The Journey: Update on Bev/Toby, and a Winter on the Streets

BEV AND TOBY

A question from a close online friend and faithful follower, “hey, Bill, how is Toby? I’m almost afraid to ask because you never mention him and gosh, I worry the worst,” and I’m paraphrasing, but that’s it. And someone else asked about Bev, what is she doing now that the Trail is in the rearview mirror, figuratively and literally.

Toby first.

This might be a bit confusing for those just hopping on this literary ship, but Toby stays with Bev in her bus, and Maggie stays with me in my bus. Bev lives on her son’s farm, two miles from this farm-school I live on.  We see each other almost daily, spend a great deal of time together, take the dogs walking regularly, but when I’m writing, I just naturally think of Maggie since she is sleeping about five feet from where I am writing on most days.

Truthfully, Toby has always favored Bev over me; his personality matches Bev’s. Maggie, on the other hand, is the perfect dog for my lifestyle.  Both dogs are healthy and happy, so nothing but good news to report there, but I appreciate the concern, Paula.

Now Bev.

Bev is trying to figure out what she wants to do next.  She has considered going down to Ecuador to do some “humanitarian aid” work.  She has considered hiking the Washington section of the PCT this summer, and she has considered hiking the Camino in Spain in September.  Besides all that, she is trying to decide what her true “purpose is,” as am I, and what her future looks like long term.

This is an important crossroads for both of us.  We both feel strongly about this planet and mankind, and we both want to have a “meaningful” existence and not just kill time until there is no more time to kill.  We both believe in living simply, and we both want to grow as individuals.  With all the overlap in our desires, it would be natural for some of you to think we may do the future together. I don’t have a response to that.  Bev is my best friend. She is the person I confide in, the person I feel the most comfortable around, and the person I am willing to drop anything to help.  But it’s vital, for both of us, that we follow our true calling, whatever that is for each of us, and neither of us wants to hinder the other in that pursuit.  So we shall see.

LET ME TELL YOU WHAT I SAW ON THE WAY TO FRED MEYER

It was a cold morning, freezing, maybe one or two above that mark, frost speckling the pavement as I warmed up Spirit Walker; Maggie and I prepared to run an errand.

Spirit Walker has heated seats, by the way, and a heated steering wheel, so I in no resembled the pioneers of old as they warmed up their wagons, the oxen breathing plumes as the stars faded, the vast sea of flat before them.

As we approached our destination I spied two shopping carts, pointed at each other with a four- or five-foot gap between them.  Draped over that gap was a blanket, top of cart reaching to the pavement, and sticking out from that blanket, next to a crooked wheel, were two feet adorned with socks in bad need of repair.

It is the sort of thing many of us see daily if we happen to live in a city of any size.

I had awakened at six, as is my norm, cleaned off the first layer of nighttime grime, had a cup of coffee, and sorted through my emails and Facebook comments.  I played a game of Words online, took Maggie for brisk walk as the sun finally arrived on the scene, and then fed the animals of the farm, all of them eager to see me, a fact which pleases me greatly.

The morning was glorious, so much so I took several photos, framing as best I could, trying to catch the light just so, pleased with my efforts, pleased with the morning, marveled for probably the millionth time during my life just how good this life is, and then Maggie and I headed out for the errand, only to see two feet, adorned with socks in bad need of repair.

I spend the majority of my time trying to capture the wonders of life with my words, like catching fireflies on a summer’s eve in Iowa, and it’s well and good that my focus is on the beauty, but I cannot allow myself to ignore the “eyesores” of society.

How did that man arrive on that sidewalk? What was the long series of events which led to that chilly morning? I read once, and I believe it, that a ridiculous percentage of people in the United States, something like 40%, possibly higher, are only one paycheck away from poverty.  It is an astounding statistic, and it speaks volumes about The American Dream and what a crock of shit it is. I get angry, as in physically feeling my blood pressure rise, when I think of Capitalism, people like John Maynard Keynes, you old rascal, and the Waltons and Gettys and Musk and Zuckerberg and Bezos and how the system is rigged against the lower 99%, and the Butterfly Effect, you know of which I speak, and how each person’s tide is strong, flowing towards an inevitable conclusion, based on the decisions and actions taken during that lifetime, and let’s cut social services some more, budget trimming, you know, and “those” people will just have to fend for themselves, suck it up, and good luck to them all.

There were a lot of people shopping at Fred Meyer, cold morning, early hour, holiday season fast approaching, you know, gotta feed the machine, keep those stocks soaring, and Merry Christmas to you all. Many stepped over those feet in a rush to catch the next great sale.