Though our recent run to Ohio (and back) occupied us only for six days, half of them travel days, we did manage to make memories — some good, others regrettable or forgettable. I expect I’ll sprinkle a few of those memories into this blog over the next week or so.
Indulge me.
Knocking back over 1,600 miles reawakened senses honed while criss-crossing America in a motorhome three years ago. We always marvel at the skies, and a week ago Saturday they put on quite a show for us.
The territory we traveled in northeast Arkansas and southeast Missouri is the northernmost reach of an ecosystem known as the Mississippi River Alluvial Plain. That region, along with southern Illinois and southwest Indiana, made for perfect skygazing.
We’re accustomed to southern hospitality now. Even as transplants, we practice it ourselves.
It was striking, then, to land in central Ohio and be immersed for a few days in a culture that’s cold in comparison. Folks down here, for example, have never met a stranger — but up there, people act like strangers to each other, and they mean to keep it that way.
No eye contact. No smiles. No unnecessary interactions.
Fortunately, we had Squeek’s Bar & Grill, our very own island of warmth and hospitality.
Tuesday evening I had to pick up something from the front desk at the hotel. A trio of twenty-somethings stood in the adjacent lobby while I waited for the clerk to get off the phone. One of the young women was talking politics.
You know where this is going, right?
Apparently, this crunchy, disheveled chick had just returned from Europe, where she was shocked — shocked, I tell you — to find enthusiasm and affection for one Donald J. Trump.
“Brits!” she shrieked. “Even French! For fuck’s sake, they’re Europeans!“
Her abject horror was hilarious.
Deb and I saw her again the following morning. Carrying a large drawstring bag (hemp?), she walked to the breakfast bar, drew two cups of hot water and returned to a table.
From the bag she pulled several packages, a bowl, a spoon and a mug. Then out came a French press, and the grand culinary production began.
I’ll leave it there. You fill in the blanks.
When we first arrived at our storage units Tuesday morning, I had a goal. Admittedly it was a selfish one — I wanted to locate three containers holding my knives. It took me less than ten minutes to find them and pull the totes outside onto the blacktop.
Yes, I’m a knife knut. And at long last, my collection was back in my personal possession. But despite not having seen any of these tools in over two years, I couldn’t take time to open the totes and go through them. That’d have to wait ’til we got Home.
I gave myself permission that day, however, to hold out a couple of my favorite fixed-blades, both users. Just two. And I knew right where to find them.
One is a Bravo 1 by Bark River Knives, produced in 2008. The other is a 2009-vintage Bark River Little Creek (custom McKnight grind). Those two knives have been faithful companions over the years, and having them back in my hands once again felt very right.
They rode with me in the front seat of the truck the whole way Home. Simple pleasures.
Two years ago today, we were enjoying our first full day back in Ozarkansas for good. I find it interesting that we made last week’s trip at the same time of year, almost to the day.
Volunteer of the Day: Purple passionflower (Passiflora incarnata), also known as maypop. It might sound like a line from Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In, but it’s real. I can’t wait to see it bloom.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB