Dungarees...

The other day I washed my favorite pair of jeans, by hand, so I could wear them, as they had already been well worn this week. It was just like some dungaree commercial, one you would think makes for a good commercial on TV, but may not really happen.

And I laughed, while no one was home, as the soap suds spilled over the sink, and from there being too much material to easily engage in this endeavor. But, life has become so mundane that wearing jeans last Friday was one way I could get at my simplicity, wanderings and creativity.

They represent the many miles traveled. They represent me not wanting to fully conform to the system. They represent some odd sense of individuality. They represent my country roots and love. Most of all, they represent freedom.

I’ve been listening to a CD called Grandfather’s Hat by, believe it or not, Jeff Daniels, and it is not what you would expect. It somehow speaks to the wanderer in me. His song Mile 416, talks of travels, across Highway 2, but more importantly about what a wanderer sees, remembers and forgets along the way.

And, that’s how it is; what you see, what you remember and what you forget.

The song reminds me of traveling up M-32 in Michigan, with a barn off in the distance, as I travel north to Charlevoix. It is red, as red as barns are supposed to be, with white trim and Celtic markings on it.

It reminds me of driving along I-80, in August, through Iowa. The miles and miles of sunflowers, in full bloom. Their brilliance accentuated by the sun and a cloudless, blue sky.

I think of Highway 34 in Colorado, smelling the pine as they whistle with the mountain winds, eventually reaching the point they end to make way for the tundra. The air as clear as it will ever become.

And, it reminds me of KY 80, out to Hazard, Kentucky, where the trees and small homes dot the landscape reminding me there are poor here in this country, too. Coal is one man’s gold and another’s subsistence.

The song also reminds me of Hancock County Road 6, in north central Ohio, where a graying barn leaned with the wind and a vagrant, with two canes, walked the lonely miles. His skin, tarnished by the years, was wrinkled and brown from the sun. I am sure he had a name.

Yes, this song reminded me of all this. But, I also mark my maps with a blue pen so I know where I have been. Partially because I know I will forget, but also to ensure I continue to explore every inch, acre and mile I can.

Looking down the road that passes in front of my house, just a small place in America, I realize it’s the beginning for any journey.

My truck, my dungarees, my guitar, my pad of paper and the endless black top.

EjG