Last week, my little brother moved to a seedy part of Milwaukee. He recently graduated from the University of Wisconsin – Madison with concentrations in East Asian Studies, Mandarin Chinese, Mathematics, and Science. With this modern arsenal of formative knowledge, he is directing his work experiences toward his passions, preventative health. So it is that he took an internship with an urban agriculture company in Milwaukee. While I am excited for him at this opportunity, I am apprehensive about his living arrangement.
When describing the area in which the little brother would be living, my father described the area of Milwaukee as having a high rate of crime even by Milwaukee’s standards. Milwaukee is no walk in the park. The city, while brewing with culture and excellent opportunities in certain parts of the city, has many parts of town not recommended in the travel books. So when my cousin, Grant, who has lived in Milwaukee for years, reiterated that Logan would be staying in a dangerous part of town, I became worried.
I trust his judgement and when we talked last week he assured me that he knew how to handle the dangers posed.
Part Two: Losing a Wallet
Thinking of my brother's living predicament, my mind swam with thoughts of criminal activity, but the idea of taking a trip to Theodore Roosevelt National Park does not produce images of a buffalo stabbing who then runs off with your wallet. So, desiring a bit of adventure, SJ and I grabbed some clothes, food, wallets, and drove to TRNP.
I love that park. It is in my top five underratted national parks. And yes, I do have that list, and it will be covered in the next blog.
Arriving there, I immediately felt better. Like the Theif's Downfall in Gringott's Bank, which washes away all enchantments, entering the Park washed away the stress I had been feeling. All of a sudden, I became immersed in the elevated canyon walls, the flitting fall leaves in the cottonwoods, and the downward flow of the Little Missouri.
SJ and I drove a few miles down to an old homestead on the Little Missouri, one of the few standing buildings in the park. We walked down to the river and proceeded to play an intricate game of a) throw rocks all the way across the river to the opposite river bank, and b) use beaver-chewed branches as baseball bats to hit rocks into the river. SJ did much better at both of these games than I did, adding evidence to the case that SJ is the much better natural athlete among us.
We spent the evening hidden amongst a patch of juniper trees, overlooking a secluded part of the Little Missouri, reading until the last light of the day faded.
We then drove back to Medora, where I promptly realized my wallet was missing. We searched the car top to bottom three times. We drove back into the Park to check different areas we had been. We drove back to Medora. We checked the car again. Nothing. Exhausted and dishearted, we gave up for the evening, vowing to go back and look the next morning.
After an excellent supper of Lobster Bisque and Alfredo Pasta, we turned in for the night and slept the sort of mildly-restful sleep that comes with staying in a hotel.
The next morning, we resumed the wallet search in the rain. We walked back to where we had read. We checked parking lots again. And I gave up. I wrote off the whole thing as a loss, so SJ drove us out of the Park and towards home.
"There it is!" she proclaimed as we stopped at an intersection.
"No way. No way." I replied intelligently.
"Yeah, this is your wallet," she replied as she picked up the soaking flap of leather of the road.
"That is incredible" was all I could manage.
The cash was missing out of the wallet, but all my cards and IDs were still there. We determined, I'd dropped it in the parking lot, then someone had picked it up, took out the cash, and dropped it in the middle of an intersection.
Part Three: Reading in Mountain Lion Territory (The next weekend)
I spent the early part of Saturday largely inactive, sitting inside watching some Tube, cleaning, and sleeping in! At some point, however, I felt the need to escape outside and escape the lingering smoke in the air. This town in Eastern Montana demolished several old buildings (insert quip about coming in like a wrecking ball), which almost certainly contained asbestos, so the smoke had an added hint of cancerous death. So when I asked a friend if I could go hiking on his ranch, I was delighted that he was very encouraging of this idea. His wife cautioned that I should bring a can of pepper spray, since there might be a mountain lion in the area.
Sans pepper spray, I hiked for about an hour, found a suitable spot to sit and read, and did so for a few hours.
The sun setting on the western ridges, I decided to begin the hike back to my car. As I began to get up, I noticed a mule deer across the ridge from me. Then another mule deer. Then another. I sat transfixed, as five mule deer meandered their way down a steep, rock outcropping. Propped up on one arm while sitting, my supporting arm started to shake after 10 minutes of holding my body weight, so I risked the movement and eased down to my elbow. The mule deer continued to walk down a ravine and out of sight.
I started to turn to gather up my books, when I heard a splash. A few moments later, the deer walked back into view and continued back the way they had come. The deer must have visited a little creek to drink and then went back the way they came to go eat in the wheat fields. I waited for them to be out of sight, then packed up my things in the dark and walked back to my car.
The writing, the reading, the quiet, the weather, and the deer made for a perfectly peaceful evening.
All the best,
J. Viegut