Heading Home
The planned beginning and end of this trip straddled the one-year anniversary of my wife’s passing. I was in Wyoming on the actual day. By chance (or maybe not), my campsite backed up to a spring fed stream, one of her favorite things. As I sat quietly, I was overwhelmed by sadness. The stream brought back a memory. She had wanted to camp by a stream, so with our son we hiked far into a National Forest in search of a campsite. We found the perfect, isolated site and set up. But as the sun went down, and the forest noises began to envelop us, she decided it was a bad idea. We pulled out the stakes and rushed back out in the fading light, laughing all the way. As I sat, I was surprised by the presence of a different, stronger, emotion – gratitude. Yes, I had suffered extreme loss, but I am the recipient of a marvelous gift.
Some days later I was sitting in Hickman’s, the only restaurant in Aspermont, Texas, waiting for my buddy to lead me to the hunting ranch. No counter stools in this place – at a table by myself. I suppose one advantage of a table is you can scan the whole joint, but you run the risk of looking like an out-of-town serial killer. There were several tables of men, all in camo, talking about the hunt to come that day. There were tables of older women, enjoying a full serving of small-town gossip. There were old men in overalls and truckers’ caps, others taking to go servings of the lunch buffet home to the missus. No one looked at a cell phone … the place was alive with conversation. It was as if life’s six speed never left third. Something I struggle with.
At the campgrounds, most of the spots were couples camping together. To camp together you must get along. Spaces, inside and out, are tight. There is no television, maybe no phone service, and nothing much to do in the evening except stare at the fire and each other. Most sites were quiet by 9PM. I spent 35 nights in campgrounds … never heard a raised voice or an argument of any kind, just a gentle peace, volume was set on low. This is why people camp – it’s an accessible way to step back from daily life and reconnect with nature and each other.
My last stop before the drive home was a visit to my friends in Franklin, Tennessee. That morning, I had driven into downtown Franklin for Mass. Frankin is a burgeoning enclave of well put together folks. Early as usual, I discovered a fine bookstore, open on a Sunday morning, picking up a fine Steinbeck first edition. After Mass, I drove just outside of town to my friends’ house. For the next 6 or so hours, Rosie and I joined them on their front porch. We had a lovely lunch and dinner, but more importantly, a far-ranging conversation about all manner of things – politics, literature, relationships, travel, people, places and birds. After some initial excitement, Rosie curled up in the corner of the porch and slept the afternoon away. It was the way life with friends is supposed to be.
The following morning, I headed for home.
What’s the point of this storyboard? I am going to risk turning this entire project into something us Catholics are very familiar with … a bad homily. Someone wise told me that I will always love my wife, but that I still have a lot of love to give. In taking that advice, and moving forward with my life, I offer the vignettes above as witness to what I learned on the road. Be grateful, particularly in the moment. Slow down, talk, listen, laugh. Enjoy the company of others. Find quiet time to think. Love.
Give yourself, yield, to every breath,
And it will love you, rock you gently
-Rainer Maria Rilke
