[Motorboat Cruiser]

"The Bear Necessities"

I glanced into the rear-view mirror, just in time to see the remaining few wisps of sunlight illuminating the civilization I was leaving behind. I wondered if I would be a changed man the next time I saw its foreboding skyline. I sure hoped so.

This was certifiably crazy, of course, this impromptu journey across the country. When I awoke this morning, I was only planning on spending a lazy day watching TV and maybe firing up the grill when the sun went down – an itinerary of hot dogs, beer, and a baseball game. Other than that, I really didn’t expect much, certainly not an excursion such as this, set into motion without more than a few moments of thought. When I poured my first cup of coffee and sat down to check my email, the farthest thing from my mind was Platte, South Dakota. And yet now, with the wind ruffling my receding hairline and Joe Walsh serenading me through his talk box, I'm hastily driving towards a midwestern ghost town of sorts, the only image in my head that of a stuffed bear on a lawn chair. It was this image that greeted me at the start of my day, a random picture out of thousands on my hard drive that the screen saver had conjured up – and I suspect, not by chance alone.

This particular photo, currently and indelibly etched into my subconscious, was taken 23 long years ago, when I was just shy of my eighteenth birthday. So much has changed since then. For it wasn’t long after I took that picture that I had discarded the stability of family life and ventured alone into the big city, to find out if I had what it took to be a real writer. And despite the years of struggle, I never really glanced longingly into the rear-view mirror of life, preferring instead to just move forward with reckless abandon, trying to discover who I was, who I could be. In my self-imposed exile, the past held no fascination, only remnants of bitterness carefully avoided. And, in all likelihood, I might never have even considered this strange pilgrimage I find myself on if it wasn’t for that damn bear staring at me this morning.

The picture was taken during what I thought would be the last in a history of visits to Platte - a tiny town in the middle of nowhere that was home to less than a hundred, dirt-poor, overall-wearing residents. Dotted with abandoned grain silos and dried up fields, few ever opted to stay in this desolate community smack-dab in the center or rural America. But Platte was also where the matriarch of our family called home - my great-grandmother, Lydia. Her and Stanley had taken up roots here after immigrating to this country and lived together as simple farmers for over 70 years. Here, they raised a family … my family.

It was no surprise to any of us back then that Lydia would choose to stay in Platte till the end, even though Stanley had died almost ten years earlier. This was still her home, all she had ever known, and she simply wasn’t interested in leaving. And, as a result, our entire family would converge once a year in reunion, in celebration, and out of heartfelt respect. We would gather in this remote homestead to reminisce over a game of cards and a feast of foods canned by her wrinkled but remarkably still-strong hands. And in between meals, amidst the gusts of fresh and warm country air, we would nap lazily on the old sofas. That was just about all there was to do in this quiet town that time forgot. But, despite the boredom, despite the remote location, nobody ever missed one of these gatherings. And it wasn’t out of duty, mind you, it was out of enormous love for a kindly old woman who meant the world to each and every one of us.

And when she finally took her last breaths at the ripe age of 101, we gathered one last time to pay our respects and to share a meal of her canned food and a game of cards, each of them well worn by the hands of time. It was the day after her funeral that I started looking through musty ancient closets and finding these wonderful artifacts from my youth. In particular, a box of old toys and stuffed animals that had accumulated over decades. I decided to take them outside to the small grassy area that I loved to play in as a young boy, arrange them carefully, and take one last portrait to remember them by - the one that just so happened to greet me before breakfast this morning.

(continued below...)