The young man with the soft eyes reminded me of the Gordon Lightfoot song, Sit Down Young Stranger . . . “They say you’ve been out wandering, they say you’ve travelled far, sit down young stranger and tell us who you are.”

Aneil is from Louisana, and he’s got a story to tell, among many. With a transient look about him, and a big honkin’ backpack, he was way too late for the picking season, I thought. So what was he doing hitching rides this time of year? A Christmas journey, perhaps. Sounded crazy, but I envied him for his carefree spirit that I’ve always wanted but will never possess.

Here is his story as told on a sheet of paper:

Bitterly cold, I awoke in my bag. No time to waste leaving Christina Lake. Unzip, zip, pack straight, thumb out. As a school bus passed, I cut a cartwheel. Kids smiled.

Wayne pulls over in a beater. A red-haired, chubby fellow, he cleared the seat of its occupant, a beautiful spaniel. We drive to Grand Forks. Magnificent mountains surround us as I trade Kootenay region for Boundary.

I get a Russian breakfast in a café filled with Doukhobors. Folks from another table pay for my breakfast as they leave. They send me the message, “Merry Christmas.”

Outside of Grand Forks, I get picked up by Ryan. He’s headed to Rock Creek. An athletic, dark-haired fellow; he is a school principal. He sees a lot: familial dysfunction amid a cash-strapped education system. Dropping me off in Rock Creek, he buys a blue-green touque I crocheted. He gives me his email and invites me to Christmas.

At the same gas station I meet another Ryan, an older, grizzled man, he travels with his blond girlfriend. We laugh over things like escaping cattle and arbitrary political borders. When they drop me off, I pay it forward; coins can weigh you down so.

Walking by the road, I pass orchard after orchard. Fruit reminds me that God never left. I watch geese fly in patterns, so incredible. I see intelligence and community. By the road I pluck my guitar. Sound good from far, but far from good.

Two sisters pick me up. They are beautiful, with matching black hair. They giggle at my bad jokes and express their desire to travel. My advice was have someone you trust, and anything is possible.

In Oliver, I walk west toward Vancouver. I see a newspaper office. It looks warm, the women inside are smiling, and I have a story to tell. I walk in.

Merry Christmas, Aneil Prasad.