About 3.5 miles into Tuesday’s lumber, I was approaching my go-to area along the river for seeing osprey and/or eagles. It’s been a minute since I last got an image of either, so I was pretty excited when I quietly rounded the corner and, through the leaves, could see an osprey perched on the opposite side of the river.

I froze, took a few mildly obstructed shots, and then made the executive decision to attempt a better angle. I hadn’t even taken a full step when the giant bird flew off, giving me the finger as it did so, followed by a few high-pitched calls that I believe translated into “Fuck you, photo-fatty!!!”

I sighed with mild disappointment, but was still happy to have at least got something for my efforts.

About 100 yards later, as I approached the campground, I spied a giant tree that had fallen across the full breadth of the river. A fallen tree that was NOT down just 24 hours ago.

As I walked and stared at it, I could see a lone camper out of my peripheral vision tidying up his camp. I paid him no attention as I let out an audible “dammmnnnnn!” while looking at the fallen tree.

Just then, the camper, who looked sort of like an elderly Louis CK, made his way toward me, and said, “THAT THING FELL AT 2:38 IN THE MORNING! SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME!!”

“I can imagine, it’s huge! I was just here yesterday morning, and that tree was NOT down!” I replied.

He then went on to say, “I’m a Vietnam Veteran; I was in the infantry, a ‘grunt’ in the Marines. When that thing cracked, it let off three loud bangs and woke me up. I thought it was incoming or our 105s firing, but there was no yelling or screaming, no sirens, or nothin’. Boy was it loud! POW! POW! POW!!”

I listened and commiserated with him on being surprised, and told him that I was sorry he was so startled. We chatted a few more minutes, and then I wished him a good day, stopping short of shaking his hand and telling him that I’m not just sorry about the tree, I’m sorry that he ever had to go through such horrific things as a young man. That NO ONE should ever have had to go through such awful things, and that I’m sorry that some 60-ish years later his mind can immediately return to those memories with a mere crack of a fallen tree.

As I lumbered on, my mind would return to the encounter, and how it seemed like, despite his matter-of-factness, he almost needed to share that with me, and I found myself wishing that I would have shaken his hand, and maybe even told him it’s all OK; no shells, no screams, no sirens, just an old tree whose time had come. To go a bit further, and assure him that he is safe.

My mind also drifted to the times that the OG Mindbender and I have talked about PTSD (you don’t have to be a Vet to have it; there are lots of life traumas that can resurrect painful and very real memories). She once told me about a relative of hers who was in World War II, and for years after his return, he would often wake up under his bed, as if taking cover from bombing. That’s the mind instinctively in full-on protection mode from ingrained memories, and it’s horrible stuff.

Just after I hit 6 miles, I arrived back at the parking lot and noticed the car I had parked near upon my arrival that morning had a USMC sticker on the window and a disabled Vietnam Vet license plate. I tipped my sweaty cap in its direction, and silently wished the old fellow good luck and peace.

Later.