Why this place? Why these people?

There are many people in the world who spend their entire lives in the same place.  They are born amongst others with whom they have much in common and they build their community in stability.

And then there are the nomads....

Those of us who, from birth, always hear a call from afar.  Some of us are unable to do much more than read books from other lands or watch films from other shores.  And then there are some of us who, no matter what the cost, pull up the anchor (or cut the chain) and set sail with no known destination in mind.

You may have guessed by now that I am one of the latter.  When I look back on my life I can see that I spent much of my time learning about other lands.  I read voraciously, even hiding in closets so that I could devour my books in peace.  I would climb a large tree in my backyard, a pommerac tree for those who are familiar, settle myself into a space between two branches, and sit for hours submerging myself in the lives of others.  Forgetting food.  Forgetting friends.  Forgetting boys, even in puberty.

Did it help that I was born into a family that had flight privileges?  Of course.  From very early on I was on a plane.  Visiting New York, Washington, Miami, Toronto.  And as soon as I could manage it, by my late teens, I was on my own to Paris, London, Berlin, Venice.  When I look back on it I am so so grateful to my parents for trusting me to get on a flight alone at 18 and make my way to Paris.  With full suitcases dragging my Trinidad fashions to train stations in London, airports in Rome, bus stops in Sussex.  A bit unbelievable in retrospect to think of a Trinidadian teenager figuring all of this out and having adventure after adventure.

So I guess that when I review my past it is not so strange that I have found myself in one of the most uninhabited parts of the United States with little more than the Milky Way and yucca plants to keep me company.   The children and I ride our bikes everywhere in this little town.  And sometimes, when we are sitting on the benches on Main Street, visitors passing through will ask in amazement - And what brought you here?  And I can make up a story but the truth is that I don't really know.

What made me see an entry in a blog and decide that this was going to be one of my new homes?  And what made me come back again and again even after having left?  And how come, in this town of about 500 people, we have more connected friends than we do in the whole of crowded South Florida?  And went to a wedding yesterday where we knew lots of the people there?

In the nomadic life there are always places that ring true.  The favored oasis at which you bring your camel back to graze every few months.  For some nomads it's the 'woman in every port' phenomenon.  Form a romantic interest, keep the embers glowing, and come back to stoke the fire every once in a while.  But for me I think the key is to find places where the priority is not status and appearance.  Those places can be fun but, for me, a short visit, is all that I want.  I like places, like Marathon, where everyone wore what they wanted to the wedding.  There were people dressed to the hilt and others who wore the same clothes that they wear every day - maybe their shirt was ironed for a change.  I like people, like the eccentrics who are scattered through this area, for whom pleasure is owning your own time.  

My community is best developed where others are so distinctive, so one of a kind, that race, class and gender become almost insignificant in the face of overwhelming individuality.  And so far, I have best found these places in the US Southwest desert.

But despite the comfort of community I am sure that one day soon other shores will call.  I will unhook the water line, unplug the electricity, start the engine, and go looking for another oasis where the children and I can hang our hats.  Where we can find instant family.  Where we are so at home that the second time we pull into town we are treated like long-time residents who were sorely missed.

And such is the life of a nomad.

But at least, when things become uncertain, there's always the Murphy St. Raspa Company in neighbouring Alpine where we can go get snow cones.  Did I forget to say that life is good!  Yes it is.