Saturday, June 28th 11:39a.m.
I find myself in a familiar place, yet everything around me seems strange.
Twice a day I am called to prayer, as my grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and other relatives gather around the dining room table to share a meal. As a kid this house felt as much like home as my own home, but time has estranged me from this world, and now I feel very much like a visitor. Nonetheless, it feels good to be here at my grandparents’ house, a respite from the routine of meeting new strangers each day that has been so much of the last four months.
Leaving Oklahoma, I rode on the floor in the back of a van full of tar sands resisters to Tulsa, stayed the night with a Sierra Club organizer, and then hitch-hiked in to Rolla, MO.
Now I’m spending most of my days wrapping up Fueling Dissent and playing with my cousins’ babies. After months on the road, eating out of dumpsters, hitch-hiking with strangers, fighting the pipeline and couch surfing with punks, it feels strange to be in this conservative Christian world again. I bite my tongue a lot here. It’s amazing to me how easily conversation comes with strangers, and yet how hard it can be to speak my mind in a house full of family.
But it’s good to be surrounded by people who love me, and good to eat three square meals and grandma’s delicious desserts. I’m savoring my time here, and also bursting with excitement for my upcoming tour.