Americans… are forever searching
for love in forms it never takes,
in places it can never be.
It must have something to do
with the vanished frontier.
– Kurt Vonnegut
Grew up in “upstate” New York.
Six weeks old,
popped into Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania.
Scholastic incarceration
in a tiny bright white town followed.
Spent years in Europe.
Bavaria during The Cold War.
Fighting authoritarianism
and voter suppression.
Protecting a free press.
Drank a lot of beer.
“I like beer!”
Stopped in Connecticut long enough
to find a fine blonde girl
who would follow me to Flagstaff.
You drive
through this vast empty barren treeless expanse,
thinking you might’ve made a big mistake,
sun in your eyes,
the road climbs.
And after what seems like a long long time,
there are trees.
I need trees.
Law schools in the desert wanted me.
Married vet with a 3.88 GPA
– not a rounding error –
and a scholarship that traveled.
Too sunny. I need shade.
The rule was, you were supposed to
go to law school
in the state you planned to practice.
I need trees.
So, I moved to Oregon.
That’s where Pre was.
Used to be.
Dead when I got there.
Still more than a little pissed off about that.
I was a runner.
Doesn’t begin to describe how I felt about the sport.
Oregon called me.
And I answered.
[To be continued. Maybe.]