BUTTERFLIES, BEAVERS, BOOMERS

AMIDST THE DRAMA HERE AT THE WINTER RV PARK FOR SENIORS, people seem to have a favorite activity or two or three, and maybe there's something they kind of specialize in. There's pool (billiards) and a pool (swimming). Lots of card games, sewing, quilting, crafts, puzzle putting-together, dances, group meals, remote control car racing, and much more. My favorite so far: shuffleboard.

But, let's start at the beginning. While the activities are fun and the calendar is packed with them, there has to be more that motivates people to drive thousands of miles to a land that doesn't promise anything. It's not exactly like the Okies leaving Oklahoma headed for California in the dust bowl days, but if that picture helps...

It's the weather that prompts the migration. I was sitting in the Hospitality room where the promise of good, fast, free Wi-Fi is broken--both the promise and something in the Wi-Fi chain: cable, router, modem, connections or the expertise of the IT department (if there is one). I'm overhearing a discussion between a couple of Canadians (according to their name tags), checking their mailboxes:

Canadian guy #1: "Can't complain about the weather today, eh."
Canadian guy #2: "That's why we're down here, eh."

A popular activity is to check a phone for the current temps back home: "Well it's in the teens today back in Duluth", as if to justify the trip.

A walk around the compound where we are staying near McAllen, Texas, would be a fruitful way to play car tag bingo. Iowa, Illinois, Minnesota, the Dakotas, Nebraska, Wisconsin and a few Canadian provinces. I've been tempted to lie about where we are from: Oklahoma. Not because I'm ashamed of my Oklahoma roots but because we are viewed as wimps. "Hell, it ain't that much colder in Oklahoma than it is here, dOn-cha knOw?" Then when they discover that we're here for only a few weeks: "Why'ja bother, dOn-cha knOw?"

I guess the weather in Oklahoma must have been pretty nice that day they drove through on their path south down I-35, not unlike the path called "The Monarch Highway":

"The landscape that parallels roadways like the I-35 corridor, can provide natural habitat to support the annual migration of the monarch butterfly." www.pollinator.org.

As an Okie, interested in the economic stability of our great state, I would like to suggest we seek to strengthen our "natural habitat to support the annual migration" of seniors in pursuit of average 75 degree temps. And, I have the answer to that: we need to get us a Buc-ee's or two. Our current governor loves to talk about making Oklahoma a "top ten" state in whatever. How about making us top ten in the number of Buc-ee's per 100 RVs heading south at years end and back north in the spring. Sure, we have Loves Travel Stops, but Buc-ee's is the milkweed Mecca for these migrators.

With crisp early morning temps and nippy evening air, I've noticed Buc-ee's hoodies are en vogue. (I'm trying to add a few French words to my vocabulary to toss into conversation with our French Canadian neighbors.) By the way, despite what the old migrators say, I find the French Canadians to be very friendly, at least Bob, my French Canadian shuffleboard partner is. The weather is wonderful, but I'm really enjoying meeting people from the lands of cold, bitter winters. Oh sure, there's some drama, but where two or three are gathered together... don't cha know.

One thing I'm learning is that when your feet hurt, or your back hurts, or you heart hurts, it's easier to get your feelings hurt. Bones and feelings have that in common--they can both get a little brittle.

Occasionally, it all brews to a boil, but maybe it's understandable. Let's assume we're farmers from Iowa. We built and ran a multi-million dollar operation. We've made critical decisions, averted disaster, bundled it all up in a legacy and now we're enjoying the fruits of our labors before our fruits turn bad. We settle into our winter home at the park. Using our business acumen, we make a few suggestions about how a game, an activity, a program might improve only to find out our input wasn't solicited or wanted.

By golly, this isn't the only park in the valley, we'll pull up the short stakes of the migrator life and move to another park, all in the pursuit of the elusive greener grass of agreeableness.

There are lots and lots of rules, and of course hearty interchange about whether there needs to be a new one to address a current concern. But, I grew up in a Baptist church so having lots of rules and business meetings to discuss violations and the need for more feels normal to me.

In reading about migration, specifically that of the Monarch, I learned that Monarchs cluster together to stay warm. There are dozens of these little trailer/RV parks all over the Rio Grande Valley, not only offering warm climate but the warmth of clustering together. It's like Barbara Streisand sang, "People Who Need People Are The Luckiest People In The World." And, I might add: even if they might be a little prickly.

There's fellowship, story-telling, problem solving: I've heard several solutions to the current egg price crisis. And of course, every story told has a storehouse of historical content about it. We've lived a long time--60, 70, 80 and more years. We've got experiences and opinions, and talk about hindsight; we're drowning in it.

Unfortunately, because of the average age among the campers, many of the stories are sad ones. The other day I was standing in a back corner of a large room listening to the residents of the park have a "jam session". That's where each resident that plays an instrument and/or can sing (or could sing), (or someone told them they could sing) gather together to make music. I have to admit it was pretty good and the audience was loving it. There were even a few couples (I'm assuming Methodists or Catholics) dancing. Sitting at a table all alone, back near my corner, was an older gentleman. The band was playing a country-western song about heartbreak and loss. I looked over at the old guy. His head was bowed and he was wiping tears from his cheeks. I thought to myself, I bet this year is the first migration for him since his spouse passed.

I thought about asking him the typical array of questions down here: where are you from? motorhome? fifth-wheel? bumper-pull? park model? How long have you been coming here? Just to give him an opportunity to tell me his story if he wanted to. Then I thought, would I want to talk if the roles were reversed? No. I would want the moment to myself. It sounds cold, but I did not want to empathize with him, sympathize yes, but not empathize. Empathy would require me trying to put myself in his shoes. I won't allow my mind to go to a place where I would under any circumstances have to do this without My Amazing-Missus. But wait. Maybe, I misread his situation. Maybe he has a new wife and she brought her cat--which he is allergic to--into the new marriage, in which case I have neither sympathy nor empathy.

This picture above is an illustration of a book cover my oldest son put together, in fun, from a couple of photos I sent him. It has served as a prompt for this post: what if I did write a book about the migratory patterns of We Boomers? Maybe this would be the first chapter. Subsequent chapters might feature some of the characters I've met along the migration. For example, the guy in the picture on the front of this faux book cover is someone I met out for a walk one morning. I had seen him scooting around the grounds before, but at a distance. Is that a real pigeon riding on his cart?! On the day we met to say Hello, I said, "I saw you the other day and couldn't tell if your pigeon was real or not." He didn't say it wasn't real, he just said, "That's my homing pigeon. I know if I just follow him, I'll end up at home."

Is that where the migration ultimately ends up: home? For the Monarchs, which end of their migration is home? I suppose that since their migration is a multi-generational and a marvelous miracle, it's hard to know where home is.

There's a business leader and visionary that I highly respect. His name is Seth Godin. I've read most all of his books, some, multiple times. Seth publishes a daily post which I subscribe to. His post for Saturday, January 14, 2023 read:

AN EVENT OR A JOURNEY?

They're easy to confuse.

An event happens at a date certain, then it's over, nothing more to be done.

A journey might include an event, but it's bigger than that, and ongoing.

A wedding is an event, a marriage is a journey.

The focus and energy we lavish on events can easily distract us from the journeys we care about.

For us, our visit to South Texas is more of an event. We're posers, you might say. We'll be heading back in a few days and that's when the retirement journey really begins. Or, as I prefer to call it: The Quest (for what, I don't know).

I'm counting on the wisdom of C.S. Lewis to be true:

There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.