Seven Weeks of Silence

A Year of Silence? Ah, the idea is a bit unusual to people when they first hear of it or encounter it. Most people shrug or give me a positive sign or say, "Right on." Still, I suspect most of them really don't know what to think.

Why be silent, when you have vocal apparatus? Was one response.

Isn’t being silent then disrespectful to people who talk? Or wasteful? Or who knows, unnatural? 

I will admit that not speaking in the modern “civilized” world is rather unusual. Unless one is deaf and dumb, or has a really bad case of laryngitis. But, I think the other responses are off the mark.

• Disrespectful? 

Actually, silence opens the possibility of greater respect, better listening. Refraining from idle talk and gossip and negative words which all of us are prone to express. Often without even realizing our intent or effect.

Silence allows us time and space from so much mind to open to more heart. Maybe the Year will bring more heart to bear in my interactions with others. I already realize that once people recognize I am being Silent by choice, I don’t have to come up with conversation. I potentially can be more present. 

On the other hand, I am still getting used to the situation and so are others I meet. Time will tell. 

• Wasteful? 

Well, I believe firmly that we waste lots and lots of energy with words. 

It has been suggested to me that I may lose my voice during a Year of Silence. That suggestion holds little concern for me. I have talked for 68 years, I am not likely to forget how to talk. Nor is the body going lose the ability. Besides, I chant three times a day with my meditations. 

But, that aside, I do think that my voice and words will be more valuable and potent at the end of a Year of Silence than before. My old friend Jim Kinerk used to call me Boomer. I have not the slightest concern about “losing my voice.” I think it more likely that I will come closer to expressing my Real Voice after the Year.

I will learn a bit from having listened better to my fellow beings, from observing the nature of words and sounds, and maybe even from developing the ability to hear the Inner Voice. Besides, Actions speak louder than Words. If we talked less, maybe we would have more time to do positive things. We can then exemplify rather than tout ourselves and our beliefs.

• Unnatural? I think not. Maybe unhabitual, if there is such a word. How often do we speak without thinking, just pouring words out by habit, unconsciously, with little or no awareness sometimes of what is rolling off our lips? 

I believe Nature and God speak with deliberation and power. Rhythmically, sonorously, and healthfully. They know what They are "talking" about. Humans - including myself - too often do the opposite. How often have we wished to take back vain words and comments and complaints and mouthings dribbled from our lips? 

I might add that I have, in recent times, communicated with a number of people from my past - sometimes distant past. I have tendered several of them apologies - sometimes making amends - for the wrong words or words wrongly spoken. My former wife used to say, “It’s not what you say, but how you say it.” 

I am still learning that lesson, maybe a Year of Silence will help me come closer to completing that rather difficult learning.

There is another version of my ex-wife's adage: "It's not what you do, but how you do it." Just being silent is only part of the process. The other part - an more important - I am learning is how to be silent.

Every moment, past present and future is an opportunity for learning. Hopefully I eventually will learn to emulate Mahatma Gandhi who is said to have mouthed these words wonderful words: 

“SPEAK only to improve the SILENCE.”

Comments are welcome below or by email at theportableschool at gmail dot com.

If you are a mind, take a look my other blog called The Healing Post.

Have Jolly Holiday, silent or otherwise.

Robert

A Silent Path

During the past four summers 2012-15, I have done Cross-Country Walks. More accurately, they might be called Cross-Parts-of-the-Country Walks. During and after them, I have blogged here On the Road Again. 

While I attempted no Walk this summer, I did decide in the past couple of months to set out on a year of Silence. The next calendar year might be considered one of No Walk, No Talk. 

But, that might not be totally true as I will continue walking the countryside, mostly along highways and the Musselshell River, near my current residence in Harlowton MT. It was only a few weeks ago that I discovered a wonderful place to walk to the northeast of town. Taking one route or the other by way of Highway 191 North, I get glorious views of a number of mountain ranges of which the Crazies are the most absorbing. The distant mountains backgrounding the Big Sky Montana prairies makes for some breathtaking moments.

A photo of the Crazies - south of Harlowton - from 2012 Walk

Well, walking is secondary this year especially as I have determined to do a 

Year of Silence. 

“What? You don’t mean it. Maybe a week or a month. But, not a year! You must be crazy!”

Those remarks were not all from the same person. I ran a few together, leaving out a few others, some of which were more worrisome.

The idea of silence seems to be offensive to some and scary to others. Some might think it unusual for a friendly, conversational sort as I can be. While I grew up a shy introvert, the last time I took the Meyers-Briggs Personality Test I came out 50-50 Introvert vs Extrovert.

Sometimes, I find myself too out-there, verbal and mouthy. A good share of the times I have gotten myself in trouble, my mouth has been a prime contributor.

There are numbers of contributing forces to this silent venture of which I will certainly mention in later posts. But, there are also numerous potential benefits which I may gather:

• Listening better. Rather than getting ready to jump into a conversation with comment.

• Being present and positive in presence only.

• Silencing the mouth tends eventually to silence the mind.

• Slowing down the pace of things in general.

• Developing the capacity to hear the still, small voice.

A year from now I will have some sense as to whether I have accomplished any of these aspirations and possibilities.

In the meantime, I will put up a post every month or so to share reflections on my Silent Path.

Share comments below or send to theportableschool at gmail dot com.

Many good wishes along the way, Robert

Map for the 2015 Walk

Presidential Politics - The Great Perennials: Guess Who Is Next?

The Presidential campaign has been ongoing for many months and has several more to run. The choices are slimming down it seems to two - maybe more. Then, what?

What will we have? A new president. But we may well have much of the same circling, squabbling chicane (the French might say) in Washington DC. Much as legislators and lawyers seem to do most everywhere.

Not, that we have not had choices. I can’t help but wonder if maybe we have allowed to pass by too many choices, some of whom might have been much better than the nominated and elected ones over the generations.

Think for a moment with me about the also-rans and the perennials at the ballot box?

Consider if you wish -

William Jennings Bryan (1860 to 1925) was a regular on the stump in his day. He began as a Congressman from Nebraska, but had a great taste for the Presidency. He ran three times as the nominee of the Democratic and Populist parties in 1896, 1900, and 1908.  WJB was a man of the people without doubt. A Populist, Popocrat, a Fundamentalist Pope (said HL Mencken), the Great Commoner, a Social Gospeler. Eventually, he settled for Secretary of State under Woodrow Wilson.

William Jennings Bryan is renowned for so many things. From developing the first semblance of a modern presidential campaign to holding a vision of hope for the common and forgotten man to speaking and traveling the country unceasingly. As The Christian Liberal, Bryan mixed and re-mixed God and politics in over the course of 40 years of his public life. He is remembered by some for his Cross of Gold and Crown of Thorns speech at the Democratic National Convention of 1896. But, Bryan is possibly best known for his participation in the Scopes Monkey Trial which was immortalized in the movie Inherit the Wind starring Spencer Tracy. 

 

Eugene Debs (1855 to 1926) was a union leader and founder of the Industrial Workers of the World (Wobblies). He ran five times for the Socialist Party as its candidate for President. He never got close to the White House but he did become the best known socialist in America.

Debs helped to motivate the left wing of American society in opposition to corporations and to World War I. He has been honored for his work in the labor movements and for his compassion to average workers toward socialistic improvements without large government interventions.

Harold Stassen (1907 to 2001) beats all candidates over the years for desire, persistence and effort towards the US Presidency. He is best known as THE Perennial Candidate. After being Governor of Minnesota and President of the University of Pennsylvania, he put his sights on Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, DC.

Stassen sought the nomination of the Republican Party on nine different occasions: 1944, 1948, 1952, 1964, 1968, 1980, 1984, 1988, and 1992. He supposedly was still campaigning seriously for President in the year 2000 when he was in his nineties and within a year of his death. [Interestingly, I find no mention of what he was promoting in his candidacies, other than himself.]

Ron Paul (born 1935) has been the latest perennial candidate, running twice as a Republican and once as the nominee of the Libertarian Party in the 1988 presidential election.

Paul is known as a physician, author and politician. The Texan represented two different districts for 24 years in the US House of Representatives. He has been a firm critic of the Federal Reserve, tax policies, the military-industrial complex, and the War on Drugs among other governmental interventions. Less Government has been Dr. No's continuing theme. Nearing the age of 80, he has backed away from presidential campaigning to allow his son Rand Paul to carry on some of his efforts.

On the lighter side of things, you must remember:

Pat Paulsen (1927 to 1997) campaigned frequently for the Presidency. Paulsen was a comedian, not a politician. But many in Washington seem to fit that description.

Paulsen was a regular on the Smothers Brothers television show in the 70s. But his taste for the Presidency persisted in campaigns of 1968, 1972, 1980, 1988, 1992, and 1996. His message may have been garbled, but he got plenty of laughs along the way as well as some protest votes.

In a likewise light, but wholesome vein Winston Pooh assures us that he will be a persistent and perennial candidate for the US Presidency and American hearts and minds.

The photo above was taken on our first campaign trip from Arizona to Montana. Mr. Pooh collected a modest number of committed, many of them will only be legal many years from now as the younger folks grow up.

His platform is about friends and family taking care rather than relying on government and grants. Take time - not money - to be your Brother's Keeper and help yourself along the way.

Winston (as in Churchill) Pooh looks for the sweeter simpler life.

HONEY IN EVER POT

How about you?

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Photoblog 2015 - Part 1

I met this impressive young man working at a convenience mart in Blanding.

He had left Fort Defiance and was working,

raising a family and going to school.

He impressed me with his work ethic. I wish he had impressed me with his name.

I salute him nonetheless.

Mark Bradford found me swept up with just a little rain the next morning.

He stopped and lifted me to Monticello.

It was a Saturday, but he was still working two jobs

one for the county, and the other for himself.

Thanks Mark.

I was walking down a highway grade toward Moab

when Anthony - once from the East, presently from Salt Lake -

stopped to visit and share some treats for the road.

I hear from Anthony every once in a while.

I forgot their names as soon as I got out of their car.

Smiling, friendly teachers from Alberta

accidentally "ran into me" while turning back to Moab.

We had a great visit on the way to town, said goodbye,

and I lost their names.

Forgive me and thank you.

No, it isn't Demi Moore.

But, a young woman who works at a bike shop,

saw me passing by and asked about my endeavor.

Then, I asked for a photo.

I had a friendly visit with John Ryan, high school principal in Connecticut,

while he waited in a parking lot in Moab for his family to appear.

Good looking bunch.

Wish we had teachers like when I was a youngster.

Consult earlier blogs for more photos.

Email theportableschool at gmail dot com with comments or post below.

Photoblog 2015 - Part 2

This photo was taken early on my walk around Round Rock in Arizona.

A beautiful but dry and daunting place. 

Great pictures to be taken in the area.

Jeramey and Jason picked me up on the north side of Vernal Utah.

They were heading for a little vacation in Flaming Gorge -

as they kindly gave me a ride up the road.

One was an insurance man, the other a real estate agent.

Thanks for the lift, fellow.

Here is the Flaming Gorge Canyon, a beautiful spot on the route.

I spent the previous night under pine trees beside the road.

Morgan Beal and wife, Nicole. 

They and children and ranch hands were moving cattle to graze around the Canyon.

I got my first ride in a horse trailer thanks to the Beals

and few more miles up the road closer to Wyoming.

The Brownings - prior residents of Salt Lake - own and run 

the Flaming Gorge Motel and Restaurant.

They were kind and helpful to a traveler like me.

The food was good and modestly priced,

the motel room was very inexpensive.

I highly recommend this place and their service.  

Thank you very much.

Consult earlier blogs for more photos.

Email theportableschool at gmail dot com with comments or post below.

At The Junction

 I wandered into the “Junction” around noon one day. It was after a wet, rainy night and a long walk with much of it in the dark.

The map gave little clue what might be found at the junction. The only person I encountered en route wasn’t sure what I might find there. He apparently didn’t pay much attention when he passed through hitchhiking to the south. There was an establishment at the junction but he wasn’t sure if it was open.

Well, praise be! The one and only business was open after all. Crossing under the Interstate, Pooh and I found a place to get watered and rested for an hour or two. Or so we thought.

Pooh began the rest while I entered the convenience mart looking for some refreshment. I quickly noticed that a good portion of the merchandise was not priced. I also noticed that customers didn’t seem to pay much attention. They just seemed to buy what they needed or wanted. Credit cards seem to induce people to act that way. I bought a few items which had prices marked at the same time I took up conversation with Gary, the manager.

 

In his fifties, Gary is a bespectacled man wearing a ball cap and orange shirt as well as a graying beard and an occasional smile. He told me he was dealing with a neuropathy - nerve problem - which affected his legs. He seemed a little gruff and testy at time. But, his story eventually explained some of the exterior.

Nonetheless, Gary took a bit of getting used to, especially for a fellow who asks questions. Still he responded to most of my queries and engaged more and more in conversation. I got to know Gary slowly over the coming hours.

To begin, I discovered he was from Detroit, had been a housepainter (some commonality), and had taken his present job at Papa Joe’s a couple years back. A big change and maybe a relief from his recent endeavors. Gary worked long hours and more than full time, but there wasn’t much else to do at the crossing which didn’t even have a post office. 

There wasn’t a house in sight, just a couple commercial buildings and parking lots. The building next door had been a restaurant off and on. On fairly recently, then off both during Gary’s tenure. The food was apparently good enough. But, the owner and the manager didn’t see eye to eye and the venture closed within months. I have to suspect that, like lots of places these days, getting reliable and persistent help may have added to the problem.

Then too, it seemed that the owner had unusual ideas about running his businesses. Besides not marking much of his merchandise, there was another sign of his commercial attitudes. Gary eventually pointed out to me - since I was walking I would not likely have noticed - that gas at the tanks in front of the convenience were priced at nigh on to $5.00 a gallon. The junction was in the middle of nowhere with many miles to the next stop in most directions. So, travelers had to pay the freight to get to the next gas pump.

 

My intentions were to break at the corner until late afternoon when things cooled before heading on with the trek. So, I went outside and leaned in the shade next to Pooh against the wall of the former restaurant.

That did not last long. I returned to Gary with the idea to clean up his parking lots a bit. He didn’t think much of that idea, but asked if I would mind clearing out the area around the dumpster in back of the mart.

I said, “Sure.” I took some plastic bags proffered by Gary and went to work.

I could have had job security if Gary had let me have charge. But, I contented myself with tidying mostly as he suggested. I filled several bags with trash and threw larger items directly into the dumpster. There was much more that might have been done, but Gary was happy with my contribution.

It seems that I hadn’t even finished the trash duty before my new friend said, “I will give you a ride to the next town, if you are still here at closing.”

Well, I was happy to accept such an offer. So, we would be staying until closing. I assumed that would be around 10, but it turned out to be quite a bit later.

I can’t quite remember where all the time went, since the stay at the Junction was for well over 12 hours. I do believe I returned to trash duty and tidied up some more. There was nothing for scenery or places to visit. Just the desert and highways in all directions. Oh, there were railroad tracks behind the shop, but I don’t remember any traffic.

By evening, Gary announced that he would drive me to the next town after the next town when the day was done. Well, there was further inducement to stay on at the Junction.

As the darkness came on, I spent more time inside the mart. Business seemed fairly steady. People came and went. Put gas in their tanks and bought food for their stomachs.

I found more jobs in the shop as Gary slowly prepared to close. While he did paperwork, etc, I volunteered to mop the floors, clean the bathrooms and fill the pop machines with ice. Gary showed me what to do, and I did it acceptably well.

The little jobs continued and the night moved into the next morning. Gary was to be off duty for a day or two and needed to take care of extra chores.

It was almost 2:00 in the morning when we lit out. By that time, Gary seemed so happy for the company and the help he said he would drive to a distant town on my route and then turn east, then make a loop back to the Junction as an outing for himself.

The vehicle was an old van parked in front. Weather-beaten and aged, but apparently - and hopefully - trustworthy. The passenger seat was loaded, so Gary told me to get in back where I reclined on a mattress. Maybe the van was Gary’s home after work hours. I never thought to ask about his residence.

Ensconced - so to speak - in the rear of the van on the mattress, I asked questions and listened Gary’s stories for the next few hours.

And, I got an earful. Much of which I quickly forgot. Gary’s story was a harsh one of growing up in Detroit with two brothers. Gary’s mother died when he was young and his relationship with his father went from bad to worse over the years. I know not on what side of town he was raised, but he soon enough fell in with ask tough crowd and got on the wrong side of the law.

Somehow, he managed an out by joining the US Army. But, that hardly worked and Gary was absent without leave for a long time for which he had to make recompense. (I have lost much of the story from its telling in the dark of night on the highway as he talked and I cranked my head to listen while wanting to sleep.)

My fellow traveler lost both of his brothers as the result of violence in their early adult years. Fortunately, Gary pulled himself up and out of trouble over time. Took on respectable jobs and gravitated to the West.

Along the way, he had many experiences hitchhiking into the Rocky Mountains and the Far West many years ago. He told me of thumbing with boxes and boxes at his side. People picked him up and got him up - or down - the road. Just like he was doing for me.

I have been fortunate for numbers of former hitchhikers of the past who have seen me on the road and spontaneously volunteered to assist my venture or adventure. “It takes one to know one.” Or at least it helps.

Anyway, the early morning excursion passed on. Halfway up the road, we stopped for gas and refreshments at a relatively new, almost sparkling convenience station. Gary paid for the gas, I paid for breakfast. Then, we hit the road again as conversation waned and I eventually took a nap.

Gary persisted at the wheel no worse for the wear and dropped me off 200+ miles toward Montana. I began the next leg of the journey in one of the larger towns in that part of the desert while Gary turned to the east on a little excursion. Pooh and I stepped out to the north after but a few minutes to get oriented to the town and the map. Almost of a sudden, we had covered a large chunk of our trek and Wyoming was then not too far up the road.

I have been in touch with Gary three times. I sent him a postcard and later a copy of my Montana book. Then, we had a brief face-to-face visit on a quick car trip back to Arizona in September.

I never know whom I will encounter on my travels. Almost without fail, I have met the best of people and they have treated with kindness and respect and generosity.

Gary is one of those friendly Americans. My hat is off to Gary and the millions like him.

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Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head

My original plan for the 2015 Walk was to cover some of old Route 66 on the way to Las Vegas. At the time, I was imagining that I might be giving up my abode in northeastern Arizona for a spot in or around Nevada’s biggest city.

So, I did a little study and map research for the imagined trip through the desert to Sin City. Once I made Vegas, I thought I would take a bus up to Montana and visit friends while planning a return trip.

My researches led me to call a friend of a friend in Las Vegas asking for thoughts about a possible move there. Michelene suggested Henderson as one town to consider for my next residence. She also took pains to tell me how hot it is in Las Vegas in August. I just replied, “Well if gets too tough, I will just walk at night.”

Nonetheless, my conversation got me to thinking and checking the Internet for Las Vegas area temperatures in the summer. Highs turned out to be consistently between 100 and 110 in August. Wow!

I can do 100 for a couple days on the road. But, I thought, “Even walking at night, those numbers might be beyond my abilities.”

So, I thought some more. I came up with the idea to route to the East and inspect Las Vegas on my return in September. I had no illusions that traveling through the desert into Utah would be a lot easier than going up into Nevada. But, historical temperatures suggested that that route might be 10 or so degrees cooler on average.

So, I expected. What I had not taken the time to consider was precipitation. I simply figured the summer in the desert in the southwest would be hot and dry. Hot and dry.

Well, I got some pleasant and sometimes not so pleasant surprises on the trek to the Northland.

I should say that the Weather Gods were really pretty kind and helpful on the route. I was very lucky and so was Pooh. As we shall see.

The temperatures were moderate from those latter days in July when we started our travels. 80s and 90s. I think maybe it got into the mid 90s on a couple occasions.

The few days we spent in Arizona were warm and dry. Not Hot and Dry, thankfully.

My earlier looks at weather forecasts and past average temperatures suggested that southeastern Utah - namely the Moab area - would be warmer - maybe hotter - than other spots along the trail.

But, I was surprised when the skies began to clouded up as we passed through Moab.

Moab was old uranium mining country until a few decades ago. Recent years have seen it become a busy and sometimes expensive recreational area with access for tourists to a number of nearby national parks, scenic deserts, and man-made attractions.

We made a rest stop of sorts in Moab, picking up a couple Palisades Peaches for the road. They were consumed before I got to the edge of the city.

It was a bit of a climb trudging along the highway past a resort or two and on up from the valley through a stout rocky canyon. I waved the flag and Pooh gave me a few chuckles to get us up the hill.

It was toward evening before we found a spot on the side of the road to rest - 11 miles north of Moab. A trailhead on the west side of the highway called 7-mile Rim Trailhead. It was all the cloudier by the time we took over the rest stop all to ourselves.

There wasn’t much to take over. A parking lot, a dumpster, a portable toilet and a pavilion made of four posts and a flat roof. There was one long thick and split log on one side of the pavilion meant for resting. I pulled out my sleeping bag and tried to rest.

It wasn’t long and a rain took up my interest. I didn’t expect much, but it came down with a good kick and wet the sleeping bag before I realized that the flat roof above was meant to keep the sun out and not the rain. There was daylight between each board and the next one.

Still, I was hoping that the rain would pass over as quickly as it came. But it didn’t. I had no tent, just the bag, the flag, the bear and a poncho.

So when another round of rain picked up where the last left off, Pooh (who had been tucked in the backpack) and I retreated to the portable toilet. It was hardly comfortable, but we squished in. Gear and all. Thinking to wait out the rain.

No such luck.

It was way past dark as the rain persisted while abating a bit. I decided that the portable john had done its good deed and left a deposit in the donation box. We would do just as well walking the bike trail next to the highway. The rain was sure to stop eventually. And, the warmish air would dry us out some.

The clouds were parting just a bit when we returned to the road. We walked the bike trail and highway most of the night, stopping here and there when possible. The morning brought sunshine and an opportunity to dry the gear at a turnout on the highway.

We had been lucky to find some shelter, modest though it was. I should have taken a photo of our “toilet tent.”

Pooh and I made Crescent Junction before noon the next day. The highlight of that walk was a visit with and a photo of a man who calls himself Baboon.

The Junction is a story in itself which I will have to save for another time. It is THE spot on the highway north of Moab, most of 40 miles away. Thereafter, Utah went by quickly thanks to a meeting in Crescent Junction.

Before I knew what had happened, I was not in southern Utah, but in the northern and not far from Wyoming and Idaho. Two hundred miles can go quickly - especially for someone used to walking.

I cut to the northwest for a time skirting Flaming Gorge Canyon. Passing into Wyoming, the rains came down again. The poncho came out in the morning trudge until we found a little bit of a country store run by an older woman named Nyla. It was one of those places which needed some signage. “A business without a sign is a sign of no business.”

 

For the half hour or so I was in her establishment, I was The Business. I stayed long enough to dry off a bit, get a few things for the road and have a Cup of Soup. Actually, I bought two and decided that Nyla needed the soup more than I did. So, I asked her to take the extra Cup off my hands.

Then, back to the trail. We covered territory that day until darkness came and eventually the rains. They weren’t overwhelming. Just persistent.

And, we had no tent. I could only find a modest-sized evergreen tree on the side of the road to cozy under or into.

Pooh and I huddled under that dripping tree with the poncho covering our backpack and everything else for a few hours. Eventually, it got rather boring stationed there. So, we lit out again at about 3:00 am and let the coming day dry us out a little at a time.

Rain was threatening again a few days later when we had passed into southeastern Idaho. Actually, it was drizzling when Officer Larkin picked us up on the western edge of Soda Springs and gave us a quick ride to the Marina.

He said the forecast was for real rain, and I believed him. So, we “camped” for the night on the concrete slab under a pavilion near the water.

I was more concerned about mosquitoes than rain then. Neither eventuated. The policeman got his forecast wrong. But, we were glad for DRY and thankful for the young man’s stopping to help us find a reasonable spot to park after it was already dark.

The raindrops had not stopped falling in August in the desert southwest. We were nearing the end of the planned journey as things were tentatively scheduled when we got some unexpected lifts through the Pocatello area.

I had been in touch with Duane and Audrey Kolman who were planning a run down into Idaho to lift me back up into Montana by mid August. The farther Pooh and I traveled to the north, the fewer miles the Kolmans would have to drive to the south to rescue us.

The pace picked up thanks to a number of unsolicited rides. Several happening in lower Idaho.

We were aiming for Rexburg as we passed through Pocatello, Idaho Falls and Blackfoot. We had some fun experiences with young folk the last few days and were running into our last laps of the present journey.

 

Two jeep rides in a row, one from a potato farmer, and a brief - very brief - newspaper interview in Blackfoot made the day interesting. But as it wore on, the clouds appeared and the rains came down.

They weren’t terrible. Even though the wind made getting the poncho on a bit of a task as I have often found it.

We were some miles north of Blackfoot and thinking we had some more moments of weather to deal with when a car pulled over. A woman asked what we were doing and where we going. It was a tough time to campaign. But, I basically said, “We are just trying to get up the road toward Montana.”

Before we knew it, we were invited to Arlene’s house a couple miles off the road. Arlene made it clear, “I have never done this before and sure don’t know what my husband will say.”

Nonetheless, we got packed into Arlene’s small car and drove to her home. There to meet husband Ron who didn’t know what to think at first. But being a talkative bus driver for the Salt Lake Express, he soon got to know me a bit and I them.

The Mechams have a large property and grown children. Rod has changed jobs a few times and Arlene has held the family together while running a title company and a Lutheran bible study. I got a few hints that Arlene might have the talents to be a pulpit minister. I passed them on.

In any case, I was treated royally. Dinner and breakfast with Mechams, TV and conversation. A room to myself, sleeping on my decision on the cushy rug. Why mess up a bed for one night.

 

Arlene drove me a couple miles down the road next morning. Rod said they would look for me on their way to Rigby later in the day. They had a party with an old RV court group to join that evening.

So, we walked for several hours. Tiring a bit, I put out my flag and took a nap on the side of the road on the edge of a little town along the way.

The Mechams appeared late afternoon and lifted me further up the road to Rigby which turned out to allow me to make our last stop on the road at the Country Club Golf Course on the far north side of town.

While the Raindrops Kept Falling on My Head, they were surely beneficial in a number of ways. Like keeping the weather cool for August, getting to experience unusual shelters, and meeting grand people like the Mechams.

I am always pondering the way things turn out. The Mechams had things to share with me, hopefully I with them. I sent a copy of my Montana book to them some weeks ago. I hope Arlene thinks more about ministerial work.

And, then there is Rod -

Rod Mecham - Rob McNary

Rodney Mecham - Robert McNary

Interesting, Pooh and I started our journey out with Ronald McDonald and finished - more or less - with Rodney Mecham.

Thanks to Ronald and to Rodney and especially to Arlene.

I am reminded that Pooh and I have to visit another Arlene - 94 years old - at the nursing home in Harlowton in the next few days. Arlene read my Montana book when it came out. Said she would read it again when she had time.

I will ask her if she ever found time and then Pooh and I will do some politicking with her.

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