They walk among us. Spirit animals at Beargrass.

Anytime I can throw out a quote from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, I just can’t control myself.

Some of you might recall my story from last summer about finding my spirit animal. Or rather yet, it was more about my spirit animal finding me. You can normally tell this bond is happening when the to-be spirit creature tries to kill you (or at least in my case suck an essential mineral out of my body). Since I’ve been reverting to a middle school mentality for the last couple of months as a tour guide, I naturally must now shout:

Before I can truly get into the topic of spirit animals, I need to really dial this post back a little bit. Let us revisit my living conditions. I’m in a cabin-esque shed of sorts this summer with some revolving roommates that seem to take a little bit of my soul every day.

But patience is a virtue, and if I can drive a school bus I can tolerate somebody not flushing a toilet. Or taking out the trash (which is all his). Or leaving enough open half-eaten bags of trail mix around to attract every culinarily acute rat for 2000 miles. But I digress.

I’m learning how NOT to dwell on negatives this summer, so let’s move forward. One of the positives of my stay at Beargrass is the front porch on the little rundown, homeless shelter, cabin thing I’m calling my abode for a few months. Sans shopping cart, of course.

And I have always been a front porch kind of guy. I remember when I had my 1st job after college and my days off were Sunday and Monday. So on Monday, I’d be out in front of the house where I rented a room in my hammock. Tied it to a couple of nice trees in the front of the landscaped yard and just owned the situation.

Neighbors would drive by and assume I was unemployed since I’m not working on a Monday. And every time they would drive by, I’d watch and read their eyes as I looked up from my book. Their lips would almost always slowly mouth “I wanna be like that guy”.

So there’s a lot to be said for relaxing on a porch and watching other people work at washing stuff this summer. Of course not as good as watching that one gal washing the car in front of the chain gang in the 1967 classic Cool Hand Luke. To be honest, this is the gold standard when it comes to car wash satire.

Because of the cabin’s location, I have a GREAT view of the gravel mosh pit where we are forced to wash these million-dollar Red Busses (for starvation wages of $12 per hour, although most days are overtime starvation wages). I know, a little bit of a letdown for those who have long thought of a Jammer as the elite employee of Glacier Park. Maybe I should have joined the prison road crew this summer (the food would have surely been better).

Take note I am NOT one of those people who particularly likes to wash his bus in the 7 PM to 9 PM hours every afternoon/evening. Especially after working the commonplace 12 to 14-hour day. Occasionally I’ll have a tour that ends early or only a shift in the morning only. This puts me in the sweet spot. I get all my stuff cleaned up and then put my bus to bed for the day by 5 o’clock. Those are the hours to live for.

What do I do with all that free time in the early evening? Why sit back and watch others suffer doing things I don’t like, of course. After all, it is the American way. Like in the old days when you got to a drive-in movie a full two hours early just to watch the poor bastard trying to park in a crowded lot 3 minutes before the film starts. Oftentimes it was better than watching the movie itself.

Case in point, I could sit and watch Frank wash buses all day long. Especially on those wonderful stormy evenings with the filtered sunshine.

Although regardless of how beautiful that stormy sunset is, I would still clearly prefer to watch the woman from Cool Hand Luke wash ANYTHING. Hopefully, TWICE.

But Kirk comes in a close second. I think it’s how he handles the power washer. Clearly does a pretty good job of owning a less-than-glamorous task. Especially when he puts his hips into it. And this spattering of rain will ensure that before morning the dust and dirt from all of the people speeding past our parked busses will leave them coated in grime again before the next tour.

Kirk and I have a history. He was a roommate for a while so I guess we have kind of an understanding thing going. That is what makes the story so special. For the spirit animal that came to our cabin at Beargrass was not there for me. It was drawn by the aura of Kirk. But of course, this raven spirit did check me out to start with. But I was not worthy.

I was just sitting on my cabin porch watching the others sweat when this raven appeared. It’s an unusual raven with a red marking on his face. I’m almost positive it has nothing to do with the short-lived big-screen franchise of the same time starring the young son of Bruce Lee, Brandon. But I have been wrong before. Just ask any geologist who has been on one of my Jammer tours.

This raven kept hopping and jumping around me in circles. From the rail of the patio to the back of a deck chair to the edge of the roof. It kept moving all over and all around me. Like I was being vetted for some unknown purpose. I remained still. I knew it was better to let him do his job than to interfere with my ignorance.

Then just like that, the raven was done with me. He moved on. Kirk was in the wash zone. The raven was attracted to him so strongly. The creature was instantly captivated by his red bus.

Words were expressed between the two. Man and feathered friend (or foe?). There was something there. An intrinsic bond. The pair locked in an icy stare and I realized what was going on. The raven was choosing. And we all know what that means. I sipped my coffee and prepared to watch Kirk’s eyes get pecked out, as this tiny little beast defiled and strip his corpse to a pile of bleached bones.

Whoops. Went a little dark there.

But little did I know Kirk had been forming a bond with his bird for apparently two months. The raven has been greeting him at his bus every day.

Kirk has tried to feed it, but it won’t take food from him. Clearly the bird wants something more. A true spiritual connection. The raven wants Kirk to show him the way.

Even more so when he is wearing those Something About Mary earmuffs like Warren

Then the bird landed on Kirk’s shoulder. The final sign that the two are now one. Kirk did not choose this bird, but it has chosen him. From now through the end of the season they will both breathe, live, and think as one. With a little luck, they will just share the raven’s brain.

How can one man be so lucky? What a precious gift. To know you will never have to use a toothpick again, as long as you have a raven on your shoulder.

Not to mention the raven even tried to drive the Red Bus once for Kirk

Although I just have to say, the raven can be fickle. It does entertain attaching itself to others from time to time. But at the end of the day, it always comes back to Kirk. Kind of like Forrest Gump to his Jeni.

I must admit I am envious of Kirk. But I can never speak of such envy out of fear of angering my spirit animal (the mountain goat). Now that, my friends, is a joining of the hooves like no other. I have not seen him again this summer, but I know has been watching over me on every hike and every mountain I climb. I hope to meet again before I unlace my boots for the last time and store my trucking polls for the summer. In a good way.

From my observation deck, I saw another driver pull in recently to wash his bus. Now that I have a heightened sense of all of the creatures around us looking for a human to bond with, I spotted something in the distance. What is that little black thing behind his bus?

In case it’s unclear to you let me blow that up a little bit.

What a magical place this pocket of the universe called Beargrass. Although the bear did not approach any closer, it is obvious he is seeking out someone here. Or possibly just the overflowing dumpster. We have to wait and see. Either way, I will keep my eyes open. If only I knew of somebody whose spirit animal was a bear, I could make this a great summer for them.

The raven loved to be liked. A once-in-a-lifetime photo of the raven flying up to greet and play with a local falcon that was really not interested.