Many miles to go before I rest...

"Recapitulation...it's like going back to the beginning of things and then working your way through all the successive stages of human development to where we are now. ... Recapitulation is a good teacher...we all do it some way or another... ."

I read these words as hubby and I rolled along I-80 westbound for Omaha. It was a brief journey to help a family member settle into a new town and get started on a new phase in her life, the one that sets her on life's greatest adventure: discovering the woman she is destined to become.

But I'm not thinking about her as the word "recapitulation" dances across my tongue. I'm thinking, instead, of a road trip that hubby and I haphazardly plan for coming winter -- when the grass has gone dormant, the leaves have all fallen from the grapevines, the equipment is all winterized, the market has closed, and we face an open stretch of commitment-free time for the first time in thirty years spent together. The open road ... time to recapitulate... .

I've felt the pull of the open road since girlhood but roadblocks to what I imagine to be the ultimate freedom experience materialized before I could finish packing the car. I'm not complaining, mind you. I've loved my life that has included convention, middle-of-the-road suburban parenting and dutiful employment. I met all my responsibilities at the front door. Yet I believe there is still something to be learned and the road is my classroom, recapitulation my teacher.

Along I-80, hubby and I talked about taking to the road for weeks. Maybe we will sleep in the car or throw a mattress in the bed of the truck. I offered the image of a used VW camper bus with bright yellow daisies painted on the side. We can travel like gypsies or the way college kids used to when they were considered "poor." I'd bring the camera and the journal. He'd manage our stash of nourishment. Oh the lessons we could learn!

Of course there's no way to know for sure if this trip will ever materialize for us. Yet I long for it to occur. I long to hear and see places new, even if they look and feel as familiar as home. I want to examine what's old, yet new to me, to see if my understanding of the world changes in line with my perspective. And I want to experience life as if I stood at the starting gate. I want to ride again. I want to recapitulate.

Oh, to be proud that we do God's work!

My friend Tom writes a blog on living your faith in the workplace. Recently, he wrote how the two presumptive presidential candidates are openly discussing their religious beliefs making it easier for us to do the same. (Read his thoughts here).

I recalled his comments yesterday while listening to a radio interview with a woman who was promoting a fundraising event for a non-profit agency that matches seniors with volunteer opportunities here in Southern Minnesota. During the interview, the host mentioed that her agency was sponsored by Catholic Charities, the largest private social services network in the nation.

Immediately, the woman discounted the connection, making sure to clarify that the program she was touting was not affiliated with any religious institution or denomination. Her tone turned from one bursting with enthusiasm to one of flat out denial. I don't recall her exact words, but the gist of it can be summarized like this: Though we are affilliated with Catholic Charities sort of...you can still support us because we're not "catholic"... .

Clearly, she was uncomfortable with the connection her work had to any "religious" institution; I believe she assumed the show's listeners would be too. I found her backpedaling to be more damaging to her program's cause than an administrative affiliation to any religious organization could ever be.

I was also saddened that in her view, the only valid support for a community-based service agency was support that came unaffiliated with God. She apparantly has yet to discover that for many, many Americans, including the two running for President, that God can't be partitioned off from our work, whether it be for income or for the betterment of the community.

Sheep-ish behavior...

At the Blue Earth County Fair last weekend, I saw a 4H teen walking her ewe through the grounds, nothing between them but a thin leather strap. The two obviously shared a trust I've yet to engender in the flock that has been chomping the grass west of the vineyard.

So, just how does one go about becoming friends with sheep? Because the LeSueur Ten, as I've come to call them as if they were a group of roving bandits, still won't allow me within a car's length of their woolly hides. I thought sheep were supposed to follow the shepherd's call; that's what they told me in church, anyway.

I have learned one thing about these ovines -- they are interested in remaining part of a collection. One slipped through the fence tonight and right away looked for a way back into the pasture. When I noticed one was loose I knew one thing for certain. I should NOT walk toward it. To be honest, beyond that I didn't have a plan for how to get the bad girl back with her sisters. Fortunately, the gap in the twisted wire, where I assume she slipped out, presented itself as a way back in.

I watched her rejoin the flock then performed a quick rigging to plug the gap. Then I yelled at them all for the one's transgression.

By this point, I started to miss farm dog. He loves to go for walks on a leash.

Distinguishing a hobo from a tramp...

I met a hobo today. Actually, I met him in May and I've seen him every couple of days since. It was just that today, I learned he was a hobo.

My hobo friend, his name is John, told me the word hobo was borne out of the post-civil war era. When the war ended, soldiers were released and left to their own devices. Many picked up a hoe and traveled the rails, from farm to farm, offering to work for a meal and a small stipend.

That desire to work for his keep elevated the hobo -- or "hoe boy" -- from his counterpart, the tramp, who was considered too lazy to work.

One hundred miles to the south this weekend, Britt, Iowa, hosts the National Hobo Convention. Hobos from around the country gather with other hobos, as if returning to a family homestead. John will be there. He promises to bring me a brochure so I can learn more about hobos and the hobo lifestyle.