The growing awareness of our changing climate and being kind to the earth comes in all sizes and colors. In his acknowledgment, author Jarid Manos recognizes the main players: "I give thanks to God and Earth that I'm still here today, and for such profuse experiences of life."
From an early age, the author built "a personal relationship... with my natural surroundings, built on mutual resilience." Spending his early years in the Midwest he valued his solitude, where he could observe the changing earth: "There were parts of town where I could be alone... in the abandoned open-pit ore mine or walked along the railroad tracks."
Through an extended period in the drug scene on both coasts, Manos yearns for wide-open spaces. A bicycle is his ticket. Through his journey to the West, he says, "A bike really is more than a bike, for real. It's freedom and spirit."
His yearning for the West assumes a spiritual dimension. Ready to leave Manhattan, he feels uplifted. "That thought lifted me like the whitecaps off the waves in New York Harbor. Need to get to the heart of the West. Need to have it permeate me to the deepest level of my flesh and blood and soul."
This is a personal story about activism and his road home is a long and tortuous one. Idealistic young men and women should take heed of the price one must pay to live according to high principles.
Manos' writing style is poetic and flowing, especially when he writes about plains animals and their landscape. Although the language of the street often makes its way into his prose, there's no denying his writing glows when he writes about the environment.
An encounter with a strong-willed squirrel will elicit a smile from almost any reader. "I shook my head, lying there beneath the young black walnut tree.... Something hit me in the side of the face. I rolled back onto my back and looked up. Another chip of a nut hull nailed me in the forehead. I narrowed my eyes. The squirrel's wet black eyes were glistening right into mine, even as his busy paws and jaws worked at shucking the walnut. ...The squirrel adjusted his position directly over me again, and dropped another chip that again smacked me. His eyes sparkled." I'll never look at a squirrel the same way again.
The reader may come away filled with a certain sadness that the author suffered from bad decisions and even worse behavior. But an abiding love for a special part of the world has helped him rise above his flaws and become a better man. This is a story not often told.
Ghetto Plainsman is published by Temba House Press.
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