The Testament of J.P.

During the weekly Mariposa County Board of Supervisor’s meeting, there is an opportunity for public comment and virtually nothing is off limits. It is a kind of citizens open mic.

Sometimes what follows is a complaint or grievance, rarer still a compliment or recognition.

Last week a speaker offered a government success story, wrapped in a personal narrative, that sort of rocked my world. It left me contemplating the meaning of life: What we owe ourselves and others in our brief time on earth.

To be clear, this sort of stuff is not typically on the agenda.

Standing at the podium was Jon Paul Salonen, owner of Salonen Construction, known to many who have grown up in the town of Mariposa simply as J.P.

He is also on the Mariposa County Sheriff’s Office Search and Rescue Team. But this is a different kind of hero’s journey.

J.P. acknowledged to the supervisors that he had stood at that same podium two years earlier — with a blistering complaint.

In 2024, he told the board the building and planning department wasn’t processing permits nearly fast enough. It was hurting his business. He was frustrated and unhappy.

But now, he was back, with a progress report, of sorts. He told the supervisors the permit process was now much more streamlined.

The paper shuffle replaced by an electronic system that expedited permits efficiently. What used to take weeks, if not months back in 2024, was now taking only a matter of days. It was an amazing turnaround, he offered.

You could tell his praise was sincere and heartfelt. He complimented every civil servant by name.

They were beaming with pride. The supervisors too.

Then came the kicker.

J.P. explained that he had intended for the last few months to come by and tell the supervisors all this, but simply hadn’t found the time.

He had that time now. Thankfully. Gratefully.

In January, after a long day of work, his wife, Sarah, noticed that his speech pattern seemed peculiar. His syntax, the way he organized his words, seemed odd for such an easy talker as J.P.

Sarah asked him the next day if he remembered the episode. He did not. That was a clue.

It was followed by a mysterious back pain between his shoulder blades that he attributed to the aches and pains that creep up on someone who is 46 years old. Even one who is a former yoga instructor.

J.P. scheduled an appointment at John C. Fremont Hospital last month.

He seemed perfectly healthy, but Dr. Jasman Atwal was suspicious of a small spot on a CAT scan, just behind his left ear lobe.

Within hours, J.P. was down at Community Medical Center in Fresno, where an MRI identified a grape-size tumor, stuck between the blood-brain barrier, pressing on his brain. His back pain could have been from a phantom seizure.

He went from diagnosis to brain surgery in the span of 12 hours.

Among the many fortunate ingredients in this story is that Dr. Loch Macdonald was on duty, a Canadian neurosurgeon of some renown.

J.P. told me that lying in the gurney in the hospital that night, he and Sarah kept it together, telling themselves it would all work out.

He lost it, he said, when he made a Zoom call to his two adult daughters.

The next morning, before surgery, Dr. Macdonald gave him a sobering reality check.

“He said, ‘There’s a low but non-zero chance you’ll die.’ It’s like, whoa. ‘There’s a low, but non-zero chance you’ll go blind,’ because it’s in the occipital lobe that crosses your vision. And, ‘there’s a low but nonzero chance you’ll lose control of your right arm,’” J.P. recalled.

That is the arm he uses to hammer, drill and make his living. He wondered if he would still be able to play the guitar.

In that moment, J.P. told me he felt grateful for the life he had lived. He just wanted more time.

“But I did have a sense of just sadness, like maybe I didn’t tell people I love them enough or give my thanks or reconcile some things,” he said.

When he emerged from anesthesia, several hours later, the news could not have been better.

Not only had the surgery gone well, the tumor removed, a biopsy showed it was non-malignant. He wouldn’t need radiation or chemo therapy after all.

He could still remember his wife and daughters’ names.

Fiddling with his fingers, he still knew the chords to Neil Young’s Harvest Moon.

The surgery was three weeks ago and even in his brief recovery, he hasn’t wasted a single moment.

The tumor that turned his life upside down has brought him a new kind of clarity about the people and things around him.

He calls himself “spiritually agnostic,” more in the lines of John Muir and the “Church of the Hills.” He says “the glory of it all blows my mind.”

Now in the middle of the night, he’s thinking not about construction permits and deadlines, but about the people he needs to talk to, so he can tell them how much he loves and appreciates them: The electrician he works with, his concrete guy, a cousin he hasn’t seen in years.

And yes, the Mariposa County Planning and Building departments.

Senior Building Inspector Justin Meisner has known J.P. since they were kids.

Meisner told me this isn’t some near death conversion. He said J.P. has always been reflective, thoughtful and the guy you could count on when the chips are down.

The guy who doesn’t think twice about repelling down a 300 foot embankment into a thicket of poison oak during a dangerous rescue mission near Briceburg, like he did last October.

During my conversation with J.P. there were several moments when I started to cry, sob really. And J.P., who mind you I just met 45 minutes before, is holding both my hands, offering comfort to a sobbing

60-year-old reporter who inexplicably is having difficulty pulling himself together.

I think J.P.’s story struck an emotional chord for me because I have reached an age where I, too, am so appreciative of all that I have, but also aware of the people and things I have lost and what I will inevitably lose in the future.

Grief and gratitude can actually live in the same space. Life can be difficult, even when it is profoundly beautiful.

J.P. seems to have figured out that paradox. I envy his serenity. I am jealous of his wisdom.

How many times do we allow frustrations, grievances and judgments to overshadow genuine human connections that ultimately make life worth living?

How often do we stop to sincerely appreciate and thank the people who make our lives just a little easier, from the barista to the bank teller?

At some point soon, J.P. hopes Dr. Macdonald will give him the all clear to return to work.

Until then, he is saying the things that need to be said. Telling people in his life how much he appreciates and loves them.

After an hour talking, J.P. and I parted ways. I had a supervisors meeting to get back to and I had taken enough of his precious time.

Later, I drove past J.P. walking home. I remember he told me about his renewed appreciation for the red bud that seemed electric that morning. I had noticed it, too.

After such a close call like J.P. had, how long does that feeling last, the belief that every day, even the tough ones, are a gift?

Tearing up yet again, I wondered how long can I hold on to this feeling.

Tom Lyden is a staff writer for the Mariposa Gazette and can be reached at tom@mariposagazette.com.