Roadside Assistance

Another car passes: more local Kiwis with no interest in hitchhikers. We continue our march, fifty pound packs strapped to our backs, great green mountains pinned to our path. The baritone rumble of a mangled muffler draws our attention back to the road. We backpedal, thumbs to the heavens. It’s a small hatchback. No space the driver will likely attempt to gesture with his hands and an apologetic expression. Instead it clambers to a rest at our feet.
Their faces are radiant. Two sets of blue eyes sparkle at us, the corners fully wrinkled. “As far as you’ll take us.” The driver’s smile pushes aside his snowy beard and any pride we felt for our two month old scruff. Thanking them we cram into the backseat, our packs digging into our thighs.
Shiloh and Lani were looking for us and us them. They had taken a different route home in search of hitchhikers; we had sold our car to continue on foot. The road and our stories unwind and bind us. There’s nothing more to ask for when they reach their turn, but they offer us beds. We can’t refuse. They smile that genuine smile again. The lines of their lives caress their faces.
Three beds are already occupied by other travelers. This is the way of life at Shiloh’s. We’re not the first and we’re not the last. His home is an open one. Shiloh’s school was the road and his teachers were the people he met along the way. Learned in unconditional love and mastered in hospitality for strangers, he now houses a provisional band of vagabonds.
He built this ideal with his own two aged agrarian hands; the water mill too, which provides electricity and grinds grains into flour. The orchard and gardens provide each ingredient for the delectable dinner we all share. This is sustainable living. This reversion to our fellahin fathers produces pears so juicy you can drown and apples so tart you shiver.
It is love. Pure love that they give back to the earth and the tellurians who travel it. A gift for those on the right road at the right time.