Lyman on Pilgrimages, Sabbaticals, and the Sameness of Craft Beers

012915Driving his truck and trailer down the highway at the start of his sabbatical, Lyman asked the question a poet would ask: What kind of traveler do I want to be? Tourist. Migrant. Nomad. Settler. He and his family would be on the road a year, crossing the country, living in campgrounds. Pilgrim, he thought. I want to be a pilgrim. One who goes all the way out and all the way back and arrives home changed.

So we watched that pilgrimage – first on his blog – and then in his performance at ACC last night. The journey included numerous hats, visits to the graves of Emerson and Cotton Mather, echoes of those lost in the Holocaust, at Gettysburg, on 9/11. There were heavily armed RVers, yogis with limbs in four states. He gave us an evening that was reflective, moving, and righteous. His pilgrimage opened with lines from Simon and Garfunkel, “… all gone to look for America,” and ended in the most American of places: a baseball field in Iowa. Father, sons, ghosts, and future selves throw the ball, hit it, then watch it sail past.

Thanks for a beautiful evening, Major Dude.

January 29, 2015

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