I left home when I was 16. My father had died about 6 months earlier and my mother and I had never had a good relationship. We did nothing but fight, so during the summer after my sophomore year of highschool, I packed a bag and stole off into the night. I was lucky enough to catch a ride from an early morning commuter on his way to work. I had to wander down I-84 for about an hour before I got another ride. This time it was an older couple on there way back home to Wyoming. They were returning from a funeral for the husband's best friend. I wasn't sure where I was headed, but I knew it wasn't to Wyoming. I'm not sure if they were always such nice people, or if having recently come from a loved one's funeral had them in a open hearted mood, but they told me I was welcome to travel with them as far as I needed to and when they stopped at a diner, they insisted I eat with them and payed for my meal.
After a few hours of traveling, we crossed over into Idaho. I remembered that I had family in Idaho. It wasn't blood family. My late uncle's widow lived somewhere in a town called Middleton. I hadn't seen her for somewhere close to 6 years, but she was always very kind to me whenever I was around. I wasn't sure how it would go over with her; for all I know, she might not even recognize me. Even if she does, why would she want to let me stay with her? Still, I didn't have any other plans for where I was going to stay that night or any other night, so I might as well try.
I parted ways with the older couple when we reached an exit with Middleton on its sign. They wished me luck, and even gave me $20 to buy food with. I don't know whatever became of that couple, but I whole-heartedly wish them the best in life.
Now that I had made it to my town, I had to figure out how to find my not aunt. It wasn't a particularly large town, but not quite small enough that I could ask any stranger if they knew her. I walked to a gas station to get a drink when I saw my answer: a phone booth. Inside this phone booth was a bright yellow phone book, and I knew inside that phonebook would be her name and number. I near sprinted to it and started rifling through pages until I found her name. Next to her number, it listed her address, and after asking the clerk how to get to said street, I was off. I had forgotten my drink, but it only took me about 2 hours of walking to get to my destination. I felt a very vague nostalgia walking up to her house of times I had visited as a kid. My stomach was knotting up as I approached the door. I was scared of what she might think, but I hadn't come all this way for nothing. I knocked on the door, and a few seconds later was greeted at first with shock and then welcomed inside. Naturally, the first subject was what I was doing there and how I had got there. I thought she was going to have a heart attack when I told her about hitchhiking, but in the end, she was more than happy to let me stay. She put me up in a guest bedroom, and the first thing I did was take a shower as I'm sure after walking in the summer heat for 2 hours left me smelling less than fresh. We ate dinner and I went to bed early that night. When I woke up, she was gone. At first I thought it weird, but of course she must have a job. I wasn't exactly sure what to do. I felt a stranger in her house, so I explored the layout and made my way outside. The backyard was huge. I remembered it being big, but it still took me by surprise. I wandered to the back of the yard and saw the largest mess of wood I had ever seen. There had to be somewhere near 100 tons of wood loosely dumped at the back of the yard. This would provide all the winter fires she would need for the rest of her life and then some. When she returned from work that afternoon, I asked her about it. She told me she had gotten a very good deal on it and planned to sell it off by the cord, but that she couldn't do that until it was stacked, as it would be hard to measure out. I did not envy whomever took on that task.
The rest of the week went on pretty boring, the town didn't have much for entertainment or activities, and I didn't know anyone who lived there, so I spent most of my time just watching tv and being a useless lump. My aunt grew bothered by this and asked me one night what my plan was. I had no idea. For me, summer time meant not responsibilities and not thinking beyond the day at hand. I began to worry that I was intruding and I needed to be useful somehow to justify my staying there, but I didn't know what I could do. I woke up the next morning and looked around the house for anything I could do. Beyond simple cleaning, I couldn't find anything productive. It wasn't until later that morning, whilst walking outside that I remembered the wood pile. I laughed at myself at first. Stacking all of that was crazy. It was beyond me and there's no way I was going to do that. I wandered around a bit more looking for another way to be productive, trying to not accept the fact that I was going to do this. Eventually I mustered the motivation and began stacking.
It was hard at first. I had to deal with the wood I had already stacked shifting into place as I stacked more on top of it, but after 6 hours, I had a solid base that I could build off of. My aunt found me outside when she came home that day and seemed a bit relieved that I had done something productive. That night, I ate like I hadn't seen a scrap of food in a week. I went to bed very early and woke up with my muscles killing me. I didn't do anything that day. I just lay bed thinking how unnecessary stacking wood was and how much it sucked. I felt bad when my aunt got home that day. She had spent her entire day until now working to provide for herself and now me, despite the fact that she had no obligation to support me. I woke the next morning with a rekindled vigor and made my way out to the woodpile. I stacked for 8 hours in the sweltering heat, but when my aunt got home, I felt good about myself and that I had something to show for the day. It seemed so basic, but I had contributed in a meaningful and useful way. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to put sunscreen on my ears and my aunt was quick to point out that they were bright red. The 100+ degree weather was very unforgiving to my ears, as the next day, it felt as though there was no skin on them. I wasn't going to let this stop me though. This was my mistake, and as long as I put copious amounts of sunscreen on it, I would still be able to work.
For the next week and a half, I spent every day building this wood pile larger and larger. I felt that as long as I was moving, as long as I was being productive, no matter how little skill or knowledge was required, no one could claim I was useless. This was my work, and however trite it was, I was proud of it. It was a tangible measurement of what could be built with willpower and drive. It was a very real demonstration work being rewarding for its own sake. I built, and when I was finished building, I had something to look upon. Something that showed me that what I had done was real. But I had only done 10 days worth of work. This is what normal adults do their entire lives in order to survive. I now had a greater understanding of responsibility. I had a greater respect for anyone that works for a living. I understood that being a man means choosing what is necessary over what is easy, and doing what is right over what you want. It means exerting self control and application of will power. It means giving your best effort every time, because anything less doesn't deserve your pride.
That night, my aunt told me that I should make amends with my mom. She wasn't kicking me out, just suggesting what she knew to be right. The thought brought back some intense emotions, but I knew she was right. I had already lost one parent, and she had lost a husband. It wouldn't be right to make her lose a son, and it wouldn't be right for me to simply be done with my own mother. That weekend, my aunt drove me back home. I made amends with my mom. It was a slow process, but years later we made it to a point where our relationship was helping each other out like a family bond should be. My aunt was able to sell off all the wood, and the next time I visited, it was gone. Still, I don't forget the time I spent there or the lessons I learned from stacking a simple pile of wood.
