Memories in Multicam Black
Dad’s dad - granddad Jan / Janek / Johann / Hans Zielinski was quite the character.
Imagine being Polish and moving to the Scottish Highlands post WWII. Now imagine how suspicious the locals would be of a pipe smoking 6 foot plus blue eyed foreigner with a 'funny name' who seems to be capable of speaking multiple languages, caring for plants, hunting game and dis/appearing into/out of the forest without a sound.
The Commotion
Jan (pronouced Yan) ended up working for the forestry commission and as a gamekeeper. He moved from the Highlands to Argyll late in life and lived out his days in Dunoon with the shore in his view and the hill at is back.
The Hill
This was the catchall phrase for the sprawling woodland behind the house in which he and dad (when dad was around) lived. The place where gamekeeper became poacher. Where granddad and I spent a great deal of time as I was growing up. I was mentored not in a classroom nor at home. The lessons that stick with me were learned on the hill. Respect for flora and fauna, moving quietly, feeling the air, seeing near and far.
We would walk a while, sit a while, look a while. Granddad would tell stories or make observations as he puffed on his ever present pipe. His mood on the hill was always light, always gentle. A rye almost-smile at the corner of his eyes. A calm that I sensed and can still feel deeply rooted within me to this day.
Off the hill could be a different story. He was often frustrated by others around him - his nonlinear thinking, playful destruction / reconstruction of the English language, and intelligence meant he found himself 'Surrounded by eediots' more often that not.
He partook of 'correspondence' to hunting magazines where he admonished experts for drawing incomplete or erroneous conclusions on the behaviour of wildlife. He further corresponded with like minds that yet lived he had met during his gamekeeping days, clacking away on a vintage typewriter.
In town, or when unexpected visitors would appear in the driveway he would seem edgy or neurotic. Hyper-vigilant. It only dawned on me two days ago this was likely to be a symptom of PTS from the war years. His war was short, but included the Battle of Arnhem.
Disruptive Pattern Material
Zielinski - Polish: a toponymic surname, with the toponym stemming from the word zieleń, meaning the color green, or referring to vibrancy and youth. It also could have originated from the word 'zioło', meaning plant or herb.
The colours worn on the hill were muted olives and camouflage for which I had an affinity growing up. The simple act of wearing these colours would put me back into the state of mind I had on the hill.
Off the hill I wore black. A reflection of how I felt about school and growing up.
Rise If Possible
Not long after his Jan’s death, I put away the colours of the hill. At the time, it was only a certain type of someone that would wear this garb in a non-occupational manner and the hill was no longer a place I found myself in his absence.
This lasted for over two decades.
And yet - when circumstances led me to live in a new country, with very different weather and with a very-but-not-so-different trip to a new hill (read as: week long survival course) lined up in the coming months, things changed.
Paint it Multicam Black
While building a new wardrobe around the requirements of the course I discovered a pattern that did not exist when Jan and I traversed heathery hillside.
The MultiCam Black™ pattern was developed to meet the unique requirements of law enforcement officers operating in high-risk environments. It projects a distinctly authoritative presence appropriate for domestic operations.
Although this pattern has no place on the hill, I was instantly drawn to it. My mind's eye is reminded of the old '68 and '95 pattern camouflage once it's completely soaked through - a common occurrence on the hills of Scotland.
Odd, given I have no time for authority nor combat larpers, yet the design of this pattern brought back a flood of memories of green. Where I wore dark in the frontcountry and earthy greens in the backcountry, I could combine them into one.
My heart tells me this pattern closes time and distance between Jan and myself. I can hear rain on the fir canopy of Tunnel Two or the tapping of thumb sized droplets on the oak and fern of the Fairy Wood. The hiss-rattle of wind blown leaves.
In Scottish folkore there's less distance between the living and dead. I have found a way to re-establish those deep links with Jan and his hill. To traverse five thousand miles and thirty-plus years. He's right there, hands clasped behind his back, moving with no sound, that gleam in his eye and rye almost-smile on his face.
/EOF
Lore for Today
Terms like 'destructions' in place of instructions, Rise If Possible (RIP) and 'forestry commotion' are examples of how Jan would toy with the English language. These intended errors would serve as entertainment for him and possibly a way to diffuse suspicion by appearing to have less understanding of English than those around him. I imagine this went a long way when dealing with bureaucratic authority figures and simple highland folk alike.
Tunnel Two and the Fairy Wood were locations named by dad and Jan, who developed coded terms for a vast area of land behind the place they had. Tunnels were typically rides or game trails the two had further cultivated for ease of movement. The Fairy Wood was exactly as magical as it sounds.
If you see me adorned in greens on MCB these days, it's likely you'll find my disposition both wistful and playful.