In The Middle of Everywhere

A fire is crackling ferociously right now, right here beside me.  There’s an honor system here at Douthat State Park, where you pay for the firewood that you use at your campsite.  It’s the same at most state parks, I’m sure, but, I kindof feel that it should be included, free of charge, with the graveled campsite that I’m paying $30 for this evening.  I mean, really, the site has a 60-foot turning radius and electric hookup for free, as well as a picnic table, but I’m getting nickel-and-dimed for firewood. That’s crazy.  Anyhoo, let’s just keep that sentiment among us here in cyberspace, shall we?  If word gets out that I was the reason that lakeside campground took in underwhelming firewood revenue, I wouldn’t have but so many people on the ‘potential narc’ list. 

It’s been 5 years since I last drove out Douthat Road after quitting work here to go to the Peace Corps.  It’s been five years of ups and downs, change, growth, you name it, and I have to admit, it’s great to be back.  Some faces have changed, but I still have some great friends here who I worked with and haven’t kept up with very well.  People have had babies, gotten married, divorced, gotten fat and thin, gotten promoted, fired, and rehired.  I guess it’s just good to come back to a place where some things have stayed the same, to remind you that faces will change, and processes may be different, and the lakeside restaurant might be allowing for unlimited returns to the salad bar at the same bargain price of $6.99, but, the trails still roll aimlessly through the same hollows, black rat snakes still haunt the same laurel thickets, and bluegill are still frenetically swimming the same holes, around the same punky corpses of locust and longleaf pine trees. 

I admit that I feel foolish having left this place and these mountains when I did, given all the changes and where I am now, but I don’t think I would have ever seen the true beauty of this place and life here had I not gotten away from it.  Certainly hindsight a rosy picture without all of the negative parts of a place, but time, and distance show me that this little chunk of the mountains is a true gem.  If you live within driving distance of Douthat, or any other remote Appalachian park or public area, take the time to go out, set up a tent on an absurdly large patch of gravel, light a ridiculously large fire with (arguably) stolen firewood, and sit, listen to your neighbors talk passionately about absolutely nothing, and fall asleep with the sound of cicadas and treefrogs in your ears.

Techno Peeps 1, Luddites 0

I am a self-proclaimed luddite, as I have often admitted.  Technology lumbers on ever farther towards obliterating a way of life that I think is important to have, or at least to remember.  All of the real life skills that we used to have are being overrun, mowed down like tall green cornstalks by a combine, it seems.  I like knowing how to load film and sew buttons and split wood and sand the grains of wood to a clean finish and smell the dust on callouses and know that I did something, that it wasn't automated, to look at a wooden frame on the wall for years, no, decades, and remember how splintered fingers felt after bark and rough and scruff was cleared away and I found beauty, that I didn't leave it up to a robot.  Robot's just don't get what's so good about a hard day's work, and they'll never understand what's so good about the whimsical flow of Cherry grain and the smell of Walnut wood shavings, but enough about wood.   So, I just don't like modern conveniences.  No T.V., no microwave, no dishwasher, just the basics.  Yeah, crazy, I know you're thinking it, but hey, that's what I believe, and why believe something if you're not going to try and live it.

But, this evening, while sitting at Charbucks, (Starbucks), I sat across from a lady reading a worthless romance novel who screeched, breathed deeply all of a sudden, and sat up.  Her little pink shorts were way too short for a lady of her years, but hey, good for her I guess, but she sat there, and looked awefully put out.  I looked over "The Robin Williams thing?"  Her face crumpled and she nodded the nod of a toddler who just skinned their knee and you ask if they want a band-aid.  "You saw?!  What a horrible thing.  I wonder what must have happened."
 I wasn't very soft with the news.
 "Looks like he strangled himself with something.  Sherriff said asphyxiation."

 Her emotive outburst wasn't affected in the least though.  "Oh, what talent to be lost.  And look, his wife is heartbroken.  Oh my, so sad, I didn't know he was depressed.  Oh my."

Well, I was a little cynical at first at such remorse for the loss of just a figure, someone she had never met, a piece of art, for all we know, like a destroyed symphony.

But then, I realized that the little stupid radio-transmitting tangle of fine earths in her hand was bridging hearts and letting the entire world grieve with a family that had been the origin of great laughter and incredible art through the years.  As she grieved the loss of Robin Williams, that old lady with skimpy pink shorts across from me was grieving the loss of afternoon matinees with her children watching Mrs. Doubtfire, or her tears as she watched Dead Poets Society, Good Morning Vietnam, or Mork and Mindy (ugh) or enjoyed any of the other pieces of art that he brought us.  That little stupid smart phone was what brought the world together, and for that reason, I have given technology a win for the day.