Bye, Buck Bowles.

Monday, August 31, 2009
Fayetteville, Arkansas

A proper narrative needs an ending. This dispatch announces THE END of my Travels with Godzilla for this go 'round. The journey came to a close a few days early. I wanted to be at the side of my dying Buck and made it just in time. He passed away on the veranda about a quarter of six this morning in the gathering dawn. Me 'n my true love Freddie Liz were at his side. We buried him at first light among the flowers in the garden.

Buck was a fine dog, but then aren't they all, these canine creatures so many of us invite into our homes to share a special part of the passage. Those of you who live with dogs, or who have lost dogs, need no reminder of their special place in the natural order. They form the better half of a unique expression of inter-species partnership — one of comfort, joy, and friendship.

He lived about 14 years. We can't be sure of the exact age because Buck Bowles was a foundling, rescued by Deb Strack from abandonment in the countryside of Conway, Arkansas, along with his two sisters, Sugar and Blue, who survive him. Part chow, part collie, part Saint Bernard, Buck was stout, unyielding, and increasingly wise. He overcame much to earn his late-life status as the Zen Pup, water over rock.

So, my late summer journey is done. For those of you who choose to bear with me a while longer, the narrative shall continue as I unwind the spool of thread spun by the wonders I witnessed and the people I met. The demands of the road and the hard pace I set for myself did not allow the full telling of the tale. But I took my notes and collected my photographs. I'm not done yet.

That last sentence is personal, but I am one of those beings the experts call a "child of poverty."  If you be one, you know.  With us, everything is personal. I have a last name.

I set out on my journey to satisfy several sharply defined goals. For the most part, I'm satisfied with my performance, but then I'm the worst to judge. Where I failed in my mind's eye was in my underlying intent to build an audience and rescue my name from deep obscurity. My hope was for the narrative to catch fire, win friends and influence people, become something noteworthy. So vain.

"I coulda had class," Brando said, playing the failed boxer in the movie On the Waterfront. "I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody...."

Thanks to the precision of Google Analytics, I am allowed, if I dare, to take a look at the cold, hard facts. I did.  The cadre of readers n'er arrived. Most of my dispatches attracted less than 40 of you, except for the tale of Godzilla and the bear, which drew a hundred and a quarter. Given that my personal distribution list numbers about 70, I'll admit to disappointment that I couldn't even attract those I know to Travels with Godzilla. But....

As I said, this is personal. In many respects I've become a stoic realist.  Life is good. I am blessed beyond measure. To have traveled with Godzilla to the ends of the earth and back again was a special privilege. I swear, I'm not complaining.  To have forty or fifty readers is a gift. And what matters most are those of you who took the time to write. Your letters sustained me for the long road ahead. 

To my e-mail correspondents, I thank each of you by name:

Thank you Joseph Dempsey, Ron Fritze, Lawrence Graves, Carol Apple, Mark Hill, Jeremiah Estes, Pat O'Brien, Jens and Sonja Hampe, Herb Peach, Susan Metz, Matthew Flynn, Barry Burkett, Ted Mead, Nathaniel Chaitkin, Jennifer Dixon, and Chris Goering.

Thank you Peggy Mobley, Maria R. Vazquez, Wilton Treadway, Audrey Madyun, Kevin Fendley, October Vanegas, Michael Schaefer, Brenda Alexander, Alex Gray, Joseph Witt, Vicki Souza, Sara Boyer, and Laura Elrod.  Thank you to the one I forgot.  I pray you are not offended. 

Most of all, thank you Freddie Liz for keeping the home fires burning. And thanks to Buck Bowles for the wonderful life you shared with us.

Buck Bowles
2009
 
Close your sleepy eyes,
My little Buckaroo.
While the light of the western skies
Is shinin' down on you.
Don't you know it's time for bed,
Another day is through.
So go to sleep,
My little Buckaroo.

Don't you realize,
My little Buckaroo,
That it was from a little acorn
That the oak tree grew,
And remember that your dad
Was once a pup like you.
So go to sleep,
My little Buckaroo.

Soon you're gonna ride the range
Like grown up cowboys do.
Now it's time that you were roundin' up
A dream or two.
So go to sleep,
My little Buckaroo.
Go to sleep,
My little Buckaroo.
 

Godzilla admires the Mississippi River
on the last day of our travels.
We were struck by the oddness of the skies over Arkansas
on the far side of the great waters,
as if some epic event of lasting importance was happening
unbeknownst to us over here in Tennessee.
The city of Tiptonville was a short ways away and behind us.

All told, me 'n Godzilla
covered 4,427 miles of USA highway and backroads
between August 7 and August 22:

Arkansas
to
Missouri
to
Iowa
to
Illinois
to
Indiana
to
Michigan
to
Ohio
to
Pennsylvania
to
New York
to
New Jersey
to
Delaware
to
Maryland
to
West Virginia
to
Kentucky
to
Tennessee
and
back home
to
Arkansas.
 
We were planning on Friday
to dip down into Mississippi
before crossing the bridge at Helena, Arkansas,
on the way to visit
grandpa Ebenezer's and great aunt Helen's gravesites
in Holly Grove.
Then came the call, "Come home."
We caught the fast road out of Memphis
and raced into the sunset.

I am grateful to have a home to come home to
and grateful that Buck was there to greet me
with his big dog smile and a happy wag of his beautiful bushy tail.

ebenezer@corndancer.com

To read the previous dispatch in the narrative,
kindly click the crow!

Notices of new dispatches from my Travels with Godzilla are sent by e-mail express to my list of family, friends, students, and fellow travelers. If you've come here by some other means than an e-mail invitation, and would like to receive notices, please write me so I can add you to the list. I share the addresses with no one but Godzilla, who can't type and doesn't do e-mail. 

     Ebenezer Bowles
     threadspinner@corndancer.com

The stories
linked below
form the narrative "Travels with Godzilla."

The Journey Ends:
Bye, Buck Bowles.

Dispatch Eighteen
Fayetteville,
Arkansas
Monday, August 31

Tobacco:
By the Hand of Man.

Dispatch Seventeen
Benton,
Kentucky
Thursday, August 27

Shy and Wonderful:
In Pursuit
Of the Wild Image.

Dispatch Sixteen
Bowling Green,
Kentucky
Wednesday, August 26

Mullens
It Wasn't the Flood.

Dispatch Fifteen
Williamson,
West Virginia
Tuesday, August 25

What Coal?
So Many Mountains
They're
Giving Some Up.

Dispatch Fourteen
Beckley,
West Virginia
Monday, August 24

Illustrated Man:
Pay Is Pay
On the
Honorable Path.

Dispatch Twelve
Morgantown,
West Virginia
Saturday, August 22

Which Road?
Counting the Lanes.

Dispatch Eleven
Bel Air,
Maryland
Friday, August 21

An Easy Puzzle:
Shade Drenched,
Flat and Tidy.

Dispatch Ten
Seaford,
Delaware
Thursday, August 20

Sea Cruise:
A Fine Old Motor Vessel Makes a Smooth Crossing from Jersey to Delaware.

Dispatch Nine
Seaford,
Delaware
Wednesday, August 19

Mighty Joe:
From the River Valley To the Sandy Pine Barrens On a Road to Heaven.

Dispatch Eight
Vineland,
New Jersey
Tuesday, August 18

Sugar Hollow Road:
Not too Far
down the Way
from Mehoopany.

Dispatch Seven
Scranton, Pennsylvania
Friday, August 14

Lucky Stars:
Godzilla Wrestles
a Bear.

Dispatch Six
Scranton, Pennsylvania
Thursday, August 13

Erie:
Off Balance, Agitated.

Dispatch Five
Erie, Pennsylvania
Tuesday, August 11

Purpose:
Success and Fear On the Sly Peripheral.

Dispatch Four
Kent, Ohio
Monday, August 10

Indiana:
You Want to Take Forever.

Dispatch Three
Howe, Indiana
Sunday, August 9

Army Truck:
Carry Me Home.

Dispatch Two
Watseka, Illinois
Saturday, August 8

Road Trip:
Go Fast.

Dispatch One
Muscatine, Iowa
Friday, August 7