Keep Homeschool Weird

Driving down county road 436, listening to solid country gold on a Saturday night, Donnie slams the remainder of his Banquet Beer and aims the golden nugget at an upcoming road sign. Per the norm, he misses high sending the can sailing into the overgrown ditch. Annual heavy rains and the occasional playful coyote move the aluminum vessel further down the sediment-carrying system that nature has designed. 

We lace our livelihood and subtle identities with consumerism. Admittedly, it has an attractive appeal.  Progress and productivity throughout the week drive consumption. Or perhaps we're driven and productive in order to consume. You could make an argument that our version of Sapien is wired this way and those characteristics have gotten us to this evolutionary successful point.

In my personal brand of outdoor pursuits, there is often a goal, endpoint or mission to accomplish. Hiking just to hike is still a hard pill to swallow. Fishing has the desire of fish, hunting holds the hopes of a full freezer and even physical labor on the farm comes with the finality and satisfaction of looking at your pile of productivity afterwards. This designed reward system is so innate, that it feels natural. If I do this activity, typically I will end up with this result. Makes sense.

As I stroll through a sullen grey winterized patch of woods made up of Oaks and Eastern Red Cedars, I question the pace which I'm walking. I certainly don't have an agenda for the day or time constraint, but my pre-programmed self, desires to find my piece of productivity. A shed antler from a deer, a morel mushroom or an arrowhead from an earlier denizen. 

In reality, I don't need that reward fix. The stillness and sounds of the dormant canopy, the ever-present rain of vitamin D and the endorphins from a strenuous hike should be enough to feed the soul for this outing. I settle on the fact there will be no physical trophy today to rest my laurels on. 

As I cross a creek on the walk back, still enabling my inner Indian Jones, I do come across a remnant from decades prior. The words are faded but I can still make out "Coors" on the shiny golden aluminum now beaten up from tributary travel. I pick it up, smile, and consider this generational housekeeping my productive keepsake of the day. Yep. 

Keep smilin'

JM

New in my life: Contemplating a new haircut. I've caught a trout where the Missouri River begins, plus I got hooked on rodeos back in the day and they’re hard to shake. Teddy Roosevelt had a house on Long Island.