I had just wrapped up my post for the day when we pulled into our campsite for the night at Oak Flats campground in the Tonto Mountains. The area is being threatened by a battle between native Americans from the area and mining interests so there are a lot of teepees and makeshift dwellings around that are used during protests making the area seem haphazard. The other campers in the area appeared to be settled in for the long hall and I didn’t know what to expect.
We found a place that was relatively peaceful and began settling in. Within minutes, the “locals” started coming to introduce themselves. There was Stan who made his own camper from a truck that had been on their family farm. There was Thomas who , when offered a beer, quickly noted his preference for medical marijuana. Later came Dory and Daisy, two women I had seen feverishly cooking over an aggressively smoking wood fire. And then there was Joe.
Joe is a gift, plain and simple. An unassuming presence of an older man (who later divulged his 82 year age), he approached ready to be instant friends. Not someone that I would have guessed would have a taste for specialty beer, he accepted a Half Calf milk stout quickly and with enthusiasm.
Now in truth, (and forgive me Joe if you’re reading) I wasn’t so sure about Joe, or the whole crowd for that matter, from the beginning. I consider myself an open minded person and really aspire not to be judgmental but I have to say that I was cautious upon first meeting, say in the name of safety.
All of the above cast were interesting and unique characters with some great stories to tell but Joe not only grabbed my ear but my heart. Raised in Michigan, he was a crane operator and a pilot through the years. When his marriage broke up and when he didn’t like smelling diesel fuel all day any longer, he bought himself a camper truck and hit the road. He was 46 then.
Joe has been living out of a simple makeshift camper now for 35 years. He moves around about 3000 miles per year – up and down the mountains to stay in his favorite weather profile. He’s traveled through Florida, New Orleans, the Sierra in California and up into the Canadian lakes above Glacier National Park but finally settled into the Arizona mountain country.
Joe loves birds and has a well kept bird book handy and has great stories of seeing his favorites. He walks at dawn each day. He chooses sites where he can fish and has learned to use a pressure cooker to can his catch for keeping it shelf stable. He does the same with chili, making a batch in the lower elevations to take to the mountains and filling the jars as he empties them with fish. His favorite color is yellow and his hands get especially cold when the weather turns. He has a laptop and is still learning how to make things work in that regard but manages to use it to make phone calls with Google. He was quick to ask for our email address so he could check in on us. His mother lived to 103 and he gets his physical every year with a good report.
We spent a couple hours in casual conversation moving from the dust and sun of the campground path to chairs in the shade. And I felt like I was having a good chat with my father…or my father’s father for that matter. They would have liked Joe too. We invited him for dinner but he declined saying he had things he needed to eat and we said our goodbyes – no longer a handshake, but a hug.
After spending earlier in the day around all of the Indian lore, I know Joe’s presence was clearly a gift. Joe was just what I needed to get a little taste of feeling at home.
This morning as we were preparing to get back on the road, Joe stopped by after his morning hike to be sure we knew right where to turn to take the route we had chosen. Another act of kindness. I studied his features that so mimicked my father who would have been Joe’s age and we said our goodbyes. As we pulled out, Joe was on to the next camper talking to Dorie, continuing to share his spirit. On this journey measured in friends, I know I have added a special one to the list!
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