Tuesday PM (9-27-16)

After getting settled for the night on Tuesday, I had a neighbor pull in across the way from my campsite.  I guess we need to continually learn the “don’t judge by what you see” motto, as my first look at Luke and his truck spelled nothing but bad vibes.  An old Toyota truck with a hard side shell over the bed that had that “it’s on it’s 12 owner look” and an owner who look liked a character from “Deliverance” .  A quick hello and later a chat by the fire dispelled all my first impressions and offered a interesting story of a young man seeking what’s next.  He was in his mid-twenties with a very polite and easy spirit. 

Luke the farmer:

He had spent a spell in New Orleans going to Journalism school at Tulane.  Originally from Baltimore, he related working and going to school and enjoying the New Orleans food and music.   His story turned a bit tragic as he was 3 years into his program when Tulane up and discontinued their journalism degree.  Disenchanted and a bit lost, he continued for one more semester in Colorado before all the bad luck, bad vibes, and just this ain’t working crowed his brain.  He saw a craiglist posting for a farm position in Oregon.   A place to stay with some basic pay and in his case an escape from a run of bad luck and life not working out.  So he started working on a small Oregon farm tending to the soil and it’s bounty – strawberries, and vegetables of all sorts.  The work suited him and provided timely feedback that he was being productive.    Not making much money, but enjoying the back to the land existence.   Unfortunately the land owner was a bit of a unfair task master and also a bit unstable emotionally, so Luke had decided to move one.   He had given a friend a ride to LA and was working his way back to Oregon with thoughts of settling in the same area but with a new gig.   I enjoyed talking with him and offered him my advice that somewhere at the intersection of journalism (story telling), farming, and New Orleans cooking and Jazz was an opportunity waiting to parlay his skills and that he should be ready to step out when the door opens. 

I took the opportunity to grab a shower and do some laundry before heading out of Sequoia National Park and down into the California central valley.

I ran into the Farmer at the Lodge pole market and we did a barter of sorts.  I offered Smoked Jalapeno Cheddar Cheese Venison sausage and he reciprocated with a jar of dryed cherry tomoatoes, dried strawberries and some dill relish from this year’s crop.  The trade delighted me as I had sampled the cherry tomatoes during our chat by the fire. 

Always good to run into a farmer with jars of food