[Pam. Photo: Patrick Egan]
| Every so often I run across someone with a story to tell. Often, the encounter is in a pub in New York City, Yuma, Arizona, Juneau, Alaska or someplace in between. For example: | ||
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| Then, a few nights ago, at our home on Rainbow Lake, NY, we had our friends Pam and Hans over for some wine and cheese. (This was the couple who sold us the R-Pod that I blogged so much about during two cross-country trips). We sat in our screened in porch and talked. I told them of my long time dream to hike the Northville-Lake Placid Trail, or the Pacific Crest Trail (I’ve never really had much interest in the Appalachian Trail). Then Pam began a story that made me pull my chair closer to her. I grabbed a notebook and a pen. I took notes about her adventure. I paid attention this time. It was a story worth hearing–and it was a story I had to write… | ||
| Pam was twenty-something in the early 1970’s when her father passed away. Her dad was the rock, the foundation of her family. Her parents had met and married during WWII. He was apparently a man of big dreams and those dreams brimmed with adventure and travel. He dreamt of hiking the Appalachian Trail–he considered walking across America, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. When he died, his dreams died with him.
The bond between Pam’s mother and father was sublime and solid. So it was no great surprise that his death created a void in the world of Pam’s mom. She went into a deep depression and this darkness alarmed the family. . . . One New Year’s Eve, Pam and her two brothers sat at the dining room table pouring over their father’s maps and articles, thinking of his unfulfilled travel dreams. The siblings sat and pondered about what they could do to honor their dad’s memory and perhaps to bring their mother back into the light. That night a plan was made. Why not take their mom on a journey–something that would approximate the cross-country hike? But, could their mother, now in her 60’s carry a full backpack on a lengthy hike? It seemed unlikely, so another decision was made. They would use a donkey to carry some of the load! The Sicilian donkey was purchased from a farm in Massachusetts. One of the siblings came up with the name Donkey Oatie. It seemed to fit. |
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| “Let’s start at Harriman State Park in New York State and head west.” I could hear the brother say. “We’ll see how far we get and when feel we’ve had enough, we’ll end our trip”. | ||
| The family looked at each other and must have been thinking the same thought: “An impossible journey…it’s 840 miles of walking!” But the planning went forward, nonetheless. | ||
| They mapped out a trip through New Jersey and Pennsylvania using State Parks as campgrounds. When they reached the Keystone State, they ran into a problem. NO PETS ALLOWED in many of the parks and a donkey was classified as a pet (?). So they took to the back roads and soon found that this “very private trip became a very public one”. A family friend was an AP photographer and he began phoning newspapers and Fire Departments along the route. It wasn’t long before the travelers were being greeted by small crowds in small towns and villages. | ||
| But, it was on a lawn in a small Pennsylvania town where the story takes a special turn. | ||
| They were invited by a woman to have lunch on a lawn. This stranger, this woman brought her mother out of the house to join everyone for lunch. The mother had her own story to tell. Sadly, the mother had terminal cancer. She had also lost her husband. Pam’s mother and this woman spoke about dreaming of destinations. It was a widow to widow conversation. The ill woman said that her life-long dream was to see the ocean..but something always came up and the trip never took place. The daughter sat nearby and listened to the talk of the unfulfilled dreams of two women–who had both lost their husbands. The ill woman told Pam’s mother how much she admired her efforts to fulfill her dreams and that of her late husband. Pam’s mother told the woman that the sea wasn’t so far away.
The daughter sat and listened. Several weeks later she did indeed make the trip with her mother, who finally got to look out over the sea. |
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| The woman died two weeks after the trip. | ||
| Her daughter wrote later and told the family that she would always be grateful for the advice of Pam’s mother. She said in the letter that those two weeks gave her that precious time to bond in that final way and to say good-bye to her mother. | ||
| Since that evening on our porch, I’ve thought about my own dreams of making a journey..but my plans seemed lame and insignificant when compared to the story I had been told. | ||
| And, besides, how could I ever make such a difference in the lives of two strangers from a simple lunch on a lawn in Pennsylvania? | ||
| The answer came to me during a sleepless night. You really can’t plan for such outcomes–they somehow seek you out and fall into your lap. The important thing is that you take that first step on the journey that only you can begin.
And, why are all such journeys of such importance? Why was the terminally ill mother and her daughter’s trip to the Atlantic of such importance? Why did Pam’s trip with her mother..attempting to honor the father’s fascination with journeys..make such an impression with a stranger on a lawn in a small Pennsylvania town? And why did the story touch me so much? It’s all been said so well in a cliché, an old saying, a common remark made in many situations..You just don’t know how long you have on this earth..every moment is precious..and can never be regained. |
patrickjegan 