Miles from nowhere…..guess I’ll spend my time….oh yeah….the way that I choose.
…….Cat
…….Cat
It is the seemingly endless sand roads that traverse the UP that drew him in, and the bugs that drive him away.
Sitting in the coffee shop of one of the far and in between signs of organized humanity, he listens very attentively. These old men, much like the ones you see sitting in a McDonalds back in suburbia, but different…..very different. They are of unquestionable Scandinavian descent, yet born right here, on this soil, in this climate, and some day, perhaps soon, will die here.
They speak of tools and technique, in a near non-decipherable tongue. The men speak calmly and confidently, confident in the understanding that each will have his turn to respond without interruption from the others. Respect is high in these parts. Anyone who has lived up here for long deserves it and receives it. It is a hard life he imagines, but a good one.
Asking directions in these parts is a futile exercise. They do not seem to care much about road names or numbers, as they have simply traveled by habit all their lives. On one occasion he spoke up and said “that’s called Forest Road 565” to which the response returned, “Oh is that it, eh?”
They are actually the most helpful and hospitable people he has ever met, just not soft and cozy folk. They do not waste words, or time. They are either busy working, or busy not working.
These sandy roads go on for miles and miles, and yes, miles. He kept his little handheld locked in on the coordinates for his campsite, and completed near two days of scouting without touching a paved road. The little blonde pup would remind him from time to time how important it is to stop, walk and romp. And so they did, taking to the trails for long treks. She really found her legs on this trip.
The way out of your own thought patterns and into some new thinking, is to eliminate the distractions. The same distractions we employ ourselves to keep us rooted in and focused, can prohibit us from thinking outside the rut. Don’t misunderstand, ruts are good and are certainly needed. The old Scandinavian men are deeply rutted, but they just have fewer distractions in such a remote place that their rut is so well grooved that it no longer is a rut, but rather just smooth.
Fewer distractions sound good, eh? Smooth sounds good also.
