The Homeless Rock Hound

Dad was dead, gone, and I was feeling dazed and depressed.

Elmer the husky to the rescue!

I reclined on the couch, not reading or writing, just thinking about my new path. Outside, the sunlight blasted through patches of clouds.

Elmer came up to me, inches from my face and began barking.

Get off your ass! You got to move!

Fifteen minutes later we cruised through the park and I saw a man of indeterminate age sorting through a substantial collection of rocks resting on a picnic table.

He exuded the unmistakable vibe of homelessness, but a homeless rock hound?

Elmer and I moved closer to spy. I looked toward the street and saw an ancient and battered station wagon crammed full of possessions and totes. A homeless domicile for sure.

Totes = storage for rocks. The man had carried the totes over to the picnic table, unloaded his collection of rocks, and then returned the totes to his vehicle.

Elmer and I stopped some 30 feet away from the man. We were somewhat behind him so he couldn’t see me watch him sort and admire his collection, some the size of bowling balls.

In the course of writing about homelessness in Oregon, I have seen many a bizarre sight, but the homeless rock hound ranked among the most bizarre.

Or perhaps it wasn’t so bizarre. Perhaps it was a man holding on to a cherished collection and that aided his survival. Maybe it was like having a dog in your life.

At some point, the man would retrieve the totes, load up his rocks, and carry the weight back to his vehicle. Then where would he go?

I could have asked a million more questions of the man and his collection, but Elmer and I walked away.