Steadfast Annie and Zippy Sweet Peach

Two creatures of habit, and embracing the roles we all play

First things first: I’d like to introduce you to Annie. Advanced in years, Annie carries herself with that slow and steady dignity of having seen it all and done it all before. Although she is friendly to all and quick to lean in for an impromptu hug, she won’t be rushed or pushed into anything she doesn’t want to do. Annie’s face is tired and worn, and from the way she walks, you can tell her hips give her a little trouble. Grey whiskers dot her chin, and she has a protruding growth dominating one side of her face. I’m told it’s benign. Aside from her obvious physical signs of old age, she remains mentally sharp. She does slobber a bit when she drinks, but for an elderly Labrador Retriever, Annie is doing quite well.

Even as she plods through her golden years, though, Annie has a job that she takes very seriously. Her responsibility, every day, is to bring in the newspaper from the end of the driveway, perhaps a third of a mile away. One or both of her people, my friends Tim and Allison, make the trek to the mailbox daily with both of their dogs in tow—Annie the chocolate Lab, and Bailey, the yellow one. Bailey trots hither and yon, carefree, sniffing at various scents and following her own whims, reminding us all to hold things loosely and take time to enjoy life. But Annie has a job to do. She will pick up that newspaper in her gentle mouth and carry it carefully all the way back to the house. Even if the humans have other things to attend to on the way back, the paper doesn’t leave Annie’s protective care until someone finally reaches for it and asks her to let go.

Annie, bringing the newspaper back up to the house while Bailey trots along behind

When Tim and Allison invited us to park Walter, our big yellow expedition truck, at their house outside Colorado Springs for a few days, we got to see Annie in action. It’s slow action, but action, nonetheless. Annie has a very specific role to play, and she is faithful to carry it out. She knows her work is important.

A few days after we said goodbye to Tim and Allison, as well as Annie and Bailey, we met Sweet Peach. I will admit, I doubt that’s his real name. I don’t even know if he is a him, to be honest.

We were camping with Walter along Kebler Pass above Crested Butte, Colorado; nestled into a mixed grove of trees where a shimmering grove of aspens butts up against a dark pine and fir forest. Sitting aside a small campfire, Andy and I were sipping our mugs of morning glory and observing all we could about our surroundings—flora, fauna, cloud formations, and the way the light hit the craggy peaks towering in the distance.

Andy and me in our puffy ponchos, moments before meeting Sweet Peach

It was such a relaxing way to start the day, and we reveled as we sipped at the fact that this is our life now. We are not camping or on vacation. We simply don’t have a bricks-and-mortar, location-based life anymore. Walter the truck, as well as the Snuggery he carries on his back for us, is our home. Our bedroom and kitchen and dining room and living room and bathroom are present wherever we park. Our patio is located wherever we set up our camp chairs outside.

My husband Andy went back inside the rig and emerged a few minutes later with our breakfast, matching bowls of plain yogurt topped with granola and whatever fresh fruit we had available. It’s a simple meal, but I love it. Plus, everything tastes better eaten outside at a campfire—amiright?

The morning air at our 10,000 foot campsite was crisp. We were grateful for our fleece jackets, beanie caps, and puffy blankets that snap into ponchos. The aspen leaves chattered and quaked in the breeze, their bright green hue already muted and starting to yellow. At that elevation, autumn has begun.

We wondered, in awe, at the wildlife around us. Certainly, the little songbirds and the doves would soon migrate to someplace warmer. But what of the Stellar jays? They’re a hardy lot. Do they at least retreat to a lower elevation for the winter, or do they ride it out? And what of the small mammals? It would be difficult to relocate very far with such short legs. They must burrow deeply with a stash of provisions.

As if on cue, our eyes were drawn to a scurrying motion nearby. A small squirrel darted down the trail toward Walter, eyed us warily, then picked up a freshly fallen fir cone larger than his own head and scrambled back up the zigzaggy path. A few seconds later, he did it again. And again. And again. We were entranced by his industriousness. Indeed, winter was coming and he had work to do. Zippity-zip:  down for another cone. Lickety-split: back up to stash it away.

My eyes still focused on our squirrel friend, I raised a spoonful of my breakfast to my mouth and bit into a surprisingly delicious chunk of a fresh peach.

“Sweet peach!” I remarked, my tastebuds overwhelmed with the bright burst of summer flavor, then I continued with a resolute declaration. “THAT will be his name.”

“Whose name?” my husband asked, bemused.

“The squirrel’s! His name is Sweet Peach.”

The proclamation of the new name didn’t seem to impact our little friend one way or the other. His job was to stock the pantry, and he took his work very seriously.

I love meeting people (and animals) and discovering what it is they do, what their special skills are—particularly when it is different than what I do or have done, or when it breaks stereotypes.

• My friend Deb, who I met when she was a fashionably dressed librarian, used to be a truck driver, hauling loads of produce from farm to market. I have trouble picturing her rolling down the highway with a heavy load, one brown arm out the window and the wind in her hair. I have never seen her in this environment.

• Another friend, Sharla, used to be an early elementary school teacher, but has discovered a surprising second career helping migrants apply for and attain legal residency status on their path toward citizenship. She does this admirably, with both passion and compassion.

• A former anthropology professor I studied under in college started out as a P.E. teacher. Having spent time in her office full of maps and scholarly books and journals, I can hardly imagine her in a track suit with a clipboard and a whistle.

• A young friend named Carmen, the daughter of one of my college besties, is a self-described “lollipop”—tall and slender, dressed in pink, bubbling over with talkative vivaciousness. Her special skill? Flyfishing. I love that. She works as a river guide at a Colorado resort and even gave up a precious day off last week to take Andy and me fishing on the Taylor River before showing us around the region—Gunnison, Crested Butte, and the like. It was great.

Carmen the flyfishing instructor

Although she is my friend’s daughter, we had never met Carmen before that day. And she was especially excited to meet Walter, our big yellow truck, as she had been following the build on Instagram (@nomadic.midlife).

Along the way, most everyone develops specialized skills, abilities, and interests that surprise me. Sometimes the roles people take on are unexpected. I love learning about them and hearing the stories.

These days, Andy and I are still adjusting and adapting to our new life as nomads. As I wrote about last week, we are currently on our initial shake-down tour—learning the hard way about Walter’s abilities and the Snuggery’s quirks. We are trying out new habits, developing new rhythms, refining our communication skills; and learning, learning, learning every single day.

Whose job is it to secure the windows, the hatches, the cupboards, the two chest refrigerators, the slide-out toilet, the clip-on fans, and any clutter on the countertops before we roll down the road? Which of us locks up the cargo bay doors? Who does most of the driving and who is the navigator? How do we decide where to camp and how many nights we should stay in a particular place?  Who does most of the cooking and who is on clean-up duty? Which person assembles the camp chairs and who puts them back away again when we are ready to leave? Who goes out to find firewood and cut/chop it to size? Which of us makes up the bed in the morning? What about grocery shopping and pumping gas and washing the windshield? Are either of us particularly skilled at emptying the pee jug or mixing up another batch of moistened coconut coir for the composting toilet?   

Most of these things were not part of our regular, location-based lives, before we set out to wander the world in Walter, our big yellow truck. We are just figuring this life out. Some of the roles naturally fall into place. Others take communication and compromise. Still others are currently in experimentation mode and will need to fall into place with time and experience.

We each have different skills, different talents, different interests, different roles, but we are part of the same team. Is the cook more important than the clean-up person? Is the driver more necessary than the researcher/navigator? Is the person who maintains the toilet above or below the person who provides the firewood?

These are impossible questions to answer, right? The Bible compares this concept to parts of the human body.¹ Is the ear more important than the thumb? Can the elbow say to the ribs, ‘I don’t need you?’ I think the most important thing is embracing whatever role you have, and then doing it well.

• Annie faithfully fetches the newspaper, every single day.

• Sweet Peach gathers fir cones, one after another after another.

• Carmen enthusiastically teaches people how (and where) to flyfish.

• Andy makes heartfelt YouTube videos and does most of our driving.

• I write these blog posts and, as it turns out, I mix a mean batch of coconut husk fiber composting base for our toilet.

Which of us should be declared the most important?

None of us functions well as a one-man band or an island. We need each other. We need everyone to exercise their particular talents, as well as their assigned roles—whether they are based on a specialized skill, or simply stumbled upon.

How much better would this world be if, instead of arguing and competing for attention; heads and shoulders, knees and toes, worked together and respected one another’s unique contributions?

Until next week,

Sherry

P.S. Please drop me a comment about an ability or interest you have, or a role you have fulfilled, that might surprise me. I’ll start: I used to work as a professional clown, entertaining children and weirding-out adults at birthday parties, company picnics, and the like. And yes, I can do animal balloons.

1. Here’s the Bible passage, I Corinthians 12:12-26, about the parts of the body. It’s one of the more comical passages of the Apostle Paul’s writings, in my opinion.