Musings from an gray-haired guy in Ashland

August 11, 2010

Time to depart from mythe usual travel commentary.

As I look at my window and watch a doe and her fawn enjoy the cool shade in our backyard, I start to think about how much life slows down here in Ashland and how much pleasure one can get from non-material things, particularly here in the beautiful Northwest.

I love to read when I am here. Just finished John Daniel's "Rogue River Journal". The writer chronicles his six months off living in a remote part of the Rogue River Canyon (about 100 miles from here) with no human contact. within the context of his day to day activities in the wilderness also tells his life story. Sort of a "Thoreau" meets "Into the Wild" with a happy ending.

The book really gets me thinking, which is what a good book is supposed to do.

The author and I are approximately the same age and share the same philosophy of life and a passion for the outdoors. So at the risk of revealing my inner thoughts to my readers, my thoughts today:

One passage touched a chord with me:

'In my teens and twenties, I took it for granted that when I hit 50 I'd be worried about being an old man. In fact, I would already be an old man. I've been thinking lately though, maybe I am seeing the problem upside down. Maybe it's not that I am getting old, but that I never grew up."

This got moi to wondering if I will ever grow up, or if I want to. My hair is gray (thankfully I still have much of it left), my ankle has two plates in it and I can't do the black ski runs anymore. My patience for all the blabber on TV is thin. And these are only a few of my shortcomings. But I will say that each day I learn to appreciate what life has given me. I now understand what matters most is not so much what I own, but rather my experiences and relationships and the continual quest to expand my knowledge and those experiences and relationships. Perhaps this is the process of becoming a complete "man" or "woman". Becoming a grown-up is a much longer road than I ever could have imagined. I don't expect to be done with it anytime soon.

I close with another passage from Daniel's book. It is part of the eulogy he wrote for his father. One can only hope to be remembered like this man:

"Tomatoes still grow fat in August, and the fish still bite,sometimes. People still laugh at a well told story, still are moved by Beethoven and nature, still are enraged by injustice. My father believed in life. He believed in the future. He believed in children and gave them something they will never lose. He gave such things to me and many of you. Rejoice that he lived, and lived a hell of a life, a life so full that it overflowed into countless others."