Friday, January 07, 2011
Clairmont Spring to Sherman Cliffs
A shaman met us on the road today. Well, a crazy Californian living in a van with “LOVE” painted on the side who claimed to commune with the spirit of Sacajawea and to have knowledge of his past lives. And to be a shaman flautist. He claimed that my nose indicated I came from the Cheyenne tribe. He called me a “wise woman.” I’ll take that compliment, no matter who it comes from.
It’s the second odd experience in as many days. I’ve been really worrying about Shadow’s food. The campground store at the state park had nothing but ramen noodles and Snickers bars for our resupply, and even less supplies for him. We packed out seven cans of Vienna sausages to supplement his dog food, but they’re not really doing the trick. His high-protein dog food is running really low. He seems to understand our conundrum. He whines less for his food, accepting what he’s given, and putting his head on his paws while we eat. It’s still awful. It’s one thing for me to go hungry when I know there are Chinese buffets waiting at the next road crossing. It’s something else when you’re a dog and you don’t understand why there’s no food.
But yesterday, walking along the trail, we found a full bag of puppy chow, two pounds of it, exactly what he needs to get through the next five days. Dog food, untouched, still in its original packaging, just lying by the side of the trail. Exactly what I needed, when I needed it.
How bizarre is that? My first thought was: it’s not possible. My second thought was that it was one of those inexplicable unasked-for miracles, a sign that someone in the universe has a sense of humor. And is kind. Call it synchronicity or Christ Jesus, call it what you will. I just have a hard time believing that anything so coincidental is actually coincidence.