As I sit in a grocery store parking lot overlooking Interstate 90, I watch dozens of cars travel into Seattle. I’ll probably sit here for two hours so I’ll see hundreds of cars, perhaps thousands. And among those thousands will be many freight trucks carrying food into Seattle.
Based on general demographics, a large majority of those truck drivers will be Republicans. Plenty of them will be extremely conservative dudes who voted for Trump twice and will vote for him again if given the chance.
Yes, MAGA truck drivers are delivering food to Seattle, the second- or third-most liberal city in the United States. And this food was grown and shipped by farmers and farm corporations that are also heavily Republican.
Yes, Republicans are feeding Democrats. Yes, this is a ceremony. But is it sacred or secular? I think it’s a combination of capitalism and eucharist.
I don’t believe in God, not much at least, but I believe that metaphors, similies, and analogies are holy. So I think that these truck drivers are bringing a little bit of Jesus into Seattle.
You can disagree with me. I’ll shrug my shoulders and say, “It’s difficult to find the beauty in our enemies.”
But, on this lovely and cold day in Seattle, I roll down my window so I can hear the traffic on I-90. When I close my eyes, I can closely listen and pretend the rush of the wheels is an ongoing hymn.
I have a Kansas farmer who tells me, “I know a large number of farmers in Kansas, none of whom is a Democrat.”
I am familiar with both #90 and #5. When I lived in Tacoma, I had perhaps a Top Five job for writers/poets.
I was a D.O.E. Litter Picker based out of Olympia. Daily I would pick up juveniles needing to work off their Community Service hours and head to I-5 or US 7...I would pickup litter as well...This job had us quiet, counting our bags gave you the idea of ‘accomplishment’, and listening for three years to the ‘voices’ behind me in our van, poured stories, accents, and daydream visions.
I have an MEd and years of teaching behind me. No matter the many jobs I have had, Litter Picking my best writerly job. I wrote a poem called, Litter Pickers, maintaining my own sense of humor.
In matters of food all labels of distinction dissolve.