My most vivid repeating dream does not involve wine, women or song. There are no game-ending sports heroics or fantasies of swimming in a pool of double-fudge ice cream.Rather, my favorite recurring dream involves weeds, snakes and a wet work shirt. Perhaps I should explain!It traces back to my very first job as a "worker" at the Blue Mounds State Park beginning in 1970 between my sophomore and junior years of high school. Too young for management, I spent most of my 40 hours a week cleaning up after other people — and loving it!At the time, my family lived in what is now the state park Interpretive Center. So basically, I lived where I worked and was accustomed to the harsh uncertainties of Mother Nature. My responsibilities, however, often revealed the realities of human nature.My most consistent duty at the park was to collect the garbage of the previous day's campers. As any refuse collector can attest, you can learn a lot about a person's life by sifting through their garbage. I don't have any stories to tell about your neighbors, but let’s just say my perspective on human nature was forever altered.Yet, I fully loved my job. Every day was distinct. In addition to collecting garbage, I might be assigned one or more of the following duties:oMow everywhere. Do you know how many directional, safety and informational wooden posts there are in a bureaucratic state government setting?oClean bathrooms. Yes, campers try to shove all varieties of material down the toilet. (A broken hair dryer? A can of bug spray?)oChop wood for the camper's fires. Not a problem for us Paul Bunyan Minnesotans.oClean tools. My dad taught me the significance of this.oSpray weeds. Never-ending and probably unknowingly dangerous.oPaint buildings. Didn't they have another color besides brown? oBeing lowered into (and I mean into) the multi-seat metal toilets to ... ah ... remove the ... ah ... deposits one shovel at a time. Such a life-enhancing experience!More enjoyable duties:oFilling pop machines. I'm kind of an orderly guy, so there was something exciting about how all the shiny ends of dozens of cans lined up in their respective columns so ... orderly.oHelping visitors find a lost possession or, once, locating a lost child.oDriving the big payloader, pretending to know how to use all the levers.oA "walk-by" of the upper and lower lakes, their two dams and the beach searching for abnormalities. Oh, I'm sorry. Wasn't I supposed to spend half that time skimming stones across the water? oAnd finally, returning to my dream, taking a water break. There was nothing I enjoyed on this job more. I had the choice of drinking bottled water from a plastic jug wedged in the corner of a sterile office. Or (idyllic music here), I could stroll near a quaint forest of rustling oak trees through a verdant meadow of prairie long grass, wild flowers and rainbow-colored butterflies to the cold and exhilarating ground water spilling from nature’s source?! Just a few hundred feet down the road to the main campground, at the base of the embankment, a constant stream of fresh water flowed from an artesian well. Oh, sure, there was a thicket of weeds and an occasional harmless garter snake to traverse. But the rewards were worth the trouble — a cold and safe drink of Mother Nature's nectar. An additional treat was soaking my head and work shirt under the invigorating, chilly flow. It was a spiritual experience, to be sure. I thanked the appropriate gods for my good fortune and Mother Nature for her generosity. Even today, as nitrates have affected my Mecca, I relive the sensuality of that pure water whenever I need to calm my soul.