Little House

Goodwell,OK



The storm that had saddled the horse barn on Rt.54 put thick ropes of ice over every trees in Goodwell and pulling down hard until every branch was headed for a break. When I walked against the wind into town branches were raining down from every tree. Splintered limbs were falling on carports, and trucks, filling yards and littering the streets. Houses in rows had limbs rake off portions of roofs and tag cars. Every street was a battle ground where trees took heavy casualities on all sides as the Waterford crystal world of ice and light refraction out taxed the strength of wood.

As soon as I arrived in town I bought a warm meal just to get out of the bitter wind. Tall glasses of water were unable to curb the dry parched field in my mouth so I drank until I was uncomfortable and ice no longer felt good against my teeth. Under the table I shook off the foul dust of the horse farm family that lingered in my mind.
Kind staff at the town hall handed me a book to skim over that contained the town history in black and white pictures. A safe place was also offered to get me out of the weather for the night.
Across the street at the Hilltoppers,( a senior center for those not ready to be called over the hill)I introduced myself to the gathering of men playing dominoes in farm attire. As they played I became less of a stranger over a styrofoam cup of coffee and a shard of peanut brittle one of the men made from scratch. Jim Oblander , the man seated closest to me, was a huey pilot in Vietnam. He flew the same choppers I parachuted from in the eighties. In the army I gained great respect for these men that also risked their lives--often saving ours. Now a door was thrown open to become friends with a decorated vet that spoke the same language we both spoke when we were soldiers; the language of having been in harms way and returning. As evening blew in it became Jim's home that I headed for when the last of the dominoes found their box. Next to Jim's and his wife Charlsye's elegant home sat a cozy little house they also owned. I was given the full use of the little house and asked to stay through the holiday. My gear was brought over as Jim and I made plan's to fly over a portion of my walk the next day, plans to fly over things I will never see again, miles of New Mexico, Kansas and over to the CO. Rockies. I would learn that there would be places I would be walking where not a tree grew from horizon to horizon. Ahead of me on this flight I would learn what America was sharpening me to endure; preparation to survive being truely alone.