Jacob O. Mall

Jack and I recently returned from a short trip to Bozeman, Montana, where we thrilled to watch our grandsons play football for their respective teams.  The Sleeping Giant Middle School Cougers shut out the Belgrade Panthers, but the Livingston JV Park High Rangers lost up in Lewistown.  We were never the less honored to be part of Ben and Colten's lives for a brief time.  They're growing into wonderful young men.

Of course I continued my daily routine of pickin' while visiting The Treasure State.  You may ask if Montana trash is any different than Colorado's.  Bottles from our very own micro brewery here in Estes aside, litter is pretty much litter in both places.  There were empty cans of Mike's Harder Lemonade, Arizona Tea, Mountain Dew, 5-Hour Energy, Rock Star Energy, Budweiser, Dr. Pepper and Red Bull just to name a few similarities.  There weren't nearly as many ciggies, that almost assuredly due to the fact that pickin' was partly carried out on school grounds.  That's encouraging.

We're home now, but I want to take you back to October 5th, the Wednesday before we left.  It was another perfect day in Estes Park.  It was perfect for just about anything, but my thing is definitely pickin' up trash.  Jack dropped me off at Ride-a-Kart, and I realized at once that I had never picked south of Highway 34 or north of Highway 36--that well-known little by-way called Mall Road. 

Mall Road was named after the well-known and beloved Jacob O. Mall who came to practice medicine in Estes Park in 1932.  He had graduated the previous year from the University of Nebraska.  Dr. Mall was trained in surgery, obstetrics and orthopedics, but rarely took care of anything but ordinary colds and ordinary illnesses.  Dr. Wiest had been doctoring in Estes since 1905 when Dr. Mall arrived.  As Dr. Mall's career progressed, he did have the opportunity to deliver lots and lots of babies.  When asked how many, he answered, "Hundreds and hundreds.  I wish I had kept track.  They were all home deliveries.  It was much safer at home than at a hospital where there were all kinds of infections.  Antibiotics had not been invented yet."  There were fewer than 1,000 residents in those days.  Office calls were $2.00 and a home visit $4.00. 

If not one of the highlights of Dr. Mall's life, it certainly was the highlight of his wife's when they bought 5 acres of land and a beautiful new home for $14,000 in 1938 on the rocky hill near the south end of what is now Mall Road.  Dr. Mall left Estes Park to join the war effort, and upon his return in 1946 opened a 12-bed hospital.  Not long after, Blue Cross caused Dr. Mall's hospital and many others to close as they would pay a meagar $8.00/day per patient including feeding them.  Dr. Mall, simply couldn't do it at that rate, and closed down.  That brings us right up to the present, doesn't it?

The view of the Continental divide is sensual from Mall Road.  At least it was that morning as the sun hit Hallet, Flattop, Notchtop and Knobtop in glorious shades of carnation and crimson, prompting me to remember our son, Sterling's, comical if not earnest appraisal of a sunset:  "Jesus is sure a real good Pinker."  Reluctantly, I turned my attention from the glory that is Estes Park in the early morning, to my pet project--pickin' up trash on the road, by the road and down the sides of Mall Road.  My cell phone rang.  It was Jack, not 40 yards up the road calling to alert me to all the trash he was noticing as he drove north.  "I'm on it," I responded.  Indeed, in minutes I was filling my bag quickly with soda cans, beer cans, ciggies and 2 Vitamin Water bottles, reminding me that some litterbugs are health conscious.    Truly, this area had been neglected.  Noticing a nice collection of cans and plastic bags on the east side of the fence, I made my way down an obviously worn path.  A small but stern warning greeted me:  "No Tresspassing."  "Oh come now, you couldn't possibly mean me--Garbage Grandma?  How can I beautify this area if I don't walk down to the fence and climb over or through it thus ignoring your sign?"  Not normally a rules-are-meant-to-be-broken kind of girl, I very cautiously slipped between strands of barbed wire careful not to snag my brand new sweatshirt.  Yes!  There was a ton of junk there.  Not a literal ton of course.  Even if I knew the weight of all the trash I've picked up in the nearly 11 months since beginning this adventure, it wouldn't even closely approach 2,000 pounds.  The most I've ever picked up and hauled home in one day was 12 pounds.  That was a mistake.

Moving south down the road--still on the east side of the fence--another sign:  "NO HUNTING."  This one was really wrong.  I was hunting.  It didn't say no hunting for trash, so I ignored that one too.  Guess what I found?  A grill from a car, a mouse trap and a joker from a deck of cards.  Now that's what I call eclectic.  In fact, I might put that on my business card or my tee shirt--"Garbage Grandma, Eclectic Collector."  Jack showed up way too soon.  Even though I wanted to finish pickin' the whole road, Jack was my ride, and I sure didn't want to carry that car grill all the way home.

Jump to the present with me.  Today's chosen area of collection was the Safeway parking lot.  Not wanting to walk all the way there and back, I rode my bike and stopped on a dime at a red light which brought my total to $60.59.  Life is good.

Always,
Winter