“Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose:
Nothin’ ain’t worth nothin’ but it’s free.
Feeling good was easy, Lord, when Bobby sang the blues.
Feeling good was good enough for me;
Good enough for me and Bobby McGee.”

As we rolled west across southern Missouri the voice of Janis Joplin echoed through my mind.  Before you point it out I freely acknowledge that I have mixed the original Kris Kristofferson words with the voice of Janis Joplin.  It’s an advantage to carrying the music in my own personal repository.  I can do that.

It was Monday afternoon and we pulled into the McDonalds in Seymour for a short break and a meal.  As we parked the bikes, Lori pointed out the shaped and painted pipe structure in the corner of the parking lot.  Seymour is the center of a significant Amish population and apparently the proprietors of the local fast food establishment felt the need to accommodate the occasional horse drawn vehicle.

We made our way inside; I excused myself to wash my hands and splash my face; and Lori ordered up some delicious American cuisine for our midday repast.

When I rejoined Lori at the table along the front window, she pointed to the corner of the parking lot.  There at the twenty-first century hitching post sat a one horse buckboard cradling two children sitting patiently garbed in what was obviously Amish apparel.

A glance to my right revealed a short woman in a black dress and white bonnet at the counter ordering up a bag full of Scottish American delight.

“Their lives are so simple.” Lori observed.

“I don’t know,” I retorted.  “It appears that they’re making the same tough choices we all have to face:  Do you want to supersize that value meal?”

I tried to be inconspicuous snapping a few quick souvenir photographs as she filled the drinks at the fountain.  I knew they didn’t like to have their pictures taken and I didn’t want to be openly offensive to her.  I did however desire a pictorial reminder of this scene.  I wondered whether she was the mother or the grandmother of the children in the wagon.  She was a relatively short woman and appeared to be about my age or a little older.  I really couldn’t be sure of the age, though, as I am not a good judge of age and my lack of skill was intensified by the unfamiliar cultural dress and, no doubt, by a life on the farm very different from my own.   The two children appeared to be about five to eight years of age, the little girl being the younger.

Between bites of my Big Mac I watched and snatched a few more purloined images through the glass as the lady in black handed the treats up to the two miniature people and then took her place between them on the buckboard seat.  I was truly impressed, maybe even awed, as she backed that horse up in extracted her four wheeled transportation from the parking space in exactly the same manner that anyone would have managed a motorized vehicle.  She expertly pulled the wagon to the left backing up and then circled to the right out of the parking lot.  I watched them cross the four lane at the traffic light and then turned my attention to my noonday meal.

We finished our midday sustenance amid casual conversation and a little intermittent short distance sight seeing.  Two Amish gentlemen sat a few tables over from us with a third man who by his apparel and lack of facial hair appeared to be an Englisher.  “Englisher” is the term the Amish use for those outside their own community. The three of them departed in a fairly late model van with the Englisher at the controls.

As we mounted up to continue our journey, the nearly mournful wail of Janis Joplin again began to resound between my ears.

“Feeling good was easy, Lord, when Bobby sang the blues.
Buddy, that was good enough for me;
Good enough for me and Bobby McGee.”

I had shed my outer rain coverings as the threat of precipitation appeared to be greatly behind us by now, but being less than overwhelmed in my confidence I put on my full faced hat, just in case the cloud filled skies were to break loose again.

Not more than a few miles down the road I noticed a one horse buckboard making its way down the right hand shoulder of the divided four lane highway.  I cut my speed slightly and fished the camera from its protected spot inside my jacket.  It was the same family that we had seen almost a half hour before at McDonalds. As we approached the little girl seated on the left side of the buckboard bench, apparently attracted by the growl of the Dragon, leaned way out the side of the wagon and turned her face to watch us go by.

As soon as I saw her turn her face toward me I knew that the right thing to do was to wave at her in passing, but I had the throttle in my right hand and a camera in my left.  I would like to say that I struggled with the decision to drop or hold the camera, but I didn’t.  I rolled past the equine powered buggy and attempted to take one picture approaching and one departing.

The face of the little girl haunted me.  I could see in my mind how she would have beamed at the smallest gesture of greeting.  For some time I withdrew to deep within myself and I thought that I might weep.  But I did not.  For the next ten miles or more I considered reversing our direction at every turnaround that we passed.  I tried to calculate whether it was reasonably possible to go back past the wagon before they turned off the highway and I thought that we could.  But I didn’t.

I’ve always tried to believe that I am one of the good guys, but it doesn’t always feel that way.  I try to make the right choices but sometimes I don’t.  I wonder now and then whether life would be simpler and cleaner living the way the Amish do.  I wonder if  I really am the man that I think I am or whether it’s me that matters most to me.  I hope that next time I will do the right thing.  But I know that maybe I won’t.

Through all the thoughts and wonderings I could still hear that near desperate wail echoing off the sound board of my mind.

“Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose:
Nothin’ ain’t worth nothin’ but it’s free.
Feeling good was easy, Lord, when Bobby sang the blues.
Feeling good was good enough for me;
Good enough for me and Bobby McGee.”