Mike

I stopped to talk with Mike this afternoon.  He's been living on the streets of my small Oregon town for many years.  I've known Mike for the last five years or so, and have photographed him numerous times.  There's a real natural feel to our relationship, almost like I've known Mike since childhood or something.  We were both born in 1965 and grew up in rural parts of our respective states - Mike in Oregon, me in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York.  I grew up with a few Mikes, I guess.

We talked for nearly an hour today (socially distanced) and Mike shared story after hilarious story with me.  If half of the stories are true, well, let's just leave it there as I find no reason at all to question.  When I listen to Mike, it's almost like reading the pages of an adventure novel.  

Today, however, one story in particular fascinated me.  Mike told a story of his time as a boy growing up in a house bordering the farm of Nicholas Kristof, right here in Yamhill county.  He was afraid of the Kristof dog, but would occasionally walk up the hill to the Kristof farm with Nick after school.  He remembered that Nick always had an armload of books from the school library.  "Smart kid" he told me.  "Always reading."  This reminded me of many of the accounts Kristof tells of folks in his latest book Tightrope.  One fall and it can doom an individual unless they have an appropriate safety net that includes love, education, healthcare and hope, among other things.  These are the things that our local, state and federal governments too often skimp on in their budgets.  These seem to be the things that could indeed rescue a nation, if focused on.