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Back East I really have no standing; I am nothing here only revenue, a cog in their wheels of government, justice and economic expectations. Individuality is not respected here, only the law and authority. Power clings to protective patronage. It's the money chase and the put on for a false show of compassion and sophistication. We know what's best for you. Narcissism, the herd instinct: keep up with the Joneses, the Sullivans, the Kennedys and Kelleys! Irish flag license plates. Self-worth by ancestry and birthplace. Turf wars and class consciousness. Possession through bullying- aggression prevails. Outdated crumbling infrastructure. Bureaucratic entities cover their own rear ends at the expense of responsibility for the common good in the name of a commonwealth.
The Harvard/ Amherst rabble. Mafia cronies. Tatooed, pierced body parts, metallic boom box rap crap in-your-face vandal vulgarity. You're on your own in the merry-go-round screwball madhouse, perpetuated by neglect and disrespectful apathy. Winter's dark days of icy overcast gloom and chill stretch from November to March in an endless pile up of cold steel and salt. Curt abrupt strangers rush up behind my rear view mirror, pushing me to get out of their way. Wait in line for everything. Fearful multitudes elbow each other in reticent subway caverns of tabloids, urine odors and panhandlers.
Away from the bumper crop of car commercials and news center insanity is a place of rest somewhere, sometimes the tension and gall lifts in a whiskey glass or a bottle of wine. A roaring fire brings warm comfort in the North Woods beneath a New Hampshire birch. Swells and seabirds ride a breeze upon a beach, sometimes accompanied by bikini-clad beauties for a middle-aged man to enjoy. The bounce of a sailboat in a port tack relieves the dreary soul of suburban stress for an open breath of birth rite. Those dark winter skies aren't so bad after a day's skiing above the snarl below.
Then there's an open interstate free of tolls and taxing tailgaters, leading me once again over the Alleghenies to the corn belt flat horizons. The restrictions of a structured culture ascends for an individual on the road, tall in the saddle and high in the chin! Open ranges of sagebrush chaparral with Chihuahuan-Sonoran-Mojave-Colorado Plateau-Great Basin desert zones get shared with antelope, owls, rabbits and coyotes. Cattle guards, runaway truck ramps, snowplows, elk crossings and hushed evergreen forests mark the Rocky Mountains separation from so called civilization in a measured pace of deference.
Westerners don't recognize class; everyone is a class to one's self; identity is accepted inherently with your presence-everyone shares the common bonds to a county, a creek, a ranch, a resort, a small town, the land itself, providing a culture outdoors. Geography is measured by miles, not miles per hour, People say hello to one another usually with a "howdy" and a "you betcha." And the sky is almost always visible overhead with occasional abrupt changes, but the dry southwest wind patterns usually last longer than the stormy stretches. There are no fences in a national forest, BLM or national park beyond the private land boundaries. You are free. You've left behind the emphasis on crusading social issues and pretenses of reform through cookie-cutter, chaotic fitting in. Instead you get a tip of the hat pardner and a warm handshake in a less violent, virulent society.
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