The CDT: Dali calls drama

Part 4

The Flame Farm

«Until you make the unconscious conscious, direct your life and call it destiny.» –Carl Jung

WHe had been listening to the Serena Majesty, the unmissable peculiarity, of the flame farm for days. I do not remember who mentioned it first, but soon the path was full of floral stories of this blue oasis. Walker, loaded, a cold drink or two, free camp. Having gathered in Lincoln with Toolman and fried, the ice cream and I accept to know them there.

The path between Lincoln and the flame farm was mostly picturesque Montana field with some small ridges and pine forests just after Lincoln.

Alternative, the road was mostly dusty dirt roads. We opened the way through opaque green grass hills and pine forests under a hot sun. Two days later we arrived at the Flame Farm.

When we arrived, we were ready for what Shangri-La presented. Our feet were tired; Our bones and phones need a good recharge.

We reach the sight and the sound of hikers. Talk, laughs, the crack of the soft drinks that are getting into the eyelashes.

The flame farm did not seem to be a farm in operation. Rather, it was a picturesque house sitting on the fields of Quainter next to the road.

When we approached the porch, we saw that it was full of hikers, perhaps ten or so, most of which we had met at least once before. Toolman was there, after arriving a few hours before Fito, Ice Cream and.

On the porch side there was a mini refrigerator with a note attached to it. Something like, Take a drink, get home. That is not exactly correct, but I don’t remember it literally. You may have said something about camping on the back.

The porch was full, so we placed our packages on the floor in the front courtyard and found places to sit near the porch while enjoying our cold drunk.^TM.

«Where is the owner?» I asked one of the hikers.

«Inside.» They pointed to one of the windows. I couldn’t see due to a shine, but I assumed that the owner could see, and knew we were there, hopefully enjoying a view of the fruits of his hospitality.

The hikers buzzed the porch as hummingbirds in a feeder. There was even a running. A group of hikers sat around them as safe and naturally as cats in cardboard boxes. The ice cream and I thought we could use it later, since we would be camping during the night.

«Does anyone want some wine?» He asked another hiker.

«Wine? Where does the wine come from?» I said.

«In the cabins. You get a bottle of wine if you stay in one.»

«I will take some wine,» I took my kitchen to use as a cup. «What do the cabins cost?»

«Everything is free,» said the hiker. «There are not even published venmo codes for donations.»

Ice cream and I looked at me. Once we had a long discussion on a similar topic. We believe that giving too freely without asking anything in return can grow bitter fruits. Some people will inevitably take too much or offer only expectations instead of gratitude. Not only this, but to deny people the opportunity to offer a donation in exchange for generosity takes away their opportunity to balance the scale, not only financially, but ethically. Honor is as important as money, and giving too freely is a secret way of taking, a way of affirming social status unconsciously or consciously. Of course, Trail Magic is Trail Magic, with a kind of payment payment, but excessive generosity is like porn, difficult to define but easy to recognize, and we were beginning to recognize it.

I sat on the edge of the porch, drinking my free wine from my kitchen and talking with fried and ice cream. The shadow of the porch was a fresh respite, the sound of the walkers of the walkers, a relaxing background rumor.

We were absorbing the shadow when an sharp voice cut the talk, such a sudden energy difference that was immediately notable. «What are you the ones who make you think that you can place a chair right in front of someone’s house?»

I looked at the voice. It belonged to a man somewhere in about 50 or 60 years with a long gray horse tail. He was a handsome, thin and unpretentious guy, such as the guy you would see to examine the shelves of an old bookstore or walk to a registered dog well registered along the seafront of a closed city.

Boogie Knight, the veteran of At ’22 that we met in Lincoln, was the hiker with whom man was talking. He had cut a rocking chair near energy exit and, in doing so, had partially blocked the door that drove from the porch to the house. I admit that I had not yet noticed the door, and I would not be surprised if others had not done it either. It was partly a large window, something perfect with the biggest window that looked at the front courtyard, and after being completely overwhelmed with the stimuli of a new place, hikers everywhere and the relief of the shadow and a refreshment and a cold wine, I just realized this door now.

Boogie Knight seemed surprised. Here was a sudden confrontation, a man looking at her, the master of the house. There was no reason to apologize about to stand. «Sorry …» he said. «There was an exit. I didn’t see the door.»

The teacher said: «This is my home, and I want to be able to enter and leave my entrance door without someone blocking the way.» He crossed with his arms, the hiker’s talk had become a dead silence. «This also happened last year. Cyclists never do this. What is different from you? No one has said a word of thanks or anything.»

Boogie Knight was silent in a moment. «Sorry,» he offered again, and got up to get away.

I touched the ice cream arm to get your attention. «We cannot stay here tonight. We are continuing. For what we know, we could do something to accidentally frustrate this type and ruin the place for future hikers.»

He didn’t look happy for more miles without a plan, but nodded. He also did fried, who was sitting close and had heard.

If I had been in the position of Boogie Knight, it would have been just like the deer in my head, but the anger had not directed me and was not on the back foot. «Hostels,» I said.

The teacher looked at me. «Hostels?»

I nodded. «Do you want to know why we are different? If you want a word response, they are shelters. We can enter an essay explanation, and I am prepared to do it if you want, but if you want a word response, your shelters.»

The teacher sat in the chair where Boogie Knight had been. «Hostiles either Hostels?

«Hostos,» I clarified. «There are no hostiles here.»

«Ok, so what about shelters?»

It’s time for essay, I thought. «What he is seeing is the basic behavior of the shelter. In a shelter I would.

He put his hand on his chin and then, as if he could explain all the defects of humanity, he took the conversation in a new direction. «Well, then, why is it that people urinate in the rocks near the showers? It is clear that people simply go to the toilets. Why would they urinate in the rocks? Why do I need to put a signal so that they do not do something when it is obvious that they should not?»

Conveniently, ice cream and I also had a relevant discussion for this. I guess Slumdog Millionaire is not so extravagant to a story. I assumed for the ‘people’ who referred to anyone who stayed in the small cabins. I had not returned, and I had no idea what ‘the rocks’ were, but I offered an answer anyway. «That is a different issue, however, all human qualities, including goodness and respectability, can be drawn in a Gaussian curve. At one end, you will find a small percentage of people with deep, and in the other, you will find that people urinate in your rocks. In this case, it is who you are putting the record and something, by the end of the end of the curve, it will ignore the sign.» «

The teacher was swinging slightly in the chair now. «I have an engineering environment, so that makes sense to me.» His voice had become quieter, more friendly. «You know, the hiker last year said they were wild, and that’s why they were so.»

«Didn’t Gaussian curves throw you or anything?»

He laughed, the atmosphere was relaxing quickly. «No, none of that. Only they were wild when they went on an excursion so much.»

I shook my head. «They were nervous about having a confrontation with you. You own this place, and they would not have been ready to be upset with them. He panicked and offered the first explanation that appeared in their heads.» I stop when an account came. «I would like to add that if you don’t want hikers to come here, say it in Farout and we will not come.»

«No! No, it’s not the case. I want to welcome everyone. It’s just that cyclists do not do what you do, blocking my porch with your packages,» he greeted some of the packages that lean in the railing, «or sit or block the door.»

«It’s how I said. Excress and cyclists are different. I am not a motorcyclist, but I have explained the best I can why we are as we are.»

Apparently appeased, the teacher got up from his chair. The Buzz conversation tried to return, but could not. The welcome left. The teacher came and stopped near us, and we introduced ourselves, exchanging real names as a peace offer.

Fito said: «I want to add, about people who thank you, before you leave, everyone said how charming this place is and was singing your praises. We are really grateful. Thank you.»

The teacher smiled. «It’s good to listen to it. Thank you too.»

The ice cream intervened: «In general, there is a registration book. We signed it and write comments or thanks or whatever. We did not see one here.»

Happy now, the teacher dedicated himself to his business, eventually moved away somewhere with his wife, with whom we talked briefly, and made sure to thank.

Most hikers had already been dripping. Those who had not yet left it soon. I am quite sure that no one stayed there that night, except the cyclists, who were doing the things of the motorcyclists. Cyclists can travel two or three times the distance in a day that hikers can, and did not need so much to load, and they probably had less need to rest in the shade; They could reach cities almost daily. In other words, they were not as attracted to the porch as hikers. Once we left, the porch was empty, and when the teacher returned, he would find his favorite door unlocked.

When we left, we had no idea where we were going or where we could camp. We walked a few miles along the way, and a man named Pancake stopped his car to ask where we were staying. When we said we didn’t know, he invited us to his place. We stayed that night camping in your patio. Pancake was more familiar with hikers and knew exactly what to expect and what to offer. A teacher from the teacher also knew him well, and when we explained what happened without prejudices or negativity as we could, he said: «Yes, that’s how he is a good guy, but sometimes it is so.»

We fell asleep to the sound of the wind through the trees and thoughts of the flame farm that echoed in our minds. So much to think and process. We would talk about it for days and we learned a lot about human nature in those conversations. A final charitable gift of the teacher.

Only the gods know if we pay in kind for those lessons with our own lessons. I hope we have done it.

Unless they have been given express permission for use, all the names and names of trails have been changed in my articles. Any similarity with real people is a coincidence. If you enjoy my writing, do not hesitate to subscribe or buy me a coffee with the tip of the author’s button.