Bob From The Hill
We saw quite the things at this campground.
Currently our self-built, asphalt plowing ship is parked behind me on a hillside among many in the mountains surrounding Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. The northern-most peninsula of the regularly forgotten state. My fingers are slowly losing their dexterity as I peck at my MacBook out in the chilled air.
Abby and I are constantly reminded of the need to foster our relationship. It is very easy to get lost in the tasks of living on the road and the details of what is next to come. It is for me at least. I personally need to do a better job of my fostering of the covenant I have made and have been given. Another lesson of many that I hope to remember after we park for the last time. My better half lives up to the namesake regarding the aforementioned and necessary task. For that I am both grateful and ashamed.
We’ve rolled through amazing country thus far. From the red soaked rocks nestled among the lower western states to the farmland slathered on steep, rolling hillsides in the interior parts of the Pacific Northwest, our views of God’s handiwork do not cease to amaze and inspire us. It is interesting to compare man’s attempt to create magnitude such as this. Sprawling cities reaching both outward and upward provide a stark glimpse of the reality that we, man, cannot begin to compare our handiwork to an almighty creator’s. As Abby and I drive through small metropolises one after the next on our way to see the beauty of simple nature, I see the hell that we, man, can also create. It’s not a surprise to me as much as it is a reminder of our smallness in the grand scheme.
I was walking our dog and travel companion, aptly named Coast, in a green field below a row of expensive houses whose yards have been carved out of the red canyon they are planted in. Vast, tall windows are glued to each of their rear facing exteriors so that the inhabitants have a safe, air-conditioned view of the beautiful canyon they had a part in destroying for the sake of solitude and profit. A man drives down the hill in a golf-cart with his homebound companion named Shenandoah. A tall, grey-haired man emerges from the doorless, wallless vehicle. A few minutes of awkward shuffling pass and I blurt a pleasantry that is rewarded with a nod and a half smile. Maybe I was too far away for the older gentleman to hear me clearly? After a few more minutes of awkward quietness, the older gentleman steps closer and I introduce myself as myself. He returns the favor and introduces himself as Bob. No last name attached.
Good place for a number two with a view.
Bob follows our small talk about our canine dependents with an odd question about my level of worry regarding Yellowstone. My mind searches frantically for any reason to worry about the area mentioned as I did not want to appear daft. I assumed wrongly that Bob was questioning my worry about the National Park’s conservation. Bob furthered his detail of the question again, this time with the mention that the area below the National Park is actually a super volcano that is due for another birth of molten rock and ash the likes of which will cause another ice age as her ash-cloud will block most of our nearest star’s heat from reaching the crust of earth. In an instant, my aptitude on the intricacies of human life and our dependence on our earth is trumped by my forthright logic-driven mind that reveals an apathetic core. I respond to Bob with said apathy and describe to him my clarity and grasp on the very deep science of: “it is what it is.”
Our conversation lingers for a few more moments as we both meander around the green field picking up our canine companion’s leftovers from their digestive processes. Bob wags his hand at me from a few yards away and I do the same. A silent correspondence and agreement that our time conversing had come to an end.
It’s interesting to me how conversations with strangers regarding what ever it is their mind’s hold on to can reveal an internal dialogue that I have with myself in those moments of silence between speech. A clash of natural responses including wanting to be liked, wanting to seem knowledgable, or wanting to impress a complete stranger pounds at the door of my realist-self yelling from the other side, “This doesn’t actually matter!” More importantly, in another instant, I recognize my trust in an almighty creator and gleefully acknowledge that I don’t need to worry about the matters such as the one Bob brought to my waning attention. Does Bob have the same trust and is just making conversation with a fellow stranger? I won’t know. I should know, but I won’t. I hope you know what I mean when I say that.
I never got Bob’s last name. Cheers, Bob.
See you out there.
