When a huge pine tree outside of his prison fell over and died one day, Gordon Grilz was hit hard.  He describes his love of nature in prison, whether it’s trees, flowers, insects, or small creatures. 

The first thing I noticed when I came back on the yard after ten days in medical isolation for shingles was the largest of four pine trees laying on the ground with its huge root ball exposed. It hit me hard like the death of a good friend. I knew what had happened because I had seen it before. A microburst from a summer desert monsoon laid him down. I took some consolation from the knowledge that it was an act of nature and not more of man’s needless brutality.

Big Piney was over 40 feet tall and over 40 years old. He provided shade for humans and habitat for birds like the white-winged doves and Chihuahuan ravens. I remember one day when we came out of our prison classroom on break and spotted a hawk perched in one of his lower branches.

I’m not a tree hugger, but I confess I used to take the long way back from medical so I could pass beneath his shade and touch his bark with my open palm, joining us in a ritual I didn’t fully understand. It just felt right.

Coming from Minnesota, I am by birth more of a forest and lake man, and it has taken me decades to appreciate the enchanting beauty of the Sonoran Desert. My friend, Ken Lamberton, the prisoner author of Wilderness and Razor Wire, who served time with me in Santa Rita Unit, came to this knowledge more than 30 years before me. Sometimes I am a slow learner. Now the Sonoran Desert has become a place of power for me. I relate to all the flora and fauna.

Santa Rita Unit used to be a garden. Then the day came when prison authorities decided to change things. Trees, grass, and flower beds came out. The park in the middle of the yard was destroyed, and the picnic tables where prisoners would pass the time playing checkers and chess were gone. The rationale they gave us for their ecological terrorism was that it was too expensive to provide the necessary water. We immediately knew this was a lie, because at the time Santa Rita Unit used reclaimed water from the prison’s water treatment plant. Besides, all you had to do was look at the green desert to realize the Creator did all the watering. The desert surrounding the prison is awash in cacti, creosote and sage bushes, and even paloverde and mesquite trees. This was borne out by the fact that after the prison stopped watering, the trees and plants that were left continued to flourish.

East Unit in Florence was another oasis. Surrounded by desert and farmlands, it was the crown jewel of the Arizona Department of Corrections. Our Deputy Warden would bring in truckloads of flowers, bushes, and trees for us to plant. We all took pride in the beauty of our natural surroundings. Red, pink, and white rose bushes decorated each cluster. We could sit in the grass under a tree and be at peace. In front of the honor dorm there were 10 huge palm trees. One day, they were all cut down and removed. Soon the grass was removed and replaced with pea gravel. Then the flowers, bushes, and other trees began to disappear. We even had a fish pond in D-cluster. On a hot summer day, some of the prisoners would put on their cutoffs and go for a wade or even sit down in the water with the goldfish. Some prisoners kept prairie dogs as pets, bringing them into their housing areas. They raised them from pups and strolled down the sidewalk with young prairie dogs riding on their shoulders.

I used to sit on a culvert at the end of East Unit bordering an alfalfa field and look out to the prison cemetery in the distance. I loved the smell of the purple blossoms. My favorite time was when they would hoe the field in preparation for baling. It was my natural escape from human-made monotonies of chow, rec, medical schedules, count times, and lights out. The sights, sounds, and smells of prison are a continual assault on the senses. There were times when it was so quiet and peaceful that I could imagine I was free.

In Santa Rita Unit in Tucson, some prisoners keep lizards as pets. They hunt up insects to feed them. It is incredible to watch the bonding between humans and reptiles. Sometimes in the early predawn hours I can hear the coyotes howling beyond the fence line. They are my natural wake-up call. They remind me that I am not alone or forgotten. They’ve got my back in ways I don’t fully understand.

As I have become one with the desert, I have a respect for all life: insects, reptiles, birds, and animals. I savor the monsoons when the desert toads come out of hibernation, dig themselves out of the desert soil, and thrive for a season. When I have an unwanted visitor in my cell, my practice is to gently escort them to the door with the admonition that this cell is mine, the whole desert is yours. I admit that I still kill flies and cockroaches, but I suspect that, too, is subject to future modification.

I couldn’t sleep last night. I lay awake and enjoyed the rainstorm at 2:30 a.m. I saw lightning and heard thunder and knew I was home. During my medical isolation, I had a private room in a medical building. It was an interior room so I couldn’t see outside for 10 days. The one exception was when the correctional officer let me sit outside after the power went out from the monsoon storm. It had rained hard and hailed, with strong winds and horizontal showers. I missed my desert.

Tomorrow I will walk a couple of laps around our oval track with Doug after breakfast. I will stop to pay my respects to Big Piney before they cut him up and take him away, once again placing my palm against his bark. I will thank him for enriching my life and making my prison time easier. Then I will take one of his pine cones to put in my cell as a reminder. It seems strange, because I have always thought that he would outlive me. I have known him for 33 years. I’m 73 now, and I know the microburst will one day come for me, too.

Gordon Grilz #42972
ASPC-T Santa Rita
P.O. Box 24401
Tucson, AZ 85734

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