Volunteer travel log: Northampton, part II

Several days ago, I started a sort of travel log about my various volunteer gigs during the 6 years I wandered around the country. The idea, way back then, was to talk about how I found what I wanted to do with the luxury of time granted by retirement. This led to talking about the huge pile of possibilities that presented themselves when I just listened.

When we last visited that story, I was in Massachusetts … and Rachel Maddow entered the story. So, we paused a bit to appreciate that time with her. And now, I figure everyone is over the Rachel rush and it’s time to pick up the tale where I left off. Because the truth is, the world didn't actually stop when Rachel appeared. So, back to Northampton, MA, one of my very favorite places in the world—I could have stayed there forever—and the other ways I filled my days there. Like always, as I looked around, there were plenty of good things to do. 

For starters, there’s always food. Getting right down to basics. I’d had such a good experience in the community kitchen in New Hampshire, I decided to give meals on wheels a try. I liked it so well right out of the gate that I signed up for two shifts a week. This meant I got to get to know folks better, which  was, of course, the fun part of this work. And I met some people with interesting tales, some living under sad circumstances, some really funny, some dour, some locked to the television, some eager to engage in conversation. This also helped me learn my way around Northampton, which I found to be great fun. I love exploring new places, often spend time just wandering around roads, wondering, “Hmmm … can I get there from here? Where does this road go? Now I’m lost … how do I find a highway?” Path finding: a fringe benefit of dropping off hot meals on cold, snowy days.

This was the year when marriage equality (a.k.a., same-sex marriage) was on the table in MA, so things were hopping. Out of the blue, I’d been asked by the local newspaper to do a blog. Apparently, the guy in charge of blogs had read something I wrote somewhere, and he cold-called me. Needless to say (see invisibility, above), I accepted happily.

I was traveling to Boston to lobby about marriage equality anyhow. Unlike many working folks, I had the time to spend the day hanging out at the Statehouse. And with this blog "assignment," I got to send back posts from the field, keeping folks back in Northampton posted on the hour-by-hour status of negotiations and then the vote.

What an uplifting experience to be in the midst of all that excited energy! Imagine the sound of hundreds of LGBTQ people and their supporters singing patriotic songs ("This is my country...")—as well as protest songs, songs of resistance ("Like a tree standing by the water, we shall not be moved")— outside the chambers as the legislature voted on our rights.

We did everything we could to make our collective voice heard. We also laughed a bunch, cried a bunch ... and mostly were a bunch. It was very cool. As a field correspondent, I considered buying a flak jacket and helmet so I would look like a real field reporter on TV. But I decided against it. For one thing, I was never on TV. For another, I already had those swell overalls left over from the NH recycling gig; they’d do in a pinch.

Somewhere—probably from Rachel or one of her interview guests—I also heard about the local branch of the American Friends Service Committee, a Quaker peace and social justice action organization. This particular branch of the AFSC was very active, and I worked with them on a whole flock of actions. Many of these had to do with opposing the move toward war in the Middle East.
I got to wear a mock-up of the pentagon and parade back and forth across the main intersection of town, while other folks fed me money. I took several overnight bus trips to DC to participate in anti-war marches. Those trips included absolutely frigid days of standing on frozen ground in the mall, warming our toes in the Smithsonian … and lovely spring days nodding off on the grass beneath the Washington monument during the (shall we say extended?) political speeches. I also tabled against a soft drink company on Main Street (this company is siphoning water from lakes that are the sole source of water for folks in India, bottling it for sale here). I painted a lot of posters, did a bunch of leafleting, and several other things I now forget.

These were very inspiring folks. I only did this work part time, then I’d go home to my laziness. The dyed-in-the-peace-sign AFSC-ers, on the other hand, never slept. I’m sure about this. Their one hired staff person, a wonderful woman, belonged to a peace and social justice affinity group. They called themselves “The Turtles” because they moved slowly but relentlessly toward their goal. Their name always made me think of “turtle fur,” a buttery soft form of fleece that came out about that time. That’s how they seemed to me: slow, steady, tenacious, and soft as fleece.

Our time in Northampton ended too soon. I loved it there, and through my assorted volunteer gigs, I was as connected as I had ever been to a local community. But the next home town beckoned, and we were on the road again. Now we were headed west – eventually getting as far as you can go without getting on a very big boat. 

Our next stop on the way was Middle America, the Midwest, a section of the country I had only driven through, usually very quickly. We were headed for Michigan. Only a 13-hour drive from Northampton, MA, but a world away.