Memories of Tom Meador
I remember racing up Three Mile Hill, Wondering if Tom's Jeep would fall apart Before we reached the top. Then, on the ride back down, The brakes went out, and I wondered If the Jeep would ever stop. I remember, too, his giant form Around an evening campfire, Drinking milk from a half-gallon jug, The peculiar laugh of a gentle man Who loved the mountain caves Just as much as I do. He was different from the rest of us, But maybe that wasn't so odd Among a group of folks Who all seem the thrive on being different. But was more different than most, A foil, perhaps, of nature's practical jokes. And if you happen to be on High Lonesome In the early morning mist, And you see a giant shadow with an old slouch hat And Jesus boots, shuffling along the ridge, You'll know who it is. It's Tom, wandering again, Searching through the mountains, free at last. -----Original Message----- From: swr-boun...@caver.net [mailto:swr-boun...@caver.net] On Behalf Of Jim Evatt Sent: Wednesday, April 03, 2013 5:06 PM To: Southwestern Region Subject: [SWR] Remembrance Those of you who remember Tom Meador, he would have been 70 today. Those of you who did not know him, you missed a special friend. Jim Evatt _______________________________________________ SWR mailing list s...@caver.net http://lists.caver.net/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/swr _______________________________________________ This list is provided free as a courtesy of CAVERNET _______________________________________________ SWR mailing list s...@caver.net http://lists.caver.net/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/swr _______________________________________________ This list is provided free as a courtesy of CAVERNET
