Peter Keiser

Peter Keiser passed away on February 24, 2021 at his home in Kilgore, Texas.
Born on November 10, 1953 to Pete and Dody Keiser, Peter worked in the oilfields for many years and traveled around the world. He loved the natural environment and the contentment and energy it brought. He was an amateur geologist whose love of fossils, rocks, and minerals took him all over the Southwest. He could tell you about any rock that you presented to him. Peter belonged to the East Texas Gem and Mineral Club and Albuquerque, N.M. Rock Club, and he wrote articles for the Rock Club. He had a special love for Colorado and all it had to offer. It was his time to renew old friendships, compare notes on rocks and caves, swap rocks and minerals, and sleep under the stars. He talked about good friends he had traveled with over the years. A real source of joy, in his later years, were the trips he took with his special “rock hound” travel companion and friend, Colleen Hayes. Their travels across the Southwest were always a source of genuine comfort and well-being.
Peter is survived by his mother, Dody Keiser; his brother, John Keiser; sister in law, Diane Keiser; and beloved nephew, Chris Keiser who melted his heart the day he was born.
He was preceded in death by his father, Pete Keiser; his brother, David Keiser; and his grandmother, Ria Aubrey.

Here is a poem penned by his long time friend and “travel guide” Jon Marshall:

Rocky Mountain High
To: Pete

How do we reconcile the unexpected passing of a best friend?
Memories demand we inspect their tales,
insist we honor the participant in these makings,
remind about a Life lived within the immensity of our world.
For a while we remember.
For a while we recall those memories we can now speak.

Summer 1973.
Traveling together in his VW Beetle
on the spine of the Rocky Mountains.
Colorado, jumping into the early summer mountain streams.
Cold dashes to infuse warm hearts.
Risky camping in wild National Forests.
Treading the tender tundra of immense 14’er peaks.

Off to Wyoming.

Five Falls in the Bighorn Mountains,
a young black bear attempted to grab our evening meal,
climbed a few feet on a large pine and stared.
I made a snowball, then pelted his face from six feet.
The bear sprinted up the ponderosa to the first branches, 30 feet.
Pete laughed: do not feed the bears!
We packed for further travel. The bear watched our leaving.

Yellowstone beckoned in the distance.

In the backcountry, hiking remote from most,
a rattlesnake plopped onto the trail in front of us,
mouse in mouth, surprised by our presence.
Soon determined small chance being our meal,
he hurried his swallow. Quickly, quickly.
After the mouse passed his head, a fierce look returned to his eyes.
We skirted around allowing his claim to this path.

Later, we shared an evening campfire with fellow packers.
Moon risen, snow on the mountains bright,
owls calling to each other,
coyotes barking in the distance,
mountain river whispering.
Someone put on a tape, played a new hit song,
“Rocky Mountain High,” first time hearing.
In this setting, couldn’t be better.

Days passed, found us in another outback land.
An ancient Anasazi village, isolated,
we slept in a Kiva, the ceremonial room.
Full moon. Shaft of light falling at a slant.
Total quiet.
In the middle of the night,
we heard the sounds of the village:
children playing, mothers calling,
young men boasting, young girls laughing.
We climbed the Kiva ladder through the roof.
Shimmering pillars of light floated throughout the village ruins,
this way and that, as people might.
Soon an owl hooted, the figures faded
leaving us to marvel at the brink of Endless Time.

I could say more, but this must do.

What do we carry of another’s Life?
Love, anguish of the new emptiness?
Perhaps memories, special tales,
kindnesses given,
and a feeling of what might have been.

Oh yes, there’s more;
but I do not have the words.

Jon Marshall February 2021