I enjoyed the poem also, Judi and Steve. Thanks for your time spent
I'm reading again. I hope the other creative cachers out there will do
>
> >From: "Team Tierra Buena" <teamtierrabuena@earthlink.net>
> >Reply-To: listserv@azgeocaching.com
> >To: <listserv@azgeocaching.com>
> >Subject: [Az-Geocaching] The Anniversary Present
> >Date: Wed, 30 Oct 2002 19:58:52 -0700
> >
> >The Caching of Stan McBee
> >
> >(With profound apologies to Robert W. Service, whose poems should
> be
> >read and enjoyed by all.)
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >There are strange things found on the caching-ground
> >
> > 'Neath the Arizona sun;
> >
> >There are rattlesnakes sly, and cholla that fly,
> >
> > And temps that reach one twenty-one,
> >
> >What's 'round the next bend could make hair stand on end,
> >
> > But the strangest sight you'll ever see,
> >
> >Is if you find the cache that has nothing but ash --
> >
> > The remains of old Stan McBee.
> >
> >
> >
> >Now, Stan McBee always went out with glee
> >
> > To locate the latest site.
> >
> >He found quite a few, even placed one or two,
> >
> > Just to keep his Cache Karma right.
> >
> >He lived all alone, so the urge to get goin'
> >
> > Was no cause for family strife.
> >
> >'Twas but one little fly in the ointment, or I
> >
> > Would say Stan had a cache-perfect life.
> >
> >
> >
> >That flaw had to do with his left and right shoe;
> >
> > Seems he never once got them to trod
> >
> >As a pair, or a team. Sad to say, it would seem
> >
> > That my caching friend Stan was a clod.
> >
> >Ten yards with his gait, sure as flush beats a straight,
> >
> > He'd be sprawling out flat on the trail.
> >
> >He fell once too often, and started to soften,
> >
> > Old Stanley was getting quite frail.
> >
> >
> >
> >He called me one day in his affable way,
> >
> > And said, "Meet me. I'll buy you a beer!"
> >
> >But when I got there and saw him in the chair,
> >
> > I knew there was no cause for cheer.
> >
> >"I just came from the doc's. I've tripped too many rocks,
> >
> > Son, I ain't got much more time to stay.
> >
> >When I take the last fall, my attorney will call
> >
> > You, and please do what she has to say."
> >
> >
> >
> >I was saddened no end, but a friend stays a friend,
> >
> > And I promised I'd honor his plea.
> >
> >We shook hands in farewell. Though it hurts me to tell,
> >
> > 'Twas the last time he ever saw me.
> >
> >Weeks passed, one or two, then a phone call came through
> >
> > from a law office down in Tempe.
> >
> >"At our office near Mill, we'll be reading the will
> >
> > Of the late cacher, Stanley McBee."
> >I arrived right at ten, and was soon ushered in
> >
> > To the office of Mary Sinclair,
> >
> >She asked me to sit, and I near threw a fit
> >
> > When I saw there was only one chair.
> >
> >"You were Stanley's one friend, it was right at the end
> >
> > He left all his possessions to you.
> >
> >But to get his bequest, he left one last request
> >
> > That you alone can and must do."
> >
> >
> >
> >With that she reached o'er, and up from the floor
> >
> > Moved a green ammo case to the table.
> >
> >"Stan's been cremated. His will clearly stated
> >
> > You must do this task if you're able.
> >
> >Here's a long and a lat; now you must go seek that
> >
> > Site, and under a cottonwood tree,
> >
> >Hide this ammo-can cache, though it be filled with ash.
> >
> > It stays secret between you and me."
> >
> >
> >
> >Armed with my GPS, and just barely a guess,
> >
> > I set out to seek the location
> >
> >Of that place in the land where my good old friend Stan
> >
> > Wished to rest his remains of cremation.
> >
> >Without too much grief, and to my great relief,
> >
> > 'Round that waypoint I steadily tightened,
> >
> >As I drew near the spot, my nerve endings were shot,
> >
> > For some reason I felt rather frightened.
> >
> >
> >
> >The site suited him, it was up on the Rim,
> >
> > (Maybe not. These are beans I won't spill.)
> >
> >And in spite of the trees, I got signals with ease:
> >
> > There's the spot, just atop a small hill!
> >
> >As I set down the case, my heart started to race,
> >
> > Beause someone had been here 'fore me!
> >
> >There's a lined yellow sheet, that was folded so neat,
> >
> > 'Neath a rock by that cottonwood tree.
> >
> >
> >
> >"Son," said the note, and you know who wrote,
> >
> > "You're a fine cacher and a good friend.
> >
> >In spite of my spills and my physical ills,
> >
> > You were here for me right to the end.
> >
> >Now I want you to savor the depth of the favor
> >
> > You've done me. It's not overstated:
> >
> >Thanks to you and your Garmin, this clumsy ol' varmin'
> >
> > Can at last say: I'm COORDINATED!"
> >
> >
> >
> >There are strange things found on the caching-ground
> >
> > 'Neath the Arizona sun;
> >
> >There are rattlesnakes sly, and cholla that fly,
> >
> > And temps that reach one twenty-one,
> >
> >What's 'round the next bend could make hair stand on end,
> >
> > But the strangest sight you'll ever see,
> >
> >Is if you find the cache that has nothing but ash --
> >
> > The remains of old Stan McBee.
> >
> >
> >
> >C Copyright 2002, Stephen N. Gross. All rights reserved.
> >
>
>
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