She was right, as she often was. Time did heal it. But time couldn’t heal his father’s cancer. “Big John,” they’d called him. Big John liked to smoke and smoke he did. And Big John didn’t just smoke the lights, he went right for Marlboro Reds at two packs a day. Big John had big hands. And a big everything else. His father was assertive, but offering encouragement where needed. It was his father who’d taught him about the outdoors. He was the one who initiated the quick trips up north. The “bonsai” trips as they were referred to were fast three-day trips up to the shack. His father would have the gear packed the night before, coolers and duffel bags stuffed with smoked sausage, canned goods, hash browns, camping equipment, and fishing gear. The old flannel sleeping bags were so bulky they’d take up half the pickup bed. Having everything packed the night before allowed them to head out when his father got off work from the phone company at 3:00 p.m. Big John was pretty damn slick with telecommunications. He was trained by the Army, even stationed in Turkey for a while, working on several top secret radio jamming projects that he couldn’t discuss.

Just know that what I know, people don’t want you to know, he’d say when prodded.

Sometimes he could tell his father was full of shit because his upper lip stiffened and his eyes widened. But that never happened when Matt brought up the Army. He never got it out of him, even on his deathbed.

The bonsai trips were scheduled around the working man. By leaving at 3:00 p.m. on a Friday, they could drive eight hours to the shack and get a decent night’s sleep. They’d stay for Saturday and Sunday, leaving Sunday night at seven. This would allow them to get back by 3:00 a.m., enough for three or four hours of sleep before his father had to go to work.

There was always competition among Matt’s friends to come up north, and his father would sometimes allow a couple to tag along. When this happened, he’d set up cots in the back of the pickup. Having the camper shell facilitated the cot system. Matt and his friends would watch the world change at their feet through the rear window. Sometimes it was like they were launched in a rocket, the world sucked away behind them, cars, lights, and traffic diminishing as they headed north. They’d bounce in the cots and sleeping bags during rough patches like astronauts punching through the atmosphere. Then the pine trees appeared like ghosts and the cars were few. A new world. A cleaner world.