One of the shuttle cars has just pulled up and a fellow tugs hard on an overstuffed backpack to get it out of the trunk. "I have enough in here to last me five days!" he brags. "And I love camping!" Can you tell he's not put off by Cindy's absence?
I'm almost to the end of the line along Morgan Road, and the chatter is lively. "I brought some white t-shirts, and I can write what I want on them." The guy is ready to turn with this movement on a dime.
Now I'm at the PETA booth where the camp food is vegan or else. PETA is cooking free veggie burgers and barbecued veggie ribs. The ribs are not bad. Good sauce. But the grill is not too warm, and the 'ribs'
are still cold on the inside. Still, the flavor is okay and nobody had to die. One of the cooks takes a call and talks a little about what it's like to eat vegan in this part of the world. Either he eats grilled veggie ribs at camp or microwaved veggie ribs at the motel. As I scan the horizon I wonder where did they put the cows and goats today? The guy should write a book: how I staffed a PETA booth on County Route 450A and nobody gave me grief.
No wonder Rush and O'Reilly are in a panic. All their pet intolerances are softening up here at Camp Casey where PETA and cattle ranchers share the same street.
Or as the left panel reads at the booth for Military Families Speak Out: "Hate Multiplies Hate", "Violence Multiplies Violence", and "Toughness Multiplies Toughness." Note to selves: Tolerance Multiplies, Too. Across Prairie Chapel Road, a pro-Bush delegate is doing a live interview for cable news.
"Hi Diane, how you doin'?" someone says as a red shiny pickup pulls into the lane. "I'm doin', uh, hot!"
replies Diane Wilson with a grin. She eases the truck into park and steps onto the pavement. "Why don't you try some sun screen," says a camper. "Well," says the bronze Gulf Coast fisherwoman, "I don't want to start out doing something I can't keep up." Like wearing platform sandals. "I had on some clunkers, but I fell off them a couple of times, so I changed back to my boots." Sure enough the brown points of the boots peek out from under her long dress. She's used to hard work in the sun, but she has to admit that out here, "By evening you are whooped!" But you can telll by her grin that she means it in a good way. Back in the truck, she says "bye bye" and drives off.
Signs of camp organization appear at a welcome booth on Morgan Road about where shuttles unload passengers.
Cree from Galveston is just now finishing a multi-colored sign that reads: "Welcome New Friends, Get Oriented Here." A white board is being filled in with the day's schedule and other camp info such as lead volunteers for task groups (Food, Traffic, Welcome, and Peacekeeping) and security contacts (Ann Wright, Diane Wilson, Lisa Fithian).
A canvas map handmade in Austin invites folks to place their home towns in magic marker. Only South Dakota and about three other states have yet to be claimed.
Texas, California, and the NorthEast are the obvious clusters here. From the map you'd think Texas was the bluest state in the nation. In fact, with demographics that have just tipped Texas into a majority non-Anglo state, there is a call among Hispanic state legislators such as Aaron Pena to move the state into an early Presidential caucus that might better reflect a diversity not available in Iowa or New Hampshire.
Under a netted tent designated for Iraq Veterans for Peace, a dozen men are sitting close together in a circle listening to each other one at a time. It is Dustin Langley's turn to talk about his experience as a Navy vet and his work at the "no draft no way"
website. He speaks about the need to resist the way that Bush's education agenda has made it easier for military recruiters to draw on student information collected by schools. There is provision for parents to opt out of this database, but he says the paperwork is usually buried in a stack of first-day materials that typically overwhelm folks. About this time Amy Goodman is also strolling the lane. She stops to listen for a minute, too. Just outside the netting sits Gulf War vet Rick Blumhorst, wearing his Army Green jacket, unfazed by the climbing heat index. At 100 degrees, it would still be about 20 degrees cooler than Baghdad on a hot day.
*****
Out near the rows of crosses in the naked sunlight stands a closely packed group of 75, including an impressive collection of camera crews. They are getting started on the day's main events: a press conference at 11:30 and an interfaith service at noon, including a minute of silent prayer that is being taken up by peace activists across the country. Also, for the second day in a row, the women of Camp Casey are gathering letters for Laura Bush, asking her to intercede in the war policy of her husband's administration. The letters are taken as close as possible to the Bush ranch, just a little further down the road.
Interfaith ministers for the noon program have been transported in three large vans to the first memorial crosses of Arlington West. There the pastors, priests, and rabbis debark for a silent walk up Prairie Chapel Road. Juan Torres of Chicago leads the procession with the sign that he has made for his son.
And the mother of Daniel Torres marks the end of the line with her message: "Bush lied and killed my only son." At the gathering point for the interfaith event, all the clerics kneel facing SouthEast, focusing their attention on the crosses that remember the dead.
As the ministers rise for a second prayer, I overhear a cell conversation at the Southern tip of the triangle. She is talking about all the giving that is going on out here. A man who shows up with food for 100. A florist who sends out 35 dozen red flowers to adorn the crosses. It's enough to make you cry on the phone talking about it.
Rev. Andrew Weaver of Brooklyn is talking now about how the nation has allowed too many people to grieve alone in their losses to the war. But now, thanks to Cindy, he says, "We shall no longer mourn alone and grieve alone. We are in solidarity with their grief.
In prayer he asks that we be neither blue states nor red, but "states of compassion."
Moving back along Morgan Lane I see a woman carrying a flag-colored umbrella. "That's a nice umbrella," I say, hoping she will stop and say something about herself. "Yes, it's an Estee Lauder," says the woman as she passes me by. "And that's why you don't have one, dear," says her companion smiling at my poor self as she moves by. It is about this time that I notice the shiny Lincoln Navigator being used by the CBS news crew. I don't have one of those either. Looking at their blue and white umbrella folded up on the ground I wonder if it's Estee Lauder, too.
At the Southern tip of the triangle someone has posted a No Trespassing sign to remind us that the little green patch of grass and gravel is private property, belonging to the woman building the the big house across the street. In the middle of the triangle stands Deputy Kolinek. But what exactly is he going to do when Amy Goodman walks right past him? She's not waiting for her Democracy anymore on this high noon in Texas. May blessings shine down on her head this blazing interfaith day....
-----
I'm almost to the end of the line along Morgan Road, and the chatter is lively. "I brought some white t-shirts, and I can write what I want on them." The guy is ready to turn with this movement on a dime.
Now I'm at the PETA booth where the camp food is vegan or else. PETA is cooking free veggie burgers and barbecued veggie ribs. The ribs are not bad. Good sauce. But the grill is not too warm, and the 'ribs'
are still cold on the inside. Still, the flavor is okay and nobody had to die. One of the cooks takes a call and talks a little about what it's like to eat vegan in this part of the world. Either he eats grilled veggie ribs at camp or microwaved veggie ribs at the motel. As I scan the horizon I wonder where did they put the cows and goats today? The guy should write a book: how I staffed a PETA booth on County Route 450A and nobody gave me grief.
No wonder Rush and O'Reilly are in a panic. All their pet intolerances are softening up here at Camp Casey where PETA and cattle ranchers share the same street.
Or as the left panel reads at the booth for Military Families Speak Out: "Hate Multiplies Hate", "Violence Multiplies Violence", and "Toughness Multiplies Toughness." Note to selves: Tolerance Multiplies, Too. Across Prairie Chapel Road, a pro-Bush delegate is doing a live interview for cable news.
"Hi Diane, how you doin'?" someone says as a red shiny pickup pulls into the lane. "I'm doin', uh, hot!"
replies Diane Wilson with a grin. She eases the truck into park and steps onto the pavement. "Why don't you try some sun screen," says a camper. "Well," says the bronze Gulf Coast fisherwoman, "I don't want to start out doing something I can't keep up." Like wearing platform sandals. "I had on some clunkers, but I fell off them a couple of times, so I changed back to my boots." Sure enough the brown points of the boots peek out from under her long dress. She's used to hard work in the sun, but she has to admit that out here, "By evening you are whooped!" But you can telll by her grin that she means it in a good way. Back in the truck, she says "bye bye" and drives off.
Signs of camp organization appear at a welcome booth on Morgan Road about where shuttles unload passengers.
Cree from Galveston is just now finishing a multi-colored sign that reads: "Welcome New Friends, Get Oriented Here." A white board is being filled in with the day's schedule and other camp info such as lead volunteers for task groups (Food, Traffic, Welcome, and Peacekeeping) and security contacts (Ann Wright, Diane Wilson, Lisa Fithian).
A canvas map handmade in Austin invites folks to place their home towns in magic marker. Only South Dakota and about three other states have yet to be claimed.
Texas, California, and the NorthEast are the obvious clusters here. From the map you'd think Texas was the bluest state in the nation. In fact, with demographics that have just tipped Texas into a majority non-Anglo state, there is a call among Hispanic state legislators such as Aaron Pena to move the state into an early Presidential caucus that might better reflect a diversity not available in Iowa or New Hampshire.
Under a netted tent designated for Iraq Veterans for Peace, a dozen men are sitting close together in a circle listening to each other one at a time. It is Dustin Langley's turn to talk about his experience as a Navy vet and his work at the "no draft no way"
website. He speaks about the need to resist the way that Bush's education agenda has made it easier for military recruiters to draw on student information collected by schools. There is provision for parents to opt out of this database, but he says the paperwork is usually buried in a stack of first-day materials that typically overwhelm folks. About this time Amy Goodman is also strolling the lane. She stops to listen for a minute, too. Just outside the netting sits Gulf War vet Rick Blumhorst, wearing his Army Green jacket, unfazed by the climbing heat index. At 100 degrees, it would still be about 20 degrees cooler than Baghdad on a hot day.
*****
Out near the rows of crosses in the naked sunlight stands a closely packed group of 75, including an impressive collection of camera crews. They are getting started on the day's main events: a press conference at 11:30 and an interfaith service at noon, including a minute of silent prayer that is being taken up by peace activists across the country. Also, for the second day in a row, the women of Camp Casey are gathering letters for Laura Bush, asking her to intercede in the war policy of her husband's administration. The letters are taken as close as possible to the Bush ranch, just a little further down the road.
Interfaith ministers for the noon program have been transported in three large vans to the first memorial crosses of Arlington West. There the pastors, priests, and rabbis debark for a silent walk up Prairie Chapel Road. Juan Torres of Chicago leads the procession with the sign that he has made for his son.
And the mother of Daniel Torres marks the end of the line with her message: "Bush lied and killed my only son." At the gathering point for the interfaith event, all the clerics kneel facing SouthEast, focusing their attention on the crosses that remember the dead.
As the ministers rise for a second prayer, I overhear a cell conversation at the Southern tip of the triangle. She is talking about all the giving that is going on out here. A man who shows up with food for 100. A florist who sends out 35 dozen red flowers to adorn the crosses. It's enough to make you cry on the phone talking about it.
Rev. Andrew Weaver of Brooklyn is talking now about how the nation has allowed too many people to grieve alone in their losses to the war. But now, thanks to Cindy, he says, "We shall no longer mourn alone and grieve alone. We are in solidarity with their grief.
In prayer he asks that we be neither blue states nor red, but "states of compassion."
Moving back along Morgan Lane I see a woman carrying a flag-colored umbrella. "That's a nice umbrella," I say, hoping she will stop and say something about herself. "Yes, it's an Estee Lauder," says the woman as she passes me by. "And that's why you don't have one, dear," says her companion smiling at my poor self as she moves by. It is about this time that I notice the shiny Lincoln Navigator being used by the CBS news crew. I don't have one of those either. Looking at their blue and white umbrella folded up on the ground I wonder if it's Estee Lauder, too.
At the Southern tip of the triangle someone has posted a No Trespassing sign to remind us that the little green patch of grass and gravel is private property, belonging to the woman building the the big house across the street. In the middle of the triangle stands Deputy Kolinek. But what exactly is he going to do when Amy Goodman walks right past him? She's not waiting for her Democracy anymore on this high noon in Texas. May blessings shine down on her head this blazing interfaith day....
-----
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