His starvation diet was getting old quickly as he roamed the mountainous regions of the American west. Worse than that were the stomach troubles he was experiencing from drinking the water in mountain country streams, him not having the sense to boil the water to kill parasites and the like. He needed to up his game if he were to be comfortable in this way of life. It was all about learning and adapting, as far as he could tell. Finding jobs and money was difficult because he was underage and leading a nomadic lifestyle, typically hadn’t bathed in weeks, and though he carried a guitar with him he wasn’t inclined to busk for cash or play at the barn dance for tips.
He also was loathe to panhandle, which had struck him, after experimentation earlier in his home town, as an embarassing and demeaning affront to his self-respect. It dawned on him that whittling objects and selling them would be a possibility for the acquisition of funds to facilitate buying food and cigarettes. He got to it with all gusto!
In the parks and tourist destinations all across the rocky mountains one could visit small markets where travelers and campers would fuel up, purchase food and other necessities, perhaps sit at a counter and have a meal, and recharge as they vacationed. Typically there were benches located in front of these markets where one could sit and relax before getting on the road again. That’s where he would whistle and whittle! These benches were also excellent places for meeting people, and for hitchhikers a location to possibly find a ride to somewhere in the stars.
Abundant in the wooded areas where he camped he found dead and down lodgepole pine, perfect for turning into walking staffs, so he decided that whittling walking sticks would be his new money-making scheme. He would also carve small smokin’ pipes he was certain would be saleable. Sitting by his campfire he would begin the process of transforming a plain piece of wood into something useful and beautiful that he could sell. When he had last returned east his mother had cried and told him he looked emaciated and would surely die of starvation on some lonely mountain somewhere. It being an expanding universe though he was thinkin that fortune beckons! Better a basketmaker than a basketcase!
The staffs and pipes had carved and inlaid serpents and goddesses, so were eye-catching and selling as quickly as he could carve them. He was soon able to save the money to finally buy a small tent, which was a huge step forward in his pursuit of comfort.
“Someday this pipe will be a collector’s item!” he assured one buyer. “I’m going places in this world!”
“And who is this goddess you’ve carved?” another buyer asked.
“The goddess of love!” he responded. “And the serpents I carve represent freedom, wiliness and wisdom, which is what I’m in search of. But I gotta eat, and a good smoke helps calm the nerves. Don’t want to go postal you know!”
“You’re an absurd spectacle of a young man,” a girl with chestnut hair remarked. “That you sell your wares so cheaply, and whistle while you whittle, are your parents aware of the life you’ve chosen to live? You seem so young to be living like this.”
“I’m happier here than there,” he responded. “Summertime in my farm state is miserable, and I’m searching for something I know I can find, but must work for. I hope your new walking stick helps you move more confidently on the trails. It can also be used to distract any serpents in your path!”
She walked off beaming, the proud owner of an elaborately carved walking staff adorned with two hearts of inlaid serpentine.
CP Butchvarov. 2024