Two Weeks to Live

Last weekend I dreamed I was dying.  In the dream, I had gone to the doctor who laid out the prognosis in no nonsense fashion – I would be dead in two weeks, but would remain “healthy” until the last moment.  Or, I could go through a treatment plan that would give me an extra month, but I would be sick most of the time.  That was the first choice – an easy one.  I chose the two weeks healthy and went home wondering what to do next.  I don't recall feeling sad or scared in the dream.  But, I knew there were things I needed to complete before moving on.

The dream was very vivid and woke me with a start at 4:00 a.m.  I flopped around in the bed for over an hour, wrestling with the question of what I would do if I really only had two weeks left.  Two weeks are 14 days and 14 days are only 336 hours.  I stared at the ceiling and wondered how would I spend those fleeting hours?

I thought about my grandkids.  Peter, age 4, would probably have a few vague memories of me.  Addie at 2 wouldn’t remember me at all.  Jackson, he’s just a few weeks old and I would be nothing but a hazy image in an old photo.

Peter

So, I figured the first thing is to shore up those memories with Peter.  Since it was just a dream, I chose to set it in the summer months.  I would take Peter to Ocracoke.  We would sit on the ferry dock and catch Pinfish until the ferry arrived, then we would wave to the folks on the ferry.  I would called him "Cephas" my special name for him.  Then we would feed the gulls.  Elizabeth would snap many photos.

Addie

I would take Addie to Pullan Park in Raleigh.  We would ride the carousal all afternoon, switching from horse to tiger to horse with each new ride.  Maybe the carousal tune would lodge somewhere in the recesses of her malleable mind so that whenever she heard it in the future, a faint memory of war horses and ostriches and an old bald guy would come to mind.  Deja vu. 

Jackson

Jackson would have nothing to remember.  So, we would go to the Linville Gorge, on the Table Rock side, and I would tell him about hiking into the gorge with my friend Toad.  John would video the conversation so Jackson could watch it when he was older.  Like Peter, I want Jackson to say and remember, “Papa had a friend named Toad.”

As I lay there in bed, I went through a list of family and friends that I would like to visit one last time before kicking over.  It would make for a busy two weeks.  I doubt I would waste much of it asleep.

The thing that struck me most was that not only did I want to visit all these people, I also wanted them to know how I felt about them.  Later that day I spent four or five hours traveling alone which gave me some time to assess what all of that meant and means.

I determined that how we would spend those last two weeks says much about what is important to us.  We could easily be self-absorbed and spend the time doing the things we always wanted to do.  Heck, we could put it on a credit card and let someone else worry about it when we’re gone.  I have taken the love languages assessment and my languages are “quality time” and "words of affirmation.”  So, it makes sense that I want to spend time with people I care about and to let them know their value to me.

Our fragile, impending mortality has been the fodder of songs.  Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying reflects on what “I would do if I could do it all again.”   Nickelback narrowed it down to If Today Was Your Last Day.  It would be hard to squeeze it all in in just one day.  I’m glad I got two weeks.

I woke Amy after wallowing around for over an hour.  She was a pretty good sport to listen to me wonder about my last two weeks.  Her advice at 5:30 a.m. made perfect sense: we should never put off spending time with people we love and should never leave without them knowing what they mean to us.

What would you do if you only had two weeks left to live?

Warden Tales: Master Officer Foster Harrell and Jet

During the course of my career, I have observed wildlife officers utilize many different modes of unconventional transportation to get into the areas where they need to be.  In my early days, an officer had a Honda Trail 70 that he would throw in the trunk of his car to use on gated Forest Service roads.  A few officers have given mountain bikes a spin.  ATVs have been issued for years and get a good work out.  Canoes and kayaks help in shallow water or when stealth is necessary.  Forest Harrell rode a horse.

Foster D. Harrell
from Wildlife in North Carolina - 1967

Foster D. Harrell was employed by the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission on September 1, 1961.  In February 1962, he was drafted into the U.S. Army and spent two years in the military.  He returned to work with the NCWRC in 1964 and was assigned to Swain County.  Harrell ended up in Henderson County where he was responsible for miles of trout streams, many of which required a good deal of foot-patrol.

“I remember when Foster got his horse from Trout Unlimited.  Jim Geouge, Sgt. Lloyd Higgins and I were checking fishing on the Davidson River near the hatchery [currently a part of the Pisgah Education Center].  We ran into a Pisgah TU member and he informed Lloyd that they [TU] had just bought Foster a horse to use when patrolling Turkey Pen and the South Mills River.  Sgt. Higgins wasn’t too pleased about that and took off down Hwy. 276.  He was tapping the steering wheel and saying, ‘We’ll damn see about that.’  Lloyd dropped me and Jim off before heading to Foster’s house at Mill’s River.  He was too late – Foster had already brought Jet home.”

Retired Master Officer Rick Stone

Foster Harrell ID card
Courtesy of NCWRC Lt. Ben Meyer

Members of the Land-of-Sky Chapter of Trout Unlimited in Asheville set out to help Harrell get into the backcountry areas.  Unlike the “put and take” streams where trout are stocked, those wilderness streams contain a sustainable population of wild trout.  Those remote locations contribute to the temptation for unscrupulous anglers to catch more than their share of fish.  The chapter raised funds over a two year period to purchase Harrell a horse to help him get into those wild areas.

Fosetr Harrell and Jet
photo by Jay Davies
from Wildlife in North Carolina - September 1984

Harrell described checking an angler in the September 1984 issue of Wildlife in North Carolina:

“The angler was totally engaged in trying to catch a trout,” said Harrell with just a hint of a smile.  “We were about 30 feet from that angler when my horse snorted and that fisherman nearly jumped out of his skin.  He probably thought he was about to be eaten by a bear.”

Master Officer Foster Harrell 

Master Officer Stone would sometimes accompany Harrell on Stone's personal horse.

I remember once we were riding horses in Turkey Pen, checking the South Mills River.  It was cold and the river was iced up around the banks.  My horse, Rocky, didn’t want to cross the river because the ice made a cracking sound when we tried to get in the water (Foster’s horse, Jet, never had a problem with the water).  We had to go about a mile and a half out of the way.  But, Foster didn’t complain.  I don’t remember writing any citations that day, but we let several folks know we were back there!”

Retired Master Officer Rick Stone

Foster Harrell retired in 1990 and moved back home to District 4.  He still shows up for firearms training and stays in touch with the local officers.

Innovation is a key trait for wildlife officers.  Many a plan has been hatched in a patrol vehicle late at night.  Those plans usually begin with, “You know what I bet would work…”  Some of those plans work great and others are the fodder for supervisors’ nightmares.  One back in the 1980s led to Foster Harrell patrolling on horseback.

A Family Tradition: Walter and Mike Edmisten

Back in the late 1980s when I was stationed in Graham County, the U.S. Forest Service got a report of a marijuana patch on a narrow ridge above Panther Creek.  It was near the end of the growing season, so they thought they stood a pretty good chance of catching the growers.  This was the front end of the declaration of war on drugs.

I spent some time in the woods with the Forest Service officers on that patch and even more time around their camp at night.  I knew Special Agent Baker Edmisten, mostly by name only.  We were sitting around the fire one night and Baker had on one of the old, green wildlife officer shirts.  I asked him about it and he said he got it from his dad.  That was a time in my career when I was more fixated on catching someone than hearing a good story with a strong dose of history.  Instead of asking about Baker’s dad, the conversation shifted to the details of the next day.

Walter Edmisten's badge
Courtesy of Mike Edmisten

Several years later, during one of my first assignments instructing in the wildlife recruit school, I heard that Baker’s nephew was in the class.  Again, I didn’t really consider asking the recruit, Mike Edmisten, any questions about his uncle or grandfather.  In fact, I had forgotten the grandfather connection.

Walter F. Edmisten was appointed Watauga County wildlife protector with the North Carolina Department of Conservation and Development’s Division of Fish and Game on June 8, 1944.  He was promoted to district supervisor in late 1949 and was a part of the second group of officers to attend the initial in-service training conducted by the newly formed N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission, graduating on April 7, 1950.

Walter Edmisten
Second row, second from the right
Chapel Hill, NC
from Wildlife in North Carolina

Courtesy of Mike Edmisten

"My grandfather retired in 1972. I was born in 1973. I never got the pleasure to see him in uniform, or talk to him after a day at work. He did share accounts of what is was like being a "Wildlife Protector" back in the day. For example: I remember him talking about a man who he caught closed season trout fishing in Ashe County. If I remember right he had to obtain an arrest warrant. When he went to get the subject, the individual threated to shoot him if he didn't leave. My "Papaw" as he was known by everybody, drew his .38 Colt revolver and told him that it wasn't worth dying over a trout. The subject was then arrested and taken before a magistrate!

Protector Salaries effective September 1, 1946
Courtesy Mike Edmisten

I remember many days as a child when he would take me to either Meat Camp Creek or the New River to trout fish. He would drop me off and tell me where he would pick me up, and how long it should take me to get to my pick up location. It seems like he was always spot on in his estimation of my arrival time! Forgot to mention that I had to catch my own night crawlers in his back yard the night before!

From Wildlife in North Carolina - 1955

Other memories include him taking me either to the tree farm to stalk rabbits or taking me to the back ridge along the New River to squirrel hunt.

My grandfather helped capture the original Mildred the Bear which was taken to Grandfather Mountain. He would take me up there every summer as a young child when I came to Boone to visit my family.

from Wildlife in North Carolina - 1970

I was about 14 or 15 years old when I first started talking to Papaw about becoming a Wildlife Officer. He was excited to know that I was interested in choosing that career path. I started college at Wayne Community College in 1994 getting my degree in fish and wildlife management. I was in class taking my final exams in 1995, when I received a call that my grandfather had passed. I had just applied to wildlife school a few weeks prior to that. After the application process, I received my letter from Raleigh telling me to be at the Institute of Government on Jan 6th 1996 to start the basic school! My only regret is that I wish Papaw could have known that I made it.”

Master Officer Mike Edmisten

                             

Courtesy of Mike Edmisten

from Wildlife in NC
September 2001

from Wildlife in NC
September 2001

Mike Edmisten is assigned to Durham County.  Geographically and demographically, Durham is almost 180 degrees different from his “Papaw’s” high country duty station.  Mike’s uncle, Baker, went on to work a long career as a special agent with the U.S. Forest Service and later as a U.S. Marshal.  Another uncle, Rufus, served as the N.C. Secretary of State and made a strong, but unsuccessful run for governor in 1984.  It seems that the name Edmisten is synonymous with service.