12. Jeremy

Jeremy took the offered seltzer, appreciating the cutesy design of the mulberry and a small ginger root that made Jeremy want to put it on a T-shirt. Or a sticker. Or a water bottle.

“This is cute,” Jeremy said, holding up the can. “Imagine if the forest had little characters like this we could use as marketing.”

Davis, who had a seltzer of his own in the same flavor, gave a wry grin. “Is Smokey not good enough for you?”

“Considering that I apparently don’t know what organization I’m even consulting with, I shouldn’t be suggesting anything right now.” Jeremy laughed a bit, hoping to put Davis at ease. Taking a page out of his bartender friend Declan’s playbook, Jeremy asked an inviting question and left a bit of silence afterward as an invitation for Davis to respond when he felt comfortable. “Can you tell me the difference?”

“So, uh,” Davis began, then took a sip. “National parks are under the Department of the Interior, and they’re about preservation— keeping things as they are. Untouched. Right? Forests are under the Department of Agriculture, because lumber was considered a commodity. Something to be maintained and managed. National forests started as forest reserves so that lumber companies wouldn’t take everything all at once. It all stems back to Gifford Pinchot and the establishment of forestry as a profession in the United States as a true craft, rather than just lumbermen taking anything they could get. There were arguments with people like John Muir about preservation— which is what parks do— and conservation— which is what forests do. People like to paint them as opposite forces, but I like to think that they’re two approaches to the same goal. Especially in recent years. Like we now have a duty to preserve old growth forests within the national forest system, and that’s important because—” Davis took a breath and then closed his mouth. “Sorry, I’m probably boring you. You don’t care about this.” Davis looked away, like he was embarrassed or he’d said something out of turn. Jeremy took a sip of his seltzer and thought about how to respond, because yeah, he probably didn’t care about the technical definition of old-growth forest, but Jeremy liked learning. And he especially liked learning from good teachers, like Davis.

A silence settled, the only noise Davis playing with the tab on his seltzer can.

“No,” Jeremy said. “It’s fascinating. You explain things in a way that makes sense. It’s not simple, but it’s easy to follow. Comforting.” He tapped the quilt behind him. “Like this quilt. Handmade, right?”

“My aunt made it,” Davis answered. “Well, if you get bored, let me know. At least you have Aunt Ellen’s blanket to keep you warm if you fall asleep.”

Jeremy had friends who loved to go on tangents, a natural consequence of working in a museum. He had heard lectures on how dinosaurs swallowed rocks to help their digestion. He had heard about the importance of looking for gap in the museum archives, the necessity of providing multiple means of access for children to experience a museum, the development of hand-drawn animation in post-war Japan, even details about why Jimmy Carter was the reason craft beer exploded in the 2000s. His friends were brilliant and knew it. They didn’t underestimate their own expertise, and they loved to bandy about their ideas and things they’d learned with each other. Jeremy saw himself more as a sponge, soaking it all up for when he would eventually need it later.

Davis, however, seemed bashful about the fact that he knew this, was an expert on it. Every few sentences, he would stop and ask Jeremy if he was really, truly interested in what he was talking about. And while maybe Jeremy didn’t care as much about the ways in which the Vanderbilts’ house gardens connected to the national forest or how carbon sequestration worked, he was interested in the ways that Davis talked with his hands to explain a concept. The way the man’s hazel eyes shone a bit gold when he was excited, and Jeremy was reminded, oddly, of Yukon Cornelius, on the hunt to find silver and gold. Davis’s voice grew a bit husky at times as he spun a yarn about how people didn’t understand what forests meant to this country, the ways that even rangers had shifted their understanding to be one of appreciation and care, rather than utilization and practicality.

When Davis attempted to describe the size of some of the redwoods that had existed in California and struggled for words, he finally pulled up a photograph on his computer that had stunned Jeremy into silence. A dozen or so men, all standing within a slice made into a tree. Davis excused himself and grabbed a tissue from the desk, wiped his eyes, and continued on by discussing changing policies toward forest fires in the last thirty years. The entire time, Jeremy soaked it in like an Epsom bath while his hand skimmed across his sketchpad.

Davis reached a natural stopping point, and Jeremy couldn’t tell whether it was because he was done speaking or he had finished the can of seltzer that had been a prop through his entire narrative. “Sorry, that was a lot,” he said, crushing the can slightly with his hand.

“No,” Jeremy said honestly, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “Shit, I wish we could just put a hologram of you telling that story in the visitor center.”

“Something tells me that we don’t have the budget for that,” Davis replied, deadpan.

“Yeah, that might be a bit ambitious for federal funding,” Jeremy said, grinning. “While you were talking, I wrote some ideas down.” Jeremy passed his sketch pad over and watched Davis take in the information. “I think we could make it about breaking down these former divisions. The goal could be for people to realize the interconnectedness of all things. Different groups of people, humans and animals, the way the forests intertwine with the city.” Now it was Jeremy’s turn to feel embarrassed. Maybe he had misspoken.

“That’s perfect,” Davis said softly. “I don’t know how you distilled all my rambling down to that.”

“You’re a great storyteller,” Jeremy replied. “My mo—uh, a mentor I had was a storyteller, too. It’s an amazing skill. I bet you’re great around kids.”

Davis flushed again. “I do love leading the elementary tours. There’s this pure awe and appreciation in children, you know?” Jeremy didn’t know. He had been raised around adults more than younger children, and, growing up, most of his friends were only children. His version of New York City didn’t seem like a place that ever catered to little kids unless they were working in a factory in 1900.

Jeremy studied Davis, who was taking his finger and tracing over the ideas that Jeremy had written down, along with a few sketches of titles and phrases that had particularly struck Jeremy while Davis was speaking. He was still staring, Jeremy realized, when Davis looked up and made eye contact with him, those green-gold eyes widening ever so slightly, then relaxing. Jeremy felt seen, but only for a moment.

Davis stood up abruptly, handing the sketchbook back to Jeremy. “This all is great,” he said quickly.

Jeremy felt like he was being dismissed. “Okay, um. I’ll take these ideas and get back to you during our next meeting,” he said.

“Next week?” Davis asked, sounding hopeful.

“Next week,” Jeremy responded, nodding, and was rewarded with a small smile from Davis.