Bunion

Bunion

“The word is bunion,” I said.

“Bunyan, as in Paul Bunyan?” my husband asked.   I assured him, the word was bun-I-on, not bun-yan.  

“Are you certain?” he asked.  “You could do a whole series on legendary lumberjacks and foresters of folklore: Paul Bunyan, Davey Crocket, Al Gore, Johnny Appleseed …”

“Wait. Al Gore?”

We decided that, if talking about “folklore” then perhaps the former politician would fit, since he was going about trying to save the planet, a legend in his own mind, akin to the giant of folklore with the big axe and blue ox.   

Unmentioned at the time, was the actual forester and environmentalist in the family, my brother-in-law Richard.  Rich could look at a tree and tell you if it was healthy, roughly how old it was and if it was natural to the area.  He worked on Vancouver Island, identifying and protecting old growth trees, removing trees sustainably, while planting and protecting new growth.  He sent us lovely pictures of his workplace above the clouds.

Like Davey Crockett, who was not, I think, a forester at all, Richard loved to live off the land. He spent his free time camping on the very mountains where he worked, with his faithful dog, Tala, by his side. He ate game and fish that he caught, and he carved wonderful creations into old tree stumps.  Rich worked closely with native bands in the area and had a deep understanding of First Nation’s culture and relationship to the forests. 

He was also a direct descendant of one of the most famous tree planters in North America, Johnny Appleseed, a fact my husband noted in his eulogy.

Richard was just 55 when he died.  After years of climbing trees, scrambling up mountain sides and generally kicking axe, his heart, as big as Paul Bunyan’s, gave out. His passing like a clear cut scar.

These thoughts all passed through my mind in a matter of seconds.  I am left marvelling at the magic of words and the mysteries of our brains – how a prompt about a foot deformity planted a seed that sprouted memories of such a sweet man, deeply missed.

I’ll never look at a bunion the same way again.