Grandpa’s Bus
Many thanks to those inquiring minds who were concerned during my absence. For my physical and mental health, it was necessary to break away from my old routines, to escape from the smothering, sedentary, digital lifestyle I had created for myself. Does any of this sound familiar?
It was a good decision. The summer hiatus has recharged creative energy batteries and made me eager to resume spreading my wit and wisdom across the internet, squandering countless electrons in the process. But, more seriously, it was also an opportunity to examine my deeper values and priorities - something quite different from the weekly scramblings to get things out the door.
So what’s next, now that I’m back? Initially, I will be publishing something antithetical to the usual forward-thinking expat weekly articles. Instead, I will be looking backward, to the best parts of the era of my youth. (I repeat for emphasis: only the best parts.) Because, when things got really gritty a few months ago, that is where I instinctively turned, back to the site of boyhood experiences. Specifically, I returned to the Little Dry Fork Creek near my hometown in rural south-central Missouri. I also turned back the clock a few decades, to a time before my life became defined by my digital activities. I want to stress that this summer sojourn to the Little Dry Fork and living in the bus my grandfather parked on its banks was strictly in my imagination. I haven’t lost touch with reality; I just didn’t like the reality I was seeing.
In my confused and distressed state, I returned to Grandpa’s Bus. This bus, then, was my shelter and refuge for the summer. Before I describe Grandpa’s bus, however, allow me to explain the context of the upcoming articles. I belong to a group of people who enjoy the writing of Wisconsin writer Gordon MacQuarrie (1900 - 1956). His timeless stories of outdoor activities and the lifestyle of his era are still enjoyable and relevant today. “Mac” wrote stories that were semi-autobiographical but couched in terms of activities by his literary creation, the Old Duck Hunters’ Association, Inc. (The Inc. stands for Incorrigible). Thus, members of our group proudly wear the label Incorrigibles. Albeit filled with colorful ancillary characters, the stories were primarily about MacQuarrie and his older companion, Al, who became Mr. President, the leader of this two-man organization.
The upcoming series of weekly articles will be the observations and reports sent periodically to the Incorrigibles over the summer. These were written from my retreat in Grandpa’s bus as I paralleled the experiences of one of MacQuarrie’s minor characters, a man I chose to call Joe, who also had a need to find a sanctuary on the banks of a river, living in a small trailer for the summer. In Joe’s case, it was the Brule River in northern Wisconsin. But a return to nature was the basic theme for both of our withdrawals.
Am I still a confirmed expat in real life? Absolutely. My stories, observations, and attempts at humor as an expat will continue. But, for the next few articles, I invite you to join me down at the creek, staying in Grandpa’s bus. You may find some of my experiences and observations resonate with you.
Welcome to accompany me and Joe as we spiraled down and down until we finally began to move upward. Richard Farina wrote Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me. Indeed.
First, a little chronological history:
10 August [2023]
Dear Bill,
I keep trying to simplify my life, as Hank Thoreau admonished us to do back before the computer age, back before the atomic age, back before the car and radio even. This summer, more than ever, I have been reading authors from my favorite era, the 1950s and 60s and 70s. Gordon MacQuarrie, Arnold Gingrich, Harold Blaisdell, and even some crusty old guy who wrote the Duck Hunter Diaries. I romanticize that era, from back when I was a kid. Young and healthy. Teflon coated and bulletproof.
I am toying with a new writing project, one that might fizzle out or which might be immensely satisfying. In my family, back in the 60s and 70s and later, when we said someone was “down at the creek”, we meant a very specific location. My grandfather converted a retired city bus into his permanent fishing cabin so he could safely store all his stuff right on the banks of the Little Dry Fork Creek. This was a particular spot that my family had gathered at for fishing and camping ever since my dad was a kid. Private property and remote enough that we rarely saw anyone even wading the creek. (The nearest road was 1/2 mile away.) Beautiful, undeveloped, and completely natural with Missouri second- and third-growth timber. You didn’t go there for the fishing. You went to get away from the world… and the women. I wrote a long article about it called “Down at the Creek”. [Later Retitled Grandpa’s Bus]
But my new idea is to write (perhaps) a series of articles, maybe a book, called Back to the Creek. I am thinking of how to dedicate a small part of my life for recovering that lifestyle - the good parts of it, anyway. I know that some Sherlock Holmes fans go to the extreme of decorating part of their home in the styles of the Holmes era, 1880 - 1900, Victorian London. When they are playing that fantasy game - solo or with others of a similar bent - they wear the clothes Holmes and Watson would have worn, eat their dishes, and smoke and drink as they would have. I want to see what I can do in a similar fashion to create the air of Grandpa’s bus with part of my available time and space. Mostly, it will mean giving up a lot of the technology that has crowded in to fill my life. No computers, no cell phones, no microwave ovens, no internet, and no instant distribution of information and disinformation. Yes, most of those conveniences are also the source of most of the stress in my life. (Can’t do anything about reducing the stress from Sunny and CS but they are also the source of the best parts of my life.)
*********************************’
15 Nov
Dear Torgeir,
After we get our major project completed, I am looking forward to getting back to my next writing project, perhaps my last one. I told you the rough idea, of writing about a return to the simpler, less technology-driven life of my youth, as personified by the bus my grandfather placed on a foundation to become his permanent fishing cabin on the banks of the Little Dry Fork. (LDF. What a great name. Almost as good as Hemingway's Big Two-Hearted River which was actually the Fox River, but Fox River doesn't have the same literary impact.) So, I consider my new project, Back To The Creek, to be my magnum opus because it will sum up everything I have seen, reflected upon, concluded, and chosen.
********************************’
Next week, I will describe the setting which drew me back to my boyhood in America’s Midwest. In that prologue, I will introduce you to the origin of Grandpa’s Bus and my reason for being there for the summer.
And if you find this concept intriguing, please stop by my Buy Me A Coffee page and make a small gesture that will allow me to buy some coffee, that universal writing lubricant while I am down at the creek in Grandpa’s bus.
Beautiful stories, keep doing it
Good to have you back, looking forward to Grandpa's bus stories.