IWALLK: A Living Magazine - Day 186 - Homecoming

I woke to a tiny spot of orange on the tent wall. I immediately sat up, unzipped the tent and then tarp flaps and saw the evidence of a sunrise--for the first time in five days. It was official! The sun DID still exist! Ha!

I rose and shook the sleep and strange dreams I'd had out of my head. Getting out of the tent, I noticed that the floor was still soaked and that the sleeping bag bottom was as well.

I knew that my next activity had to be to find another camp spot where water would not run in from the sides of the tent, under it, and be trapped and forced up through the floor--as it had been here. So, I scouted around the area within about one acre, to find a softer, but level, bed of pine needles. This would provide a slightly more aerated surface, allowing for evaporation of the ground below me even lying in the tent, as well as a layer that would lift the floor another half inch or so off the packed orange sand that all these trees were growing out of.

I found several candidate spots, and settled on one that was about fifty feet away from the first spot (where I had spent the last fourteen nights). Packing everything except for the sleeping bag into Saggy, I staggered over to the new spot with the assembled tent in one hand, and the pack over the other shoulder...

My vacant spot. See how dry it is around the edges and the wet place in the middle?

As I placed the tent down in the new spot and hung the pack on a nearby tree, my watch dropped to the soft ground. The band had finally spit...

The watch/pedometer (given to me by my sister, Deb) had been my reliable walking control panel since leaving Maine fourteen months previously. I'd also noticed that for the last couple weeks, the night light was dimming, and the beep when pressing buttons was gone. The alarm still worked though.

Turning it over to look at the time, I saw the most bizarre thing of all. The date had turned to "01/01/01", and the time had jumped to "12:01 am". This was especially odd, since it takes quite a bit of button-pushing and holding to set the time. There was absolutely no reason why this change occurred. Not knowing what the exact time was now, I guestimated (something I've become exceedingly good at), and reset it all. Later, when I checked it against the laptop time at Starbucks, I saw that my estimate was only one minute fast!

I'd looked at the watch/pedometers in Academy Sports to see if I might be able to find a cheap new one. But the least expensive model was $49.99! It gave me a new appreciation for how much Deb must has spent. I duct taped the band and replaced it onto my wrist.

When I'd settled the tent down I peeled the damp sleeping bag off the wet floor...

The wet floor.

The damp sleeping bag.

Now, the zipper issues...

The sleeping bag zipper is wearing out (having its teeth rounded out by a zillion zippings and unzippings). It is already a very tight fit to sleep in . Now, when it is zipped up to the neck, a small bit of pressure from my elbow or knee will split the zipper below the clasper. Then I have to VERY carefully run the clasper down, pulling it past the split point and re-zip it. I have learned to not turn in the bag more than twice a night. And when I turn, I have to do a kind of pulling of the non-zipped side over me, as the bottom is pulled under me--keeping the bag's top on top. One false move and the zipper splits. This problem occurs at least once per night. When all I want to do is sleep, I often have to then wake up long enough to fix the zipper, which makes it difficult to get back to sleep again.

Next - because there's always a "next" - Saggy the wonder pack, the true hero of over seventy five hundred miles of travel, friend and companion, ever-able to swallow that last piece of gear, has failing zippers and a hole of its own forming. I should also remind readers that the repairs I made to the shoulder straps, which have miraculously lasted since way back in Salem, Oregon, are pulling and ripping now.

But, one thing at a time, we're focused on zippers!

As with the sleeping bag zipper, the immense number of times that the pockets have been opened and closed by zipping, combined with the internal pressure of being continually stuffed with gear, and along with the unrelenting force of Uncle Newton's gravity - giving the pack it noble name: Saggy - are finally pulling the poor thing apart; zippers first.

LLBean designed and built a pack (at least THIS pack) with extraordinary construction and keen forethought. Unlike the sleeping bag, Saggy's zippers are big and tough. If the sleeping bag had been made with the 3/8 inch zippers that the pack was made with there would be no problem at all with the bag.

The pack (which I'd bought at Goodwill back in 2011 for $15) has given more than it was ever made to give. There were times when I had to pack up everything very quickly, and would literally lift the entire backpack by a zipper in order to get it fastened. And, the zippers would never fail to seal correctly. Now there are times when they will skip teeth and need to be fixed, just like the sleeping bag. The sleeping bag also snags frequently on the inner weather-proofed strips that run along the zipper (prompting me to call the bag "Snaggy"). This never happens with the backpack.

Even the zippers of the tent and fly/tarp will occasionally snag along their nylon tracks. I have to be very gentle and deliberate with them. Zippers in general are a fantastic invention and have given mankind - or at least Alex Wall - a way to utilize the lightweight materials that have made my kind of trek and life possible. But, "All Things Must Pass" (George Harrison). " "Nothing lasts...But nothing is lost" (Terence McKenna).

I will move heaven and earth to hang on to Saggy for the next six months, but anything else, including the precious tent (if it becomes unworkable) is considered replaceable. I am SUCH a tightwad though, that it takes utter and complete failure of an item to make the replacement list.

Every morning I wake up to the tags on the inside of the tent. Written in three different language, one of them says (paraphrasing): "This tent is meant to last many years if taken care of. It is not meant as a permanent shelter and is susceptible to ultraviolet damage from the sun, and mildew. Always wipe down and completely dry this tent after each night's use." Ughhh! I start each day with a guilt trip from The North Face. Ha, ha!!

The tent in its new location, with Saggy hanging next to it.

The rain began it's melodic introduction of drizzle again, as I stuffed the sleeping bag into the bottom part of the pack, then headed to the woods exit.

I worked at Starbucks for a while, getting a post up. Then resolved to head to the Asian Star buffet for a Christmas Eve treat.

As I packed up to leave, the Manager of Starbucks, Tammy, walked over and cautiously asked if she could sit down. I thought I'd done something wrong or overstayed my blueberry scone and coffee from six hours earlier. But that was not what she was there to talk about.

She asked if I was homeless. I sighed, knowing that she - as most other people I meet out here - probably didn't understand that I was actually working at what I was doing.

I told her I was technically homeless, but then unraveled the scroll of caveats about my project. She told me that she was asking, because a woman had just called and offered to buy me a giftcard, which Tammy could not accept, because of "the possibility of fraud" etc.

I knew it was my friend, Joyce, who wintered in Florida and had read what must have seemed to be - to her - my a pathetic posts about the troubles I was having with rain, at Facebook. Tammy and I talked for about ten minutes about all the things I'd seen and done in the last fourteen months. I could tell that she was genuinely impressed; not just acting like it. I gave her a business card and several more for the other employees.

We shook hands and she returned to running her very nicely managed store. My cover had been blown. It wasn't a bad thing though. I try to stay as unnoticed as possible, for any number of reasons--much discussed here at the blog. And, to have "homelessness" be someone's only introduction to me, often means that I have to clear through a bit of embarrassment, while defusing all of the stereotypes, memes and presumptions of the people who take the time to speak with me. Usually, they are ready to offer things and pity--both of which (as you should know by now) are not at all what I need, nor want.

But Tammy, who had laughed when I told her I'd arrived from New Orleans (her hometown), really "got it". She immediately showed me the respect for which I usually have to work. And, when she left the table it was as an equal, and not my patron or self-appointed personal savior. I had mentioned I was 47, and she told me she was too. I liked her, and I'm sure I will see her a few more times before I move on from Athens.

My lovely Joyce had also called Academy Sports which was in the same mini mall as the buffet, and asked if she could buy a tarp over the phone for her friend who was "homeless". The gentleman she spoke with was moved, and refused her payment, insisting on buying it himself. I caught her Facebook message about it all just as I left Starbucks. I was very moved in my heart by her effort, and his graciousness.

The kind of tarp she ordered was not exactly right for what I needed. It would be too big for the pack. But, it popped into my head that - for now - it might solve my tent floor wetness, by being laid out, partially folded, to raise me off of the water. I went to the store and stood in line at the Customer Service counter. After a sweatingly long time, the clerk asked how he could help me.

I didn't know exactly how to phrase things, and really wanted to get the hell out there. So, I just directly told him that I thought a friend had purchased a tarp for me. I hastened to add that it was no problem if they didn't know what was going on (which they didn't) and that I was happy to go on my way. He looked confused with this strange situation. I really wanted to leave. Any term that would speed things along would probably help. So, I said (against my own rules) that I was "homeless". This changed the entire dynamic. He immediately looked around under the counter and found a bag that said, "Alex Wall - Paid For."

Holding it away from my gaze - apparently making sure I wasn't an imposter off the street trying to steal a tarp in some kind of tarp scam! - he squinted his eyes and asked my name. I told him, and he lightened up. It was all a big fat game.

He called another guy over - apparently just to make DAMN sure that he wasn't freely giving out merchandise to the wrong bum - and asked the other guy if he knew anything about this. I couldn't help rolling my eyes. What would be the chance that I was a thief coming in and just happening to know the name of the REAL guy - the "homeless" man - that the tarp was for? The other employee said he didn't know anything about it. The first guy, holding the tarp, called the other guy close up to him and whispered "he's homeless."

Eventually, it seemed this tight vetting process had run its course, and they let me have the tarp. None of this uncomfortable exchange was Joyce's fault--and the tarp and her effort were both a great blessing. But, the whole customer service thing was so awkward and strained, that it made me just feel a bit dirty as I walked over to the buffet.

I ate lightly, incase I would need to use the pine needle potty the next day (no bathrooms would be available, so I thought). Then, upon leaving, I had a strange - for me - thought.

All around the world, people including you guys, were hunkering down for your sleep before the big holiday. You'd bought all your presents, eaten your own traditional meals, had your eggnog, hung your stockings by the chimney with care, kissed your little children good night, said your prayers, and went to bed, having decorated your homes with festive ornaments. The rain was now starting up in earnest again and I had a half mile to walk in it to get back to the tent. But I paused.

What would I do to honor the night and day tomorrow? Just because I have issues with the seasonal hypocrisy does not mean I am a heartless, emotionless pile of Christmas complaints and criticisms. With the Dollar Tree beside me, it's florescent lights and tired employees doing their jobs until the very last second of their shifts, in the windows beyond, I decided to spend one sacred dollar on an ornament of some kind. I wanted to show the Universe, and you dear readers, that I was not beyond, nor above, some sort of symbolic honor.

I went in and squeaked my wet shows across the slick floor looking for something portable to bring back to the soggy tent. The Christmas shelves had been nearly completely picked of small items, like the carcass of dead fish by the busy crustaceans of a shallow sea.

There were two items left. One was an eight inch glass angel--very elegant in her pose, but impractical for a tent-Christmas. The other was a glitter-covered, plastic, green Christmas tree, thin enough to be slipped behind the laptop in the pack. I snagged it. I was feeling sad. I was also filled with an emotion I couldn't interpret; one that came close to despair.

The Spark was trying to send me a message, but I didn't want to receive it, or I would have broken down right there in that register line.

I had one dollar bill left in my wallet, but the tax would bring the total to $1.07. So, I paid with my debit card, intending to also take a little cash back. Unfortunately, the Dollar Tree charges an ironic dollar to receive cash back.

The kind-faced and patient clerk waited for me to make my decision. I could tell she felt sorry for me, as I hummed and hawed, with my plastic tree, backpack, t-shirt and faded hat. I pressed "No" on the confirmation screen of the swiper, and simply bought my little Christmas tree, without any extra cash.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, as the clerk gently placed my tree in the bag. I didn't want to look up, because my eyes were beginning to release a pent-up tear into each of them, but I did. Her gaze met mine, and she gave a sympathetic look that I don't think I will soon forget. She said, "Merry Christmas, baby." I smiled back in great thanks, unable to speak, and walked out into the wet night.

When I returned to the campsite, for some reason there was a lull in rainfall. I looked for a place where I could hang my tree. There were no hooks or latches on the outside of the tent--no room at the inn. So, I balanced the tree on the entry flap edge, and secured the sparkling string of the ornament to the hook of the little blue hiking tarp...

I stood, looking at the place where the tree was hanging for a while in the dark, until the drizzle started up again. It did not look as it does in the photos, since obviously they were taken with a flash. All I really saw was the outline of the tent, the silhouettes of the thin pine trees all around...and a scintillation of sparkling green from my little tree, whenever a car would pass by behind me.

I felt tears rolling down my cheeks, mixing their salt with the sweetness of the rain on my lips. And, as the Spark finally got its long-delayed message through the defensive mechanisms of my mind--shields to stay strong and not break down in public--saying that I was not standing there alone, but that unheard by human ears, unseen by human eyes, not far above these very treetops, a REAL choir of angels sang for me. They held candles untouched by rain...

And, somehow I KNEW that their unearthly harmonies formed a single and magnificent melody: "Be strong, and you shall overcome. Keep walking forward...and you will fly."

Bowing my head, then removing the little tree over to a real tree, where it will remain until this woods is bulldozed down, and in the darkness of a material world just on the very brink of realizing a LOVE it has never known before, with thankfulness............

I wept.