Grandpa’s Bus, Part 9
Final Report: Breaking Camp, Preparing to Saddle Up
August 20:
With some hesitation since I still wonder if my drivel is of interest to the Incorrigibles community - or even intelligible - I send this final post about my progress (questionable) and the next steps for me and Joe.
The end of the month is fast approaching. Trout season in Joe’s era ended in late August if I understand correctly. (Read Bandit of the Brule to see if I am right.) Joe parked his trailer on the banks of the Brule for the season. Trout therapy seems to have worked for him. Getting back to nature, working with his hands, and giving up the worries and hectic pace of the modern world would be strong medicine for many people - in Joe’s time and still today.
But, with the end of trout season and colder weather on the horizon, Joe would be preparing for a return to his old life - his old address, anyway. We will never know what drove him to that summer retreat on the Brule and, likewise, we cannot know what awaited him upon his return. We can only hope his life turned out well, that his summer on the Brule reminded him of how little it takes to make a man happy… if only he doesn’t get too pressed down with stuff.
Me, too, although my solitude was not as complete as Joe’s. In my imaginary retreat to Grandpa’s bus parked on the banks of the Little Dry Fork, I have been less successful in totally withdrawing from my old life. An eleven-year-old son and a wife inclined to smother (when she isn’t carping), refilling meds, meetings to attend, and similar incidents made it impossible to find the complete solitude Joe had in his trailer. Likewise, requests to go swimming, make chili and cornbread together, and similar parental one-time opportunities had to be honored. Those were even more important than my fantasy retreat.
And, honestly, I was only able to make a partial withdrawal from the digital side of my life. Messages from Social Security, new debit cards to be activated, updates to apps, (sometimes) urgent/important notices, and similar routine emergencies must be attended to.
But the really important part - the idea of taking a break from the overly hectic computer life while seeking solitude and some time to unwind - was generally successful. At least, it gave me some insights into things that were glaringly obvious if I hadn’t been so busy running full-speed against the current. It wasn’t Grandpa’s bus that I was needing nor that peaceful, meandering, muddy little creek, the Little Dry Fork. It wasn’t even the natural background noises with whippoorwills, bobwhite quail, crickets, and frogs - although they were a pleasure to remember as I listened to the River Music audio files on my computer’s desktop speakers. (In a nod to Mac and Al, I even threw in a recording of the white-throated sparrow, a species never heard on the LDF.) No, what I needed was to slow down my brain and be more active. Get out of my chair and do something. But also to take time throughout the day to briefly look up at a clear blue sky and really see it, really appreciate it.
The most important change was a conscious decision to drastically reduce my running-in-place (in front of the computer) lifestyle that had gradually come to almost fully occupy all my waking hours. The next step, taking action on that decision, was vital. As Earl Nightengale said, ideas, without acting on them, are worthless.
So, what can I say as a summary of all my ruminations and ramblings? That way, those Incorrigibles who are already bored with my digital waste of electrons, can skip to legitimate posts about hunting and fishing and Mac-related stuff.
In briefest form, I would have to say that I, for one, have fallen victim to the convenience and instant gratification trends of our modern times. Someone pointed out that, as things become easier, we tend to value them less. They are less satisfying. You only appreciate an elevator today if you have to start climbing stairs again. Likewise, one little splint on a broken finger reducing you to one-handedness makes you appreciate two hands to zip up or open a jar of mustard.
Also, when things become too easy, we tend to assume that they have been with us forever. Call it a form of technological amnesia; we forget what we had to do in the past. A perfect example of that is to compare my modern kitchen where I have purified running water and an electric kettle to boil it so I can prepare that blessed first cup of coffee in the morning much, much faster than Al ever could. Quieter, too, although apparently Mac was a heavy sleeper so he was never disturbed by Al’s early morning clatter in the kitchen. In my case, I have a wife with a hair-trigger temper who absolutely hates to have her sleep disturbed by some innocent, muffled noises in the kitchen.
In addition to things becoming too easy, I began to realize that I was completely bound to my computer. Not just for sending the occasional bit of drivel to the world, I used the computer for everything. Indeed, on those rare days when I was without a computer, I felt as if I couldn’t get anything done. And, truly, lots of my work is impossible without a computer and internet access. But remember that it was an irregular, unidentified computer jinx that drove me to this fantasy retreat in Grandpa’s bus on the LDF a couple of months ago. (The problem was finally identified and resolved only after I resorted to the extreme measure of replacing the hardware, piece by piece, until the black screens stopped.)
However, accompanying all the speed, convenience, and capabilities of my computer/internet access - when everything is working correctly - was the uninvited accompanying load of dross and excessive stimulation. I mean, what do I care about the latest and greatest scandal of some instant celebrity I have never heard of? The doom and gloom in the news and the constant alarms that the end of the civilization as we know it is fast approaching are not conducive to a quiet and peaceful life where you feel some sense of control in making choices. It was bad 100 years ago in Mac and Al’s day; it is much, much worse today. Yet I was sitting in front of the computer for hours every day getting heavy doses of that drek. An occupational hazard you may say but it is also intentionally addictive created by the people who bring you that doom and gloom news and sports.
And what, dear Incorrigibles, are you supposed to be getting out of all this naval-diving? Is it just my personal downward/upward spiral that Mac described so well in several stories? Actually, I believe that I do have something that many of you might relate to. (Mrs. Jensen, my high school English teacher taught us to never end a sentence with a preposition. Sorry, Mrs. Jensen, but I had to.)
After slowing down and walking away from the computer, the most important lesson I learned was that the whole thing is a sham. It’s like trying to create a small island of sanity in the middle of an ocean of madness. It can be done but that island is pretty small and your beaches are hard to defend. By the time you recognize then run off any intruders, your day is already ruined.
A sham? Explain, please.
Looking at history and the current state of the human species from 50,000 feet, one fact becomes glaringly unavoidable. Civilizations - even the most primitive ones - began to develop only about 10,000 years ago. True, by our standards, those early people were barely above the savage state but the advent of domesticated crops and animals began an irreversible trend towards permanent dwellings, then cities, then trade routes between cities, leading ultimately to spellchecking and instant ramen noodles.
But… Long before the invention of private property, rental houses, and fast food, mankind (and womankind) had lived for hundreds of generations as nomadic hunter/gatherers. For all those generations, the greater part of their day - indeed their whole lives - was spent foraging. That, Incorrigibles, is our true DNA heritage. Think of Oogie and Boogie, out in the forest. They were simply trying to survive and their lives were physically active. Lifting, carrying, running, climbing, picking, fighting strangers or, if no strangers were around, fighting with each other in the tribe. The common denominator is that they were physically active, using their muscles.
For many people in modern times, we have completely reversed that pattern. Appallingly, I can now use an app on my smartphone to order some food and have it delivered right to my door so I am not even required to stop for lunch in mid-rant. (My son can, anyway; I don’t understand it.) In addition to lower back pain, swivelchair spread, and swollen feet, this artificial life we have evolved is the polar opposite of the more physically active outdoor life that our ancestors lived. This is not to say that we cannot use our knowledge and modern medicine to live longer and better than Oogie and Boogie ever dreamed of. But, for most of us, we don’t use the amazing resources we have available to make good choices.
My conclusion, in short and simple words, is that we have wandered far from our genetic roots. (At least I have; I can’t speak for others reading this rambling.) Forget the Neolithic characters, Oogie and Boogie. Even as recently as Mac’s day, people were much more physically active. Several times, Mac wrote about walking for miles in his hunting stories. He rowed a boat, often for long distances under dire conditions and against the wind. Joe rehabilitated himself slogging up and down the Brule’s rocky spine all summer. In contrast: On a recent day, I spent an hour with a personal trainer at a health club who knew exactly how hard to push me to get me tired but not too tired or injured, another thirty minutes walking on the treadmill while listening to an audiobook and sipping water, and about an hour of leisurely swimming with my son in the evening in our neighborhood pool - and I thought of that as a hard day. And, even sadder, that was an unusually strenuous day. What’s wrong with this picture?
John Steinbeck reflected that every journey has a moment when the perspective changes from enjoying the experience to anticipating the end of the journey. That is where Joe, Bill Jones (Nervous Breakdown), and I are currently, anticipating the end of our respective journeys… and wondering what lies ahead. Wondering, also, how much of the life we enjoyed this summer in our retreats we can take back and incorporate into our future lives.
Currently, I am preparing to end my summer season of staying down at the creek in Grandpa’s bus and Bill is paddling in to the Nine Mile train stop. (He lost his outboard.) This week, Joe is tieing everything down and making arrangements to have someone tow his trailer down that narrow trail and onto the highway back to his old life. For Joe, the deadline is the end of the trout season. For Bill, it’s his arrival at Nine Mile “when he was damn good and ready.” For me, it is the beginning of my son’s school year in a couple of weeks.
My resolution: When I go back to my old life where a computer is an essential tool and I spend my day pecking away at a keyboard in an attempt to say something meaningful and occasionally humorous, I will remember Mac and Al, Joe and Bill. I will also remember our distant ancestors, Oogie and Boogie. And I will be damned if I am going completely back to that previous sedentary lifestyle featuring way too much sitting down - but also including way too much stimulation. Maybe that is what Joe and Bill said to themselves, too.
At this point, it seems that the best I can hope for is a sustainable 50/50 balance of desk activities and things that require me to stand up and move around. Some will be activities that are essential but there will also be the little puttering chores that, as Mac said, please the hands and rest the brain. Still, a 50/50 blend would be a big improvement.
Seasons end. But, as Al said, “There’s always another season coming up.” As long as I am upright, there is the possibility of changing my behaviors. I have learned a lot this summer; let’s see how much I can utilize this fall from what I have learned. Maybe I will make it to 100 years old yet.
If any part of my retreat to Grandpa’s bus on the banks of the Little Dry Fork has resonated with you and your present situation, please let me know. Comments left online are shared with the world. Or… I invite you to stop by the 18th Floor Homestead to have a cup of coffee and trade experiences. You can pay for the coffee at: