I clearly remember the pounding rain as I drove my pickup onto the west-bound off ramp from I-105 to Mohawk Boulevard in Springfield, Oregon. A haggard looking man, mid-thirties maybe, wearing a rain-soaked black watch cap and a faded army jacket, rain dripping from his beard, was simply standing at the intersection, looking at me. He had no sign, but I thought it obvious he needed help. I waited on the traffic signal, watched the windshield wipers work, and on impulse pulled a measly five dollars from my wallet. I rolled the window down and handed it to him.

He uttered the mandatory, “God Bless” and then immediately walked to a fir tree where a huge backpack I hadn’t noticed took shelter from the rain. I had time to watch him slip the pack on and rush up to the sidewalk on the overpass before the light changed and I had to move on. I thought then, and hope now he was headed for McDonald’s for a hot burger and a cup of warm coffee.

I don’t often yield to the impulse to give money to the homeless holding cardboard signs. I don’t believe them when they say, Out of Gas; Anything Helps; Vet With Heart Problems; Broke Down…that kind of thing. (Last summer I did give twenty bucks to a family traveling to Yakima or some such place, and ran out of gas money. But that was different. They had two small, well groomed kids, and McDonald’s was a half block away. Kids shouldn’t go hungry…especially in the USA.)

I make a couple trips each year on Highway 97, the major north-south route in Oregon on the east side of the Cascades. One of my favorite stops is the rest area a couple miles south of Chemult. Over the past three years, I have seen the same decrepit looking motor home and the same guy leaning against the wall of the restroom. His sign says, OUT OF GAS. (How the heck did he get there?) I’ve also seen his motor home across the highway at the northbound rest area. I suspect he works the rest areas up and down 97 and makes the same pitch. I never give him anything.

He adds to my growing cynicism about the homeless. But there is one homeless man who amuses me…a lot. I have to grin each time I spot him. You see, he has dispensed with the sign. He just holds up both hands…like he had one. And I mime right back…like I was giving him money.

I hope someday to be free of guilt when I drive past theses poor souls and don’t give them anything. I can’t help but wonder if I shouldn’t help more, and then I remember the motor home guy, and the homeless man who doesn’t even bother with a sign. For now I settle for a small prayer and wish them good luck.
Rod

In an earlier life I worked as a smoke chaser, i.e., “wildland firefighter” in the new parlance. A couple of close calls, a fire storm that broke the tops out of trees around our crew, and the death of several of our firefighters on the South Canyon Fire made me reluctant to read stories about disasters like the Mann Gulch Fire as told by Norman Maclean. I read to the point where the smoke jumpers were overwhelmed by fire. I simply put it down with the question in my mind if I would ever finish it. I haven’t.

However, I recently set my feelings aside and started reading Timothy Egan’s The Big Burn, the story of the Wallace, Idaho fire in 1910. Egan is a terrific writer, and when he segue’s into the early history of the Forest Service, Teddy Roosevelt and Gifford Pinchot, I’m hooked. So…if you are an old smoke chaser or simply interested in the Forest Service and the early years, I recommend this fine bit of writing.
Rod

Occasionally I bump into people in their 60’s and 70’s who tell me they always wanted to be a poet or a novelist. I just can’t help it. I almost always ask, “What’s holding you back?” And I want to add, “You’re still alive, aren’t you?” I don’t, but I want to.

The excuses vary, but when I hear, “I’m just too old,” I think of Albert Schweitzer who said, “The tragedy of life is what dies inside a man while he lives.”

(I know. Schweitzer didn’t have the benefit of our gender awareness, so feel free to substitute “person” for “man” and “a person” for “he.” I’ll let you work it out.)

The point is: It’s never too late to chase the dream of being a writer.

Write on! Write on, McDuff!

Just a short note to let readers know Spider Silk print copies are now available through Amazon. Next up: Stone Fly

My thanks to readers everywhere!
Rod

Bookstores are not always the best place for self-published authors to display their books. Spine out, surrounded by other books, the purchase of even a few of books in a year’s time is unusual. The clerk in one little bookstore in a local tourist town could not even find my books. No sales at all is the norm.

But Lise at Mohawk Paperbacks in Springfield has been unbelievable. Each month for over seven years she has promoted my books and made sure her customers had a chance to see them. I’ve said “thank you” to her over and over again, but I thought it was time to share that thanks in a more public way.
Rod