Day One-Hundred-Thirty, Balm

My greatest anxiety on starting this trip was where I would put up my tent. I was committing more or less to homelessness. You might say it frightened me some. Truth is I've been homeless for the last five years, in this foreign land or that. Living out of a suitcase, I did have a bed. I was never so very bad off. But out here I never know where I'll wind up. It takes both courage and faith.

It has in fact been much easier than I had ever dared believe. In Montana, for example, very few people care where you choose to put up your tent. In Nebraska I camped in city parks. In South Dakota I camped in the woods. But Iowa has been more difficult. Iowa is a civilised state.

I have thermals and furry pants. As of yet I have never worn both. I want to leave myself somewhere to go, a chance to be warmer still. It never pays to live your life with your amps cranked up to eleven. By the same token I have never knocked on doors and asked for permission to camp. I knew it would come to that sooner or later, but I've had luck with clever spots in the woods. I did not want to ask too much too soon from Fate and the Kindness of Strangers.

Last night I seiously thought about it. It seemed to get dark awfully fast. I wound up climbing a rusty fence and camping in an odd sort of hell. A forest, a swamp, a briar patch. I did manage to stay hidden. And off the road and out of the way but, oh, what was the cost. I skewered myself and endangered my tent. Everything I own was wet. My warm shirt got covered with prickle burrs. I torqued my second best knee. And in the morning I had break out my knife to carve a path up to the road. For all I knew I might perish back there, the Legend of James at an end.

As I've noted, it gets dark quickly these days. I try to squeeze out those extra few miles. Tonight I passed up several good sites in an effort to meet my quota. And when the sun disappeared I found myself among a number of houses. I thought, what the hell; I could just make out the shadow of a man on his porch. I heard a dog but it didn't sound big. I went and introduced myself.

He seemed to be almost waiting for me. "I heard about you," he said. From whom, I did not bother to ask. But he had not let it prejudice him. He gave me a gracious welcome. And a space for my tent on a soft green lawn, right in front of his house.

He is Dennis Meggers, who with his wife, maintains a beautiful farm. Their house looks very much like a barn but it was purpose built. They grow hay and raise horses, great monsterous things, not lacking in playful vigor. They are not Clydesdales but they are almost as big. I don't remember just what they are called. It sounded to my ear vaguely French. I think it began with a B.

They are too both high school teachers. The wise farmer diversifies. Just up the road in the town of Truro. He teaches agriculture. Which sounds so delightfully Iowan. My school did not offer the course. I don't know what his wife teaches. Not English, I hope. It is my very favorite language but she's bound to find fault with my prose.

I offer my thanks to both of them, and blessings on their generous hearts. I'd have understood if they did not want a hobo camped in their yard. And I am so remarkably comfortable. It is in fact warm outside. There's a breeze perhaps best described as balmy. All credit should go to them.

It was a day that did not start out very well but got better with each passing hour. When I clawed my way up to the road this morning I could barely walk at all. My legs were weak and my back all but hurt. I thought I could do with a nap. I took several breaks in the first seven miles. I was in no real mood for a walk.

But with some effort I reached East Peru, known as Peru locally. That's PEE-ru, if you are curious, home of the Delicious Apple. It was invented by a grumpy old quaker whose neighbors thought he was nuts. But that's always the way with artists and prophets. They honor his name today.

I'll be damned if I know what it is, but that is not the point. The slightly improved Washington Delicious apple is the pride of my state. Of course we've got timber and fisheries. We could have got by without it. And between you and me I haven't liked apples since I lost my first tooth in one.

In Peru I enjoyed three healthy Cokes and another pork loin sandwich. They are all the rage around here. I guess they're an aquired taste. Or my nose is still snoofly. I am certain the fault lies with me. Everyone speaks quite highly of them and I'm inclined to trust their opinion.

I was treated to lunch by one good Mr. Kooker. I did not get a chance to thank him. I hope he'll accept my belated thanks here and extend my regards to his gal.

I spoke too to a gentleman farmer. I think his name was Bill. If I am wrong please do understand that I would have rather been right. He has worked all over the world, even Iraq and Afghanistan. Setting up electrical something-or-others, I think to do with communications. His fondest hope is to move back to Idaho, though Iowa ain't such a bad place.

I'd be willing to bet that an alarming percentage of Americans make no distinction between Iowa and Idaho. And Ohio, for that matter. There are so many states to learn.

I am grateful for this opportunity to meet so many people, but I do suffer some regret. Most of them, if I had the chance, I'd be glad to talk to for days. Inventors and world travellers, farmers and teachers and loggers. Football players and ex-convicts. Bakers and salesmen. I met an old man, you may recall, who had Walked Across America. Almost fifty years ago, long before it was cool. I could learn all sorts of things from them. Things I cannot otherwise know. But always I have got to keep walking. I guess that's part of my charm.

I was feeling a great deal jauntier on my way into Truro. It was six miles but felt like two. I stopped only one time. And not to rest but because it was a pretty spot. I quite like Madison County. Cornfields have a stark beauty but it's nice to be among trees. And what fields there are are not rectangular but moulded to the contours of the land. With patches of trees here and there. Each farm is something different. With apologies to my friends living elsewhere, it is my favorite part of the state.

So far.

In Truro I stopped and ate again. It was a chance to recharge. I still ain't there but I did enjoy talking to one Miss Shonna. Or Shawna or Shorna or something like that. She was spectacularly kind. I did not come right out and accuse her but I think she's a Democrat.

I expect to sleep very well tonight. Thank you again to the Meggers. And their noisy dogs and their friendly cat and the second biggest horse I've ever seen.

My balmy breeze has become a balmy wind. "Balmy" though is the key.


I HAVE, in the last ten days, experienced multiple sock failures. How long does a new pair of socks last? To the middle of Iowa.

I HOPE TOO to be spectacularly kind for a few years before I die. I will need decades to build to it, but I think it's a pretty goal.

DISCOVERED: a new brand of snake, small, about four-inches long. No doubt they have been there all along, in their tens of thousands. Eww.

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