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Somewhere down this long meandering road I have found a small piece of nirvana.  I have become a migrant worker.  I love Oregon just enough that I don’t think about my home in the San Juan’s any more than I need to.

Kona Paddy Wagon

My feet hate me, I have put shoes on them and kind of hobble and limp in pain, my toes crushed and blisters forming everywhere.  If there is a hell on earth it surely must be measuerd by how many pairs of shoes you own.  I walked down the coast, each step in the warm sugar white sand reminding my poor little dogs that there is a reason for all this madness.

The Lost Coast

One step at a time I climb the long hill, my bare feet slowly feeling the way gently cushioned by the cool mossy earth that guides me through the broken shade of the forrest.  This valley I have entered is a small one and soon enough we will have filled our time bank to overflowing, burn our shoes and continue on down the road.  People often ask me why I live the life I do, All I can do is suggest that they walk a mile in my bare feet.

“And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair”
~ Kahlil Gibran

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