vacant lots and untended gardens, behind the garage and underneath the porch. They encircle stop signs, mailboxes, fence posts, fire hydrants, and telephone poles. They thrive along highways, hiking trails, and irrigation canals. They surround old barns, abandoned houses, and ancient ruins. They pop up in asphalt parking lots, in the beds of broken-down pickup trucks, in the crotches of tree branches ten feet in the air. They live on top of haystacks, the roofs of tall buildings, even the side of vertical cliffs.

As if they had wings and could fly.

Weeds prosper in the city, the country, the sunny mountains, the shaded canyons, the deep woods, the windswept prairie, even the desert after it rains. They reproduce like rabbits in lawns, pastures, and golf courses. No matter what, their seeds will somehow find their way into your roses, your flowerpots, even your indoor plants although you used guaranteed weed-free potting soil.

Because you see, much like Mother Nature herself, weeds hate a void, abhor a vacuum, and will take advantage of any opening. They especially love to go wherever they are not welcome. Indeed, it seems the harder we try to eradicate weeds, the healthier they become. Kind of like wolf litters that increase in number the more we persecute wolves.

As a child, I found the adult obsession with killing weeds to be confounding as well as disturbing. For to my youthful, ignorant, unprejudiced mind, the wild plants were every bit as beautiful as the domesticated flowers, hybrid vegetables, and nice green Kentucky bluegrass. However, my parents (both of whom were raised on farms) did not share my appreciation of weeds. Therefore I was sentenced to many long hours of pulling them, hoeing them, and digging them out of the ground with a spade. Furthermore, I was forced to murder innocent dandelions by the thousands with a dull kitchen knife, all the while admiring their canary-yellow blossoms.

Master gardeners claim that all plants are essentially weeds, but those that produce colorful displays, pleasing shapes, and/or edible fruits are deemed desirable, while those that do not are considered worthless. In other words, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but so is ugliness. And my eyes happen to like weeds.

Or perhaps it’s just that I prefer areas where they have taken over. As a young boy encountering the universe for the first time, I noticed that wherever there were plenty of weeds and tall grasses there was also an abundance of mystery and magic. Weeds came to symbolize a sacredness, a sanctuary, a serenity not available in civilized society but instead only outside of it. For even at an early age, I could hear the siren call of the forgotten and forsaken places of this planet. I could feel the allure, the attraction, the powerful gravitational pull of overgrown backyards, fallow fields, lonesome railroad sidings, deserted factories, closed amusement parks, and ghost towns in the middle of nowhere.

For there is another, older, purer realm lurking at the very borders of our modern high-tech consciousness, a land where the feral things still assemble freely. The other side of our existence which is uninhabited by humans and thus regarded as insignificant, yet far from normal and therefore extraordinary. That secret oasis that awaits us just beyond the fence, the pavement, the city limits, the 6 o’clock news, the worldwide web. A place where the weeds grow, where the lawnmower never mows, where nobody else ever goes.

Because, you see, what is most necessary for happiness is not revealed to the masses, but rather only in private.

Given a good view of this planet, any extraterrestrials passing by in a spaceship would instantly recognize how unusual, how unique, how outrageously different Earth is from the rest of the solar system, rest of the galaxy, rest of the universe. Indeed, if alien beings from outer space ever come this way, they would surely be compelled to stop and visit our world. For there is so very much to see.

Just look at all of the entities that exist here, and possibly only here, on this heavenly body sailing serenely across the cosmos like a cat’s-eye marble. Notice the various continents, the sky-blue ocean, the jewel-like islands, the polar ice caps, the brown deserts, the green jungles, the snowy spines of the mountain ranges, the dark crevices of the river valleys, the lakes scattered like puddles after a rain, the volcanoes, the smoke, the crucible of fire, the cauldron of creation, the cradle of life on this, the third planet from the quintillionth star from the very center of it all.

Yes, this is a pretty special place we have here. Consider the gravitational magnetism of Mother Earth, the graceful rotation of her, the impeccable balance, protective atmosphere, breathable air, drinkable water, comfortable temperatures, variety of climates, variations of terrain, smorgasbord of fabulous foods, and an infinity of earthly delights that are most likely found nowhere else in the entire realm of endless space. So many miracles, so many impossibilities, so many previously uncreated marvels of existence. For Earth is apparently the ideal incubator.

Indeed, the list of objects, activities, and organisms that occur here on this extraordinary sphere (and not on Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, or any other planet our Hubble telescopes have ever observed) is not only quite impressive, but almost limitless.

See the symmetry of a sea cove, the curl of a wave, the web of a spider, the curve of a leaf, the arch of a human back. Witness the formation of clouds, the flight of birds, the movement of herds, the shape of a rose blossom, the fluorescent glow of a crescent moon silhouetted against the canvas of a sapphire sky.

Dig the rich, brilliant, eye-catching colors of the rainbow, the suncatcher, the peacock plumage, the tropical fish, the Japanese garden, the Pacific sunset, the Northern Lights, the crystalline dewdrop, and the psychedelic colorations at the edges of afternoon clouds. Watch the slow-motion descent of snowflakes the size of potato chips, the almost-invisible rising of steam molecules into the cold night air, the gravity-defying flotation of dandelion seeds on the summertime breeze. Notice the feel, the texture, the beauty of a feather, its delicate lines and perfect form, its light weight and surprising strength that makes the ethereal feat of flying through the air possible.

Imagine, if you will, if you can, the eons-long, eons-slow, long-ago creation of the seven continents and seven seas, the high peaks and low valleys, the deep canyons and towering mesas, the sandstone arches and pillars of granite, the pristine prairie and rocky coastline, the fertile forest and barren badlands.

Perceive the ever-revolving cycle of water as rain falls to the ground and flows into a stream and then a river that enters the ocean and eventually evaporates back up into the sky to become another rain cloud on the other side of the world.

Observe the proliferation of wildflowers in the seemingly sterile desert within mere hours of a cloudburst, some of the tiny seeds waiting years or even decades for the proper amount of moisture necessary to soften, sprout, arise up out of the sand, and flourish for a few short and precious weeks, which is just long enough to plant the next generation of flowers the next time it rains. See the swarm of several hundred swallows dancing, whirling, undulating together in total synchronicity as if they were one magnificent creature spinning like a top instead of so many. Notice the Earth rotating in counterclockwise circles around the sun even as our one and only moon twirls in clockwise circles around the Earth.

Experience the wonder, the exhilaration, the absolute ecstasy of soaking in natural hot springs which seep out of solid rock at a temperature of 108 degrees even as the air dips below freezing. Look at the glow of lowering sunlight on lake water as it creates an illusion of flames burning in the waves like gasoline on fire. Witness how the wind in the park arranges the autumn leaves like a work of impressionist art.

Visualize the migration of butterflies and hummingbirds, pelicans and buffalo, caribou and manatee, porpoises and whales, seals and sea