“Settle me long enough and lethargy will eat me whole.” – Old Sean
Spangles, Slumps and Stars
Little has changed. Little can change. The stagnation of the world has sloughed away overseas and life begins an unsteady trickle forward. My friends across the globe contact me with a constant, unique emotion.
Pity.
I suppose Americans are pitied in this day and age.
And it’s difficult to suggest that emotion is unjustified. It’s an alienating feature and gradually deepening one. In May, I would have been able to write here that America’s misfortunes were an admittedly morbid joke, but the sardonic laughs have echoed away and brought us to a new state.
Once upon a time, I played a game with my friend in college where we would take an aspect of our society and expand on it, making it dystopian. It was a writing exercise.
Whoops.
For me, personally, I have the advantage of insulation. My friend continues to shelter me for a minor, affordable rent I can scratch out from my online jobs. I’ve stayed alive and peaceful while roosting at on the edge of a lake. My day, initially a faithful lockdown consisting of work, cooking, studying and exercise have gradually graduated into limited social contact, outdoor activities and occasional trips.
Lakeside Dues
Guests visit my residence once in a while, usually more friends of my roommate than me and entire days are spent on the lake, learning to wakeboard, drinking with a bit of automatic consistency and appreciating the rare islands of company. I’m taught the basics of driving a boat so I can tow my roommate, Callum along. Other peaceful days are spent swimming in the shallows or following geese as they form an armada around our lake.
My siblings also made forays to my northern hamlet. Hours are spent on the lake, usually on kayaks where we use oars in shallow streams to gradually snake up shady forests. I’ve explored the low waters as best I can, taking kayaks out to every small creak in reach and forcing my way past river-blocks to sate my restlessness.
Virtually every day I walk in gradually increasing circles around my small neighborhood, waving to folks and passing along reassurances to dogs who bound out to assess or great me. Sometimes my roommate Callum and I head out to play disk golf, where I can usually miss spectacularly.
Part of me swears that trees are magnetic to disks. It seems wildly unlikely that they would always strike wood where there’s so much empty space to glide. Our closest field, where I also go to walk, holds an Apache helicopter as a feature (a project from a generation of Boy Scouts).
On occasion, we drive further abreast to gun ranges, where I display my minimal proficiency while Callum and his father practice long shots, side draws and breathing techniques.
Both my friends Mark and Dani, visiting from Baltimore and South America respectively, were forced back to Texas temporarily and managed to say hi, at which point we hiked and walked around the local lakes (though a lot was still closed at that time).
Thomas and Val also visit, delightful as always, offering picnics in nearly empty parks or inside during a rushing rainstorm.
Further Afield
Other days are spent riding bikes around trails. Still others are spent endlessly exploring the muddy trails of Caddo, either alone or with my sister or brother. Another week saw Callum and I hiking the sharp inclines around the Waterloo Cave near Texoma. Another trip brought me to the flowery Crow’s Hill Trail, where numerous oil rigs steadily bobbed up and down in unceasing meditation across the shallow waters.
Our (Callum and mine) longest trip in recent weeks was a slow drive up to Oklahoma where we sprang about and boulder-hopped around Robber’s Cave. We tried to pay for parking just before the ticket machine was covered for maintenance and was refunded the full amount. The rest of our time was spent posing dangerously on overlooks, clambering up rock faces, scrambling down cliffs or sliding dramatically in awkward directions. Neither Callum nor I had decent enough shoes for our endeavors.
So it goes on. Some days are spent with small bonfires in the backyard. Others are solely dedicated to work. Others are matters of clearing the house or repairing small fixes here and there. One night was entirely dedicated towards Callum’s creation and introduction of a spicy jam concoction. Another resulted in another hike around the somewhat unremarkable Bonham State Park. Another was just an attempt to download mods and play Skyrim.
There is little natural progress or even motivating features in this lifestyle. There is peace. It is fulfilling in its own way. But I’m often lonely. Poking my head outside my bubble, while necessary and a citizen’s duty, is unpleasant.
There is a wrenching distaste for the news and an abhorrent disgust as the hole continues to be dug deeper. Coronavirus. Race marches. Police violence. Conspiracies. Elections. Environmental calamities. Evictions. A diminishing cycle of news. I shut it off.
I miss my roads.
Best regards and excellent trails,
Old Sean
Written June 27th 2020
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I bought this Horizon Hound Trek Blanket for a late-autumn trek in the United States. Since then, it’s gone everywhere with me. The blanket is lightweight, stuff-able, warm and durable. But my favorite features are the buttons. The blanket can be buttoned up the sides, turning it into a long thermal poncho when I don’t want to leave the warmth of my bed.
