A Living Magazine - Day 320 - Homecoming - Millbrook: Wallk Between the Raindrops

I must have been getting used to the sound of rain on the tent. Usually I wake up immediately as soon as the first drops fall--just instinct from having to deal with leaks. But today, consciousness faded in slowly, to the constant pelting of large drops. 

There was no way I was going to pack up the tent and walk into town in this. So, I lay back down and fell asleep. I had an intense dream that I'm not going to relate in this post--have to wait for the book. Usually when I'm stuck in the tent on a rainy morning I will sleep--mostly dreaming, for an hour, then wake, then fall asleep and dream again for an hour, etc... There is practically nothing but REM sleep at the end of a cycle.

After a few cycles of this I woke to the sound of birds and not rain. I unzipped the flap and a shard of sunlight beamed down into the tent. I knew from the weather forecast that there would be a break around noon. It was 11:00 a.m., and I decided to leave the tent set up there (since the inside was dry and would get wet if I packed it). The location was secure enough from people. I joked to myself that only the vengeful deer king might take it down.

I walked into town and about halfway there the rain began again. The library was due to open at 1:00 p.m. and it was about 12:30 p.m. So, I went to Stewart's (the little general store that gets an Xfinity signal). There, I worked for about an hour, listening to the local elderly guys talk about farming and taxes and Donald Trump. He was the hero of the area. The only political signs I saw around were for Trump. They must long for the days of WWII or something. Kidding. They were funny though. Every time a young lady would walk into the place, she would be shmoozed and given all kinds of attention by these old geezers. It was a gauntlet that they seemed to expect. Millbrook is a tiny place, and everyone knows everyone else's name and routine. 

They all stared at me as I left for the library. And, I am so used to being stared at now, that I just stare right back, looking at each of them straight in the eyes. People are funny. They are emboldened to stare when they feel safe in a group, but when I do the unexpected and stare wide-eyed back at them, each one will chicken out and look down at his coffee. But, I just smile and say, "Howdy!"

The library is very old. A grand addition was added about 50 years after the charter was created to stock the original building--which started off with 1,600 volumes. Today, it is well-appointed. My only complaint would be the lack of outlets at places where there are desks. There are plenty of desks, and there are plenty of outlets, they just aren't near each other. The one desk I found (the day before) that was powered was, on this day, occupied by a woman who spent very little time at it. My alternative was a large table in the teens' section. 

At about this time I received a message from my sister Deb saying that my old cat Buddy (whom she has adopted in my absence) had an abscess under his tongue, was drooling and not cleaning himself properly--leading to hair loss on his front legs. She brought him into the vet, who said it might be cancer. They gave him a shot of cortisone and would reevaluate after two weeks. This played upon what I had been fearing since leaving Maine--that I would lose Buddy before being able to see him again. Deb is the best possible person to be caring for Buddy. I trust her more than I trust myself with him. So, I know he's in the right hands. This occupied my mind the rest of the day.

I worked quite intensely for the rest of the afternoon, occasionally looking up to think about how Buddy was faring. My tent also concerned me. I don't  like leaving it for too long.

At about 4:00 p.m. a tutor (about 30 years old) and her young student (a boy about 17 years old), came in and sat down one table down from me. I had seen and listened to them the day before. His name was Eric (from what I could pick up). 

One can learn quite a bit about two people by simply overhearing their interaction. Over these two days I learned that he was the son of a dairy farmer. She was a very mellow, soft-spoken woman, with a reassuring, and young sounding voice. Much of her "lesson" was not so much about the history class he needed help with, but about making him feel better about himself and showing him that he had real intelligence and talents, even if those were not being expressed in his school work.

She asked all kinds of questions about the cows on his farm. And they laughed about the calves. Even I learned quite a bit from what he told her. 

He didn't like to read, and she did most of the reading, sometimes urging him, but not forcing the issue. She did an excellent job. She was just old enough to be a mentor, but young enough to identify with him as a friend. She was actually the type of woman I would have loved to get to know better. She told Eric that his mother would be surprised at how tall he was now. It became obvious over the session that his mother had died within the last year. I wasn't exactly sure how, but it seemed that a car accident might have been the cause of death.

When things got too schoolish, the tutor would apply the lessons (for example about the weapons used in various wars) to Eric's knowledge of guns--which was extensive. And, she allowed him to teach her about the parts of a gun, how to shoot, what the laws in the state were, etc. Then she suggested that what he just told her could be written in the essay due next week. In fact, she let him know that the next time he needed to write an essay, it might help if he could imagine that he was telling her what he knew. He thought this was a good idea. 

For his part, Eric was not a cocky know it all brat, but rather a very thoughtful, modest and gentle young man. The two got along very well. It was obvious that they liked each other as more than just student and teacher, but just shy of anything romantic. They could have been friends outside of school.

When the library was getting ready to close, I began to pack up for the walk back to the tent. As I did so, I heard Eric saying that he would never be good in school. His tutor said, "Eric, you are such a talented and intelligent guy. You speak so well. You care about your work, but just get distracted. I think you are going to succeed just fine in life. Even if school never works out, something will. I promise you!" I stopped and thought, that may have been one of the kindest things anyone could have ever told this kid at this point. He missed his mother, he was struggling to get through school, and he needed something more than an authority figure to keep him interested... he needed a wise friend, one who would support him psychologically, not just academically. 

There are many, many situations I have seen and experienced on this Journey that I wished I could have followed through on or looked into further. Were I a more Type A personality, I would have a richer set of "people stories." This is one that I would have liked to continue to check in on in the years to come. But I only walked by them and said hi.

I see myself as an imperfect compromise to what someone truly extraordinary could do with the situation I'm in--with this project. I know a great deal about many things, I have the ability to express myself, I have the fortitude to accomplish what I set out to do without being side-tracked and tempted off of the "plan." I have the physical stamina to withstand an enormous amount of discomfort, while still being focused. And, I have done much better than I thought I would at being social, meeting people, and reporting on them. Still, I know individuals in my life who would be far superior at walking over to meet every person they encountered. 

I know that, personally, I would not be able to stay on one track if I were to be diverted into every home, taken for rides around every town, accept every dinner invitation... It is hard enough for me to do all that I do now, without pouring myself into a thousand other lives. Therefore, I will say for the record, that, I encourage future Modern Nomads who are real people persons to get out there and use the foundation of physical processes that I have laid down and solidified (the navigation, planning, budgeting, travel, camping, knowledge of animals and plants, use of technology, etc.) to do a more thorough study of the people themselves. There are plenty of opportunities, once the nuts and bolts of survival itself are in place and become automatic.

I've done the best *I* can to meet Americans, but I know that others could do much bigger and better things in this regard. Someone had to pave the Nomadic road--report on the generality of American society. I feel that was me. 

Yet, I truly believe that others will follow and walk along that now-charted road, to do TRULY great things; getting to know their neighbors near and far, and thence learning to love them. Perhaps a wave of younger Nomads somewhere between high school and college will someday choose to sweep across this country  - maybe even the world - and become family members with all whom they meet. No religion, no ideology, no cause besides the desire to draw all human beings closer to each other. 

It is harder to hate, harm or kill someone who you have smiled with, dined with, wallked with in the sunshine and helped through the rain. People aren't races. They aren't ethnicities. They aren't religions. They aren't political parties. They are just human individuals who want to live in peace, raise their children to do the same, and be happy in life. 

I have tried to show that I - each of us - and especially these coming Nomads - can make up the Army of One. Each of us is One. Collectively, we can BE One. It is all the same One.

In my earlier essay about this I wrote  [male pronouns are used, but the following applies to both man and woman]...

To truly change the world from the bottom up, I believe that those of us [Nomads] who are able (probably many more in the younger generations) must go through basic training. Unlike the hierarchical armies formed to destroy other armies, this training is self-imposed by the individual Army of One Human, upon himself. He must hold only the highest standards for his activities, be open minded enough to adopt the things that he sees working for other people; not be so stubborn that he can't reform himself and become better. 

The war is one where selflessness must conquer selfishness in the world. But the battles (like any form of hard compromise) will require a measure of BOTH--without risking selflessness as the more superior trait and ultimate target. 

This war will be a nonviolent world war for the spirit of all humanity. Uniformity and conformity are the killers of human souls and the food by which the small number who impose such a system exist on. Their methods of control must be wiped off the earth forever.

Suffice it to say, I left the story of this student and tutor in the peace of the Millbrook library, walked back to Stewart's to pick up some extra food in case I was stuck in the tent again the next morning, and then made my way back to the camp site...

Moss on the log that I used as my hangers.

The following was just a video update about my situation. I recorded it, and then the rain started again. I climbed into the tent and thought about a greatmany things before finally falling asleep sometime after nightfall...