Memoriam For Pat

His frailness, stooped shoulders, hesitating gate, wrinkled visage, and teeth that refused to organize themselves belied his sturdy stock. Pat was the defender of nature, particularly ferns.

 

Our little troop trudged along behind him. Pat was oblivious to the blazing sun, standing for hours in his long sleeved shirt and long pants uniform.  That uniform, properly emblazoned was a bit wrinkled, testimony to his disinterest in the outer man.  Like Thoreau he was focused on simplicity and nature.

 

So it was that on this three hour trek through prairie and swamp that we came to know this single-minded seeker of truth and justice for all things fern. Fascinated by its propagation through spores, not flowers and seeds, he seemed to dwell on this fact with laser intensity.  I for one had assumed ferns propagated in the usual missionary manner, perhaps wiggling with joy at the moment of climax.  Pat would have none of this fiction.

 

Somehow Pat worked other aspects of nature into his talk. Cows can eat poisonous ferns, would you believe?  This fact led Pat to describe how good bacteria was able to be transmitted to calves via their mother’s dirty udder.  He then veered briefly off track describing the four stomachs of cows, but that I shall pass over.  This, dear reader, would prophetically predict the final passage of this little essay.  But back to the trail.

 

Then came the climax (pardon the continued sexual references, but it does apply here) of our adventure. For what appeared to be about an hour, Pat paused and slowly unfolded his recent adventure on the trail.  Pat described in morbid detail the stalking, attack and rendering of a little fawn by a Florida panther at this very spot.  The story began with the little fawn eating several varieties of fern, of course.  Therefore he or she certainly deserved its fate.

 

The carnage went on to include the subsequent dining of a bobcat, raccoons and an opossum at this buffet, leaving only a few bones. Pat seemed at peace with this scene, knowing the ways of nature, “Nothing was wasted”.  Did he stand there for 12 hours to record this subsequent event, you ask.

 

Pat had already proven his detective skills when he previously spotted a blob on the walkway. He announced it was bobcat poop. It was laced with a few hairs.  A bunny was unfortunately eaten between 2 and 230 AM last night.  Case closed.

 

Pat continued his quest to spot and describe 20 more ferns, including the “very rare Shoelace Fern”. There were a few gasps in the crowd, which had mysteriously diminished to about half the original size by this time.  Pat happily maintained his focus on these fine specimens, ignoring a bald eagle flying above, various owl calls and herons who nearly perched on his shoulder.  Pat was keenly focused.

 

Leaving us when no more ferns existed, he bid us a fond farewell as he had to rush back for another tour. By this time, our band was diminished to a few souls.  These two fellow soldiers of nature decided to flee to the air conditioned base camp while I ambled back, determined to ascertain why this rare fern was called a “shoelace fern”.

 

My mind was filled with the horrors of nature, as I glanced around fearful of panthers and bobcats. The heat bore down with such intensity that I was sure my body had reached a medium rare temperature.  Just when I thought, “It can’t get any worse”, it did.

 

Spotting a fury of action in the tall grass, I paused. Near Pat’s prized shoelace fern two panthers, a bobcat and a raccoon were fighting over some remains. With my high powered binoculars, I searched the scene with trepidation.  There was little left in the carnage, other than a name tag, “Pat”.  I was too shocked to record this moment with a photograph, so dear reader, you will have to trust me as I trusted Pat.

 

Determined to honor this faithful champion of ferns, I urge in lieu of flowers, that all contributions be made to the Plant a Fern Foundation in honor of Pat. His tombstone will also read “A dirty udder is a good udder” in honor of his varied interests.  Rest in peace, Pat.  Although things did actually get worse for Pat, we are all the better for it.  Wait, that didn’t come out right. Never mind.  Farewell Pat, we salute you.