Bookfield, Nowhere Road - Part 2

Further down the road I came to two women weeding a large vegetable garden. They resembled each other closely in the nose and jaw line, both had blue eyes with light brown hair, and as it turned out they were mother and daughter. They were clad in house dresses with light floral patterns. The daughter, who looked to be in her twenties, gave me a sideways look and excused herself, saying she had someplace else to be. The mother had graying hair and was as fair of face as her daughter. I gave my approach and the mother dismissed me out of hand. She had no small children or relatives with children and had no interest in the Bible Dictionary. She did tell me that there were folks down the road that desperately needed the bible books to save their wicked souls.

So on I rode. I had a memory of a story that had circled Parchment sales training school of an African-American man who was told he could make a sale for sure at the end of the road. So on he went, and when he got to the end, it was a set up, and they were racists and shot him dead. I didn’t know why African-Americans would be brave enough to sell books; there was only one in our class. It was so racist here in the South, even I was nervous. Everybody had guns, and I had met people who had been shot. One such man was in bed in a trailer; he had been shot in the stomach during a disagreement in a bar.

When I got to the end there was only a two storey white farmhouse. I knocked on the door and there was no answer. So, I went around the back. There was a huge pond out there, and far off in the distance I could see several people lazily tubing on it in the summer sun. I called to them and they turned and saw me and called out and waved for me to join them. I shook my head “no” and they slowly and reluctantly started paddling over. As they came closer I could make out that it was two guys and two women. The man getting closer first seemed to own the place and as he stood to get out of the water, I could see that he was naked.

Then I noticed that they were all naked. The place was so remote, skinny dipping would be private, just as it was for Evan and me. This man had long scraggly hair and a beard. He had to be in his late twenties. It struck me suddenly that they were all hippies. I felt safe then. Hippies usually preached peace and were typically anti-violence, so there is no way they would hurt me. My worst fears were for naught.


“Come and join us!” the lead man said. “It’s beautiful on the pond, and it’s such a hot day.”

“Not this time, thanks.” I think they hoped to shock me, but really, it was tempting to join them. It was really hot. I didn’t need to school my face at all. I was a bit concerned that since they were naked and I was comfortable with it, they would expect sex, but then I noticed one of the women was from the house I just left, the daughter of the woman gardening. I made eye contact with her and she blushed.

“Please don’t tell my Mom that I was here. She’d kill me, or it would kill her.”

“I won’t.” I replied.

“You guys know each other?” the lead man said.

“We met at the house down the street.” I did my approach and here also and there was no interest what-so-ever in the books. But, it was time for lunch. Maybe I could get some interest there. Most folks who don’t buy books feel like they should do something else for you. I mentioned my quarter for a peanut butter sandwich line and the women responded immediately that we should have a picnic. It was a lovely day for it. Everyone else seemed comfortable naked, but I kept my clothes on.

The picnic was lovely; we had cheese and bread and fruit on a blanket which lay on the grass. They offered wine, but I stuck to water because of the heat. They offered me a ride back in their van, but it was way too early to knock off selling. So off I rode and continued my adventures.