At last count, I owned 32 baseball caps. Since returning to Wallowa County Ive pretty much limited my cap-wearing apparel to three. Whether working or playing, its normally one of those three baseball caps on my head unless my wife has decided she needs to fix my hair and turn me loose hatless.

Two of those three were presents from the best man at our wedding. Since he lives in Oakland and I was a fanatical As fan long before we met as freshmen in college, that very As cap (which played a prominent role in our wedding) was a natural. And the second, a Cal cap, carries meaning because he worked long at that university.

The third regular advertises Wallowa Forest Products. Since Wallowa Forest Products is no more, wearing one provides comfort that no one I meet will be wearing the same cap.

You can learn about others by the baseball caps they wear if they are willing to share their stories and you take the time to listen and pulling out your own caps inevitably brings memories to mind.

Years back while living in Wallowa County, I learned a valuable cultural lesson from a fellow working for the countys Soil and Water Conservation District. He was a Native American and I coveted his SWCD coffee mug. I told him so and he introduced me to the barter system. He suggested that I offer him something in trade. My response was to offer him three baseball caps; fully intending to share all three in return for that fabulous green mug.

He picked out one cap that he liked and I walked away with the coffee mug that remained my No. 1 for decades until a recent mishap retired it to more sedentary service as a holder of pens.

We both left happy and I learned.

I look at the stack of baseball caps now strewn about my feet and focus on a black hat decorated with pink fish thats spattered with beige paint. Theres no wording on it, yet its sight generates memories and smiles. The fellow who gave me that hat was a Native Hawaiian working a painting project on an estate where I worked on Oahu.

He was from Maui and unhappy with the influx of Japanese investors coming to his island and scarring the landscape with big golf courses. To make a statement about his disdain, he told me of making a midnight visit to the piped water source that could keep the fairways immaculate whenever a few days might pass without rain. He then poured gallons of Roundup herbicide into the water system and stayed away from the law.

Possibly a higher-quality, corduroy-looking cap should be worn more. Its aesthetically pleasing, I freely admit, especially with the green paint touches I added myself. However, one needs to be aware of owners of companies of caps you wear. Summit Ford-Mercury?

Now its an Alaskan Bushwheels Tundra Tires cap. I never owned a small airplane and never bought a single Bushwheel tire, but I did write a magazine article about their unique operation that recently, quietly relocated from Joseph to Alaska.

But wait a minute! Some of my hats are missing. Where is my Bora Bora cap that refreshes memories of swimming with sharks and having stingrays brush my legs? Wheres my Jesus cap?

Caps are cool and oftentimes regurgitate pleasant memories of the past.

But, what the hey? The memories stay with us whether they are triggered by hats or not. Isnt that a good thing?

Jabberwock II columnist Rocky Wilson is a reporter for the Chieftain.