The Wanderer, I Wander Round & Round & Round

Since I came to live with Momma, I pretty much have lived the Life of Riley, with an abundance of love, food and walks…and baskets full of toys.  I am indulged but I am useful.

How so, you may ask? I drive off the squirrels, raccoon, I have even chased bats. The truth is, wild life is awe-inspiring, yet you can never be sure what their reaction may be depending on how hungry they are, if they are protecting their  young ones or the herd, in general.  And the funny thing is the Two Footed who lived  among them kind of turn out the same. Just ask tell-all Momma. Point and case: The Wanderer.

There is always colourful individuals that do not seem to fit the boundaries imposed upon them, by etiquette most of the Two Footed subconsciously, like breathing, abide by.  One of Grandpapa’s first cousins was a rare individual who was bitten by the wander lust bug. He was a big, burly man, with a cheerful disposition, who kept the youngsters entertained by frequently sprinkling his conversations with cuss words that they would have loved to say but  could not only because of double standards dictatated by their religious upbringing…and of course, goes without saying, by the fear of their parents, at that time.

The Wanderer fell in love with the Indigenous way of life and lived for months at a time in the most Northern parts of Canada.  He was a survivalist before it became in fashion, embracing the Kyoto Accord, long before it existed.  He believed one must fish, hunt and trap to sustain life and carry forward no carbon footprint.  Everyone envied his fine leather coats, fashioned by his Inuit companions, beaded in a bright colors, with special detail to show the character of the wearer.  There were sacred eagles, wings spread out to show their vibrant plumage, and exquisite sun sets that would make a body think it had reached Nirvana. Like Joseph’s Coat of Many Colors, the beading bewitched them, while the numerous leather tassels reminded them that there was a different life beyond their own limited horizons.

Usually once a year The Wanderer, who never owned a car, would take various trains and buses in order to come back to see his family still residing in our part of the world. He always made it a habit to stop at Momma’s place where Grandmamma would give him a free haircut. They would catch up on the things he had seen.  There were photos of him feeding a black bear, as well as a grazing in the grass moose, who was more interested in eating, than worrying about a human and a den of wolves, hunkering down for the long game. They seemed to glare at the camera, with a silent but well communicated message to ‘back off.’

The conditions in which the Wanderer lived were not conducive to family life so his wife, we will call, Live-for-Today and her offspring did not accompany him on his escapades.  They only saw him when he came home to visit. Now Live-for-Today also did not fit the mould of the early 1960’s wife.  She was small in stature but still good-looking so you could easily see how she would appeal to the opposite sex.  Even so, with her ability to carry a lively conversation with anyone, she could also get along with the woman folk. However, what set her apart was she championed her own set of unwritten rules to ‘live for today because tomorrow may never come.’  She was a story in her own right which we may visit another day.  The old folks said, she couldn’t help herself, you know, because she was from ‘down the bay’. That is how they roll  ‘down the bay.’

 

Now The Wanderer, as he aged, missed the comforts of home.  It brought on the need to develop his spirituality, make it right with the Lord before he entered the Pearly Gates.   He returned to the comfort of his four-poster bed and started going to the local Evangelical Church that he had been brought up in.   Oh, there is so much more I could tell and I pinkie promise, I will be back.

The town folk still miss The Wanderer and talk about how with his travels, like National Geographic, he brought them to another  world outside their limited realm of existence. He was an untitled diplomat and ambassador, far ahead of his time, able to live under any condition, blending with the culture or situation at hand.

In their hearts they all long to be as strong and as original, taking up the torch where he left off. But you know the adage that time waits for no man. It is said that our egg-timer is set in the Book of Life up yonder, a mystery, but a reality. The Wanderer would be buried where he was born, not in the land of the midnight sun, but far away from the First Nation’s beating drums as the wolves howled. The Wanderer would wander no longer. Praise God Almighty, free at last!

All things being equal, I don’t want to hang out with the wild life just south of the Arctic Ocean. No, I am the four-poster bed, don’t surprise me, live by Policies and Procedures for All Creation type.

Still, it would have been cool to be able go just once on a journey of an unknown destination with The Wanderer.

Like this?  Also in this series:                                                                                         Those Were the Days                                                                                                      Jakita Recalls Jack Jack                          

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