Man on a Mission

The idea of coming to Australia began with something I read back in 2000 (our old future). My mother suggested a book she had read about the Appalachian Trail, which had been written by an author she’d discovered by the name of Bill Bryson. Now this suggestion was coming from someone who voraciously read Patricia Cornwell novels featuring characters with names like ‘Win Garano’ and ‘Andy Brazil’, so I had serious reservations. However, one day while visiting the local library, I chanced to see the very travelogue she had recommended while browsing audio books. The book was called A Walk in the Woods, and it would eventually be made into a highly ‘meh’ movie starring Robert Redford. It would also eventually lead to a friend and I actually undertaking sections of the AT together in the years to come, but not having read it as yet, I had no way of knowing that all of that lay in store.

Right next to that book sat another book by the same author. Entitled In a Sunburned Country, it chronicled Bryson’s travels and misadventures in Australia. On a whim I checked it out, reasoning that because it was on CDs I could listen to it in the car while driving and therefore not have to invest any real time in reading it in case I didn’t like it.

But I did like it. In fact I loved it.

Bill Bryson had a sense of humor that appealed to me right away. I later realized that this was largely because he was reading what he himself had written as opposed to my reading it in my own voice or someone else reading it. A similar example of this is Douglas Adams, whose reading aloud from his own writing lends tremendous humorous augmentation to what is already quite amusing prose; a large part of the reason it’s so much funnier is because it is read in a British accent to suit the British sense of humor. (Ever notice how Monty Python quotes are never as funny without an accent?) In Bryson’s case, however, his rather interesting and unique American delivery lent itself well to the humorous quality of his own peculiar writing style and therefore greatly enhanced the amusement factor of the jokes and quips he’d written. One memorable example of this was his description of falling asleep in a car while being driven around to see the sights upon arriving in Sydney:

“I am not, I regret to say, a discreet and fetching sleeper. I sleep as if injected with a powerful experimental muscle relaxant. My legs fall open in a grotesque come-hither manner; my knuckles brush the floor. Whatever is inside—tongue, uvula, moist bubbles of intestinal air—decides to leak out. From time to time, like one of those nodding-duck toys, my head tips forward to empty a quart or so of viscous drool onto my lap, then falls back to begin loading again with a noise like a toilet cistern filling. And I snore, hugely and helplessly, like a cartoon character, with rubbery flapping lips. For long periods I grow unnaturally still, in a way that inclines onlookers to exchange glances and lean forward in concern, then dramatically I stiffen and, after a tantalizing pause, begin to bounce and jostle in a series of wholebody spasms of the sort that bring to mind an electric chair when the switch is thrown. Then I shriek once or twice in a piercing and effeminate manner and wake up to find that all motion within five hundred feet has stopped and all children under eight are clutching their mothers’ hems. It is a terrible burden to bear.”

From the “School of the Air” to the “Big Banana”, there was so much that was new and interesting about this place that the locals referred to as ‘Oz’. But the one thing that really stayed with me was the homesick feeling I suddenly had for this place I had never been. It reminded me of a few lines from a song I always loved but never fully understood.

Sun rises, night falls, sometimes the sky calls.
Is that a song there, and do I belong there?
I’ve never been there, but I know the way.
I’m going to go back there someday.

Sung by Gonzo the Great in The Muppet Movie, it was sad yet hopeful; specific yet vague; and could have meant any of several things. For my part, I had always felt that it had to do with dreaming about something so often that when you finally fulfill that dream, you feel as though you’ve already been there for years. A feeling of belonging someplace you haven’t even discovered yet, or meeting someone and feeling in the first few moments as though you’ve known them forever.

There’s not a word yet, for old friends who’ve just met.

It was the feeling I suddenly had while listening to these stories about Australia: I felt strangely homesick. That was back in 2000 and ever since then I had felt that something important awaited me there. But it ended up taking nineteen years to finally get there! Certainly not the length of time I would have chosen to wait, but during those years I was fashioned into someone who could really be a help somewhere and make a difference. Though I originally wanted to meet new people in a far off place, my focus had shifted to wanting to find a place where I could help in a meaningful way.

A large part of the reason I decided to come to Monto in the first place, was to be able to offer a helping hand at the Kingdom Hall here, though once again, that connection took many years and a chance meeting to make. A big part of doing that would also involve helping in the door to door work in a vast area of land. I suppose I liked the idea of ‘wandering the wasteland in search of my better self’; of being the man who came to town, made a difference, and then vanished into the wasteland again, leaving only stories, much like Max Rockatansky.

But here I was at last and my first day out in the bush witnessing would reveal many interesting things. Probably the biggest of which was that parts of the territory were so very rural. While there is some town territory as well, even these are small towns and nothing like the the suburbs back home. Everyone here has four wheel drive wagons with plenty of clearance underneath for traveling dirt roads and handling hills. In addition, driving across grass is commonplace here. Need to turn around at the top of a neighbor’s driveway? Just drive across the grass. This is sometimes necessary, in part, in order to find a shade tree to park in. Everyone here tries to make sure to park in the shade so as to keep the car from heating up overly. Air con is standard and people put up sun screens in the front window when leaving the car parked somewhere.

The territory maps are a little different as well, in part because they are each marked with small cups of tea. These signify the spots where “morning tea” can be had. Part of the service arrangement is not only to direct people which streets and houses to do, but also to designate a shady spot to have our break. This involves meeting at a spot, sometimes a picnic table in shade or a small stream, and bringing out our thermoses and snacks to eat. Going to a McDonalds or a Panera isn’t an option because they re no fast food places to be found here. The closest place to find a KFC is an hour north. This has of course lead to my eating more reasonable portions of much healthier food and saving tons of money. And anyways the friends here are always eager to share anything they have, be it Tim Tams or a cup of tea. (On hot days I just can’t do hot tea. I must seem very odd.)

Many houses out in the bush have cow grids at the front next to the mailbox. These are kind of a series of horizontal metal beams that allow cars to drive over them, but discourage cows from trying to walk across them. Sometimes there are cows wandering freely in yards, but gates aren’t always necessary to keep them in because their hooves have trouble negotiating the grids and so they don’t risk trying to cross them. In one ingenious case, grids were simply painted onto roads and they had the same effect on the cows. These are absolutely useless when it comes to horses, though.

For the most part the response here is the same as most places in the Western world: apathetic. Add to this the fact that the brothers and sisters here have been calling on the same people and the same houses for years and you have a territory that is sometimes hard to get excited about working…again. In a town the size of Monto everyone knows everyone, and in a territory as spread out as this one you get to quickly know the same few people who come to your door with magazines. We once went to a house and the lady there recognized me as having come into the bank once a month before to ask about transferring money! Another factor is that many people here are farmers and are therefore out in the field much of the day instead of behind their doors, and you get an idea of the challenges involved in maintaining zeal for the ministry. And yet the friends here keep faithfully going out to do the work. And while there are no interested visitors coming to the Kingdom Hall, the people here are generally very friendly and willing to ‘have a yarn’ (chat) for a few minutes.

Even our new Filipino sister (named Getrudes, but now know as ‘Trudy’) has started coming out in service with us. There is not the variety of people to work with in Monto that there might be in other halls, but the publishers here are very zealous for the work and quite pleasant to be with.

As to specific experiences, those will have to wait since I seem to have run out of space on this post. Are you usually home at this time? How about next week I’ll come back and we can talk about the Mulgildie bunyip, longhorn steers, and make shift mailboxes? See you then!