ON RANCHERS AND FARMERS
I’m not sure when it was that the majority of farming communities began voting Republican. When I was a kid, in the 50’s, the 60’s, the Midwest farming belt was staunchly Democratic. Not so in 2023.
Let that serve as an introduction because, as I have stated many times before, I will not get drawn into a political discussion, and this blog certainly is not political in nature. This is simply a travelogue, of sorts, my thoughts as me and my dog Maggie crisscross this country, that is after we get Bev to the Canadian border.
I met a rancher in Tehachapi a few days ago, about my age, actually went to Woodstock for the biggest of big festivals, and I thoroughly enjoyed talking to him. As most ranchers and farmers will do, the conversation eventually steered towards a discussion about the weather, this being one of the wettest years on record in California. Richard admitted that the rain was wonderful, that his well was just short of the 90% capacity level, unheard of on his ranch, and yes, he was happy about that, but you could hear the guarded tones in his happiness, for every rancher and farmer knows, what Mother Nature giveth, she certainly will taketh.
Which brings me to the actual topic. I have nothing but respect for the farmers and ranchers of this country. I not only don’t know why they lean Republican, but I don’t care as well. They have earned the right to bitch about their position in this economy, earned it with fourteen-hour days, working in all manner of heat and distressful weather, repairing machinery, dealing with fluctuating markets beyond their control, meeting regulations set by nameless government officials, suffering broken bones and broken wills, dealing with droughts and floods and apocalyptic thunderbolts from the gods. From the two-person farms of ten acres, to the ten-thousand acre checkerboards you see on your flight from Los Angeles to Chicago, these are people who have been there, done that, and could write the definitive book on hard work and sweat labor.
How they vote affects my respect for them not at all.
SUBTLE CHANGES
From the Central Valley of California we thread our way through the coastal mountains to the Redwood region of Northern California, and then, just to warp our visual perspectives, we make our way to the coast of Oregon.
All of it stunning, all of it different.
You need to pay attention or you’ll miss the nuances.
In the span of ten, twenty miles, you can see it if you look closely. Grasses appear to magically change colors in the blink of an eye; tree varieties change; even the rocks change in composition.
Pastoral becomes craggy; smooth shapes become dangerously sharp and forbidding. The hills are a bit taller with each mile passed, the roads narrower and more bending, and homes seem to cling to whatever surface is available, often appearing to defy logic, suspended on the slimmest of slim escarpments.
But none of it happens immediately. Change is like that, slowly building up momentum, a trickle at first, a calm flow the next, and flood finally, changes in landscape and changes in people.
I am proof of that, and a smile breaks across my unshaven face as I think of change, the trickle, the flow, the flood.
Can you instigate change? Of course, but it can be painful. Can you allow change to happen, willing and accepting? Of course, but it can be painful. Can you refuse to participate in change?
Not a chance, and anyone who thinks they can is a fool.
IT SEEMS WEIRD TO SAY THIS, BUT . . .
Tomorrow we will be back in Olympia. Three months ago, that sentence would read ‘back home,” not back in Olympia, but today I really don’t have a home, other than the vehicle I am driving.
They say, whoever they are, that home is where the heart is, so I guess that fits; my heart is in Puddle Walker, and wherever she goes, I follow. Admittedly, my concept of home is considerably different from most others, and I’m fine with that. Admittedly, I am considered a bit strange to others and again, I’m fine with that.
What is strange, after all, and what is normal? If you can answer that question, you win the Kewpie Doll, whatever a Kewpie is. And no lie, I never won a darned thing at the state fair, not one thing, in all the years I played those fairground games. I would have tossed a kewpie doll into the garbage, had I won one, but it bugs me that I didn’t.
Anyway, back “home” we go, and when we get there, I will be bus surfing at the homes of friends until it is time to get back on the road again. Seems odd to type that but, in truth, I’ve been bus surfing for the last three months, so all that will change is location.
I have no idea where I’m going with this thread, so now is as good a time as any to shut it down, until inspiration once again rises and motivates me.
We made it back, safe and sound, to the Puget Sound, May 18, 2023, and I can say, without hesitation, that I wanted to leave again five minutes after arriving. It was almost as though a sadness spread over me when we hit the Olympia city limits. I think, for me, it’s a bit like hikers after they finish a long thru hike like the PCT. They have a problem reacclimating back into normal society; I suspect that’s what it is for me now. I want to be on the road. I want to see new things. I want to meet new people, and experience unbelievable things in the time I have remaining.
There is nothing for me in Olympia, after thirty-two years of living here . . . it’s time to cut ties.
So, I need to tie up some loose ends here in Olympia, make sure Puddle Walker is road-worthy, take Maggie for a check-up, make a few alterations to the bus, and then I’m out of here as quickly as possible. I figure two weeks before I’m on the road again. Maggie and I will explore Western Washington and Western Oregon, see some small towns never seen before and then, when Bev is ready to hit the trail again, I will be within a day’s drive to pick her up when she calls. And, if she doesn’t call, I will expand my horizons and explore distant lands with my faithful sidekick, Miss Maggie, and whoever else wants to ride along.
Anybody out there up for an adventure?
Liz, I understand. Life gets in the way, and before we know it, most of that life is gone, and we are left with wishing.
I’m glad I can give you a glimpse of what you left behind.
I envy you. I wanted to do that kind of lifestyle, but “life” itself has intervened, making it very unlikely.
I don’t like politics, either, but I have the answer to your question: it’s corporations. As farming has morphed from family farms to “agribusiness,” that has caused the shift to Republican voting.