On Monday morning, Labor Day 2015, I was following my friend, Tom, in my Volvo, winding through the foothills behind his impressive, large, black Ford truck en route to his sequestered camp, what others might call a hideaway. The paved two-lane highways gave way to well-traveled dirt roads, and then finally to lightly used, rutted and rock-covered private-access roads. The last uphill climb tested the all-wheel drive capabilities of the 2002 vehicle I’ve grown to love driving. “You did ‘good’ Sweden”—and this from a man of Norwegian descent!
Tom and I met six years ago at a Saturday morning men’s breakfast in the church we both attend on occasion. He’s a Marine, and missed a tour in Vietnam by chance: though he asked to go his superior felt he was too valuable in his stateside position. After college I avoided the draft by teaching middle school – a choice in which chance also played a role, because I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. Which reminds me of something Freud wrote: “Don’t underestimate the part chance plays in life.”
I didn’t think that a proud member of the Marine Corps and a war protestor would have much in common, but the more he spoke of his journey in life the more I became drawn to him. We shared the survival of serious illness and equally important, a questioning of the faith in God with which we’d been raised. We bonded over occasional beers ‘n burgers at local pubs as we explored our divergent and overlapping histories, and found shared beliefs and friendship.
An impeccably stacked pile of firewood stood out amidst the undergrowth and lush forest, which abutted his acreage and the small plateau where we parked. Up the hill, on the opposite side of where we parked, was his pride and joy—a twenty-foot tall teepee made from free and recycled materials. Inside the tarp-covered dwelling was a table for four, a barrel wood burning stove, a table with a Coleman stove, plus a variety of hangers and hooks from which utensils hung. Hand-hewn poles provided support for the multilayered tarps, and where they came together at the top, an adjustable smoke flap covered the opening. Three windows allowed light in, and a carefully laid level floor comprised of recycled boards helped winterize the teepee.
Tom’s profession is not carpentry or building, but his craftsman-like skills were evident throughout the construction. He’s also part physicist, hydrologist, engineer, and plumber – all evident in his sourcing of water from an underground spring, and his construction of the nicest Andy Gump I’ve ever seen – real commode and water tank notwithstanding.
When I first met Tom I saw a Marine in civvies. I listened to his “out there” ideas about spirituality—he’s no Trinitarian (Father, Son, and Holy Ghost). He’s a believer in an Infinite source that permeates our universe and makes a good case for extraterrestrials, that we’re put here as an experiment—guinea pigs if you will. I listened as others among us scoffed and rolled their eyes when he expressed his “oddball and eccentric ideas,” and though I was tempted to join them, I saw more to this man than his challenging ideas, and brusque way of communicating them.
On one occasion, however, when a member of our church made a comparison between Tom and a rogue sociopath, I remained silent, and wasn’t alone in my gutless absentia. Shortly thereafter, I apologized, and he graciously accepted.
I grew to know a caring, sensitive, intelligent, thoughtful family man who was fearless in his pursuit of passion and truth.
As I sat with him at his table, in his teepee, on land he had cleared, I experienced not a new, but a revisited reverence and respect for Tom, a truth sayer who pushes me beyond my parameters of comfort.
We all know the phrase—judging a book by its cover, and Aristotle’s declaration: “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” That’s Tom. Seeping in between the “cover” of his life’s book, and the whole of its parts—dedicated professional and family man, scientist and humanitarian, explorer and adventurer of the external and internal worlds in which he lives—is a passionate, “driven to find the truth” soul.
He lives a life that reminds me of the American pioneer—an independent-minded thinker, a courageous explorer and adventurer who isn’t afraid to turn back or forge ahead, with humility and tenacity, depending on which is required, when confronted with his flaws or opportunities – gifts that come his way.
On my way back home, I cautiously navigated the steep driveway following his advice—“stay in the center,” like you ever have, I thought and smiled. As I transitioned from new and old growth forest, private land, then back onto the asphalt-covered roadway into rural Vermont I was immersed in the sacredness of man and his space—not a geographical place, but a hard won space in one’s soul. A state of being—quiet and peaceful, carved by passion and chance, hand and God-hewn.
by 
Beautiful prose and fleshing out of the character. Makes me want to build a teepee. Thank You.
I agree with Mary. I want a tee pee! Great story, Roger. I could visualize what you were describing, especially inside that wonderful tee pee! As a single woman I’ve trained myself to be alert and cautious when walking outside. It has served me well to stay “awake” out in the world, but I wonder how many Toms I’ve missed in my life. Looking straight ahead and walking with purpose is what we are taught as womenfolk so as not to look like easy prey. Your story tells me to not be afraid to at least sometimes make eye contact with male strangers. You never know what friend you may meet. And anyway, smiles make the world a friendlier place.
How fortunate you are to have been able to look beyond your perceived differences to find the depth and quality of humanity and your common quest for truth and faith with this friend. Your reverence for all of the sacredness of this life and the grand experiment in which we are all engaged, is palpable in your description. Write on, mon ami.