In the kitchen, the sourdough starter has started to bubble. There is a faint smell of yeast. On the window shelves along the south side of the family room, egg cartons filled with potting soil and tomato seeds are warming in the morning sun. Above the sink, the bottoms of plastic bottles hold more dirt and bean seeds waiting to sprout. Sheltering at home has become a “pioneer” experience. We fill part of each day looking to our future well- being. I have always been a casual gardener, but this year I feel a sense of urgency about it that I’ve rarely felt before. Uncertain what the coming months will bring, we ordered seeds (rather than going to the store for plants) and have begun the gardening process. I don’t intend to be pessimistic about what may be instore, rather, like the pioneers, I’m just planning ahead.

Growing up in Wyoming, the pioneer spirit was just part of life. Many of my friends’ grandparents had come to Wyoming in the early days by wagon, ox cart or shank’s mare. Our streets were named Fremont, Custer, Bridger, Cody, and Fetterman. Our town was sited on the banks of the North Platte River, where a fort had stood to guard a river crossing, and where a party of Arapahos, heading North from the Sand Creek Massacre, had sought revenge by wiping out a small party of soldiers. The town was named for the lieutenant leading that military contingent, Caspar Collins. An astringency was part of our culture and a sense of self-reliance. We took care of ourselves, offered help to others, but rarely asked for it from them. It was just the way we were. (When I went to college, I was proudly a member of the GDIs {God Damn Independents}, rather than a fraternity and had a sticker in my window that said so.)

The pioneer spirit seems to have survived culturally here in Oregon as well, though there are differences. The attitude is a bit more pliable west of the Cascades, more accepting and even tolerating. It could be that  the difference is attributable to the longer distance and thus more hazardous journey that the Oregon settlers made (though it could just be dumb luck that they got to Oregon first and took all the land, leaving Wyoming and Idaho for those following behind) which engendered a sense of self- congratulatory community comaraderie. I think though that the weather created the difference. Pioneers who settled in Wyoming committed themselves to a life of wind and unbearable heat which preceded winters of wind and unbearable cold. Neither season included moisture.

Those who settled in the Willamette Valley pledged themselves to eight months of knee-high mud and drenching rain followed by four temperate months in which they planted crops and futiley built log roads and boardwalks, which disappeared in the mud after the next season’s first rain; all in all a more forgiving climate. (It’s only a theory of course, but I believe that it explains the resultant difference in residual effects of the pioneer spirit. It also accounts for Democrats in Oregon).

So, we do what we need to do for now, relax often, share time together, and give each other space when needed. We try to not let the outside world intrude.  When not plucking my banjo, I’ve taken to figuring out the world.

 

Day 15

 

Blessings

Unwanted Travels