Helpfulness. Tribal Christianity at its best. Everyone works together on everything. Lives depend upon cooperation in weather of 30 degrees below zero.

Hitchhiking is no longer just getting from here to there while barely knowing my host. Nearly every ride establishes or increases a friendship. More cows per square mile than people. More open space than cows and more forest than open space. Pronounced seasons and cycles. Cold, white winters. Muddy springs. Vibrant green summers pulsating with life that knows it only has a few months to do what needs doing. Rainbow autumnal foliage so brilliant that guests come from continents away to view it. Streams clean enough to drink from.

Eggs from chickens, not from the cruelty of large “animal production” warehouses.

Waving hi to anyone driving by.

There’s always time to speak with whomever you meet at the General Store or Post Office. There’s always time. No hurry. Life comes first. Being is more important than doing (once the doing gets done). The only store in town is the size of five closets but has everything—food, hardware, videos, clothes, beer, and more. A giant empty cable spool acts as a table around which to enjoy coffee, homemade donuts, and the company of neighbors. Maple syrup made by a best friend. Everyone grows incredible gardens.

A lot of time spent with four other people and five beers staring into the open hood of a pickup truck that is not in need of repair.

Wood keeps you warm three times—once when you chop it, again when you carry it in, and the third time when you burn it. Overflowing abundance lives here. Some folks, due to the nature of their character, want more. No one needs more.

Theater groups thrive in the woods of nearby vest-pocket towns.

The purity and clarity of omnipresent Nature rubs off on its human inhabitants. Crime, violence, and hatred are manifested only in newspapers and on TV stations. No one here has seen those things in person. The Town Treasurer has a sign on his house explaining “It’s hard to get away with anything in a town this small.” Live and let live. If it hurts no one, it’s legal.

Resourcefulness is a way of life. Anything you need can be built from leftover parts of things that you don’t need anymore. If you don’t know how, someone will show you. They’ll be glad to help. Gladder if you bring a beer to say both hello and thank you.

Deer hunters and trout fishermen deny slaughterhouses and corporate supermarket chains their abuses and profits. Natural foods, hard exercise, low stress, clean air, and clean water deny the medical industry their unnecessary surgery and drug profits.

Exposure to all sorts of natural beauty inspires the denial of concrete and steel. The industrial dismay and decay that would lead to profits for lawyers and assorted unethical folk in fancy suits is denied entry by conscious decision of simple, intelligent farmers in overalls.

There will never be a Wal-Mart or crackhouse here. Nor a murder. There are lots of guns. At no time are they used for anything but hunting food.

People are constantly helping other people to build a barn, a house, dig out snow and mud, watch the children, cook, clean, weed the garden, and feed the animals. Anything that can be done at all is usually done by a group, even if it’s actually a one-person job. Folks enjoy each other’s company. Except in the most extreme circumstance, everyone deserves inclusion.

Parties get thrown together instantly for no other reason than that someone feels like being the host. One Tuesday, my friend Mike told me that he was having a party at his house on the following Saturday.

“What’s the occasion, Mike?”

“The occasion is that I just came up with the bright idea of having a party. I’ll get out a side of venison and buy a keg. Tell everyone you see to tell everyone they see. If anyone wants to bring any more food and drink, that’s good. If not, we’ll be fine with what we’ve got, I figger.”

“OK, Mike. I’ll try to get everyone but the assholes informed.”

“Inform the assholes too, buddy! Who knows? Maybe if they got invited to more parties they’d figger out how to act and wouldn’t be such assholes.”

It was hard to argue with Mike’s logic, but then again it is hard to argue with much in a small, clean, friendly town.

* * *

During these years of having a home community and base station, a lot of work got done elsewhere. It seems that the added security fostered more confidence, inspiration, and energy to travel.

About one-third of the time that this base station was available to me was spent resting in the cabin.

A lot of rest was called for.

The other two-thirds of that time period was spent hitchhiking across nearly every inch of road in northeastern America. Each full month of whistle stops included between 10 and 30 towns and cities. It included talking to independent business folks all day about various causes, sleeping wherever possible, and celebrating whenever plausible. At the end of road tours like that, staring at a mountain in between naps for a few weeks became more of a necessity than an option.

The focal points of the road binges included Citizen’s Awareness Network, a famine relief project, and a couple of other projects to raise awareness and some funding for a Mexican orphanage and American homeless folks.

The results varied. Most efforts went well. The orphanage and homeless projects worked minimally. The famine relief effort involved a governor, two senators, statewide organizations, and major rock bands. It kicked butt. Thousands of people throughout northeastern America gave massive help that resulted in what success these efforts met with.

Having the cabin and community was essential to getting the work done. It’s easier to burn yourself to the ground on a road trip when you know that the perfect place is waiting to allow your revival.

This is a short chapter, but it covers a long period of years. There were probably as many miles hitchhiked regionally during this period as there were in all the previous cross-country trips put together.

Eventually, my good friend Mr. Lewis died. Relatives liquidated his properties. This put me out on the street again at age 50. But for a long while my life included long term, full time friends and neighbors.

That time seems to have gone by very quickly. The work away from town, the time spent hanging out in the woods, and the company of that rural community made life a joy.

Return to Chapter List

Meet the Puppy  |   About the Project  |   The Author  |   Media and Press  |   Sample Chapters
Calendar of Events  |   Friends of the Puppy  |   Purchase the Book  |   Contact Us