Liston Glen has been on mind mind quite a bit lately. Pretty much since Brent passed, nineteen weeks ago now. It’s been especially on my mind this morning as I read on Facebook that one of my best friends was moving South with her sons. See Brent and I spent quite a bit of time out at the Mississinewa. I dare say it’s my favorite place on Earth. Brent’s too, I imagine. The gods know we made it our own and there aren’t too many places we didn’t get to.
Liston Glen was one of those magical spots that sang to you. We’d hike back to the wide creek, a cooler of beer and a couple of packs of smokes in tow, throw our feet in the water, and stare at the clouds and talk about… well, just about anything, really.
Anyway, reading Shannon’s post this morning, I was reminded of the time Brent and I drug Mac out there with us. If memory serves, I had just turned twenty-one. Brent was probably a month away and Shannon something like five months shy, give or take.
See, I remember our relative ages because a CO came along and busted us drinking a few beers. No trouble. Was cool for the most part and we had a damn good day, all told.
The three of us spent a helluva lot of time together. Now we’ve just got memories, and those too will pass away in time, but that place, and places like it, are forever.
So, here I sit, thinking about Liston Glen. I don’t imagine too many people these days head out there. Hell, in all the years we hiked back that way, we never once ran into somebody else… except that CO.
It’s changed quite a bit over the years. The Mississinewa Dam wasn’t very kind to the area in my estimation. A fair amount of sacred places were sacrificed for man to control the river. But if you’re feeling brave and know your way around the Reservoir a bit, it’s not hard to find.
And if you do make your way back there through the chiggers and horse flies, maybe you’ll see the old ghosts of friends forever, eternally young and full of questions…