Yesterday was gorgeous; joyful flowers popping up, cheerful birds singing and the happy humming of bees in the air could be heard. It was the first time in over a year that I was able to sit outside and enjoy the sun on my back. Now one might think I'm knockin' back a cool brew and in a sense, I am. Well...a near-beer anyway - no alcohol.
I was around 16 years of age when I had my first beer and I guess I have my mother to thank for introducing me to that wonderful amber liquid - I loved the taste and the tartness as it hit the back of my throat right from the first sip. Having that first beer was like having sex for the first time - not only were they great experiences and memorable, in my case, they both became rather addictive - cold beer and a hot chick - for a man like me, a great combination.
It was a hot day in July, the kind of day where beads of sweat instantly form on one's brow, when I tilted back my first bottle of beer. I was staying with my mom at my grandfolk's homestead alongside the Fraser River, which is not a river to mess around with - the current is extremely strong and the undertow can be extremely dangerous as well, suck your britches off with a single swallow. There was a small island situated closer to the other side of the river that a nearby neighbour Len Lutz wanted to take us to in his little motor boat - thought it would be a good place to have sort of a picnic. At first, I thought it was a great idea until the three of us were seated in his little tin boat, our weight plus the combined weight of the motor almost had the river sloshing over the sides before we even pushed off shore; then I had my doubts. The current was so swift, he had difficulty steering the boat at such an angle, it was almost as if we were going upstream rather than directly across to the island. I have to admit I was a little bit scared and if that little boat is still around, which is highly unlikely, I expect my fingerprints can still be seen where I tightly held on.
While my mom and Len leisurely stretched out on the sandy beach, their backs against a big tree that had washed up onto the island, most likely in the spring when the snow and ice melted, being a young lad, I decided to wander around and explore it's wildness. At one end of the island, was a stack of trees of various sizes that had grounded out when the river was higher, so I decided to climb up to the top and take a look around; nothing like height for a short kid. Upon reaching the apex, the stack of intertwined twisted trees seemed like a miniature volcano because the centre was open all the way down to the ground. When I climbed down inside, all of a sudden, like obedient soldiers, the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention - the muddy soil was surrounded by bear tracks and they appeared to be very fresh. Well...I can tell you, for a short little guy, I flew up the inside of that stack of trees as fast as a blob of red-hot lava shooting out of a volcano.
When I returned to where they were sitting and casually talking, I couldn't help noticing that my mom and Len were sipping a couple of beers. I could scarce believe my eaves-dropping ears when Len asked my mom if it was alright for me to have one and she said sure. At that glorious moment, sweat running down my back from running away from a bear, which I had been certain was hot on my tail, I almost felt as if I had suddenly grown up. My first but far from my last beer, which at times have been a problem over the years, I felt as if I was in a mystical wonderland as I sat down and enjoyed a nice cold bottle of beer with them. Why I can even remember the brand - Old Style - the label had a tepee with some Indians on it! It was a pilsner beer and I drank it for many years before ever trying another brand, it tasted that good to me.
I still remember part of the conversation on that hot summer day. Len Lutz was sort of an odd single man, a live-alone bachelor, not crazy or anything but somewhat unusual and he told us why he limped, which I thought was one hell of a tale and still do. He had been a soldier in WWII and had been blown up by a grenade during a battle. He said that when he came to, his head was sticking out between his legs and a medic was nonchalantly looking him over. When the medic told his aid to forget about him, they'd come back later, he felt that he was a gonner but much to his surprise, he survived! I still can hear his voice to this day when he grinned and said, "I may not have much meat on my legs but they're legs of steel."
Funny the things a person remembers, but when I looked at the above photo of me enjoying a cold near-beer, that memory of me, my mom and Len Lutz sitting on a small island in the Fraser River brought that hot July afternoon back to life. As much as I still love beer, I just can't take a chance since the last one I drank, I went blind for about 20 minutes and no, I wasn't blind drunk...cheers, eh!
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