A few years ago I read a book titled "Blue Highways" by William Least-Heat Moon. The book is so good, in fact, that it would be a crime if I kept typing here instead of just supplying an excerpt. So, here it is, page one of the jam.
Page 1...
Beware thoughts that come in the night. They aren't turned properly; they come in askew, free of sense and restriction, deriving from the most remote of sources. Take the idea of February 17, a day of canceled expectations, the day I learned my job teaching English was finished because of declining enrollment at the college, the day I called my wife from whom I'd been separated for nine months to give her the news, the day she let slip about her "friend"-- Rick or Dick or Chick. Something like that.
That morning, before all the news started hitting the fan, Eddie Short Leaf, who worked a bottomland section of the Missouri River and plowed snow off campus sidewalks, told me if the deep cold didn't break soon the trees would freeze straight through and explode. Indeed.
That night, as I lay wondering whether I would get sleep or explosion, I got the idea instead. A man who couldn't make things go right could at least go. He could quit trying to get out of the way of life. Chuck routine. Live the real jeopardy of circumstance. It was a question of dignity.
The result: on March 19, the last night of winter, I again lay awake in the tangled bed, this time doubting the madness of just walking out on things, doubting the whole plan that would begin at daybreak--to set out on a long (equivalent to half the circumference of the earth), circular trip over the back roads of the United States. Following a circle would give a purpose--to come around again--where taking a straight line would not. And I was going to do it by living out of the back end of a truck. But how to begin a beginning?
A strange sound interrupted my tossing. I went to the window, the cold air against my eyes. At first I saw only starlight. Then they were there. Up in the March blackness, two entwined skeins of snow and blue geese honking north, an undulating W-shaped configuration across the deep sky, white bellies glowing eerily with the reflected light from town, necks stretched northward. Then another flock pulled by who knows what out of the south to breed and remake itself. A new season. Answer: begin by following spring as they did--darkly, with neck stuck out.
http://www.amazon.com/Blue-Highways-Journey-into-America/dp/0316353299
Friday, November 21, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Backwards is forwards?
Being that it was November 14, and I was in San Antonio, it can be said that it was a shockingly nice day outside. I had a feeling in my young-man's body that good things were happening all around and I decided to go for an afternoon jog. Now I had done this before, and I was hoping to make a habit out of it, but I was still fresh enough in the routine that it amped me up, gave me extra energy. I strapped on my athletic wear, put on my heart monitor so as to be able to keep track of my pulse, fired up the iPod and made my way out of the gate.
I ran down the street by fields full of grass swaying in the breeze, past apartment complexes with kids bouncing basketballs, over hills that kids raced to the top of on bikes and down streets named after famous movie stars of yesteryear. I went straight for a while, I turned right, I veered left, I stopped to catch my breathe while I waited for cars to pass. But onward, I had to push myself if I was going to get any better. I turned into a creek, and I kept going. I passed backyards with small quick dogs, yards with big, lumbering dogs and even yards that looked like they wouldn't be welcoming to dogs, perfect in their grooming.
I got to the edge of San Antonio and the grass stopped, I was entering Leon Valley, a suburb, and things were different. Where I had been running on grass next to a spillway, I was now running on a bulldozed path--perfect for joggers. It took me over a freshly built walking bridge, I could still smell the pine. I followed the path until it looked like there wouldn't be a path any longer, but alas, there was more. I edged by barriers marked with the letters "LVWM", which stood for Leon Valley Waste Management, and soon I was jogging behind the city maintenance hall. Tractors were all lined up, they were done working for the day and were now resting in the shade. I pushed on and came up behind the town hall and public library. Kids exited the library with backpacks full of books and got into their parents Escalades.
The day was still beautiful, and I was enjoying my jog until something happened suddenly. I was stopped dead in my tracks by some rustling in the bushes. I stood there, not knowing my heart rate could get any higher, until I realized what it was. I saw a flash of white and a streak of brown and realized it was just a couple of deer. For a moment I got happy and kept going farther, but then I got to a busy street and turned back.
The deer had done something to me. While they were utterly amazing with their natural beauty and sheer grace--bouncing between trees to get away from me, they also made me realize that I was encroaching on what little space they had left. And I, apparently, wasn't the only one.
I turned back, but things seemed different on the way home. I headed back by the library, the eager parents tugging on their snotty kids just so they could all get home and watch reality TV shows. I snaked through the same waste management site, tractors dripping oil onto the cement. I made my way down the crushed-gravel trail that now felt so hard on my ankles and knees. The new bridge was still there, and so were some of the unused nails--flung carelessly into the nearby grass.
I darted back into San Antonio, hoping the creek would cheer me up. But I now noticed all the graffiti on the cement. I went through the area as quickly as possible, but now the fenced-in dogs were barking and scratching. I wasn't sure if they were sounding-off because I was running by and they didn't want me there, or because I was going somewhere and they wanted to be free to join me.
I got back out on the streets named after men who were famous for being famous, but who were probably all dicks in their time anyway. I ran in front of the same apartment complexes and the kids bouncing balls were still there. This time though, instead of seeming happy to have a ball to bounce they seemed sad not to have a hoop to throw it through. I passed the fields that were near my gate, but all I could notice were the discarded bottles, cups and tires.
I punched in the security code and passed the fountain, waving at the maintenance man. I made my way up the stairs and shamefully turned off my iPod. I turned the key to open a dead-bolt that was designed to keep the world out, and made my way inside. I took off the shirt made of lightweight material, the fancy shoes that were supposed to support the arches of my feet, and the heart monitor meant to track workouts. I sat down in the recliner and the first thing I did was fire up the labtop I am using to type this as we speak.
When I am done I will depend on electricity to help me take a hot shower before I gas up my car and head to the Major Newspaper that I work at, which is owned by the William Randolph Hearst Corporation.
It seems as if there is no escaping "progress". Technology is thriving, and wilderness is dying. It seems like the only way to move forward is to move backwards, and this makes me feel sorry for the deer.
The funny thing is, should I feel sorry for the deer because they are running out of undeveloped land to run in, or because they don't have the internet and lack the ability to read this blog?
I ran down the street by fields full of grass swaying in the breeze, past apartment complexes with kids bouncing basketballs, over hills that kids raced to the top of on bikes and down streets named after famous movie stars of yesteryear. I went straight for a while, I turned right, I veered left, I stopped to catch my breathe while I waited for cars to pass. But onward, I had to push myself if I was going to get any better. I turned into a creek, and I kept going. I passed backyards with small quick dogs, yards with big, lumbering dogs and even yards that looked like they wouldn't be welcoming to dogs, perfect in their grooming.
I got to the edge of San Antonio and the grass stopped, I was entering Leon Valley, a suburb, and things were different. Where I had been running on grass next to a spillway, I was now running on a bulldozed path--perfect for joggers. It took me over a freshly built walking bridge, I could still smell the pine. I followed the path until it looked like there wouldn't be a path any longer, but alas, there was more. I edged by barriers marked with the letters "LVWM", which stood for Leon Valley Waste Management, and soon I was jogging behind the city maintenance hall. Tractors were all lined up, they were done working for the day and were now resting in the shade. I pushed on and came up behind the town hall and public library. Kids exited the library with backpacks full of books and got into their parents Escalades.
The day was still beautiful, and I was enjoying my jog until something happened suddenly. I was stopped dead in my tracks by some rustling in the bushes. I stood there, not knowing my heart rate could get any higher, until I realized what it was. I saw a flash of white and a streak of brown and realized it was just a couple of deer. For a moment I got happy and kept going farther, but then I got to a busy street and turned back.
The deer had done something to me. While they were utterly amazing with their natural beauty and sheer grace--bouncing between trees to get away from me, they also made me realize that I was encroaching on what little space they had left. And I, apparently, wasn't the only one.
I turned back, but things seemed different on the way home. I headed back by the library, the eager parents tugging on their snotty kids just so they could all get home and watch reality TV shows. I snaked through the same waste management site, tractors dripping oil onto the cement. I made my way down the crushed-gravel trail that now felt so hard on my ankles and knees. The new bridge was still there, and so were some of the unused nails--flung carelessly into the nearby grass.
I darted back into San Antonio, hoping the creek would cheer me up. But I now noticed all the graffiti on the cement. I went through the area as quickly as possible, but now the fenced-in dogs were barking and scratching. I wasn't sure if they were sounding-off because I was running by and they didn't want me there, or because I was going somewhere and they wanted to be free to join me.
I got back out on the streets named after men who were famous for being famous, but who were probably all dicks in their time anyway. I ran in front of the same apartment complexes and the kids bouncing balls were still there. This time though, instead of seeming happy to have a ball to bounce they seemed sad not to have a hoop to throw it through. I passed the fields that were near my gate, but all I could notice were the discarded bottles, cups and tires.
I punched in the security code and passed the fountain, waving at the maintenance man. I made my way up the stairs and shamefully turned off my iPod. I turned the key to open a dead-bolt that was designed to keep the world out, and made my way inside. I took off the shirt made of lightweight material, the fancy shoes that were supposed to support the arches of my feet, and the heart monitor meant to track workouts. I sat down in the recliner and the first thing I did was fire up the labtop I am using to type this as we speak.
When I am done I will depend on electricity to help me take a hot shower before I gas up my car and head to the Major Newspaper that I work at, which is owned by the William Randolph Hearst Corporation.
It seems as if there is no escaping "progress". Technology is thriving, and wilderness is dying. It seems like the only way to move forward is to move backwards, and this makes me feel sorry for the deer.
The funny thing is, should I feel sorry for the deer because they are running out of undeveloped land to run in, or because they don't have the internet and lack the ability to read this blog?
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