Readers, fans, fellow nature lovers . . . the sad, sad day has arrived yet, as the saying goes, there's always a silver lining.
I am no longer a trail maintenance worker for the Missouri state park system. The position was terminated last week due to budgetary concerns. The upside is I'm now able to provide readers with a closing chapter to Nature's Housekeeper and, alas, break my vow of silence (as cited in the Acknowledgements), which aggravated more than a few fans.
So, to begin, let's start with the unanswered question that left a lot of readers scratching their heads: Although I'd given enough context clues for any regular Missouri park trail-goer to piece it together, Jonas Weir of Missouri Life did a little poking around early in the book's publicity campaign and discovered I worked for Trail of Tears State Park (TOTSP). I can now confirm this as being true. I can also confirm that the park the lead character is drug to in the opening chapter is Johnson Shut-Ins. For the record, the Department of Natural Resources, which oversees the park system, had no problem with me mentioning TOTSP by name so long as I focused solely upon it and it alone, but because I discuss more than one Missouri park in the book, I was asked to remain mum on which park was which so as not to imply bias.
Although this is somewhat understandable—albeit inadvertently comical since I'd visited Johnson Shut-Ins once and, at the time, had worked for TOTSP for seven years—during the course of my research, I was routinely instructed not to discuss or include various historical facts and pieces of information relating to a handful of Missouri state parks. In all honesty, none of the items I was asked to abstain from revealing, further propagate, and/or revisit for public relations reasons had any bearing on the book's story but, as you can imagine, they were oftentimes rather fascinating narratives in-and-of themselves.
One reviewer commented that my tale is too coincidental in that everything falls into place at just the right time. Because I was condensing seven years of trail work into a single year—both for brevity and following nature writing tradition—I forewarned audiences in the NOTE TO THE READER that artistic liberties had been taken. However, I can now say, Yes, I sanded and polished the edges of the central character's happy-go-lucky experience in Nature's Housekeeper. At times it was just that, but at others . . .
. . . working for the Missouri state park system is far from a bed of roses and, as much as it hurts me to say this as a card-carrying liberal, a prime example of misdirected taxpayer funds.
I am no longer a trail maintenance worker for the Missouri state park system. The position was terminated last week due to budgetary concerns. The upside is I'm now able to provide readers with a closing chapter to Nature's Housekeeper and, alas, break my vow of silence (as cited in the Acknowledgements), which aggravated more than a few fans.
So, to begin, let's start with the unanswered question that left a lot of readers scratching their heads: Although I'd given enough context clues for any regular Missouri park trail-goer to piece it together, Jonas Weir of Missouri Life did a little poking around early in the book's publicity campaign and discovered I worked for Trail of Tears State Park (TOTSP). I can now confirm this as being true. I can also confirm that the park the lead character is drug to in the opening chapter is Johnson Shut-Ins. For the record, the Department of Natural Resources, which oversees the park system, had no problem with me mentioning TOTSP by name so long as I focused solely upon it and it alone, but because I discuss more than one Missouri park in the book, I was asked to remain mum on which park was which so as not to imply bias.
Although this is somewhat understandable—albeit inadvertently comical since I'd visited Johnson Shut-Ins once and, at the time, had worked for TOTSP for seven years—during the course of my research, I was routinely instructed not to discuss or include various historical facts and pieces of information relating to a handful of Missouri state parks. In all honesty, none of the items I was asked to abstain from revealing, further propagate, and/or revisit for public relations reasons had any bearing on the book's story but, as you can imagine, they were oftentimes rather fascinating narratives in-and-of themselves.
One reviewer commented that my tale is too coincidental in that everything falls into place at just the right time. Because I was condensing seven years of trail work into a single year—both for brevity and following nature writing tradition—I forewarned audiences in the NOTE TO THE READER that artistic liberties had been taken. However, I can now say, Yes, I sanded and polished the edges of the central character's happy-go-lucky experience in Nature's Housekeeper. At times it was just that, but at others . . .
. . . working for the Missouri state park system is far from a bed of roses and, as much as it hurts me to say this as a card-carrying liberal, a prime example of misdirected taxpayer funds.
Case in point: In three of the nine years in which I worked for TOTSP, I received a call from park administration informing me the trail maintenance budget had been exhausted for the fiscal year. Bear in mind, my job—what is referred to as a seasonal position, meaning it is designed to be worked 40 hours a week for six months for a total of 1,000 hours—was calibrated to 20 hours per week for 12 months. This was done so the park could have trail maintenance services year-round (based on the astute observation hikers don't just take to the woods when it's warm outside, i.e., late spring, summer, and early fall). That said, not once, not once in my nine years as a trail maintenance employee did I work the full 1,000 hours; I hit the trail as time allowed between being a college professor and working as a writer.
Whenever these calls came in, I happily sat back, recuperated, and waited for the fiscal year to begin anew. Once the park's budget was replenished, I returned to the forest. However . . . a few years ago the new budget was slow to arrive due to headquarters (which is based in the state capital, Jefferson City) having made recent administrative/departmental adjustments. Stir-crazy during the slow summer months between academic terms and after I was told by TOTSP administration that "Your guess is as good as mine" in regards to when I'd be allowed to return to work, I called HQ. To my surprise, when asked why I was inquiring about the new budget, I announced I'd been temporarily laid off, to which the Department of Natural Resources representative expressed alarm before informing me the trail budget should, at no time, be depleted.
This raised an eyebrow but, content that communication wires had perhaps gotten crossed, I simply waited for the new budget to arrive, which it did in the ensuing weeks. I then returned to the trail.
Yet readers, friends, and skeptics of all things bureaucratic, this was not the reason I was informed I no longer had a job as of last week. Whereas I'd always been given the professional courtesy of a phone call when being told I was temporarily laid off, this time TOTSP's director simply sent me a text:
Whenever these calls came in, I happily sat back, recuperated, and waited for the fiscal year to begin anew. Once the park's budget was replenished, I returned to the forest. However . . . a few years ago the new budget was slow to arrive due to headquarters (which is based in the state capital, Jefferson City) having made recent administrative/departmental adjustments. Stir-crazy during the slow summer months between academic terms and after I was told by TOTSP administration that "Your guess is as good as mine" in regards to when I'd be allowed to return to work, I called HQ. To my surprise, when asked why I was inquiring about the new budget, I announced I'd been temporarily laid off, to which the Department of Natural Resources representative expressed alarm before informing me the trail budget should, at no time, be depleted.
This raised an eyebrow but, content that communication wires had perhaps gotten crossed, I simply waited for the new budget to arrive, which it did in the ensuing weeks. I then returned to the trail.
Yet readers, friends, and skeptics of all things bureaucratic, this was not the reason I was informed I no longer had a job as of last week. Whereas I'd always been given the professional courtesy of a phone call when being told I was temporarily laid off, this time TOTSP's director simply sent me a text:
Yes, you read that right: "[ . . . ] since you had minimal hours [ . . . ]."
[Side note: The director's partisan quip at the end of the text isn't the by-product of administrative frustration; during her tenure as director, each time minimum wage was raised, she sardonically quipped to me, "Where's my cost of living raise?" She earns $40K+ annually and, what's more, assumes her employees don't have access to state payroll records—Her yearly raise has, on average, been three times more than the increase in minimum wage since she assumed control of the park.]
The justification for my job's cancellation is the exact opposite of what it had been over the preceding decade, say nothing of being nonsensical. In short, whereas I had to wait out the new budget in years past because there was no more money in the till, I was cut loose this go-around because--drum roll!—there was too much money to keep me around!
I would state that, if there is a minimal number of hours which must be maintained in order to remain on-board as a seasonal, I was never made aware of it, yet the dirty little secret is I know this isn't the case. How? Because, during the 2016/2017 fiscal year, I worked more hours than I had any of the previous eight years at TOTSP!
No, no . . . . What you just thought is correct: If the director's excuse was legit, I'd have been let go each of my nine years at TOTSP. Indeed, something's fishy and it ain't just the fact her text didn't so much as open with "I'm sorry to have to say this . . . ."
It goes without saying, since it is implied my position had been permanently terminated, as opposed to temporarily canceled or suspended as it had in years past, I called Jeff City. Human Resources wouldn't commit to a definitive answer as to whether the director was simply playing fast and loose with her words or if trail maintenance had, in fact, been eliminated at my park, or all Missouri parks for that matter. (It stands to reason that a job, especially one that is currently occupied, can't be taken off the books without an okay from High Up.) Instead, I was instructed to speak to TOTSP's director personally.
I tried, twice. I first called the director's cell and got voicemail. (Note: Curiously, the text came from her personal cell, not her state-issued business phone; the prefix for State agencies is "290," not "270.") I then dialed the park. I was transferred to the director, who informed me she was in a meeting and would get back to me.
That was a week ago.
Granted, she could have gotten busy and forgot but, alas, she had the missed call on her cell to remind her (say nothing of the fact that, if she'd chosen her words poorly, HQ would have followed up my inquiry by calling the director). But, as you'll see, she clearly meant the position has been eliminated.
The director hasn't returned my call for the same reason she didn't open the text with regret, which is the exact same reason Jeff City dodged my question by having me play phone tag with my boss: Like a waiter who's already collected the bill, I no longer serve a purpose for the park system, so no one sees the point in returning my call. Their silence answers my termination vs. cancellation question.
This is undoubtedly a shock to my readers, who know that I dutifully, patiently held a position with an excessively high turnover rate for nearly a decade. What my readers may not know is, for several consecutive years via a summer learning program sponsored by the local university, I introduced class upon class of children and young adults to nature at TOTSP. With any luck, this created fond, lasting memories in impressionable minds which will, hopefully, manifest into lifelong, regular state park visitors in the ensuing years.
Talk about gratitude . . . .
But all of this begs the question: What's going on with TOTSP's budget, now and in years past? Given HQ's surprise years before when I told them I had been laid off and on what grounds, my best guess is the trail budget is—and has been—redirected or, in administrative lingo, "repurposed." As to where, and for what reason, who knows? It also makes one wonder if this is the only park budget that is getting shifted around for purposes other than what it was intended. Although it could be argued that what is good for the goose is good for the gander when it comes to state parks, few would take issue with the fact that since taxpayers' dollars go to the park system, it's more than reasonable for people to expect to be provided the service of clean, navigable trailways.
I—as I'm sure you are as well—am curious what taxpayers are getting for their hard-earned buck. If they are continuing to get obstruction-free pathways at TOTSP, it's irrefutably at their financial expense because either full-time (salaried) staff are setting out to the woods, or part-timers with less trail experience are doing the dirt(y) work. Bear in mind, if it's the latter, the park didn't save a bundle by downsizing: I was making a few cents above minimum wage after ten years of service.
So it goes.
Yet, and undoubtedly much to many readers' surprise and dismay, this is just the tip of the disorganization iceberg.
Missouri taxpayers like to believe our money is being put to its best possible use. Take my word for it, if it is, it's by sheer, coincidental luck alone because TOTSP is staffed almost exclusively by friends of the director's husband.
With the exception of two employees, all full-time TOTSP staff—as well as a portion of past and current seasonals—are former students of the director's husband, who is a professor at a nearby college. Of the two who aren't, one is an old college classmate of the professor. Cronyism, anyone?
[Side note: The director's partisan quip at the end of the text isn't the by-product of administrative frustration; during her tenure as director, each time minimum wage was raised, she sardonically quipped to me, "Where's my cost of living raise?" She earns $40K+ annually and, what's more, assumes her employees don't have access to state payroll records—Her yearly raise has, on average, been three times more than the increase in minimum wage since she assumed control of the park.]
The justification for my job's cancellation is the exact opposite of what it had been over the preceding decade, say nothing of being nonsensical. In short, whereas I had to wait out the new budget in years past because there was no more money in the till, I was cut loose this go-around because--drum roll!—there was too much money to keep me around!
I would state that, if there is a minimal number of hours which must be maintained in order to remain on-board as a seasonal, I was never made aware of it, yet the dirty little secret is I know this isn't the case. How? Because, during the 2016/2017 fiscal year, I worked more hours than I had any of the previous eight years at TOTSP!
No, no . . . . What you just thought is correct: If the director's excuse was legit, I'd have been let go each of my nine years at TOTSP. Indeed, something's fishy and it ain't just the fact her text didn't so much as open with "I'm sorry to have to say this . . . ."
It goes without saying, since it is implied my position had been permanently terminated, as opposed to temporarily canceled or suspended as it had in years past, I called Jeff City. Human Resources wouldn't commit to a definitive answer as to whether the director was simply playing fast and loose with her words or if trail maintenance had, in fact, been eliminated at my park, or all Missouri parks for that matter. (It stands to reason that a job, especially one that is currently occupied, can't be taken off the books without an okay from High Up.) Instead, I was instructed to speak to TOTSP's director personally.
I tried, twice. I first called the director's cell and got voicemail. (Note: Curiously, the text came from her personal cell, not her state-issued business phone; the prefix for State agencies is "290," not "270.") I then dialed the park. I was transferred to the director, who informed me she was in a meeting and would get back to me.
That was a week ago.
Granted, she could have gotten busy and forgot but, alas, she had the missed call on her cell to remind her (say nothing of the fact that, if she'd chosen her words poorly, HQ would have followed up my inquiry by calling the director). But, as you'll see, she clearly meant the position has been eliminated.
The director hasn't returned my call for the same reason she didn't open the text with regret, which is the exact same reason Jeff City dodged my question by having me play phone tag with my boss: Like a waiter who's already collected the bill, I no longer serve a purpose for the park system, so no one sees the point in returning my call. Their silence answers my termination vs. cancellation question.
This is undoubtedly a shock to my readers, who know that I dutifully, patiently held a position with an excessively high turnover rate for nearly a decade. What my readers may not know is, for several consecutive years via a summer learning program sponsored by the local university, I introduced class upon class of children and young adults to nature at TOTSP. With any luck, this created fond, lasting memories in impressionable minds which will, hopefully, manifest into lifelong, regular state park visitors in the ensuing years.
Talk about gratitude . . . .
But all of this begs the question: What's going on with TOTSP's budget, now and in years past? Given HQ's surprise years before when I told them I had been laid off and on what grounds, my best guess is the trail budget is—and has been—redirected or, in administrative lingo, "repurposed." As to where, and for what reason, who knows? It also makes one wonder if this is the only park budget that is getting shifted around for purposes other than what it was intended. Although it could be argued that what is good for the goose is good for the gander when it comes to state parks, few would take issue with the fact that since taxpayers' dollars go to the park system, it's more than reasonable for people to expect to be provided the service of clean, navigable trailways.
I—as I'm sure you are as well—am curious what taxpayers are getting for their hard-earned buck. If they are continuing to get obstruction-free pathways at TOTSP, it's irrefutably at their financial expense because either full-time (salaried) staff are setting out to the woods, or part-timers with less trail experience are doing the dirt(y) work. Bear in mind, if it's the latter, the park didn't save a bundle by downsizing: I was making a few cents above minimum wage after ten years of service.
So it goes.
Yet, and undoubtedly much to many readers' surprise and dismay, this is just the tip of the disorganization iceberg.
Missouri taxpayers like to believe our money is being put to its best possible use. Take my word for it, if it is, it's by sheer, coincidental luck alone because TOTSP is staffed almost exclusively by friends of the director's husband.
With the exception of two employees, all full-time TOTSP staff—as well as a portion of past and current seasonals—are former students of the director's husband, who is a professor at a nearby college. Of the two who aren't, one is an old college classmate of the professor. Cronyism, anyone?
These individuals' preferential treatment didn't end once they showed up their first day: When one former student's seasonal hours dried up, a stewardship was created so as to keep her around until the new yearly budget arrived. Another former student was hired on even though he didn't, in the director's terms, "technically" qualify as a low-income applicant. The ex-classmate was even hired in at the highest pay bracket despite the fact he had no full-time state park experience in the position he'd been granted. This is the same fellow who was allowed to live on-site when he worked part-time at TOTSP the year before. And I'm not talking that he was permitted to pitch a tent in the woods or plop an RV down in a campsite—the director let him hole up in one of the taxpayer-provided houses located on park property! And, no, TOTSP isn't a state park that offers lodging services.
Then there is TOTSP's naturalist. After receiving guidance from the director's husband while working on his thesis for his Masters degree, he was hired on and has since, under full knowledge of the director, conducted "off the books" biological studies at the park. What are "off the books" biological studies? Readers, friends, fans, and fellow environmentalists, hold on to your britches . . .
It is the naturalist's opinion that the region was originally grasslands. To prove his hypothesis, he selected a handful of sites at TOTSP and cleared the areas of any and all light-inhibiting woody growth, i.e., anything that keeps sunlight from reaching the ground. For non-biology people this might not seem to be a big deal but, trust me, it is. He has not only divested the plots of both non-native and native plants (a big ecology no-no with the latter), these clearings were created in full view of trailways. In short, in certain parts of the TOTSP, you can be hiking along, happy as you go, and suddenly come across large swaths of essentially clear-cut forest. And I don't use the term "clear-cut" lightly: The naturalist left all the stumps! These eyesores are not only environmentally unsound, they disrupt the natural flow and beauty of the woods, so much so I removed the stumps in the most heavily trafficked of these areas, yet others remain.
Then there is TOTSP's naturalist. After receiving guidance from the director's husband while working on his thesis for his Masters degree, he was hired on and has since, under full knowledge of the director, conducted "off the books" biological studies at the park. What are "off the books" biological studies? Readers, friends, fans, and fellow environmentalists, hold on to your britches . . .
It is the naturalist's opinion that the region was originally grasslands. To prove his hypothesis, he selected a handful of sites at TOTSP and cleared the areas of any and all light-inhibiting woody growth, i.e., anything that keeps sunlight from reaching the ground. For non-biology people this might not seem to be a big deal but, trust me, it is. He has not only divested the plots of both non-native and native plants (a big ecology no-no with the latter), these clearings were created in full view of trailways. In short, in certain parts of the TOTSP, you can be hiking along, happy as you go, and suddenly come across large swaths of essentially clear-cut forest. And I don't use the term "clear-cut" lightly: The naturalist left all the stumps! These eyesores are not only environmentally unsound, they disrupt the natural flow and beauty of the woods, so much so I removed the stumps in the most heavily trafficked of these areas, yet others remain.
And, in case there is a shadow of a doubt as to how I know the naturalist's grassland study isn't kosher: One day on the trail, as he proceeded to mow down one healthy sapling after another, I pulled out my camera in hopes of snapping a picture of a lizard that had suddenly appeared atop a nearby log. The naturalist blurted out, "Put that away! I don't need State finding out about this."
This is the same individual who was given the responsibility of overseeing trails a few years ago. To put it another way, this is who I've reported to the last few years but, alas, not only did he not possess any noteworthy trail experience or training at the time—so much so that he was confused as to the different applications and uses of a folding saw and machete on the trail—once, while doing a trail survey with me as we assessed a long stretch of 2' x 6' equine-created erosion midtrail, he suggested we remedy the problem by relocating a nearby hillside. When I asked how we, meaning me, by myself, was to go about this Herculean task—as if I'd asked a stupid question—he nonchalantly quipped, "A shovel."
This is the same individual who was given the responsibility of overseeing trails a few years ago. To put it another way, this is who I've reported to the last few years but, alas, not only did he not possess any noteworthy trail experience or training at the time—so much so that he was confused as to the different applications and uses of a folding saw and machete on the trail—once, while doing a trail survey with me as we assessed a long stretch of 2' x 6' equine-created erosion midtrail, he suggested we remedy the problem by relocating a nearby hillside. When I asked how we, meaning me, by myself, was to go about this Herculean task—as if I'd asked a stupid question—he nonchalantly quipped, "A shovel."
For fellow environmentalists out there, the fun doesn't end here. In various state parks, there are Wild Areas, reserves which have been established for wildlife to retreat into that have minimal human interaction. Understandably, under Section 2, Subsection b. of DSP [Division of State Parks] Policy N-06, it is clearly, unequivocally outlined, “[In designated Wild Areas] [c]hain saws [sic] may be used for a maximum for ten (10) days, during the months of January and February each year, to clear trails of fallen trees and debris. This work shall be conducted on weekdays only.” You probably see where this is going . . .
Much to my chagrin as a conservationist—so much so I went so far as to remind him of deer breeding and rearing periods—I've been witness, time and again, to TOTSP's naturalist as he took a chainsaw into Wild Areas during hiker-heavy weekends and in the middle of summer. When I asked why he doesn't conduct chainsaw work as the State advises, he replied, “I’m busy. Unless Jeff City wants to send someone down here to do it [downed tree removal on the trails], I get to it when I can get to it.”
Missouri taxpayers doled out $35,263 for this guy's services in 2016.
For all the administrative misdirection, I can, however, personally attest to TOTSP saving taxpayers a few bucks by obligating workers to purchase their own tools and supplies: Throughout my tenure as a trail maintenance worker, I asked for various, essential tools to be requisitioned and those which were damaged or substandard to be replaced. The one and only time my request was honored was when I was writing Nature's Housekeeper, to which I was handed a supply catalog and told to go crazy. Predictably, once the book hit shelves, not so much as a new folding saw came my way. With the exception of a rock pick presented me during the composition of my book, all of the tools and equipment I carried on the trail I'd bought out-of-pocket.
As you might imagine, there are many more stories of this nature, but I think you get the picture.
Readers, you may ask why I didn't divulge the nitty-gritty bits of working at a Missouri state park in Nature's Housekeeper. It wasn't that I feared for my job should I have whistleblown then. Rather, I weighed the good and the bad in respect to the services TOTSP provides the public. Yet I now fear the scales are starting to tip in an unfavorable direction, both for the taxpaying public, as well as Trail of Tears State Park (and, possibly, the Missouri park system as a whole).
Here's hoping I'm wrong.
Much to my chagrin as a conservationist—so much so I went so far as to remind him of deer breeding and rearing periods—I've been witness, time and again, to TOTSP's naturalist as he took a chainsaw into Wild Areas during hiker-heavy weekends and in the middle of summer. When I asked why he doesn't conduct chainsaw work as the State advises, he replied, “I’m busy. Unless Jeff City wants to send someone down here to do it [downed tree removal on the trails], I get to it when I can get to it.”
Missouri taxpayers doled out $35,263 for this guy's services in 2016.
For all the administrative misdirection, I can, however, personally attest to TOTSP saving taxpayers a few bucks by obligating workers to purchase their own tools and supplies: Throughout my tenure as a trail maintenance worker, I asked for various, essential tools to be requisitioned and those which were damaged or substandard to be replaced. The one and only time my request was honored was when I was writing Nature's Housekeeper, to which I was handed a supply catalog and told to go crazy. Predictably, once the book hit shelves, not so much as a new folding saw came my way. With the exception of a rock pick presented me during the composition of my book, all of the tools and equipment I carried on the trail I'd bought out-of-pocket.
As you might imagine, there are many more stories of this nature, but I think you get the picture.
Readers, you may ask why I didn't divulge the nitty-gritty bits of working at a Missouri state park in Nature's Housekeeper. It wasn't that I feared for my job should I have whistleblown then. Rather, I weighed the good and the bad in respect to the services TOTSP provides the public. Yet I now fear the scales are starting to tip in an unfavorable direction, both for the taxpaying public, as well as Trail of Tears State Park (and, possibly, the Missouri park system as a whole).
Here's hoping I'm wrong.