My husband has hitchhiked back and forth across America from north to south, east to west. A young "Kerouac on the road". He worked as a barefoot migrant in Maine picking wild blueberries on cold mornings with the smell of the sea in the air; planted Douglas firs above the clouds in the mountains of Oregon for the BLM; worked in construction on the open plains of Oklahoma; been tutored by an accomplished bronze sculptor at the foot of the Colorado mountains; bailed hay stretching the sun across his back in central Florida; and wore a white shirt and tie for the IRS in Texas, pulling tax records with pale financial histories for families seeking installment plans. But I believe that I have always loved the barefoot migrant sleeping beneath an old hat best.

Added Mar 3, 2023

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