GRAVE DIGGERS ON STEROIDS

The loud, angry voice shouting into the phone by my father scared me enough to run outside and hide in the treehouse. Then I heard my brothers come out, slam the door and left the house, shouting loudly back at our father who suddenly opened the door and threw two shovels at them. I peeked out. Dressed in dark clothes, they grabbed the shovels and hoisted them overhead in a farewell salute. How gross! Those still had blood and pieces of dried skin on them. What's going on?

The two shouted back to the house, got into the car, turned up the rock 'n roll music and pealed out, burning rubber like I had never, ever seen before. In panic mode I didn't know what to do or where to go. I jumped out of the treehouse and went and hid in the woods. It was late afternoon when they left and now the sun was down. I did not hear either of my parents call out for me at all. Did they think I went too? I guess sometimes the job was more of the situation of the moment and they did not want me to be in the way or get forgotten when push came to shove.  

I was a graveyard digger from the get go as it was a calling in the family. You grabbed a shovel, no questions asked, and got to work. For the most part it was all legit. But there were those times when the call came to shovel the shit under the rug, so to speak, in the back alley or down a side street. That's where you were called to clean up the mess that someone with bigger pants needed to have taken care of, no prying eyes allowed in this situation. I was ten years old when my brothers had me go with them on a so-called assignment. They made it seem like we were going on a fun ride to the park. We high-fived, then I jumped in and off we went, until they drove past the park, into the city and sped down some side streets. Oh no! Something was up. A quick turn brought us to a desolate area with the car bumping along a stone walkway until a corner boulder marked the end of the alley. "DON'T." I was told to stay in the seat and not move until told to do so and watched them go into the dark. Soon, the two appeared coming out the side door dragging someone by the arms and legs. I quickly bolted up then dropped down and hunkered as low as I could behind the front seat. I peeked up when the trunk was opened as they heavily shoved this person in. He wasn't talking or anything as they folded his arms and legs into a trunk already full of stones and rope. The shovels were tied up in the back seat with me. I did not say a word as who knew what they would do to me? The doors opened and the two started talking in serious, low tones. Then I heard laughs and some swearing as the car sped on its way out of the city and veered onto another side road. "Hey! Is their anyone back there other than our guest in the trunk?" The two brothers chuckled at my child-like manner trying to hide from it all. I did not answer until I heard, "Mikey! It's your turn." 

I'm a big kid now!

I took a shovel the next day and went to my first funeral. It was not what I expected, not that I knew anything about what was going on. The two took me under their complete guidance control and spoke about what they do in a way to make sense to their younger brother. "Mikey, just so you kinda get it, we have a unique way to take the dirt scum out of the city." One brother looked to the other and nodded. "This is what we have always done. You need to know it's for the good of all to do what we do. No questions. Got it?" One winked to the other, but I did not quite get it. Much later on I found out about the money they make. Where it comes from was not to be discussed. My job turned out to be the stone mason, in a sense. The digs were always chosen in random mostly small open fields and wooded spots, not cemeteries. This was how my role played a part. After my brothers picked the right spot for the latest body or sometimes two bodies we took turns digging the grave. Then I would purposely set up stones in a particular pattern to be the only identification marker they would have reference to. The map was in a locked box that their father had the only access to. I would be reminded to not let this ever get to me as it was their job. "You have school and stuff, right?" They told me more than once to never tell anyone about this job. "If anyone needs to know what's up on the weekend just say, you have to move stuff with your brothers." One time they were approached by a big cartel. It was decided that they would prepare a premier grave site. This came as the one and only opportunity which they offered for one dollar. In return their name would be the name and number one underground choice for dirt removal. 

It was agreed and happened the very next night. I looked at my brothers like they were crazy when they told me the news. "We're doing what? You gotta be crazy!" They laughed like never before and told me to dress up. "We got this!" The truck was loaded with two unlucky bad boys, the shovels and extra sand. A city road was to be paved the following day. So my two brothers made it seem like they were a road work crew, dug a trench, laid the corpses down, filled it all in, and used the extra sand to smooth and blend. I could only help with the sand part as they were an insane duo on a mission like never before. The road was paved as if nothing was messed with and the cartel was ecstatic knowing where and who was in a permanent graveyard.  

Ten years later and here I am in a cabin in the Great North Woods. My shovel was hung up long ago. I made a pact with my brothers to go my own way and they agreed to part company after our father died. He was buried holding a shovel under the front steps of the house.  

There was a new calling in the town I now called home. I smelled the hefty aroma when I opened the door and without hesitation, I grabbed my jacket and strode the dirt trail leading the way to my destination. It was the newest coffee café on the block and what pulled me in was to have a cup of the latest blend trend; coffee and sand. Yes, you read that correctly. This unique Turkish blend is brewed in a pan filled with sand that is heated over an open flame. The sand-filled pan allows for total control over the heat. Cups left on the surface stay warm and the heat used for brewing can be adjusted by the depth of the coffee in the sand. The very finely ground coffee is brewed in a copper pot. It is so much more aromatic and becomes thicker. Who would have thought the coffee shop in this small town had the idea to do this and ramp up the game? For me, sand and rock continued to be in the game plan. 

Here I am, now standing with a map on a section of the Appalachian Trail in northern Maine. My gig is now working for the National Park Service creating trail markers with heaps of stones called cairns using a stone layering technique. It is a pile of stones from the area created and assembled to mark a special place or to serve as a landmark for hikers safety and to be on the right trail to guide you in whatever the weather throws at you. Balanced with stability and purpose they are crafted to last over time. I guess this was another way to give my stone work a legit reason to be visible. No hidden bodies. My brothers would be jealous!