The other day, I happened to be in an area that contained a lot of history: a house that was once the hub of a community, beautiful, old trees that had looked down on violent actions and peaceful scenes, and the remains of a very old road that once led to Tahlequah. This track led down a grassy slope, across a branch, and off through the trees. After that, I lost sight of it. It was probably obliterated with bushes and many seasons of fall leaves. Today, other, well-traveled roads lead to the capital of the Cherokee Nation and nobody has occasion to travel the old way. Besides, it’s narrow and has known only wagon wheels and horses’ hooves.
I started thinking about old ways. Traveling that faded trail was certainly a lot slower than going by car on well-paved highways. But, you know what? I’ll bet you spoke to everybody you met or maybe somebody else was going your way and came along for company. Yesterday as I sat at an intersection waiting for the light to turn green, I glanced at the person in the car beside me. He was a stranger. I had no idea of his name, where he was going, or anything else about him. His car windows were rolled up, as were mine. He may have been listening to a radio or having a telephone conversation. The bank of cars facing me reminded me of a bunch of horses, waiting impatiently for the gate to open so they could charge down the street. Strangers, all of them.
When we travelers reach our destinations, usually our homes, we trot inside, lock the door, and do whatever it is we do. When I walk or drive down streets, I don’t often see anybody in their front yards or porches. All the living goes on inside the house or in the fenced-in back yard. We are isolated within cocoons of our own making.
People of today would scoff at the old ways, of waiting for the actual letters to come to a real mailbox, of sitting on the front porch and saying Hello to anyone walking by. We are too busy hurrying here and there, going to work, going to school, traveling across country. We don’t want to be hampered or slowed down by anything. We are much too busy. So, the old ways, like the old road are forgotten. But, here and there, I notice pockets of neighborliness. I think we are starved for friendship and for someone to pause long enough to listen. We gravitate toward people who have time to talk, who invite us over for a cup of coffee or a luncheon, who surprise us with unexpected and undeserved acts of kindness.
Sometimes, when the sun is about to set and the light turns golden, I think about past days, old-fashioned ways and neglected roads. In thinking about them, I try to bring a little of the pleasant times into the present. It’s good to travel those dim and ancient roads again, if only in my memory.
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