Bored and wandering around town I happened upon a Good Will store. They are always in buildings that seem far too large for their operation, set back from the main road. 250 parking spaces with 11 filled. Extra storage space for overflow donations I suppose, but it casts an image of vacancy and depression. Private, small town thrift stores are generally more interesting, but on this particular day I stop in.
The door sensor emits a series of tones as I enter the door and the young woman at the counter acknowledges my arrival with a smile. Three or four other shoppers look in my direction as well, and go back to bargain hunting. I wander through aisles of clothes on hangers to the mens department and scan for hideous color schemes and fancy hats or shoes. I certainly don't need anything and I know this.
On the opposite side of the store are household items and I take a look. These are mostly things that I generally avoid owning. There is no need for a special dish for butter, and a pepper mill that requires batteries offers a level of laziness that I refuse to embrace. There is no wonder why most of these things have been donated. I have no use for a framed poster outlining the 1993 game schedule for the Chicago Bears.
Mugs are of a strange and pointless interest of mine, however, and I find one among the one or two hundred others that I like. This mug is simple, but is comfortable to hold. It is tall and slightly heavy - perfect to drink beer from. I carry it to the cash register and greet the woman who had smiled at me when I arrived.
"I like this mug" I tell her. Uninterested, she takes it from me and turns it over in search of a price tag. There is none, which I had already noticed myself.
"There isn't a tag, but all of the other mugs are either $0.49 or $0.99." I know that I have only $1.55 in my pocket in nickels, dimes and a Canadian quarter. I am confident in this transaction.
"Hold on one second." She takes the mug with her into the back room and returns a minute later.
"$1.99 she says."
"Well, I only have $1.55. I will pay you everything that I have. The other mugs cost less and this one is no different."
"Hold on." She disappears once again into the back room with my mug and leaves me standing at the front of a line of customers. When she returns she sets the mug down on the counter, slightly out of my reach. "I'm sorry, $1.99 she says. Once we make a price we can't change it."
We look at each other. I give her a perplexed look and cock my head in slight disbelief. She holds her ground. I look over at one to two hundred mugs sitting on a shelf, and then back to my mug. She holds her ground.
I leave the store with nothing.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Life in the Midwest
I don't think I am quite qualified to say too much about life in the Midwest. Even once I leave, I will have only spent a tiny sliver of time in this corner of the great cornfield. I can remember when I was in Vermont about a year ago wondering where I would be one year from that date. At the time my strongest possibility was the island of American Samoa, half way between Hawaii and New Zealand. Six months later, living in the Berkshires of western Massachusettes I thought I would be moving to Montana. But here I am, in Galesburg, Illinois. I have not remained in one place for very long in almost two years. Part of the excitement of moving around a lot is finding out where opportunities take you, and from there it is who you meet and what you learn. And here I am, in Galesburg, Illinois. I'll tell you one thing though, the sunsets alone have been worth it.
I see almost every sunrise and sunset, actually. Sunsets have a deep red base, dark orange fading eventually to yellow, slight green, blue, darker blue to black... and stars. As it gets later the red and orange darken and the blue dissapears into the black. Sunrises have lighter oranges and more purple. The silhouette of a fence line and hedge trees up against these colors makes you want to paint a picture right then and there. The days are short and we work from darkness to darkness.
I am not completely sure what it is that I am searching for at this point. Beauty. Experience. Freedom. It is hard to say, but I think these all play a role in what guides me. The interesting thing is that I find what fulfills me everywhere I go. A skin track up a snowy Colorado mountain fills me with excitement, but so does waiting for a ten-minute train to pass at a stop sign, alone, in the night. The wildflowers in Crested Butte or peak foliage in Vermont are beautiful, but so is the way snow collects on uncut cornstalks. Then again, sometimes I think I focus too much on what I see with my eyes. It is hard not to.
All visual distraction aside, it is hard to speak of the Midwest without my personal bias. To me, the midwest feels like a middle-ground, a waiting place, something in between where I was and where I should be. The middle of the country; the middle of a transition. a pergatory of sorts. Don't misunderstand me - I actually very-much like the midwest, but for reasons which include the fact that I get to leave soon. The truth is that I am very content and awed with what I have found here. The people who live here are a mixed group. Those who will actually leave the midwest already have, and those who want to likely never will. The rest simply love it here, and I understand this only now that I have been here for longer then it takes to drive through. There is history here. There are roots. It is important.
There were over 350,000 timber frame barns in Illinois at the turn of the century. I build timber frames, and take it from me, the time and effort that it took to build even one of these barns is monumental. We have chain saws and sawmills - these timbers were felled and hewn with axes. We have power tools, these were cut with hand tools. We have hydraulics, these raisings required a community gathering. There has been blood and sweat shed throughout the country, but I am sure that there is more sweat here in the midwest then most places I have been.
I like to drive my truck on the dirt roads through the countryside between Knoxville and Galesburg. The landscape is vast and geologically absent, and most of the roads are straight and the curves and intersections are ninety-degree angles. This time of the year the giant farm machines sit parked and the fields collect snow drifts, but I can feel that this land has been worked. Some of the cornfields were not mowed down this year due to high moisture. These corn stalks bend over as snow collects and spring back to shape when the wind blows. Then again, the wind always blows. Trains cris-cross the landscape on their way to somewhere else. Deer seem to be everywhere. I am not sure where they hide from weather or hunters. It is cold, and people are not outside. The sky is equally cloudy and clear, but when it is clear at night the sky is huge with stars. Only trees and slight changes in topography block the horizon. This is the quiet off-season. I can imagine this frozen-mud-brown and snow-white landscape as fertile, alive, and John Deere yellow and green.
I guess what I have found here is an appreciation. I belong to the mountains and the snow, but the people who have settled the midwest clearly belong here. This is a place that before now I never would have desired to visit. And even though the town that I live in appears to be stareotypical 'Wizard of Oz Toto - we're not in Kansas anymore - get in the dry cellar BessyMae!,' it does have a genuine appeal.
Traveling is important. It is more important then where you plan on going. You never know how it will change the way you see yourself in the world. Avoid interstates, take state highways. Check out local farmer's markets, thrift stores, parks. Talk to people, help people, listen. Don't be afraid to experience things alone. Don't expect. Be thankful for where you are, because there is far more there then you will be able to soak up.
I see almost every sunrise and sunset, actually. Sunsets have a deep red base, dark orange fading eventually to yellow, slight green, blue, darker blue to black... and stars. As it gets later the red and orange darken and the blue dissapears into the black. Sunrises have lighter oranges and more purple. The silhouette of a fence line and hedge trees up against these colors makes you want to paint a picture right then and there. The days are short and we work from darkness to darkness.
I am not completely sure what it is that I am searching for at this point. Beauty. Experience. Freedom. It is hard to say, but I think these all play a role in what guides me. The interesting thing is that I find what fulfills me everywhere I go. A skin track up a snowy Colorado mountain fills me with excitement, but so does waiting for a ten-minute train to pass at a stop sign, alone, in the night. The wildflowers in Crested Butte or peak foliage in Vermont are beautiful, but so is the way snow collects on uncut cornstalks. Then again, sometimes I think I focus too much on what I see with my eyes. It is hard not to.
All visual distraction aside, it is hard to speak of the Midwest without my personal bias. To me, the midwest feels like a middle-ground, a waiting place, something in between where I was and where I should be. The middle of the country; the middle of a transition. a pergatory of sorts. Don't misunderstand me - I actually very-much like the midwest, but for reasons which include the fact that I get to leave soon. The truth is that I am very content and awed with what I have found here. The people who live here are a mixed group. Those who will actually leave the midwest already have, and those who want to likely never will. The rest simply love it here, and I understand this only now that I have been here for longer then it takes to drive through. There is history here. There are roots. It is important.
There were over 350,000 timber frame barns in Illinois at the turn of the century. I build timber frames, and take it from me, the time and effort that it took to build even one of these barns is monumental. We have chain saws and sawmills - these timbers were felled and hewn with axes. We have power tools, these were cut with hand tools. We have hydraulics, these raisings required a community gathering. There has been blood and sweat shed throughout the country, but I am sure that there is more sweat here in the midwest then most places I have been.
I like to drive my truck on the dirt roads through the countryside between Knoxville and Galesburg. The landscape is vast and geologically absent, and most of the roads are straight and the curves and intersections are ninety-degree angles. This time of the year the giant farm machines sit parked and the fields collect snow drifts, but I can feel that this land has been worked. Some of the cornfields were not mowed down this year due to high moisture. These corn stalks bend over as snow collects and spring back to shape when the wind blows. Then again, the wind always blows. Trains cris-cross the landscape on their way to somewhere else. Deer seem to be everywhere. I am not sure where they hide from weather or hunters. It is cold, and people are not outside. The sky is equally cloudy and clear, but when it is clear at night the sky is huge with stars. Only trees and slight changes in topography block the horizon. This is the quiet off-season. I can imagine this frozen-mud-brown and snow-white landscape as fertile, alive, and John Deere yellow and green.
I guess what I have found here is an appreciation. I belong to the mountains and the snow, but the people who have settled the midwest clearly belong here. This is a place that before now I never would have desired to visit. And even though the town that I live in appears to be stareotypical 'Wizard of Oz Toto - we're not in Kansas anymore - get in the dry cellar BessyMae!,' it does have a genuine appeal.
Traveling is important. It is more important then where you plan on going. You never know how it will change the way you see yourself in the world. Avoid interstates, take state highways. Check out local farmer's markets, thrift stores, parks. Talk to people, help people, listen. Don't be afraid to experience things alone. Don't expect. Be thankful for where you are, because there is far more there then you will be able to soak up.
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