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The Journey

Bouncing along in the cab of a 26 foot U-Haul somewhere in Ohio, I wonder, not for the first time, if we’ll ever get there.  We are accustomed to quick and easy. This journey is neither, relatively speaking.  Just when you think you’re coming to the end of Illinois, there’s more Illinois.  When you can’t bear to see another corn field, there is a slight (very slight) variation (World’s Largest Wind Chimes) followed by more cornfields.

But then I think of the early travelers to Oklahoma and I feel a rush of gratitude for this bouncing cab and air-conditioned comfort.

The first of many land runs to Oklahoma was in 1889 when thousands hoped to stake a claim on a little piece of this earth. But long before that people were crossing the country looking for something different, something better, something good. They came to stay or to pass through, but those early pioneers made a commitment when they set out in their covered wagons.

These were not built for comfort.  No engineers studied the design and extrapolated weight times length of journey divided by conditions of the road.  Purely utilitarian, they were the RVs of their day, carrying the food, medicine and clothing they would need for the journey, while providing dubious shelter from all kinds of weather extremes.

People mostly walked along beside these covered wagons because of the said comfort level.  There were no hotels to check into at night when they were exhausted; no restaurants where they could order a scrumptious hot meal; no protection from the dangers of the road other than their own quick wits, quick draw or God’s mercy. Those dangers could include wild animals, accidents, breakdowns, illness, other people, weather, and losses that led to starvation and death. 

None of these things really cross my mind as we set out from Maine with all the food, medicine and clothing we need for our journey, and to set up housekeeping in a new and different place. I have no fear of attacks from wild animals or wild people. I doubt  we’ll have an accident, and if we suffer a breakdown we ‘re covered.  Protected from the weather, with our box packed with bread, peanut butter and Doritos it is doubtful we will starve.

But as we are making our way across New England, to Niagara Falls, then down along Lake Erie, through Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Missouri, reality is getting closer and more…well, real.  Like those who came for a little bit of something to call their own, we are here with a settled purpose.  In this economy, in dire circumstances, you do things you never thought you’d do.  I’m not talking about a life spiraling down into prostitution, or exchanging secrets with foreign governments (although I might have to tell the Governor of Maine about fried pie) but we have pulled up roots again to make a new life in a place far,far away called Oklahoma. Will we be okay?

Nearing the end of our journey, I realize something. Every town, every home - whether on the banks of a swiftly moving river, or perched on the edge of a mountain; whether nestled in amongst the trees of a forest or standing alone in the middle of a vast prairie – is someone’s destination.  Someone can’t wait to get there, and there’s a reason for that.  Our destination is home to so many that love it. I wonder, double-minded person that I am, if I can too.

As we pull into the parking lot to empty our truck, under heat that might dissolve us Northerners, a crew of people meets us.  We are not alone in this daunting, sweaty, exhausting task.  And before we begin, one lady gives me a hug, calls me “Sweetie” and turns to heft my writing desk.  I swallow hard, blink back tears and think to myself, “We’ll be okay in OK.”

Jiminy Cricket

In the Disney movie “Pinocchio”, the character Jiminy Cricket is a friendly, helpful and wise being who aids Pinocchio on his journey to become a real boy.  He is fully clothed, uses a monocle and a cane.  He looks kind of green and has a friendly grin.

I come from Maine, where the crickets are also friendly, kind of furtive creatures who occasionally get into your house and sing a scratchy song.  They’re supposed to be good luck, and you can buy huge brass versions of them if you can’t get them to come in person to shed their luck about.  Sometimes in the cool of the evening, when the sun has slipped below the horizon and the winds have died down, you can hear crickets calling to each other through the twilight.

We have other bugs in Maine: mosquitoes, blackflies, minges, horse and deer flies.  The mosquitoes come in hordes in spring, right after the blackflies have wearied us with their omnipresence.  We know enough to defend ourselves when we go out.  The horse and deer flies stay in the woods, except if you happen to go swimming and then they magically appear over the water and only get discouraged by frantic splashing. We Mainers know how to handle our bugs.  We even celebrate and boast about them with jokes about blackfly festivals and the state bird of Maine being the mosquito.

Now I’ve moved to the Midwest and, Jiminy Cricket, nobody warned me about the bugs! When we went walking in the cool (relatively speaking) of the evening, at first I thought…blessed Lord, no mosquitoes…no blackflies, no minges.  I was free of bug dope, and free of bugs!  Until I heard a humming sound, and saw, far off at first, then very quickly closer, what I thought was a small bird.  A hummingbird to be precise.  But then it landed on my husband’s back and it was a horsefly!!  ARRGGHH!  I almost called 911, but he said “Hit it!” and I did.  When it fell to the ground I pulverized it with my walking stick, disgusted and trembly.

Why do I carry a walking stick?  Because said husband saw a tarantula before I ever got here!! Double arggh!  I’ve been spared that sight so far, (update: have seen one with my own two eyes now - was not happy about that) but between the cringing and flinching whenever I hear a horsefly, and the constant scrutiny for tarantulas on the road, I figured I’m burning twice or thrice the calories on our walks.

But back to the crickets… being new to Oklahoma, we went exploring in a suburb of Tulsa.  Walking outside in a plaza near a movie theatre, we realized there were masses of crickets along the walls of the buildings.  We edged closer to the other side of the sidewalk, the side that’s not protected from the crazy hot sun, because there were so many of them.  These crickets were not fully clothed, green, smiling or friendly.  They were big and black, with long barbed back legs that we knew were strong enough to jump up, perhaps onto a person.  We went to another plaza and, to our dismay, there were even more.  Inside a furniture store we could hear them, signaling to each other.  I almost sat down on a couch when just in time I saw that black cricket, waiting for me, right where my head would have been. Outside again, we saw them crawling up the storefronts, rather like little Zombies attempting to get over the walls of Jerusalem in World War Z.

What is going on?  What do they want from us? One or two crickets squeeze into the house and creep around the room, silent and waiting. I know they don’t bite but frankly I feel a bit menaced by such mysterious and inexplicable behavior.  Give me a buzzing mosquito focused on my blood any day over an inscrutable black cricket who just won’t declare his intentions.