Pioneer Spirit

I would have been a good pioneer. Until I got a blister or needed a pretzel snack. I like to tell myself I don’t need much in the way of convention or creature comforts, and that love, the night sky, and a little fresh air are enough to fulfill me. I like not having a driveway or a car to put in it right now, and I like the freedom of going somewhere in our sailboat whenever the weather and our moods can settle on a day. I take pride in the going, and the good attitude I sometimes have about it, and wide open places do it for me, but in truth I’m still very spoiled. Handcarts? No thanks. Thirst? Nope. I’m pretty sure pioneers were happy if they weren’t nursing frostbite or sucking rattlesnake poison out of someone’s leg. I’m writing this in the plate glass window of a Starbucks.

Montana Back Yard, Oil on Panel, 5" x 7"

Our sailboat is in the water and we are living in it, car-free and carefree. We’re not in the Bahamas yet, but we’re independent and unplugged (mostly), and more aware of the stars than we are of the headlines. A night or two after we left the marina, Pat sent an email to my parents he let me read first, thanking them for Christmas and other things. There was a little part about how proud they would be if they could see me zipping around in the dinghy and holding my own in this boating life. It made me want to live up to that spirit of adventure and competence. His few sentences make me want to zip and hold instead of whine. We have promised to NEVER be the yelling, angry, anxious couple screaming their way up to the dock or the mooring ball – and we’ve seen plenty of tight-lipped, unhappy mates blaming everything from wet feet to dragging anchors on their equally cross partners to know what we’re promising – but Pat’s words to my parents make me want to say yes, to feel lucky, to strive for this pioneer spirit all the time.

Silo, Oil on Panel, 5" x 7"

It’s not that going without a shower for days on end is admirable, or lugging 35 pounds of gasoline in a jerry jug across six lanes of traffic is something everyone should try. I don’t think the doctor that just shared my table for lack of available seating particularly enjoyed my pioneer look or smell. He doesn’t much care that I love wide open spaces or doing things for myself. I’m not really accomplishing anything new or brave, nothing particularly adventurous or ground-breaking. But when I hoof it a few miles for lunch, or take the bus in a strange town full of collagen and fancy cars, or stop what I’m doing to unpack a storage bin and hand Pat a tool I don’t know the name of, I feel a little freedom, a little pride. When I take the dogs a long way to tinkle without complaining, or go to the boat-parts-store and get the right piece, all by myself, I feel like I’ve done something. Learned something. Proven that I have a little strength, a good head on my shoulders, a decent attitude and some competence. I’m secretly thrilled there are no covered wagons anymore, but maybe it’s the willingness that matters. I guess walking a mile and a half to buy a new yoga mat before we set sail doesn’t quite compare to driving cattle across raging rivers to start a new life in the vast unknown, but still. I think my parents would be proud, and I’m digging the night sky and the love.

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