USA: Our current reality, Part Two
Slowing to a walk, but continuing to move forward
Scene 1
“If you don’t need it right this minute, I could just walk,” I suggested.
“No. It’s too far. I wouldn’t ask you to walk it.”
“You didn’t ask; I offered. I walked it last week—remember?—and it was fine. Plus, the sun is shining out there, and it would feel good to stretch my legs. Really, I don’t mind. I hate to clear all the projects away, button up Walter for travel, and maneuver out of this tight little slot—just for a ten-minute errand. Do you have other things you could work on while I’m gone?”
“I do. Plenty. If you’re sure you don’t mind . . .”
“It’s fine. Let me just grab my bag. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
Between the bright sunshine, my brisk pace, and a conveniently timed hot flash; I soon unsnapped my fleece where it had been fastened up to my chin—glad I’d opted to leave my heavier jacket behind. From experience, I knew the two miles to the hardware store and two miles back would not necessarily pass quickly, but the journey would be pleasurable on a day like today—much better than last time I walked it in the biting wind and rain.
The October aroma of the Bitterroot Valley’s river bottoms is distinct from the summer scent. Both include the ever-present Ponderosa pines and cattle, but fall isn’t dusty and sharp like summer is. Late October is a slow and shallow river lined with swaths of decomposing cottonwood leaves. It smells musty and earthy, like a good dog after a long romp, burrowing into its favorite blanket for a well-earned nap.
I dodged the hard red crabapples scattered at even intervals along the pedestrian path; many of them have already been smashed into dark stains on the pavement. The civic club planted the slender flowering trees along the path many years back to decorate the long, lonely cutoff between Hwy 93 and Stevensville’s historic downtown. Mentally measuring my strides, I challenged myself to a guessing game with the spacing of the cracks in the sidewalk. I’ll make it over that crack. Over again. Left foot on. Over. Over. Oops, almost. Over. Right foot on. Avoid the crabapples. Over. On. My soft-soled athletic shoes laid down a quiet rhythm, steady and predictable.
The vibrant Main Street lined with its quaint one and two-story buildings lay straight ahead, growing larger with every stride, but I turned left at the ranger station and crossed over to the other side of the road.
The hardware store is another half mile down yet, and this stretch of highway has no shoulder or sidewalk. Finding solid footing along the sides of its steeply angled ditches is unsteady and a little strenuous—my least favorite part of the journey. I wondered if it would be faster next time to just walk to the auto parts store at the far end of downtown. Even if the distance were a little further, at least I would have level ground. Andy had predicted either place would have what he needed. I would check Google Maps later to compare the distances—for next time.
I pushed open the door with a friendly ding-ding and was greeted by both the whoosh of warmth in the store and the now-familiar curly-haired teenage girl in the red vest at the register. “Welcome in. Is there anything I can help you find?” She pointed me to Aisle 11, and I easily found the 1/2” heat-shrink tubing Andy needed for the electrical project. My hardware store IQ has definitely improved over the past couple of years.
I carried my little purchase back to the register, then tucked it into my bag and grabbed a red and white striped bag of popcorn from the glass-fronted machine by the door. It would keep me company on the long walk home.
Home.
I chuckled to myself and reached into the bag for a piece of the artificially bright yellow, overly salty, styrofoam-y “treat.” Home, indeed. Since July we’ve lived in Walter, our big yellow truck. But for the past two weeks, instead of boondocking out on scenic public lands, we’ve been camping in Walter while parked inside a storage unit. It’s not exactly designed for human habitation—a snug 13-foot by 30-foot space with nothing but a cement floor, splintery particle board walls, and a floor-to-ceiling bay door at one end. Walter fits, barely, with only the width of our shoulders to spare on each long side and a stash of tools and building materials crammed along the short wall in front of the truck. Fortunately, it is a climate-controlled unit, kept at a steady 50 degrees Fahrenheit (10 C), which sure beats the current daytime temps in the 40s and overnight lows of freezing and below. We hadn’t ever intended to camp inside a storage unit, but here we are.
Striding down the sidewalk toward home, I nibbled my popcorn, a bit at a time, while the herd of black Angus on the other side of the rail fence munched the meadow grasses. One steer looked up and paused to watch me pass by. I nodded a polite greeting. He flicked a tagged ear in response.
Scene 2
“I could really use a shower.”
“Yes, you could.”
“Hey! That’s rude!”
“No, that’s me admitting you’re right for a change.”
“For a change?”
My husband and I both laughed. It had been several days, and a hot shower would benefit us both.
“What would you think of walking over to Anytime Fitness for a quick workout and a shower?”
“Well, since I took a brisk four-mile walk earlier today, I’m not feeling a particular need for a workout, but I could do it.”
“Actually, I’ve been crawling around under the truck all day, lifting heavy stuff and turning wrenches. I don’t really feel like working out either, come to think of it. We could skip the workout and just shower. That hot water would feel so good on my stiff back.”
“It would feel good. But it’s cold out there. Is it worth it to walk a half a mile in the cold to take a hot shower, just to get cold again on the half mile walk back?”
“We do need some groceries, too, and they’re right next door to each other. Two birds?”
“One stone. Good call. Let’s go.”
“Ooh, maybe we could stop at the pizza place and eat there before we come back home. Unless you already had some thoughts about what to do for dinner . . .”
“I know it’s late, but I haven’t even thought about dinner plans yet. Have you? And do you still have any projects you had hoped to work on this evening?”
“No, let’s just get pizza. It’s warm in there. We could shoot some pool and watch the World Series and call it a date night.”
“Three birds. Showers and groceries and a date night. And we’ll be clean, and stocked up, and fed, and entertained, and mostly warm. That sounds perfect. Let’s pack our gym bags and get out of here.”
“I won’t forget my towel this time.”
Scene 3
“It didn’t work,” Andy announced flatly.
“What didn’t work?”
“That tool I ordered to assess the damage to the batteries.”
“Well, that’s no bueno.”
“We weren’t sure if it would be effective or not, so I’m not entirely surprised, just a little disappointed.”
“What’s the plan, then?”
“I ordered two different tools, and this one had less of a chance of working, so now we wait for the other one to arrive. It should be here in the next couple of days and then we will see what happens from there. I still have plenty to work on while I wait. And as soon as that coolant arrives, I’m going to meet up with—what was his name? Chris?—yeah, Chris. He offered to work with me on the minisplit unit.”
“I’m so glad we met them.”
“I know. Everyone loves Walter. It’s amazing how many good connections we’ve made, just from people stopping to say hello and ask us about the rig. Such kind and generous human beings out there.”
“God provides.”
“Indeed. And one of these days, we’ll be back on the road, all fixed up and ready for adventures again.”
“What? You don’t call this an adventure?”
We laughed.
“Ok, you’re right. Again.”
“Thanks. Soon we’ll be back out on the road having adventures that are more to our liking and don’t involve living in a dark cave for weeks on end.”
“True. That day cannot come soon enough.”
Scene 4
“What a treat that was,” Andy mused as we drove back up the valley.
“Right? Clover and Joe knocked it out of the park.”
“What did you girls do before I arrived for dinner last night?”
“We just talked the entire day.”
“About what?”
“Everything. Good conversations. Shallow topics, deep topics, controversial topics. All so good.”
“That’s great. Then dinner and dessert and showers and a soft, warm bed. It felt nice to be in a home again.”
“And those views! Every window. I could spend a lot of time just gazing out the windows at their house. Quite different from the views out our windows these days.”
“What? You don’t appreciate particle board walls two feet from all our windows, in the dark?”
We laughed, then sighed. It was Sunday afternoon, and we had stayed at our friends’ house down the valley longer than expected. After spending the night, we attended their church, followed by brunch, then more good conversation in their warm house—plus more of Clover’s yummy apple crisp with vanilla ice cream. Now we were driving home; time to return to the chilly storage unit and get back to work.
“I should’ve used the bathroom there one more time before we left. I think our pee jug is getting full, right?
“It’s very full—maybe overly full, unfortunately. It might make a mess when we try to empty it.1 Do you want to stop at the grocery store or gym and just pee there?"
“I’m not that desperate. I can wait.”
“But we could pick up a few groceries. I don’t expect we’ll need to go anywhere for a couple of days, so we can stay plugged in and not worry about the refrigerators losing power.”
“We are a little low on produce and perishables. Ok. Let’s stop at the grocery store first.”
“Sounds like a plan. Leftover pizza tonight?”
Scene 5
Andy’s foot brushed up against mine and his breathing changed. He was awake. Without opening my eyes, I could follow his actions—rolling over to fumble for his phone and glasses. I waited until I could see the glow of his phone screen through my closed eyelids before I spoke.
“What time is it?” I mumbled.
“9:22.”
My eyes popped open, and I blinked into the darkness. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Ugh. That’s crazy. We have GOT to set an alarm, even when we don’t have a specific morning schedule.”
“I agree. It’s crazy.”
I wondered about my friends in Alaska. How do they handle the short days of winter? Perhaps they put lights on timers to simulate the rising sun. It’s so hard to distinguish day from night when it’s dark in the storage unit 24 hours a day. It’s disorienting.
Andy climbed out of bed and put on a jacket before turning on the little space heater. I would wait under the cozy layers of down and wool until my bladder forced me out.
“I’m going to turn on a light.”
“Ok. Thanks for the warning.” I shielded my eyes for the shock.
He slid open the chest refrigerator and pulled out the tub of plain Greek yogurt.
“Do we have any berries?”
“Ah, I forgot to pick any up last night. Sorry. I did get more granola, though.”
“Granola and bananas for the win.” He handed me my breakfast in bed.
“Thanks, Love.” I set it aside while I got up and took care of business, then pulled on layers of warm clothes.
“What’s your plan for today?” he asked me. “Should I take you to a coffee shop so you can write?”
“I do have a post due tomorrow so, yes, I do need to write, but do you need my help around here today? Will any of your projects need an extra set of hands? I could just write from here if you’ll need my help occasionally.”
He thought for a moment as we finished our breakfast.
“No, I don’t think I need you here today. I’ll be installing those external lights, but it’s a basically a one-person job.”
“I don’t need you to drive me to the coffee shop, then. It’s just not worth the effort for such a short errand. It’s only a couple of miles. I’ll just bundle up and walk.”
“Ok. If you don’t mind. We should be receiving some packages today. They’re being delivered to Megan’s house. If they’re not too heavy . . .”
“Sure. I’ll bring a backpack and load up what I can carry.”
My innards gurgled. I had more business to take care of, but I prefer to do it somewhere other than our own composting toilet whenever possible. I instructed my innards to wait until we could get to a public toilet. They rumbled a complaint, but I overruled.
“Ok, I think I’ll get going then. Text me if you need anything at the hardware store. Love you.
“Love you, too. Have a good day.”
The walk to the coffee shop was cold. I was glad for my fleece beanie and warm jacket pockets. I stopped on the bridge to admire the river, swirling below. The water just keeps on flowing. In June it’s wild and powerful and deep. Now, in late-October, it just meanders slowly, waiting for winter’s snows to return, then melt.
Keep going, the river said to me. Slow-downs are part of the cycle of life. Seasons come and go. Accept it, adapt, and flow.
Scene 6
So here I am at the quaint little coffee shop on Main Street again. The baristas know me by now. I finished the last lukewarm sips of my jasmine tea an hour ago. In seven minutes, the staff will want to close up. I know from experience they don’t turn off their Wi-Fi after hours, and there are tables and chairs on the sidewalk just outside. But sitting outside to type sounds chilly, and I’m not about choosing the cold lately—not when I have options.
I could walk half a mile further south to the other coffee shop and continue there. They’re open for at least another hour. But then I’d feel obligated to patronize their business in exchange for sitting in their cozy building.
I could walk another mile east of town to Megan’s to pick up our packages now, then head home to Walter, two miles to the west, to finish this post with my phone’s hotspot. Oh, and I need to pick up some more batteries somewhere along my route. Our headlamps have seen heavy use in the last week since our power situation went wonky.
I have options, but staying here is not one of them.
Scene 7
I walked through the neighborhood to the edge of town and past the railroad tracks to Megan’s property. I didn’t want to bother her, so I planned to just gather up all the deliveries quietly and start the long walk home. The temperature had dropped, and the sky threatened rain. I hadn’t brought a raincoat and hoped I could make it home before the precipitation dropped. The exertion of carrying the load of packages would surely keep me warm.
Megan’s energetic dog, Blue, had other plans for me. He was convinced it was time to play ball, and he whined and complained when I ignored him. I was busy trying to find creative ways to effectively carry the large load that would definitely not all fit in my small pack, even after removing everything from the shipping boxes. Blue, however, was relentless in his efforts to distract me. Finally, Megan herself came out to see what the ruckus was about. She quickly saw my dilemma and offered to give me a lift in her car. Ah, yes. It would take nearly an hour to walk it with such a heavy load, but only a few minutes by automobile. God provides, even when I don’t bother to ask. I gratefully accepted.
We are not in the same panicky state as last weekend, when everything was suddenly up in the air. Now we have power, at least somewhat reliably, at least when we are plugged in somewhere, and we have hope of answers—for better or worse—coming soon. And they haven’t kicked us out of living in the storage unit yet, so that’s good.
I guess for now we’ll count our blessings, take a lesson from October’s slow but steady river, and just keep going. We are so grateful for your support, friends.
Until next week,
Sherry
P.S. We were invited to a costume party recently and I scrambled to find us costumes that wouldn’t require big purchases or stuff to store in our limited space. Here’s a photo from the party. I made my mask from a cardboard box and the ribbon from a lanyard we didn’t need. We only had to purchase a pack of nametags and a small roll of yellow electrical tape. Can you guess what we went as? Both costumes just seemed so appropriate for us right now.
And one more final thing:
Last week, when I posted in a most vulnerable state, you responded. You commented and messaged us; you prayed for us, called and texted, invited us over, upgraded your free subscriptions to PAID, and shared this little blog with others so I could find even more support from new readers. THANK YOU. You are hereby and forevermore to be regarded as The Best. I love you.
Yes, the pee jug was overly full and did make a mess when we tried to remove it for emptying. Lesson learned.
Costumes- A fork in the road and blessing in disguise?
No ideas on the costumes :(