The Sun Stood Right at the End of the Road
And waited for me
Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to another edition of An Irritable Métis. This afternoon one of those magnificent late spring/early summer thunder-and-rain storms blew through, all the more impressive after a couple days of warmer-than-I-prefer temperatures. It’s still dripping and sprinkling outside as I write and I kind of want to be out in it. At least on the porch anyway, where the cedar wood smell of my chair will go quite nicely with the fresh-washed evening air.
I mentioned it’s been warm out; maybe mid-80s or so, which is hot when it first arrives but not so bad necessarily, especially when everything cools off in the evening. Some of my neighbors already have their window AC units up and running and it is all too early – and not yet consistently hot enough – for me to be on board with that. A little seasonal discomfort should be expected now and then, even embraced, shouldn’t it? Growing up we never had air conditioning around here, not in our houses, and rarely in our cars1. That’s all changed and you can practically pick up a window unit along with your chips and salsa at the Albertson’s. Which explains the short distance from our eternal need for constant comfort and the fires up north currently making millions of east coasters say, “What? Wildfires are a thing?!” but how many of us really, I mean really, ever consider that? We tend to live in a constant state of, “Someone really needs to do something about that.” But don’t fret: soon enough there will be boxes and boxes of air purifiers in the next aisle, next to the animal crackers2, if they aren’t there already.
There’s plenty of time though to rue all that in the weeks to come when things really begin to swelter, and grids are shutting down and airplanes are melting into the runways in Anchorage and the Mariners have been mathematically eliminated from postseason contention. Tonight I’d rather celebrate this cool evening, and the yellow-headed blackbird that just perched in the tree outside for a brief moment, and the kid I saw earlier out in a field stomping and splashing around in what was certainly a pool of livestock shitwater. He was wearing a Denver Broncos jersey too, a poetic addition to this short observation too perfect and real to be pulled from a surly writer’s taco-charged imagination….3
When So Much is Awful: Part One
Last fall I began a fairly consistent practice of early morning walks. I carried it through the winter with reasonable consistency, but it wasn’t until maybe February or March that it became something I was doing almost every single day. Now it’s just what I roll out of bed and do first thing; before coffee, before staring into anything diabolical and digital, before anything. Besides being an excellent way to begin the day it’s kind of a fitness thing too. Before I set out I haul a rucksack out of the back of my truck that is fitted with a 45# weight plate, wrestle it onto my back, then go out to the main road and back two times, which amounts to about two miles. I’m not all hoo-rah about it; if I see something I want to look at for a bit, I stop and look. Or sniff. Or just sigh and feel grateful. This morning a white cat, who I’ve seen many times while driving, let me approach and pet her, then resumed her hunting. It was like a little gift she gave me for doing my best to remember to pay attention and drive slowly.
It was still dark out up until just a few weeks ago and, as the sun strengthened with the arrival of spring, I lamented that I would miss the stars for company. And while I don’t see those glorious spirits nearly so much as I did during the darker season, I find the return of the birds to be a more than suitable stand-in for the sky. Noisier too. Lately it’s the eastern kingbirds I’ve noticed as most recently returned, and vesper sparrows, who sang to me in Yellowstone and have taken up the chorus here as well, much to my pleasure.
These daily outings – especially ones that have me smiling over cat encounters or fox encounters or vesper sparrow encounters – have me considering a book I’ve been reading throughout the year, one chapter every week: 52 Ways to Walk: The Surprising Science of Walking for Wellness and Joy, One Week at a Time, by Annabel Streets. Way back in Week 3 (January 15th) was a chapter called, “Walk, Smile, Greet, Repeat.” It basically reports studies that have found that smiling to each other makes us happier:
Walking exposes us to chance encounters with other people. Greeting others – neighbors or strangers – with a smile improves how we feel, both in mind and body, ensuring we return home happy rather than snappy, gracious rather than grumpy. We don't need to exchange words – a smile is sufficient.
— and may even generate a kind of “pay it forward” effort by the people we smile at:
Other studies have found that people who've received greetings feel more encouraged to smile at and greet others, a sort of cascade effect that can help an entire swath of us start our day with a little more buoyancy and hope.
Being out on the road puts me face-to-face, sort of, almost daily with a decent number of my neighbors. I’ve made an effort at overcoming my tendency to keep my eyes down and avoid any chance of eye contact with anyone. As a result there are a number of folks who wave. There are also a number, mostly men, who act like I am invisible; these guys are far too grim and hard to show any crack in their stern demeanor. I suppose that’s fine too. But I’ve decided I’m going to make an effort to initiate the waves with those toughguys. Who knows what kind of softy is actually lurking beneath the affected surliness!
"Kindness should not be reserved for friends and kin."
I’m trying to do a better job at not making assumptions about people. It’s easy to assume, for example, that, given the abundance of flags in the area and the “Don’t Tread On Me” license plates and assorted bumper and window stickers, that I don’t have a lot in common with my neighbors. A lot of that stuff is a clinging to a certain identity that goes hand-in-hand with being too tough to wave at a neighbor lumbering down the side of the road. Or being the lumbering neighbor making assumptions and not initiating a favorable interaction either.
My friend Thomas wrote this excellent post yesterday speaking to much of this stuff, and I could pull any number of quotes that make me want to stand up and point and clap, but I’ll stick with this one: “Kindness should not be reserved for friends and kin.” Even the ones we may virulently disagree with. Save all that “being hard” for when the situation really calls for it. Then don’t budge.
My friend Sara riffs similarly in this excellent post about anger and fear. She writes, “I don’t think the solution to how divided we are is to just start being more curious about our friends’ and neighbors’ anger.” That’s true. But making a point to wave, and maybe even smile, is a start. I won’t be inviting anyone from down the street over for BBQ and beers anytime soon, but a chance passing out on Fairbanks Road, or a brief exchange while they walk their corgis in the street and I’m fighting off mosquitos from my perch on the front porch … I’m all in for that.
Out on my road next to the Superfund site, or at the gym, or anywhere else for that matter. What does it hurt me to be a little more thoughtful in noting more of my random encounters with my relatives, human or otherwise, with the tiniest of gestures? Who knows what difference it could make. What is a wave to a human stranger, when I have no qualms about calling, “Hey, horses….” to the staring relatives at the end of the road?
Of course, as Streets also notes in her 52 Ways book, safety has to be a concern. But I’m sure you understand there are always exceptions to all of this and we must act accordingly.
I’ve got more to say based on another similar situation that has raised its head recently, but I’ll save that for next time. It might veer into talking about the Seven Fires prophecy of the Anishinaabe and I’d prefer if you weren’t already text fatigued by the time I get to that. I’ve rambled on long enough as it is, and I know you all have better things to be doing with your time….
Live in Missoula, This Sunday the 11th!
Free Event: Sunday, June 11, 2-4pm, doors open at 1:30pm
Moderator: Joseph Grady
Speakers: Chris La Tray, Michelle Boulé, Riley James
The COHESION Community Mixer provides an opportunity to spotlight BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) community members and connect them with Arts and Culture stakeholders in Missoula to help increase BIPOC civic engagement.
Event Program, June 11th, 2 - 4 pm
This event is FREE and open to everyone, capacity is limited, so RSVP to confirm your spot!
With special thanks to the Zootown Arts Community Center for hosting us!
And Finally….
This gem from Ted Kooser’s Winter Morning Walks: 100 Postcards to Jim Harrison, a collection included among those my every effort strives to be a spiritual descendant of….
Summer AC was riding in the back of the pickup, especially when the homemade stock rack was on and one could stand up and cling to the rails at 60mph on the interstate. It’s a wonder any of us survived!
The plain vanilla kind, of course, not those gross overly sweet frosted ones.
I was a Broncos fan from 4th grade all the way until I saw Peyton Manning humping the leg of that fascist who used to own Papa John’s in a commercial on national television and something finally just snapped and I turned my back on the sport forever. I’d like to say it was because of all the other things that make the NFL loathsome, and it was, but this was the final straw….
Riding my bike to a job site building Habitat for Humanity house and it’s an early spring morning with that fresh green accompanied by the cacophony of migrating birds. I’m trying to freeze this thrumming feeling to save for the dark days. But I also want to share it; maybe it’s cuz I live alone, maybe cuz it just brims over sometimes....And there’s a wrinkled old man on a porch, seemingly older than I am but maybe the same age (ha!). His face apparently locked in the wrinkles and his eyes looking out have seen more of some things than mine. Our eyes catch for just a sec as I’m rolling by and I smile cuz I try to be intentional about that. His face breaks open too. That CSNY line comes into my mind, “if you smile at me, I will understand cuz that is something everybody everywhere does in the same language” It is a puny way an old white lady like me can break down a puny barrier. It’s almost like a namaste. Makes me laugh at myself, though, cuz there was a morning several years ago - same kind of morning, where I smiled and said good morning to a woman getting off a bus and she said, “fuck you bitch!” So, ya just never know the reception you’re gonna get or where on the road somebody else is....just human-to-human and the question is - can I hold whatever comes with a modicum of grace
I’m devoted to smiling and waving, saying Hi to neighbors and making small talk about birds and dogs and plants. I live in the Northeast, where this is not necessarily common practice, and sometimes I just wonder if it’s a Midwestern thing. I do know that it makes me feel more connected to where I live, especially as a relative newcomer to this part of the world, and I like being the kind of person who generates a little bit of human warmth when I am out in the world. I will be thinking of you when I sat out on my walk a little later this morning.