Of Petrified Wood and Husbands

It’s a bittersweet time of year for people who have lost loved ones. The holidays evoke special memories and make the loss seem even more poignant.

For example, December 9 is the anniversary of the founding of the Petrified Forest National Park and it makes me miss my first (or “Starter” husband).

Perhaps I’d better explain.

We were married the day after I graduated from the University of Arizona. Having majored in Anthropology and minored in Philosophy, marriage was my best career option. (Hey, it was 1973–that’s what we did back then). Besides, we were in love.

When the family were on their way back to Indiana (mine) and California (his), we set out in our old Dodge pickup truck for our honeymoon. The truck had a homemade camper in the back and we had supplied it with enough food for three days, including plenty of biscuits for our dog Roach (it was 1973, remember?)

Our destination was the Grand Canyon, which I had never seen. On the way, we planned a couple of stops in other well-known Arizona beauty spots.

The trouble began on our first stop, the famous Painted Desert. By the way, unless you hit the Painted Desert at sunrise or sunset, it looks nothing like the photos. The colors at midday were muted and the scenery got monotonous, especially at the posted speed limit of 15 MPH. 

Starter began to go a little faster. He did it gradually, so as not to alarm me, because although I cannot claim that I never speed, I have never had a speeding ticket, and it’s a point of honor with me.

When he hit 32 MPH, a National Park Service Security Officer appeared from behind a rock and pulled us over.

Asked to produce his license and registration, Starter discovered that he didn’t have his driver’s license. The officer said he would have to take him to the nearest town and book him. 

I pleaded with him (just the first of many times I would plead on Starter’s behalf) to show mercy. We were on our honeymoon, I said. Maybe it was the tears, or perhaps it was the sloppy kisses from Roach. The officer relented, wished us well, and sent us on our way.

If I was relieved at having beaten The Man (again…1973), Starter was defiant. 

In fact, our close call had left him so unbowed that when we entered the Petrified Forest, he stood beside an official sign warning visitors of the penalties for taking anything out of the forest and had me take a picture of him holding a piece of petrified wood that he would later stash in the camper. 

My good sense prevailed, and we dumped the souvenir before approaching the exit gate, where they surely would have found more than one illegal substance while searching our camper.

December 9 is the anniversary of the Petrified Forest. It is also the birthday of Starter husband, who died of cancer two years ago at the age of 58. When he was diagnosed, I was privileged to be invited by his wise and generous wife to take part in his care. In his final days, we once again became close and shared a laugh about our flirtation with the wrong side of the law.

 It was a gift I’m forever grateful for.