maynard
The world is full of unlikely friends.
Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.
Now here's a tip from Blanche you won't regret.
A stranger's just a friend you haven't met!
— Marge Simpson, O Streetcar!
_______
Summer is here in full force, and during my busy season, that means day trips. There is an inverse correlation between length of trip and the planning needed, so day trips are super easy, especially if you keep a go-bag. I keep a go-bag, three paddles in a case, and a kneeling pad at the ready.
Today was honey-do day, so I puttered around the house, went on a long bike ride, and thought about work stuff, which is an occupational hazard. Sometimes work goes into my brain like a welcomed guest; other times, as a rude intruder (anything to do with accounting/finance).
Today work was welcome, even though it is a not-in-the-office day. I had some ideas that might make the shop run better. They’re not fully-baked, and I don’t want to open the oven door before they’re done so they don’t collapse.
I was recently going through photo albums, as I am of the generation that, while I have 13,000 pictures on my phone, still have photo albums that need to be sorted, filtered, and digitized. I came across one of the photos below and it triggered some wonderful memories with my son Ian, and a quick half-day paddle.
It was ten years ago when we headed south to paddle the Pecatonica down by Darlington. I was with my son, but no shuttle vehicle, so I had to trust fate and my best outstretched thumb. Hitchhiking while holding a canoe paddle is an instant symbol of riparian brotherhood, so I always get a lift within five minutes, and I always drop ten bucks on the floor for gas money and as a thank you.
As I walked out of the parking lot to the road, I heard a voice from a guy angling for catfish as an excuse to enjoy a beer.
“Hey! Where you goin’?”
“Calamine.”
“Calamine? You’re walking to Calamine?”
“Hopefully I’m getting a ride.”
“No you won’t.”
“I usually do.”
“No traffic on that road.”
He was right, the traffic counts were nonexistent, hence the popularity of that road with cyclists.
“Do you have any suggestions?”
He scratched his grizzled face, covered with a little drywall mud and three days of beard.
“I’ll take you.”
“Great.”
“For ten bucks.”
“Deal. What’s your name?”
“Maynard.”
”I’m Darren.”
”Nice to meet you, Darryl.” A common mistake, and I didn’t bother correcting him.
I looked at his lawn chair, an old aluminum-framed job with green and white interwoven webbing. Only one beer can next to it. It was early in the day, about ten.
We climbed into his old white work van, which was full of plastering materials and ladders. We cleared a place for me on the floor, and strapped Ian into the front seat.
Maynard chatted about nothing in general, how he was getting close to retirement but still did odd jobs here and there for local contractors. He asked where we were from, and we talked about canoeing. I was regaled with stories, which is normal, about paddling big aluminum canoes when he was a kid.
Maynard had a case of Budweiser in the back of the van, and I think he had intentions of putting a dent in it. His Golden Retriever tried to crawl into the front seat with Ian, and was giving him a serious face wash. It was, fortunately, a short trip. Maynard was not particularly attentive to the rules of the road.
The paddle was nice, and I remember it being enjoyable. The Pec is an often muddy farm ditch, but it’s my muddy little farm ditch. Once in a while you’ll come across a bovine stream blockage, but they scatter with a shout and sometimes a dirt clod.
The truth is that nothing particular sticks out other than the beginning (Maynard) and the ending (Maynard again).
As we paddled up to the take-out, we heard an exclamation of joy.
“Darryl! You made it!”
He hustled down the little take out. “Here, let me help you…”
No…nononononono….Maynard grabbed my bow and gave it several vigorous tugs up onto the rocks. I said, “No, no, I got this…” but Maynard was undeterred. Usually there’s no harm, no foul, but I was seriously fouled. The scratches are still there.
Near the lawn chair was a fishing pole and half a dozen more beer cans. These Buds were for Maynard, and he had enjoyed all of them to the fullest. He yammered amiably as we carried our boats to the car, and waved and shouted a hearty farewell. But not without taking a picture with the timer. Classic t-shirt.*
When I think about the experiences in my life that really stand out, the most memorable events were interactions with other people, whether on the water or off. Paddling has a lot to do with the places I find myself meeting people. Sometimes it’s Maynard, a man I’d normally have nothing in common with except his love of dogs. Not that I’m a snob, I just don’t spend a lot of time drinkin’ and catfishin’.
Maynard was the one who approached me. He’s the good soul who offered a ride. Granted, it was a little sketchy and I could have become a projectile in the case of an accident, but I got him with only one beer in him, not six. Sometimes people call folks like Maynard salt of the earth. I agree, no pretense at all; he was 100% Maynard.
I find myself more and more enjoying the company of the Salt of the Earth people, rather than the erudite intellectuals who can discuss Malthusian theories of exponential growth (populations) vs. linear growth (food and other resources). Not that I don’t like a good discussion of economics, but with the salt of the earth, such conversations can be pretty bland.
But now I retract that statement. If I sat down with Maynard and talked to him about the growth of ugly little subdivisions around Darlington and the concomitant decrease in farmland, he’d get it in a heartbeat. Intellect may come from letters after your name, but intelligence is unrelated. A salty conversation about subdivision and farms disappearing is more relevant in reality than on a sheet of graph paper.
I can drywall a room. It would take me two days, too many screws, twice as much mud as I need, and it would be ugly. Maynard might take a day, less if I hauled the sheetrock, and it would be perfectly done, plumb, level, and square.
Paddling has made my life unbearably rich. Most of my best friends I made because of paddling, whether it be a customer at my shop, a student in a class I teach, or a local character I run into at the put-in or take-out.
* Remind me of your name again in the morning. Not gonna happen, bro.