Commentary
Marshall Palley led an aerial survey of the Canadian Northwest’s forests, taught forestry at UC Berkeley, and helped a legislative commission produce the California Forest Practices Act. In the 60’s, while a Berkeley prof, he chaired the board of what became the John Woolman High School, outside Nevada City, California. In the mid-70’s he and Meg moved to Nevada City, where he wrote forest management plans, got involved in local development issues, and served as a conservation-minded Nevada County Planning Commissioner. He was my dad and a very quiet man.
As kids, we his six children spent time in the wilder environs of Berkeley, the Trinity Alps (wilderness Camp Unalayee), Plumas County (UC Berkeley Forestry Summer Sessions and, for Tom and me, firefighting), the South Yuba and the High Sierra. Stranded once in the Yukon when his pontoon plane froze in, Marshall insisted always that we leave our campgrounds better than we found them, with firewood stacked where it would stay dry. The hiking into a storm experience the song describes took place in the White Mountains when I was 12 or 13, Tom probably 15. No adults. Those were different times.
One place I loved as a teen was the Yuba River country, and in my early twenties (and before my parents relocated) I “retired” there for a while to figure out who I was -- after teaching and before starting law school. In 1989, when Linda and I decided Silicon Valley was not where we wanted to raise our children, I recalled good times in the foothills, and we moved there. In memory of my father I soon became involved in helping to found and nurture a land trust, now known as the Bear Yuba Land Trust.
“Passing Through” is a song I learned in Quaker circles during my youth. Written by R. Blakeslee. As remembered: “Speak of love not hate, things to do it’s getting late. We are orphans and we’re only passing through.”
Listen
Lyrics
A saying of my father that always stays with me
Is “Leave your campground better than you found.”
We'd pick it up, pack it out, tidy up the ground and
Leave stacked firewood dry for the next to come around.
To leave it as he found it was not good enough for Dad
To leave it better was his way, the philosophy he had.
It started pouring half-way up, we passed men hiking down –
Back-packing boys, a mountain, and a storm.
We climbed 'til lightning flashed the dark then tented on the ground.
We could have used dry firewood. It might have kept us warm.
To leave it as he found it was not good enough for Dad
To leave it better was his way, the philosophy he had.
Now home's a place we live … and share with others close
The best and worst of what we are made of.
When tempers flare, doors slam, seems no one gives a damn,
Just listen with your heart, somebody's asking for your love.
Sometimes I miss you, Dad………..
Perhaps I always will………………
Although your words were few……………….
I can hear you still……………. The fact is
We’re just passing through --- camping on this earth --
And leaving it for those who come next.
The extinctions, warming, fouling test our worth? W
Will we just say, “Hey, we tried”? No! We can’t leave such a mess!
To leave it as he found it was not good enough for Dad
To leave it better was the way, I learned as a lad.
Yes, “Leave it better, that’s the way.” I still hear you Dad.