I laugh because I can’t disagree. I’ve never been homeless. But… “I’ve never thought of things like camping and hiking as fun either.”
“I totally get that,” Nico agrees. “But this strange peace came over me on the camping trip. The birds, the wind, the rustling of the trees. Suddenly I could feel, hear, and see it all. And that was when I realized nature was for everybody. It isn’t just a white thing. Everybody’s ancestors everywhere were communing with nature at some point. It’s just that a lot of brown and black people don’t have enough access to the natural world to know it’s something we should miss.”
Nico’s gaze sweeps over the magnificent forest. “That’s why I started a non-profit that sends black and brown kids from Milwaukee to the Sweet Lake Wilderness camp in the summer. Usually, Mitch, Jeb, and I visit once or twice. Throw a few balls. I love seeing how happy and healthy the kids look after spending a whole summer outside. That strange peace that nature gives you. It’s contagious. I’m bummed we won’t be able to do it this year because of the pandemic. But hopefully next year, we’ll be able to send kids to the camp again.”
A strange peace…
Funnily enough, I know exactly how he feels. Nico isn’t nature. But that’s what I feel whenever we spend time together. He’s an amazing human being, and he has a way of making me feel calm and easy. Like Lionel Ritchie’s proverbial Sunday morning, even though it’s technically late Saturday afternoon.
“I love that you do that,” I tell him. “I love that you saw what nature could provide and decided to pass on that gift to the next generation. That’s really generous and thoughtful.”
Nico waves off my praise. “I’ve been lucky my whole life. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t pass that luck on?”
Yeah, it’s easy to see why Nico’s teammates and foster brothers call him Saint Nic.
After we get back from our walk, Nico and Jeb continue to deal with the turkey. Meanwhile Mitch and I spend about an hour or so talking underneath the shade of a tree. It’s an easy meandering conversation until I ask him about the decrepit barn sitting on the other side of the lake. He tells me it’s left over from a neighboring pot farm that got raided along with his parents’.
“I’ve been thinking of buying that piece of property too, just so no one else will. It’d make this place even more remote than it already is. And with Sweet Lake so far away, we’ve definitely got some homeschooling in our future. I got homeschooled until the age of fourteen and I was fine when I transferred to school in Milwaukee. That’s one of the reasons I’m so obsessed with saving money and renovating the cabin. I’d like our kids to grow up the way I did—but you know without the smell of pot and the fear of getting raided by the feds. Also, with three dads who will always be there for them, instead of one who doesn’t think about protecting his wife and kid.”
Mitch’s face isn’t so pretty now. It’s set in harsh lines, angry and bitter. “I visit my mom in prison, but I can’t forgive my dad for making her part of this business. He knew the stakes. Knew she’d go to jail just like him if they got caught.”
I touch his arm lightly, needing to comfort him. “My dad…um…he abandoned us too. Didn’t leave me with anything but his name. He was from an old school southern white family, and they disowned him when they found out he’d knocked up his black girlfriend. According to my mom, he made it through the first year, but that was it. He split without a word one morning and she was too proud to ever get back in contact with him. She didn’t ask him for child support or any money either. Not even when she got sick.”
I tell my story carefully, pausing often to make sure I don’t spill any specific details. But I need Mitch to know he’s not alone in his feelings.
Mitch looks over at me, his eyes full of curiosity. “Did you ever get in contact with him?”
Again, I have to pick and choose my words. “I thought about it. After my mom died. It was either ask him for money or dance to get the rest of the way through college. I even got as far as going to his house out in the suburbs. His wife and kids were leaving for soccer practice when I pulled up. He had two little girls and a white wife almost as pretty as my mom. I watched them pull away before knocking on the door.”
I pause, the pain of the memory washing over me again.