MORE THAN LESS
You have no contractual obligation, I
understand, but shouldn't you still love
me more than this? I'm ankle deep in
the Conestoga River. Can you believe
that? It's early Spring and it's 40 degrees.
This is where the locals used to meet
and arrange their trains of Conestoga
wagons to set out West. Anything past
here was wilderness.
The wagon factory, as it were, back
then, was just two miles off at most.
There's a filthy little museum there
today, filled with mostly other, local
stuff - pictures of early ambulances,
and some guy who learned to fly in
these early meadows. If you've ever
seen a picture of a Conestoga Wagon,
they were like the semi's and tractor-trailers
of their day, you'll know how huge they
were - large, billowy white covers over
really rugged and suspended frames.
They took, when fully loaded, a bunch
of horses to pull them. Most often, the
stronger people walked along with them.
Can you imagine - Indian logic and
Indian territory, setting out to torture
oneself and them. Whole and extended
families often went up in flames. Wagon
attacks and all that. So, here I am today,
complaining about little, but, damn,
my wet feet are very cold.