Stream Runner, Book 1 of Dunsmuir Boy

By David Seed

Time is a human idea. We think that it's a constant thing and that we live in the present.
In our imagination, the present is all there is of time. We are held in the present. We look to the future and see the past. We look to the past and see the future. The more we see of one, the more we see of the other. We go round and round.
The present remains still, a fixed point; and the past and the future both swirl out of it, encircling it in all directions with spheres of movement, like electrons around a nucleus, like stars spinning in a galaxy.
We are caught in the movement of time. Whether we measure time passing by the amount of water dripping out of a cracked pot or by the speed of light makes no difference at all.
We cling to the essence of the present in the midst of an existence that is all movement for all of time.
Life is circles, round and round, but we try to deal with it with an idea of time that makes us think and plan our lives as if we were on a straight line; but all things turn in on themselves, and in the end we are brought back to the beginning.
We're held in a present that engulfs us, with a past always ending, and a future never beginning.
For us, the circle of our lives must tell a story before we can begin to understand our existence in the symphony of time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Western Grebe Publishing
• Release date: Oct 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311863560

David Seed

###About the author:David Seed was born August 15, 1931 in Minot, North Dakota. In his eleventh year the family moved to Dunsmuir, California where he graduated high school, believing himself to be a writer. In the fall of 1949 he started at the University of California at Berkeley and did his best to learn what he could of life. He managed to graduate in the spring of 1956 and continued to follow his calling, experiencing a chaotic life as both participant and observer. He is now an old man writing books in Oregon.

Book preview

STREAM RUNNER

Book One of Dunsmuir Boy

by David Seed

Smashwords Edition

*****

Published on Smashwords by

Western Grebe Publishing

Copyright David Seed 1979 and 2013. (Parts of this book were published as a children's book by Four Winds Press in 1979.)

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Coda

About the Author

PROLOGUE

Time is a human idea. We think that it's a constant thing and that we live in the present.

In our imagination, the present is all there is of time. We are held in the present. We look to the future and see the past. We look to the past and see the future. The more we see of one, the more we see of the other. We go round and round.

The present remains still, a fixed point; and the past and the future both swirl out of it, encircling it in all directions with spheres of movement, like electrons around a nucleus, like stars spinning in a galaxy.

We are caught in the movement of time. Whether we measure time passing by the amount of water dripping out of a cracked pot or by the speed of light makes no difference at all.

We cling to the essence of the present in the midst of an existence that is all movement for all of time.

Life is circles, round and round, but we try to deal with it with an idea of time that makes us think and plan our lives as if we were on a straight line; but all things turn in on themselves, and in the end we are brought back to the beginning.

We're held in a present that engulfs us, with a past always ending, and a future never beginning.

For us, the circle of our lives must tell a story before we can begin to understand our existence in the symphony of time.

CHAPTER ONE

When I was in my earlier years, I lived in time with the seasons. In summer I brought home the sun on my shoulders. By late July I glowed all golden brown beneath a mop of sun-bleached hair. I was a golden boy in a golden land. I thought the sunburst days and sweet-smelling nights would go on forever.

Those golden days piled up on one another until I lost all track of time. My world was a kaleidoscope of days and not a worrisome tangle of hours and minutes. The expensive wristwatch my parents had given me for my eighth-grade graduation lay buried in a dresser drawer. I didn't much care for my wristwatch. I didn't like the feel of the strap, and the added weight on my arm seemed an encumbrance. Most of all, I had come to dislike the idea that time was a kind of mechanical force meant to push me along through life.

When I was late getting somewhere, that wristwatch face would accuse me every step of the way. Each passing minute would compound my worries and add to my expectations of embarrassment. Sometimes being late didn't make much difference. Other people were late or things were just getting started. Once in a while someone did get annoyed at my tardiness, but the experience was never as earth shattering as my wristwatch and I had conspired to make it.

In school I might glance at my wristwatch and be trapped, knowing I had to sit quietly in study hall for twenty minutes more before the bell would ring and I could get out to the track field for some running and jumping. Watching the minutes creep by was enough to wear me out. I was better off not thinking about the time. If I could get interested in something else, pretty soon the bell would ring like a big surprise and I would jump up ready for a good workout. But I felt stupid having to train myself not to glance at my wristwatch. Sometimes I would undo it and stick it in my pocket.

I soon discovered something else about my wristwatch that bothered me a lot more than the watch band squeezing my wrist. My wristwatch had been a gift with a message. My parents wanted me to understand time as they did, and they were serious. I was supposed to believe that hours and minutes were real things and not just made up things. I recognized a subtle variation of the old, It's for your own good routine.

When I was five years old, I had a milk glass with a lot of different colored rings around it. Sometimes in the morning I wouldn't want to drink my milk, but Mother would have much to say about that.

Now, Leif, drink this nice, fresh milk. It's good for you.

I would shake my head.

Look, Leif. See the yellow line? It's not very far to the yellow line. You could drink down to the yellow line. That would be easy for you. I'll bet one, little sip would get to the yellow line.

I would look at the milk level and at the yellow line, and I would take a sip.

See, you went right to the top of the yellow line. That was very good, except you can just see a little bit of milk above the yellow line. Take one more sip, and you'll be at the bottom of the yellow line.

By this time I would probably take a good drink of milk, and Mother would act surprised.

My goodness, you went right past the purple line altogether. Why, you're almost to the red line!

She would keep me going past the red line, past the gold line, and right to the bottom of the glass. Mother could take a glass of milk and split it up into a dozen little parts. Somehow she would get me interested in seeing that glass of milk the same way she saw it, and that was how she got me to swallow a lot of milk.

My wristwatch experience led me to believe that milk and time had something in common. If I could be persuaded that time was split up into little bits and pieces, I could be held accountable for all the bits and pieces.

The day came when I realized I was on the verge of swallowing a concept of time which I would never agree with, and I made the solemn declaration that I would never wear a wristwatch again. That day was a school day in late spring. During the noon hour Sanchez, asked me what time it was.

CHAPTER TWO

Dunnigan, Sanchez, and I were eating our lunches out behind the gym. We were about fifty yards up the mountainside and in amongst a stand of cedar trees. Some boulders cropped out there and were just right for lounging on. The setting was peaceful and lilac bushes were in bloom all around us. We kept the spot our own little secret, and we would sneak up there to eat lunch and to stay out of the way of troublesome upperclassmen.

I reached in my pocket and pulled out my wristwatch. Dunnigan, who was wearing his fancy wristwatch, glanced at his watch.

It's twenty-two minutes to one, Pancho, Dunnigan said.

I looked at my wristwatch and said, That's about right.

I'm exactly right, Dunnigan said. I checked it with my father's railroad watch this morning.

Well, I'll be darned if I care, I said, and I shoved my wristwatch in my pocket.

Did you break your watch strap or something? Sanchez asked.

No, I just don't like to wear the stupid thing, I said.

You should get yourself an expandable band, Dunnigan said. He pulled at his wristwatch and showed me how well the fancy stretch band worked. It's snug, but it moves with your wrist, and you hardly know you're wearing a watch.

No, that wouldn't do no good, I said. I don't like no wristwatch, because I don't believe in wearing no wristwatch.

Sanchez, who didn't own a wristwatch, looked up suddenly. He had just taken a big bite out of a peanut butter sandwich.

I thought wristwatches was fun to wear, he managed to say.

They ain't no fun at all, I said. Anyhow I don't believe in wristwatches.

You don't believe in wristwatches? Dunnigan asked.

As far as I'm concerned, wristwatches are a big waste of time, I said.

Hah! Sanchez laughed with his mouth full of peanut butter sandwich. Sanchez and I both knew what was coming. I had shown great disrespect for Dunnigan's pride-and-joy wristwatch, and Dunnigan was rising to the bait.

Are you serious? Dunnigan asked.

Sure, I'm serious, I said.

Then, Dunnigan paused and pointed a finger at the sky. I shall question you in the manner of Socrates.

Ha hah! Sanchez laughed again. He was always ready to listen to a good argument. Ever since Dunnigan had read about a guy named Socrates, Dunnigan had insisted on turning our arguments into question-and-answer debates.

Dunnigan's mother was a very intelligent lady. She had done a lot of reading, and she even knew all about the Russian Revolution. Dunnigan's mother had influenced him to read great literature, and he had stumbled onto Socrates. Sanchez and I didn't know anything about Socrates, but we did love to argue.

Do you believe that wristwatches are useful? Dunnigan asked.

Sure, I said. They're useful for people who like to wear them and who always want to know the hours and minutes.

Would you say that wristwatches help people to keep track of time? Dunnigan asked.

No, I wouldn't say that, I said.

Do you believe in time? Dunnigan asked. Are you aware of the idea?

I believe I got a pretty good idea what time is, I said.

Then you do keep track of time, don't you? Dunnigan asked.

Sure, I said, but I don't need no wristwatch to keep track of time with.

Then, Dunnigan paused and pointed his finger at me. What time is it?

Ha hah! Sanchez laughed. No fair reaching in your pocket, Collins.

No problem, I said. The time is the present. The time is today. It ain't yesterday, it ain't tomorrow, but it's right now.

Aw, I knew that, Sanchez said.

Doesn't everybody know we live in the present? Dunnigan asked.

Sure, I said, and that's why the present is so easy to lose track of. Nobody thinks it's important.

Ha hah! Sanchez laughed and raised his hands palm up. How can you lose track of something that's always there?

You start by wearing a wristwatch, that's how, I said. Then you'll start worrying because you should have been somewhere ten minutes ago, or you'll start fretting because you have to kill twenty minutes before you can do something you want to. You'll worry and fret about the past or the future, and you'll end up by making a big mess out of the present.

You really believe that? Sanchez asked.

Ain't I telling you? Why do you think I keep my wristwatch in my pocket? I asked.

Don't you think that you could avoid all those problems if you made correct use of your wristwatch? Dunnigan asked.

All I know is I don't want no wristwatch all the time telling me what to do, I said.

How are you going to know when to do things? Dunnigan asked.

The American Indians really knew when to do things, I said. They didn't have to worry about no hours and minutes.

I knew it, Sanchez laughed. We always start out with Socrates and end up with the Indians.

Yes, I said.

Is our way of life the same as that of the Indians? Dunnigan asked.

Mostly, I do things the Indian way, I said. When I'm tired, I sleep; and when I'm rested, I get up. When I'm hungry, I eat. When the days are hot, I go swimming. When the leaves fall and the days are cool, I grab my single shot and go hunting for quail or gray squirrels or wild pigeons. On a day like today, when the river's right and the air is calm, I take my fly rod and go catch me some trout. You see, I know when it's time to do all these things; and I know when it's time to come home, because I always come home when it gets dark.

That all sounds real nice, Collins, but how practical is it? Dunnigan asked.

Does look like a good day for fishing, Sanchez said. Sure would like to go fishing!

I want to go fishing just as much as anybody, Dunnigan said, but I'll tell you one thing. We're not Indians. Dunnigan paused and pointed to his watch. In nine minutes the bell will ring, and we'll all have to show up in Spanish class.

Yeah, old Mr. Garcia would sure miss us. Ha hah! Sanchez laughed.

Well, we got to go to school and be on time like anybody else, I said. It's the law, but we don't have to believe it's the only way to learn what's important.

Well, this whole country runs on clocks and watches, Dunnigan said. It'll be the same thing when we get out in life and have to go to work.

I'd rather do something real interesting, so I wouldn't have to watch a clock, I said.

You'd still have to know what time it was, Dunnigan said.

If I was real interested in something, I wouldn't care, I said, I'd get there early and I'd stay late.

Ha hah! Sanchez laughed. He's right, Dunnigan. He's always the first one out to the track field and the last one to hit the showers.

When I'm doing something important, I forget the time, I said. That's how come I know what's important. I ain't never learned anything important from a wristwatch.

A wristwatch is only a convenience, Dunnigan said.

Convenience? A guy could end up having a wristwatch for a brain, I said. A guy could go through life always thinking twenty minutes ahead of himself. He could worry all he wanted to, but he would just end up dying and be twenty minutes short.

"When you get an idea, Collins, you do pound it into