"God's Country"

I've recently come to the conclusion that just about everything 'wild' which existed in "once upon a time"-America, has been tamed to the point where it is no longer suitable material for the legends once told of this mighty land. It has become painfully apparent that there is no Bigfoot, the Indians listen to P-Diddy, the cowboys do to, the plains end, the buffalo are roadside attractions, the rivers are in large undrinkable, and the endless mountains have both a beginning and an end.

On my drive into work, I have just a few brief glimpses of what the past may have looked like, although there’s always a power line, beer can, or mobile home which keeps the vision from being truly of ‘wild’ America.

This morning, just before my radio short-circuited 4 minutes into my commute (Mike you’ve got to help me straighten this shit out, it’s driving me crazy!), I was enjoying a report on some eager-eyed marine biology students who are in the process of taking samples of the ocean floor under the ice of the most northern reaches of the Atlantic, convinced still that their work is in some way a feasible livelihood and not just another massive allocation of tuition dollars designed to keep the kids busy and excitable. The dour-toned NPR reported stated with little enthusiasm that just a fraction of a percent of the ocean floor has been documented biologically. How exciting! A vast world of unknown wonders just waiting for foreign eyes to see its magnificence!

Back to my drive through “God’s County”: I was approaching just my second turn of the morning, which unofficially marks the end of the boonies and the beginning of the Town of Freeport. There on the corner! Two perfect examples of wild America!! They were beautiful! A couple of wild turkey women (it’s past 10 PM and I’m struggling to remember the scientific term for female turkeys) right on the side of this vicious and unforgiving traffic flow! They must be lost, obviously far outside their pristine habitat that must have been a little yonder - a little further over them hills.

My instinct was to herd them into the back of my old Dodge and take them back to the safety of a wild place where they could be as wild turkey be – safe from the hazards of this parking lot society of ours! I weighed the logistics of missing an 8 AM meeting in a quest in the name of nature, it wasn’t looking good. I slowed the Dodge to a shy pace, squinting my bad eyes for more visual detail of those beauties and their certain peril on the side of this mean stretch of road... approaching… What the fuck…? What the fuck are they doing??! They’re kicking apart a half-eaten bag of Sun Chips next to a trash can!! Lazy sonsabitches! Go forage for grubs and moss seed – just stay away from that trash!!

8.5 hours later on my drive home, there they were. Like a couple of fat prostitutes on the roadside - crazed on methamphetamines - maybe 40 yards further from their trashcan of heavenly delights. For all I know, these poor excuses for nature could be direct decedents of that big guy who the Indians fed the Pilgrims just prior to the slaughter of their civilization.