A man wearing a surgical mask was holding a rake on the shore of north park. A large empty bucket stood beside him. I didn’t recognize him, so many new folks on the Islands lately. I approached him. “You’re scooping up the dead fish, by yourself?” I looked down at the murky water of the pond where 25 to 30 swollen corpses of carp floated on the surface. It stunk to high heaven.
He lifted the mask. “Yeah. I put some camphor oil inside this so it’s not so bad. I’d pet your dog, but I don’t think you’d appreciate that.” Pippa wouldn’t mind…the stinkier the better. He’s right…I had just given her a bath.
I felt guilt. I live here too. People, me included, have been complaining about this situation for days now, since the heavy rain last week. This man is doing not whining.
“I’d like to help…do you need some plastic bags to haul them away?” Really that was the least I could do. “No thanks. I just load em in the bucket and take em and bury em in a hole I dug outside the gate.” More guilt. “Well thank you for doing this. God Bless you.” I felt so lame. His name is Jim and he has become my hero.
Boomer's Baby Steps 