Yes, I went back to the well and pulled a second quote, back to back:post to post, from the same book. It's not too surprising really, because the McCarthy themes in this book parallel the brief period in my youth where I hitchhiked cross country and internationally several times. Whereas I went to that great country to the north, the hero in the book (Billy Parham) traveled thrice to the country south of here.
Whereas Billy Parham was soon to be an orphan, I was very much like an orphan, culled out from the family herd as I was. Moving forward to the now, I truly have become an orphan. And, like Billy, I have always had the heart of a nomad.
The quote above hit me like a hammer. I often thought a lot about the people who sustained me along the way on my journeys. Metaphor intended.
What 'claim' did those whom picked me up, or fed me bread, lay upon me? Certainly now, 35 years later these benefactors are much more vivid in my memories than I am in theirs. For surely, now at this point in my life they can stake no other claim save that claim upon me than that which I allow.
To tell one story of my journeys my companion and I were picked up by some girls in western Canada. They drove a truck pulling an empty U-Haul. They allowed for us to ride in the U-Haul, a safer proposition then having us ride in the cab with them. They were both attractive. They took us on one of the longest single lifts we were to receive on that trip....almost 500 miles with us. When they got to their destination, their home, they allowed for us to stay in the U-Haul for the night, and they left us and went into their house. Some time later, their parents came out and asked us to come in for showers, shelter, and dinner. The girls were resting from the long drive. When the girls woke up and came down, the two of us were showered, fed, and enjoying talk and drinks with their parents. The girls were surprised to see us, maybe a little annoyed.
Nomadic strangers intruding on their lives for a brief moment in time. Providing shelter, sustenance, and washing the soil from our skin and clothes. Our appreciation was measured by the degree of our sincerity as we thanked them when we resumed our trek. Was our gratitude felt to be enough as we disappeared from their life? Were the warm fuzzies they received as benefactors sufficient for them to offer further sustenance to future travelers...or had we exhausted their good will. Who knows? Not me for that was the only moment here on earth in which our paths crossed.
We collected the signatures of all those who harbored us or proffered transport. Etched in our Rand McNally are all those who crossed our path with open arms. A register of good hearts, those willing to open a door and allow strangers repast. But for those two strangers, our journey would have been thwarted but not ended. If not them, someone else would have stepped in and their names would now have been entered in the atlas. For this continent is filled with good hearts, with those willing to step out of their shadows and act on inherent internal prompts toward kindness.
My companion and I, too, were like 'young squires' for all our rags. It certainly was not our attire, nor our cleanliness that attracted acts of kindness. Even the passage of years filtering my memories won't suppress my awareness that the two of us must have been an assault on all senses as dusty, unshaven/un-showered vagrants. Perhaps our youth contributed to the tug at the stranger's kind hearts, or some other prompting touched that place in the heart where acts of kindness are conceived.
The memories of those motives are long gone. I could only guess. Or those whom provided aid to strangers could comment below if they so choose. But as for me, I am truly grateful for all who crossed my path and proffered kindness. If I could list you all here, like names on the RAND-MAC, I would. My appreciation is not a simple thing, nor simply stated. As the charater 'Billy Parham' actually did in the book, I would write it out in flour upon the stove top for all to see. So I write it here. If sometime in 1980, or 1981 you stopped and offered a lift or a bite to eat to two wayward strangers, let it be known that we both are well, that through your help and the help of hundreds of others the two of us did safely reach our destination. And rest assured that your kindness registers, is remembered and is truly appreciated.
Cheers, nca
What 'claim' did those whom picked me up, or fed me bread, lay upon me? Certainly now, 35 years later these benefactors are much more vivid in my memories than I am in theirs. For surely, now at this point in my life they can stake no other claim save that claim upon me than that which I allow.
Nomadic strangers intruding on their lives for a brief moment in time. Providing shelter, sustenance, and washing the soil from our skin and clothes. Our appreciation was measured by the degree of our sincerity as we thanked them when we resumed our trek. Was our gratitude felt to be enough as we disappeared from their life? Were the warm fuzzies they received as benefactors sufficient for them to offer further sustenance to future travelers...or had we exhausted their good will. Who knows? Not me for that was the only moment here on earth in which our paths crossed.
We collected the signatures of all those who harbored us or proffered transport. Etched in our Rand McNally are all those who crossed our path with open arms. A register of good hearts, those willing to open a door and allow strangers repast. But for those two strangers, our journey would have been thwarted but not ended. If not them, someone else would have stepped in and their names would now have been entered in the atlas. For this continent is filled with good hearts, with those willing to step out of their shadows and act on inherent internal prompts toward kindness.
My companion and I, too, were like 'young squires' for all our rags. It certainly was not our attire, nor our cleanliness that attracted acts of kindness. Even the passage of years filtering my memories won't suppress my awareness that the two of us must have been an assault on all senses as dusty, unshaven/un-showered vagrants. Perhaps our youth contributed to the tug at the stranger's kind hearts, or some other prompting touched that place in the heart where acts of kindness are conceived.
The memories of those motives are long gone. I could only guess. Or those whom provided aid to strangers could comment below if they so choose. But as for me, I am truly grateful for all who crossed my path and proffered kindness. If I could list you all here, like names on the RAND-MAC, I would. My appreciation is not a simple thing, nor simply stated. As the charater 'Billy Parham' actually did in the book, I would write it out in flour upon the stove top for all to see. So I write it here. If sometime in 1980, or 1981 you stopped and offered a lift or a bite to eat to two wayward strangers, let it be known that we both are well, that through your help and the help of hundreds of others the two of us did safely reach our destination. And rest assured that your kindness registers, is remembered and is truly appreciated.
Cheers, nca
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