After re-reading it recently, I determined that there was no need to delay it anymore. Publication of the book has been held-up for a number of reasons. It WILL be published, but must await the solution of the problems that have dogged its completion. The following does not include the full back story of my life, nor the multitude of subtle influences on my thinking at the time.
The final volumes of the book itself will not be overly creative. They will be a simple set of journals, in the style of a reference work, and will consist of cleaned-up versions of the Manifest Destiny posts here at this blog.
For those who have been interested in my motivation for taking that fateful train to a rainy Boston almost exactly a year ago, this may wet your whistle, while still being less filling than the regular post. And, for those who long for a very substantive future book, rather than just a journal of the accounts of my experiences out here on the road? You will be well-satisfied eventually--THIS I promise.
Where these Journeys will be published as reference works, there will be perhaps many more thought-provoking books and fiction to come in the future. I am filling up the idea bucket for these future projects.
Thank you for your reads, patience, understanding and loyalty!
Alex Wall
* * * * * * *
Buddy, looking west from the camper door in North Saco.
Maybe when he looks west these days, he might occasionally remember his papa.
I know whenever I look east I think about him...
Maine
The Days Before
Sunday, October 12 to Wednesday, October 22, 2014
North Saco to South Portland
EXODUS
North Saco
On the Sunday afternoon before leaving for my sister Deb's house, I sat there with the camper door tied open, letting the sun shine in, and thinking back over the last year.
I had called that camper on my dad's property in North Saco, Maine, home since about that same time the last year—October, 2013. He owned the camper and the property, but lived with his girlfriend in Westbrook, driving over to the North Saco property nearly every day to “work.”
He and I hadn't talked in many months. We stagnated in a pool of suspicion, misunderstanding and mutual resentment. I'd been waiting for him to actually summon up the courage to ask me to leave. Up to that point, he had only expressed that desire to my sister and everyone else in his life. The situation had red-lined beyond intolerability and became unbearable to both of us. Honestly, my feelings began to creep in toward hatred, and I don't think that he was very far away from the same emotion.
Outside, it was so beautiful—maybe the most naturally beautiful time of that year. The cold at night perfectly balanced the warm during day. In the last two weeks, I had replaced my daily bike rides into town with walks, just in case, in preparation for a land crossing of America. It was twelve miles round trip; taking about one hour and fifty minutes each way by foot.
The crispness and clarity of the air in Maine, with the reds, oranges and yellows of the leaves rustling in its light breezes, before the grass below has turned brown, is a narcotic drug I understood well. And, like all drugs, it has its benefits and its negative side effects.
Watching that fall day, besides all of the pleasant memories of going back to a new school year when I was young, I recalled the many people I have loved and lost, along with the various reasons why. Usually their arrivals and departures into and out of my life occurred in the fall. I'm not sure why that is. They are still alive. I am still alive. But we are not together. I suspect we all can relate to this.
Secondarily, there were also the recent memories of bright summer days. I had gone to a conference in Amherst, Massachusetts, and was able to meet an internet friend there in person, Eduardo Gonzalez. I now consider Ede like a younger brother. We understood each other, and we both highly valued independence and striving for simplicity in life. He and I began a project for sustainable housing before I left. It is our intention to continue that work again.
Ahead of me lay the unknown, future events of darker, colder winter days. Usually all of that is enough to get a bit of anxiety welling up inside me. I'm a worrier. I always have been.
My autumn melancholy was just a cliché to me on that fall day, standing in the middle of life. Autumn's drug was hitting me with lessened force every year. I felt a resolve in spite of it.
South Portland
The day eventually came when Deb pulled in beside the camper with her minivan and helped me load it up with the few things I had left in life. They would be stored at her house until I returned from my adventure.
My dad had stopped by earlier in the day to wish me luck. The meeting was mild and unemotional. I didn't discuss much about my plan for the next few months, but apparently he had learned something of it from Deb. So, at least there was a minor kind of closure to my time there. Some worn-out circle had finally completed itself.
The feeling was that he was so overjoyed to have me leave that, left alone, he might jump up in the air in pure joy. But he contained his excitement if there was any. In the few minutes standing there alone after he left, I looked around wondering: Would I ever see North Saco again? I still don't know the answer to that question.
When we had the minivan loaded, it was time to collect my cat. At the last moment and without warning, I picked up Buddy in my arms and sat down in the passenger's seat, closing the door on the place where I had survived through a harsh winter and that bright summer.
We headed to Deb's house in South Portland. In recent years, she and my mother had stuck with me through all of the changes I made in my life. The transient nature of my residences over that time had become almost ordinary to them both.
In the next few days, I tightened the very loose travel plan. I also had a chance to really hang out with my niece and nephew. We made some breakfasts and dinners together, laughed and played around.
As is his habit, Buddy cased the joint and put Deb's dog in her place a few times. I was going to sleep down in the basement with Buddy. I did for a couple of nights, but decided to move my sleeping area upstairs and outside to her back yard where she had a padded porch swing that converted into a bed.
The days were sunny for the first week. I re-explored and looked for the changes around South Portland since I had, in 2011, spent most of the Odyssey journey around that area. Being back there was a sentimental and fulfilling return to those memories.
As the day I had chosen to leave approached – October 22 – the clouds grew thicker and darker. Not one for interpreting omens, I simply continued preparing. On the late afternoon before I was to leave, I walked into Portland to the Reny's Department Store under a gray sky.
I looked around very carefully and bought what I thought a good cross-country hiker might need. I bought a powerful hand-held LED flashlight, 50 feet of nylon line, a boot warmer pack, a pocket knife, plastic crimps for a tarp I had been turning into tent, extra batteries and a retractable hiking stick. I'd seen the stick many times in documentaries where stability while hiking was a must. I figured it might be good for something and it only cost $7.00. It was by far the best seven dollars I've ever paid.
When I emerged from Reny's, it was dark and the sky opened up. What would become a week of cold, continuous, soaking rain began to pour down. I still had 5 miles of walking to get back to Deb's and was not a happy future-camper about having to do it.
When I got home the kids were almost ready for bed and fooling around; expending those last stores of energy that children suddenly grasp hold of before they know that sleep is inevitable. They laughed at their soaking wet Uncle Chuck (their name for me).
Deb showed me the sleeping bag that had just come by FedEx. It was rated to 23°F, super light and only cost me $40.00. All was ready except for the weather.
That night, I spent an extra long time with Buddy on my lap; talking to him and recounting all the adventures he and I had experienced together. Doubtless, this was mostly for my benefit. He purred and half-slept while I spoke.
Buddy was a barn cat in North Saco more than a decade before, when I had again temporarily lived in the building at my dad's property back then. He used to fight with another cat in the neighborhood and come to me all beat up. I'd care for him and then he'd head back off again.
One night after coming home from a movie, I found a note from my dad saying “I think your cat has a problem.” I took a deep breath and opened the door. There was Buddy hopping around on 3 legs, the other one (right rear) had been cut or broken off at the joint where his foot had once been. A jagged bone stuck out of his knee.
Now, I can handle a lot. But animals in pain are my worst nightmares. I didn't know what the hell to do, but somehow I got through the situation. I brought him to an emergency animal hospital in Westbrook.
After they examined him, the veterinarian came out to the lobby and asked me what I wanted to do. At first I didn't know what she meant. Then she gave me the options. Pay a couple hundred dollars for him to be fixed up and then keep him as a pet. Or, pay $35.00 to have him put to sleep.
He wasn't even my cat. I was already caring for three other cats and certainly wasn't planning on adopting another.
She asked if he had a name. I just told her I called him “Buddy” (probably one of the most boring names to give a cat!). And, after she wrote it down on her clipboard, I realized that there was no way in hell I was going to have him put to sleep. From that day about 15 years ago, he had truly been my friend, outliving all the other cats. He and I developed a very unique language. We understood each other.
On that last night before leaving, we had a loving moment that still makes me tear up when I think about it.
I didn't sleep much that night. My habit is to work very late writing anyway, so I poured myself into the final planning and began the very first of many, many pack ups to come. When I finally began to fall asleep, the hard rain started again; pelting the roof above my makeshift outdoor bed. And, it didn't let up in all of New England for the next 3 days.
Throughout my 46 years of living in Maine, I had only left the state for short periods of time. But this would be my last night there, for... only God knew how long.
I was reluctant, but ready. I shut my eyes and passed into the next phase of my life...
* * * * * * *
I'd like to thank my patient and forgiving editor for her incredible help on this book.
If you see writing that doesn't seem to make sense, it is because I probably overruled her rational suggestions with my own crazy judgement. She volunteered her time,
and put in a great deal of effort to untie my messy knots.
_______________________________________________
I'd like to take this opportunity to ask for your help with Buddy. He needs to have a tumor removed from his forehead, and my sister Deb could really use a few more dollars for this.
Please, if you were thinking about making a contribution to this blog, consider instead donating it to Deb's GoFundMe campaign for our orange fuzzy friend. He is having a hard time seeing, because of this growth, and bumps it into things, causing pain, bleeding and scabs.
THANK YOU SO MUCH!!
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