8. Delta
I drive through the “dobes” on my way to pick up Dave. He just got out of the hospital on Monday. He lost half a toe to frostbite while hiking last week. Fortunately the middle toe, not needed for balance. I’m bringing him to the hospital for a checkup, and then we’ll get some supplies for him.
He lives in a camper, on the property of a woman who is kind enough to let him stay there. She has dreams of building a vegan community. Dave doesn’t do well on a vegan diet, and neither does his dog.
I drive up the dirt road to his property and as I come around the last corner my car descends a few feet into a creek basin. Cat tails and small ponds sit on either side of the road. An RV parked on each side of the road. One sits vacant. Dave lives in the second.
There are mounds of building supplies collected. A wooden deck sits with a pavilion tent structure on it, dilapidated and sun stained. The fabric wraps around the frame, hanging with some possibility of being put up again in short order… Or maybe it would disintegrate in my hands. No one has tried for a long time.
Mounds of trash. Bottles, cans, wrappers, plastic water jugs, some melted by fire. A fire pit, a few chairs.
As I roll up and park my car, Dave comes out of the camper, his black and white cow dog bounding out cheerfully behind him. Dave greets me with a smile and a handshake. I express my condolences for his lost digit, and amazement that at least it wasn’t a critical one. Dave agrees. We load a few bags and empty bottles into my car and get on the road.
The Delta Hospital sits on a mesa in the center of the town. Its funny, you can’t see anything that’s up there until you crest over the lip of the mesa. Its a part of the same town, but separate in a way.
I drop Dave off at the entrance and park my car. I need to stretch my legs and get some sunlight.
Walking towards the center of the mesa, I come to the edge of the medical complex. To my left is a neighborhood street that looks a bit quieter, with some nice cottonwoods for shade. I head down that way.
A few houses down, I see a bull terrier sitting at the back of a lot. He growls, and I don’t think much of it. A few seconds later he is racing across the yard, across the road, and is a few feet from me. His back is hunched with his head low, and his fangs are bared fully as he snarls and snaps at me. I take a step towards him, point back at his yard and tell him to “get the fuck out of here”. But he’s in no mood to leave.
Fortunately there’s a car coming, and I keep walking as the animal’s attention becomes diverted towards the large, vibrating object.
Walking up to the corner, a stand of cottonwoods lines a ditch running along the road, and I head up that way. Past the cottonwoods the visibility opens up, and beyond the ditch on my right is a chain link fence around the back yard of each house. No trees in any of the back yards. Its a scene of asphalt, concrete, and grass.
Each yard is inhabited by one or more dogs and as I pass by they run up to the fence line barking. Some of them seem quite aggressive. Others are just “doing the dog thing”. I’m grateful for the ditch and fence separating us. The dogs seem like lab mice shocked by an electrified cage.
I keep walking, and turn a corner to the right a half mile down the road. A friendlier looking street, front yards this time. Some foliage and trees. A black dog with long fur runs up to a fence and barks at me. But he’s not too serious. He turns back to tackle and wrestle with his companion under the shade of the tree.
Two boys walk by, maybe brothers, fresh off the bus and done with school for the day.
I come to the grade school, and the melee of parents and kids is in full effect. Not wanting to enter the fray I make a right turn before the school and head back towards the medical complex. Cars are cruising faster on this road. A cell phone tower equipped with a battalion of radios and receivers looms over the houses to my right, installed in very close proximity to their back yards.
The road is terminated ahead of me by a cemetery, the lines of gravestones punctuated by a few shrubs and trees. After taking a right, soon after I find myself back in the medical complex.
I’m on a street that doesn’t connect back to the main hospital, but fortunately there is a foot path running along the lip of the mesa. I take this a little way, and then I see a little bluff I can ascend and get away from the main trail. Surrounded by trees now, with a little buffer between me and the town, I take a piss and do some qigong. By the time I finish my exercises my body is relaxed, my mind is at ease, and I feel patient and open to the flow of the day.
I trot down a steep bank back to the trail and walk back up to the main hospital. Dave texts me saying he needs a bit more time. I head back to the car and open up the back to lay on the bed platform. I get out my Go board and play out some opening sequences while I wait.
I have all four corners populated when Dave comes out. He recognizes the game and says he is interested in learning someday. Shall we head to Walmart? Yep, let’s go.
Dave heads into the Walmart, and I lay back in my seat and take a nap. 20 minutes later I pull up a book on my phone. Will Ruddick’s “Grassroots Economics”. I met Will at the Ethereum conference a few weeks ago, and he created a system based on the barter economy of the Kenyans. It tracks the contributions and withdrawals from a community pot which the Kenyans call a magic “calabash” or gourd.
I’m curious whether we might be able to implement a system like this here, and if we could use it to “wake up” the economy from a paralysis resulting from scarcity of US Dollars. Maybe if we learn other ways of collaborating we won’t need so many US Dollars in circulation. Maybe we can create businesses that will bring more dollars into the community.
A few hours pass. Dave comes out with food and water for the next few days. We load up and head back towards his place. Dave tells me that he also checked into a prescription for his glasses, and he should be able to pick them up tomorrow. He’s fighting a battle with his insurance company to get them to pay for physical therapy after the frost bite and amputation. They don’t want to pay for anything not in network, and he doesn’t have reliable transportation to reach anything that they consider in-network. A pickle, as they say.
Dave wants to document some of these “pickles” that impoverished people encounter, and try to document ways to climb out of the hole.
We arrive back at Dave’s place and unload. His dog bursts out of the RV door as soon as he opens it, happy to see us. The dog runs to Dave, then to me, putting his head firmly on my leg. The sun has just set and it’s starting to get chilly. I say goodbye to Dave, and I head home in the fading light. No music, only my thoughts to keep me company, and the feeling of the next breath coming slowly into my lungs, slowly out. The road winds and turns on the edge of a steep incline. I take a safe speed, and turn my brights on when I can to watch for deer. They frequently cross the road along here.
I’m glad I had the time to do this today. It was good to connect with Dave. But I also realize its only sustainable to do this occasionally. The winter is passing, but it will come again. And Dave needs to be in a safe place where he can access services and not be so… Invisible when things go wrong.
Dave is one of those people that feels worth investing in, to me. He has a caring heart and wants to give to others. He’s intelligent, organized, and knows how to work towards objectives. Given a foundation of food, water, and shelter, I know that’s how he would spend his time. I want that for Dave. I want that for everyone. I wish we lived in a society where we could see the potential in each other, and feed it. Maybe we do, and I just haven’t walked down that street yet.
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