I was making a trip to town one early fall morning, the grand purpose of which I can’t recall. I was deep in thought about something, but again, I don’t remember exactly what that something was. As I proceeded west down Basin Road through the narrow spot in the road between the hills that we locals refer to as “the gap,” the rising sun behind me in the east flashed in my rearview mirror. At nearly that exact moment, a pickup pulling a stock trailer passed me, heading in the opposite direction. There was nothing extraordinary about the oncoming rig or our passing of each other, and I gave no heed to the vehicle nor its driver. Instinctively, I glanced in the mirror to my left as the trailer passed by me. I made a casual mental note that the passing trailer was that of my neighbor Jared. I hadn’t immediately recognized it because it was his newer trailer and not the older tan-colored trailer that I’d become accustomed to seeing behind his pickup.
It was then that it hit me. I hadn’t given any sort of neighborly wave as I passed. I was struck with sort of a non-emergency sense of panic. What was wrong with me? How could I be so casually dismissive of one of the foundational tenets of the unwritten moral code of rural agrarian life? I was so lost in my own thoughts – whatever they may have been – that I hadn’t even noticed whether or not Jared had waved at me. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t even 100% sure the occupant of the vehicle was even Jared at all.
My mind raced, desperately in search of a valid explanation (read: excuse) for my negligence. Maybe he’d think the sun was in my eyes. Nope, that wouldn’t work because the sun was probably in his eyes since he was the one heading east. That was it! He probably hadn’t even noticed me. That’s what I was going with. That’s the version of the story that I’d convince my mind to believe.
Depending on your upbringing or your current residency, you either think I’m a neurotic nut or you fully empathize with my angst. Either way, it’s a subject I feel is worthy of contemplation, if not serious discussion.
I don’t really know the reasons, but it’s just a natural and expected part of rural living. Farmers, cowboys and rural folk just know that some sort of eye contact, accompanied by any version of a hundred different waves is appropriate, even expected behavior when one comes across a fellow human being. Maybe it’s the more intimate setting that’s a natural component of a rural setting that demands a small showing of mutual respect.
For me, it’s such a habit that I find myself lifting my forefinger (you should always be careful which finger is your waving finger) or giving a slight wave to strangers when I’m driving through a residential area in the city or suburbs of some locale that’s nowhere near my home. And even though I may sometimes get some strange and surprised reactions from some people, I still think it’s a good and proper thing to do.
I’ve heard it said, and it’s obviously true, that the speed of change will never be as slow as it is today. That to me is an amazing, beautiful, terrifying thought. When applied to beneficial technology, it’s a fascinating proposal. When applied to many social and civil aspects of our necessary and daily interactions with each other, however, the consequences of rapid and unrelenting change are not always in our best interest. At least that’s my view, and it scares me a little bit.
Of the myriad blessings for which I’m supremely grateful, my upbringing and subsequent lifestyle are near the top of the list. It’s rare that acknowledgment of another’s worth and doing good are anything less than soulful sunshine to recipients of such. Although I may often be guilty of it, I believe it’s folly to ever suppress a generous thought. I also believe that most of us are fully capable of, and perhaps even brimming with, generous thoughts. Too often, though, I fear we at best kick them down the road or, at worst, squash them altogether.
Changing the world for the better, no matter the speed at which it happens, can start with a simple wave, even if the sun is in your eyes.
Happy Thanksgiving!
