Hello from New Harbor, Maine. It’s Tuesday morning and it finally stopped raining. Cloudy and a slight breeze from the nearby Atlantic Ocean, which can be seen from the front porch of my friend’s humble abode here ona the coast. I’m up here chipping away at this bluegrass book, and also seeking solitude.
To preface, over the last week or so, I’ve driven solo from my apartment in Waynesville to Jacksonville Beach, Florida, then onward to New England. Some 1,800 miles thus far, not to mention all the stop-and-go traffic along Interstate 95 through Washington D.C., Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York City, New Haven, Portland, etc. “And the road goes on forever,” as they say, eh?
As expected on this road trip, I did (and continue to do) a lot of thinking. Wandering and pondering, as per usual. Most of the reflection is normal day-to-day stuff. Work and life stress, whether it be meeting unrelenting deadlines or simply trying to pay bills and “keep the wolves at bay,” like my mother says. Existential stress about the state of our country, the world, and the greater universe. You know the drill. Same boat, too? I hear yah. Sigh.
More so, I’ve been observing America on this trek through the windshield of my rusty, musty pickup truck, through my daily run in whatever place I may find myself at on any given day (city, backroads, forest, oceanside), and through the lens of an eternal optimist (me, always and forever) traversing God’s green earth in these unknown times of chaos and confusion.
Well, I guess to begin, I’ve had (and still have) very mixed emotions about the upcoming 250th birthday of our country. I am a proud American. I pay my taxes. I support individual rights. I believe in democracy and the power each voter has when a ballot is cast. I thank my lucky stars for being born on this soil and being given many opportunities for a great life. I remain. So do you. And I also think it’s our right to be frustrated and angry at the state of things.
For me, I believe in the pendulum of the cosmic universe, and Newton’s Third Law of Motion: “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” I’m a lifelong history nerd and someone who travels this wide land within our borders extensively, continually interacting with people, places and things that make up the incredible diversity of opinions, languages, religions and whatnot. We’re a melting pot and we should be proud of that. Oh, and don’t forget, your neighbor isn’t out to get you, nor is your local newspaper/media outlet.
Heck, the other day, I crossed paths by chance with this wondrous soul from Mongolia at the Sierra Nevada Brewing taproom in Mills River, where we became fast friends and talked wildly, happily about the beauty of America. So, yeah, it’s not lost on me (and never will be) about where I come from and why I choose to be a journalist for this fine publication. Always be curious. Always show compassion. Ask respectful questions and offer up honest truths.
Anyhow, as I’ve moseyed on up I-95 from The Sunshine State to Vacationland, I’ve taken note of many crazy things. A lot of dichotomies, in truth. Like seeing religious billboards in the Carolinas alongside ones for porno shops. States with harsh laws against marijuana below the Mason-Dixon Line, only to notice legal cannabis stores all over New England. Don’t get me started on gas prices.
I think about being stuck in traffic while passing through D.C. Thousands of folks trying to get home. Commercial airliners zooming overhead. Smog and honking. Trains and tractor-trailers. And yet, my gaze keeps gravitating to the majestic Washington Monument looming over the city and what that structure represents, and then shifting to the nearby Pentagon, a flood of memories of when I was a teenager watching Sept. 11 unfold in real time on national TV.
Earlier that day, there was also Richmond, Virginia. I found myself strolling through Capitol Square, my head raised and admiring the enormous George Washington statue, only to pay my respects to the “Women of Virginia” statues a stone’s throw away. At one point, I walked by an abandoned building, which looked to be the former location of a restaurant, a lone plaque on the facade stating: “Site of the home of George Wythe, signer of the Declaration of Independence.” What would he think of our modern times? I digress.
I don’t have the answers to explain today, and what tomorrow may bring. I do know that it takes a village to raise a good human, that village being this country and that human being me and you (and you, too). We’re all in this together. Nobody is (or should be) an island unto themselves. There’s no such thing as everyone getting their way, for compromise is the only avenue of resolution, it’s the foundation of our democracy. Shit, I don’t want to get everything I ever wanted when it comes to laws, etc. I don’t. I want to meet somewhere in the middle, so that me and you (and you, too) are protected.
Call me naive. Call me an idiot. I don’t care. I aim to extend a handshake to any and all, always willing to sit-down with anyone who wants to take the time to learn and connect with me (and you, too). To that, it irks me so deeply that face-to-face communication is a lost art in the 21st century, which is why one of my subconscious things is to start one (or three) conversations with a stranger every single day. Try it. It works. And it’s vital to our survival.
In closing, I’m 41 years old. I’ve traveled more miles than I could ever count or remember. I’ve interviewed thousands of kind folk, from all walks of life and backgrounds, and written just as many stories about said subjects and topics galore. I’ve seen sunsets in South Dakota, Texas and Kentucky that’ll make you cry happy tears, and I’ve swam in both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans with that same feeling of goosebumps and gratitude. Don’t forget that you’re alive and in the world, in this moment right now. Don’t forget that you’re human. Happy Birthday, America.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
To note, in this haphazard economy (and mounting truck repair bills), if you’d like to throw a few pennies into Garret’s coffers to propel his adventures, feel free to make a donation via Venmo (@Garret-Woodward-3) or PayPal (@YoBroDobro). If you need the last four digits of his phone number, it’s 0-4-3-2. Much thanks and sincere appreciation in advance. Any amount offered will keep the truck on the road, gas in the tank, the words in these columns flowing freely, and his simple sanity intact for the time being.