I’ve spent much of the last 15 months enmeshed in a deeper awareness of and love for life than I have ever known. I worry that my perspective has become a bit ridiculous and extreme. Yesterday, I proofed some braille calendar sheets for a project a friend of mine undertakes each year. I was looking at dates in 2023, and it struck me that these dates could be irrelevant to me. "It’s entirely possible you won’t be here for any of this," I told myself. "So, just in case that’s true, what will you do today to make this day the richest and best you’ve ever known?" I’ve learned over these past 15 months that you can have a terrible day and still experience supernal joy. Seemingly stupid tiny things have the power to cheer me to ridiculous levels. For most, a trip in a car to buy eggs and milk is mundane. I find myself reveling in the experience, and yes, I know how utterly stupid that comes across to those of you who read this. I focus on silly stuff—the quiet but treasured companionship of my wife in the driver seat, the extreme comfort of the vehicle, the rapidity with which the heated seat works in winter, the concert-hall sound of the car audio system, and I could go on, but I fear I’ve already lost some of you. I not only lay out the clothes I plan to wear the next day before going to bed, but I also pray for the privilege of being able to use them. I’ve learned that, when no day is guaranteed, every day is miraculous. Sadly, I haven’t always thought like that.
My musings above aren’t irrelevant to the review. Open this book to meet Ben Givens. He was a successful fictional heart surgeon in Seattle, but he grew up in the apple orchards of eastern Washington. Ben is 73 as the book opens, and he’s dying from colon cancer. It’s in a super-advanced stage; there’s no cure. His wife of nearly half a century is dead, and Ben doesn’t want to be a burden to his daughter and grandson, and his medical knowledge enables him to predict the brutal merciless path the cancer will take. That path surely includes burdensome work to the healthy ones who must care for him. He has another idea.
He arises one morning, prepares his house as if he’s returning to it, loads his two dogs into the back of an antiquated vehicle, takes his dad’s old side-by-side shotgun as if he’s going to hunt birds, and drives into the mountains near to where he grew up. Ben Givens will die at his own hand this day, and he sees that decision as a favor to his daughter. As to the dogs, he plans to simply set them free in the wild and wish them well.
But the man who for decades saved lives realizes soon enough that taking his is unnatural and stridently dissonant.
While disciplining his dog in the back of the vehicle, Ben loses control and wraps the old vehicle around a tree. He is injured, and he needs help. What follows is a series of events that will help Ben reorient his life and will give you much to think about an to enjoy about the writing style of this book.
As an example of Guterson’s creativity, he wants to flash you back to when Ben and his now-dead wife, Rachel, met. He uses a marijuana cigarette provided to Ben by a drifter he meets while trying to get to the place where he will off himself. As Ben inhales that first illicit smoke, his newly fogged mind takes him back to the past where they met and helps you understand how they fell in love.
A Second cigarette is the vehicle that again escorts you into his past so you can learn about his war service and how it shaped him. I would never have thought of using pot as a means of connecting the present with the past, but the author does that here surprisingly well.
While there are doubtless other books that more profoundly remind the reader of the immense value of the gift of life and the idea that our lives aren’t ours to callously fling away, this one is a thoughtful proponent of life. It reenforces my ongoing conviction that our most bounteous personal harvests often come from the most nondescript mundane fields of a given day.