ResearchInfo: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance | Documents

Life is Like a Swift Mountain Stream.
A River Enthusiast Follows Her Quest for Quality in Life via Float Trips, Bluegrass Festivals, Flute Playing, and Study Forums.
by Rosemary Bradford Grant.

Biography
Dr. Rosemary Grant is a Retired History and Humanities Teacher, Monett High School, Monett, MO and Adjunct Professor, University of Missouri-Kansas City. Living in the Ozarks, she remains married to Norris Grant, a high school science teacher, and together they raised two daughters and two sons. She enjoys Email, visiting children and grandchildren, sewing, reading, decorative painting, and music. Her academic interest is in ethics and virtue with a special focus on magnanimity, and she wrote her dissertation about what teachers know about ethical behavior between colleagues. Robert Pirsig's book "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" inspired her because he makes a distinction between Aristotle and Plato that high school students can understand. Copyright " 2002 by Rosemary Grant, Ed.D.
…NOTE: See Below For Her Obituary.

CHAPTER 1

My husband, Norris, and I took a trip out west in 1982 that was similar to the trip Pirsig describes. An acquaintance of mine from Seattle whom I had met at a study forum in Pennsylvania offered to show us the sights if we could make the trip. She recalled that I had never been to the Northwest, and her generous offer was a deal we couldn’t reject. We were not in the habit of taking vacations except to visit family or to continue our education so this was a rare opportunity for us.

Norris drove to Ames, Iowa in our red 1977 Chevrolet Nova hatchback to pick me up where I was attending a summer study program. We discussed our trip with several colleagues who knew the way, and they offered us advice and suggestions about the best roads and attractions. Craig, a teacher who drove a sharp BMW motorcycle told Norris about a trip he took to Yellowstone and persuaded us that we should take a loop through the Bighorn River valley before we entered Yellowstone Park. He said if we doubted whether we would be in the area again, we would regret missing the scenic drive in the valley. Basically we had no definite plans except that Norris wanted to visit his brother in Idaho on the trip out, and I looked forward to touching base with friends in Portland on the way back home. Our desire was to see as much of the country as possible and have some fun.

Norris is the kind of driver who wants to travel well-constructed and maintained roads. He likes the interstate highway system and toll roads because he can make good travel time on them. Once I can persuade Norris to take a state highway he enjoys the scenery, but he’s generally suspicious about two-lane roads. This time he believed what others told him, and we left Ames on Highway 30 moving due west toward South Dakota. I remember seeing corn growing in the fields and sparse traffic on the two lane roads. We didn't enter an interstate highway until just outside Sioux City where we spent the night. We travelled quickly and without difficulty, and that seemed to satisfy Norris. We didn't talk much except about choice of roads and where to eat, but then again we seldom talk in the car.

We travelled south of the trip that Pirsig took, but we shared some of the same experiences. Remaining on a low budget required us to focus on what we could see instead of what we could do. After crossing the Missouri River we entered the Dakotas, and drove north on I-29 until we reached Sioux Falls. I saw a big bluff when we crossed a bridge over the Big Sioux or the Missouri River, and we started traveling due west where I-29 intersects with I-90. We crossed the Missouri River again between Chamberlain and Oacoma and then drove right past Badlands National Park. Norris said we couldn’t stop for every tourist attraction if we were to reach the Black Hills by dark. We drove as far as we could each day, and usually met Norris's objective. After the first day on the road I realized I had a job on my hands to change the pace, and I wondered if it was possible.

One thing that helped pass the time on the road and served as a common denominator was listening to the radio or bluegrass music tapes. We had a good tape player in the car on our trip and plenty of our favorite tapes. If the scenery became monotonous, I'd put one of those tapes in the slot and drift off into some of my favorite memories.

Everybody has certain kinds of music they enjoy, but bluegrass means much more to our family than that; it's part of our heritage. When our children were small we bought our first bluegrass record, and about that time my Daddy started collecting records too. Then he and Mother started attending bluegrass festivals and local shindigs. Daddy bought quality microphones and recording equipment and started taping live performances. He became a collector and accumulated about 500 albums of bluegrass music.

Before long we all started attending festivals together and listening to music whenever we were together. The music you see was at the center of all of our family gatherings, and it became somewhat of a spiritual bond.. We sometimes slept in a tent on the campgrounds where the festivals took place, and we listened to the top bluegrass groups jam through the late night hours with amateurs. We attended workshops and talked to professionals face to face, and we visited with other families who attended festivals. We picnicked during dinner breaks, and endured heat and insects, but we loved every minute. We all have fond memories of many happy times connected to bluegrass.

None of our family members are bluegrass musicians, but we know the words to the songs and can sing along quietly as we sit close enough so we can see the faces of our favorite performers. Then later we'd sing in the car all the way back home. During any long car trip we carried plenty of bluegrass tapes to help us pass the time, and we came prepared on our trip to Seattle.

Even now whenever we first arrive at a festival we look across the crowd, and it appears that we've seen many of the people in the audience before or people who look a lot like them. That makes us feel good because it's like being back home with family. People write their family names on the backs of their lawn chairs, and they often sit in the same area where they sat the previous year. They dress in like manner, and their behavior is quite familiar. They talk among their family units, and eat a lot of snack food. The whole family unit often sits close together, and it's easy to see family resemblances among them. There's also a feeling that some of our loved ones should surely be in the crowd because they were for such a long time.

I catch myself trying to find where my parents are sitting even though I know they are dead and gone. If I look a little closer maybe I can see them, but then I return to the real world and get busy trying to find a good seat. If I behave myself and quit daydreaming then maybe I'll be able to see our grown children and families when they arrive.

What's important about attending a festival is family tradition, but it's more than that. The words to the songs provide a rich cultural heritage, and that's what attracted us to the music in the first place. Many songs are based on the gospel, but other topics include:

1) love for parents and children
2) family,
3) trains,
4) the old home place
5) life in the mountains
6) the reprobate life of a prodigal son
7) conversion from a wicked life of sin
8) working in a coal mine
9) the death of a child
10) a broken romance
11) a murder
12) infidelity
13) a famous race horse
14) being lonesome, sad, and blue

The type of song I like the best is a ballad with many verses that tell about the struggles of people's lives and how they resolve them. Some songs that I've heard a hundred times still bring tears to my eyes and their melodies linger even though I may have forgotten some of the words. The words of the songs, the feelings of being at the festivals with my family, and knowing the performers all come together to produce a special quality in my life. I try not to take that quality for granted, and my cup runs over when I think about it.

Below are some things I learned as a result of attending bluegrass festivals, and then I'll return to the account of our travels.

1) Arrive early enough to place your lawn chairs as close to the front as possible and in the middle.
2) Listen closely to the words of the songs.
3) Don't sit close to smokers or where a tree blocks your view of the stage.
4) Apply sunscreen throughout the day and wear a hat. Women should not wear a halter-top, and men need to wear shirts.
5) Know the favorite songs you want to hear and be ready to holler out your requests at the proper time. Performers pause and you know it's time to holler out requests.
6) Get acquainted with people sitting around you.
7) No drugs or alcohol.
8) Preferable seating is close to somebody who whittles on cedar throughout the performances so you can enjoy the smell of cedar all day long.
9) Bring a book to read in case there's some performers you are not fond of.
10) Get up and walk around because sitting all day is hard on the bottom.
11) Locate the bathroom facilities upon arrival.
12) Clap and holler really loud if you enjoy the performance. Stand up after the last song of a group to encourage them to sing an encore.
13) If you decide to camp, choose a good spot for your tent not far from a porta-potty.
14) You can talk quietly to each other during the show, but be respectful of your neighbors.
15) Don't horn into somebody's seat unless you ask if it's OK. Many people put their chairs in good spots and never use them so it's OK to sit there.

Pirsig likes being on the Plains, but for me they are what we have to endure in order to get to a final destination. When we travel to Colorado Springs to visit our son, we saw a lot of flat land. We used state highways in Missouri and move westward toward Newton, Kansas. Every time we made the trip we picked up the interstate near Newton and drove north to Salina where we turned west toward Hayes. Before long we moved up to the High Plains where I could feel the change in the air due to my chronic illness, Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD). The scenery doesn't vary unless we drive into a little town, and then we would be losing precious time of a four-day weekend.

Not far from Colby, Kansas on each trip I saw the silhouette of Pike's Peak and wondered if it is an optical illusion. As we moved closer to Colorado Springs the mountain backdrop improved our vista, but nothing grabbed my fancy after making the trip the first time. I'm always anxious to see our son and his wife, but the allure of the tourist mecca escaped me.

This account is not addressing a Colorado journey, however; it is about a trip to Seattle. Before I finish the account of our westward journey, I want to explain what happened previous to our departure. The seminar lived up to my expectations, and the forum provided a few brilliant professors who were gifted teachers. My world was expanding while I made new friends and discovered new ways of looking at things. The Seattle trip occurred during the eighties when I attended many summer seminars and completed a Masters of Arts degree in history at a nearby university. I taught school full time, finished parenting four children, survived major surgery, and still managed to complete my degree requirements.

I wanted a quality education and realized I was being held back by the shortcomings of my graduate program. The popular trends of the sixties influenced course offerings in women studies, civil liberties, and cultural diversity locally, but in my opinion the direction of these changes did not lead to excellence. I sought a classic curriculum that was ageless and enduring and therefore had to look elsewhere to find such opportunities.

In addition to summer seminars I learned how to travel abroad on a limited budget by becoming a teacher-chaperone. I recruited high school students during several summers, and the trips that resulted helped me experience what Pirsig calls a lateral drift. I developed a hands-on appreciation and understanding of Western art and philosophy and in a short time became a museum junky. I changed churches and dropped out of a bridge club.

My husband noticed some changes in me - that I talked more about ideas than people or events, and I connected them in ways that sometimes puzzled him. Norris has a Ph.D. in science education, and typically approaches life from a logical and linear perspective while I can be off the wall and abstract. He is task oriented and highly competitive while I am idea oriented and intuitive. He wants to be in charge while I seek close and meaningful relationships. These differences are not that unusual, but I'm telling you this to help explain my "journey." I was growing and changing. Collision course. Something was bound to happen!

I spent many years hoping that my husband would change to meet my needs, but then I started working to improve myself. I tried to be a free thinker, and my experiences helped bring enthusiasm into my teaching. I had fun being creative, learning new concepts, and gaining confidence. The rocky road I traveled became a bit smoother, and I grew more self-reliant. Whereas before I thought what I wanted was an attentive husband, I finally learned how to be content with personal growth and the fellowship of scholars.

Before our trip I developed some independence due to being on my own for several weeks, and I was hoping Norris and I could develop a new game plan. We both needed to make adjustments before school started in order to avoid conflict, especially in the parenting of our teenage son. I discovered several grant and fellowship programs to meet my needs during summer vacations, but what about the rest of my life? I arrived into what Pirsig calls the high country of the mind, but where did that leave the rest of my family? What direction would my journey next take me? At the same time I was planning my trip out west, a ghost was making similar plans. He would not miss such an opportunity.

CHAPTER 2

Now I return to the account of the trip to the West. When we arrived at Rapid City I made reservation for a motel in the area of the Black Hills. I had to call several motels before I found one that could accommodate us, and that persuaded me to do so again before we reached Yellowstone. Once we settled into our lodging at Custer we went to a restaurant and each ordered buffalo stew and a Buffalo Bill iced tea to go with it. I remember they served us strong drinks, and mine was more than I could handle. We had the best of times that day and the next in the national park, but over my shoulder I saw the ghost who reminded me of Phaedrus in the backseat of our car.

We spent most of the following day in the Black Hills visiting Mount Rushmore and attempting to see the mountain with the Crazy Horse monument. We went to a park ranger station to locate the Park's bison herd and then traveled a winding park road until we found them. We turned the motor off and spent a long time just watching them graze.

We took an excellent cave tour at Wind Cave National Park and appreciated that the cave was still alive. The next day we visited the mining town of Deadwood and discovered that rowdy bikers had trashed the city streets and sidewalks during a recent motorcycle rendezvous. We visited a history museum where we saw a deck of cards supposedly used by Wild Bill Hickok and a ghost shirt with holes in it. I tried to imagine how the area might have looked before the cyclists arrived, but the pristine beauty of the area escaped me.

We crossed over into Wyoming on our way to Yellowstone, and so did the ghost. Following Craig’s advice, Norris turned our Nova away from Highway 90 and drove toward the valley of the Bighorn River. When I saw the river running alongside of the road south of Worland, my thoughts returned to the streams back home and the reasons we chose to move our family there. You see we moved to the Ozarks to improve the quality of our lives by living in a beautiful part of the country where we could enjoy the lakes and streams, hills and hollers, and beautiful trees.

My appreciation goes way back to childhood days when part of our extended family took an inexpensive but quality vacation to the Ozarks. My Daddy’s younger brother tagged along so he could fish in Lake Taneycomo, and another aunt and uncle brought their children. We traveled on gravel roads with big shade trees on each side and enjoyed cooler temperatures than back home in Texas. My Daddy thought the region was the prettiest he ever saw, and he'd traveled extensively.

Soon after we arrived at our destination I persuaded Mother to let me go fishing. Later the whole family swam in the clear water of Swan Creek while fish swam all around us. These events etched their way into my heart, and I became determined to return. Although the itinerary of our trip was simple and the accommodations were crude, it was the best vacation I ever had.

Forty years later my husband and I fulfilled my dream when we moved our family to the Ozarks. I don't think the rivers and valleys of the Bighorn River valley were as beautiful as the streams back home, but they reminded me of our favorite family activity - white water canoeing. Considering that the story of my journey involves a quest for excellence I want to tell you how canoeing (what we call floatin') relates to this quality of life.

Soon after we arrived in the Ozarks I found a teaching colleague to instruct us in the art of floatin'. We learned the skill of canoeing together with our sons of 9 and 16, and before long we were avid floaters. We studied maps and guidebooks and talked with others who had wisdom in the field. At first we looked for streams with simple gradients, but later we sought those with white water rapids. We purchased a couple of affordable canoes and learned how to travel with them on top of our cars.

We floated on clear streams with visible fish just like those in Swan Creek from years before. We tried to avoid floatin' on weekends and holidays when the rivers were congested, and we often purposely avoided popular streams. When the Lord was willing we could own a stream, and we had our choice of primitive campsites. We learned how to read the water and how to avoid tipping over. While we studied floatin', we learned much about each other and about life. Life had an excellent quality about it on the water with our sons.

We had our favorite streams and places to launch our canoes, and still when spring rolls around we use the pictures in our minds to reminisce. When we get together somebody in our family will usually ask, "Wonder how the waters running?" Then someone else will suggest we call an outfitter to find out even though we know we're not going to float. There's something so exciting about the peacefulness of being on the river, and nothing is quite like it. We always worked hard to prepare for our voyage, and then once we hit the water there's a new adventure around every turn - a few calm pools with deep shades of blue, but mostly swiftly moving water with rapids up ahead! There are gravel bars where we stop to eat our picnic lunch and lots of water grass that looks like bamboo late in the summer, log jams where we have to make quick decisions about whether to take out our canoes or use a rope to pull them through. There might even be a sudden appearance of a blue heron sitting on a flat rock.

There's a place on the upper Buffalo River in northern Arkansas called Ponca where there's a low-water bridge and an access to the river. We took off on many a float from the gravel area just past the bridge, and if I'm ever feeling blue I think of that place so I can feel happy again. Before we put our canoes in the water we check to see how far the water flows beneath the bridge, or if we're lucky it might be flowing over the top. The water is moving fast, and the willows hang over into the edge of the stream. We size up the curve in the stream that comes up pretty quickly in front of us right after we push out. Following the etiquette of river travel our first canoe heads out and then the next until we complete our flotilla. We have to paddle hard and fast, and we have to trust each other about upcoming dangers. When Norris hollers, "Hard right!" I know he means for me to put all the muscle I have to help him make the turn.

When the children were young we'd set up challenges for them, and I remember one of them. We'd say, "Whoever sees the first critter on the river and calls it will get a hot-fudge Sunday at Dairy Queen on the way back home."

There are important rules that apply to floatin', and they can improve the quality of a float trip or a life. We took some time to learn and internalize these rules. Here are just a few:
1) Lean out when going around a curve in the stream instead of leaning in. One's instinct is to "lean in" as must be done when rounding a curve in an automobile. However, if you follow the natural tendency to lean in, the canoe will swamp.
2) Swim upstream away from the boat if the canoe turns over.
3) Don’t panic if you come to the surface inside an overturned canoe. Take a breath, determine the direction of the current, and then swim upstream and out from under the canoe.
4) Prepare for the worst but hope for the best. Count on getting wet and maybe having your canoe turn over.
5) Take ponchos in case of rain. Keep matches and towels dry inside a waterproof bag.
6) Locate alternate takeouts and spot your car at a good location. If this is not possible then make arrangements for an outfitter to pick you up.
7) Carry minimum equipment (stuff) - just the basics including a plastic bag that’s waterproof in which you pack plenty of towels, moisture proofed cigarette lighter or matches (in a tight screw-on lid metal can, munchies and liquids.
8) In advance make a phone call to learn the depth of the water, but take a rope to pull the canoe in the low spots just in case.
9) Avoid hypothermia by getting out of cold water quickly. Dry off and change clothes and if possible get somebody to start a fire on the bank of the stream.
10) Stay away from streams with log jams. In case you accidentally meet one on your float, portage if possible. Go to nearest bank and take a look before you decide if you can float through or not.
11) If a snake falls down from a limb into your lap, calmly paddle to the closest bank and disembark.
12) Stay low in the canoe, and don't stand up.
13) Drink in all the sights including a look below to see bass and perch scattering.
14) Don't fish in fast waters unless you are out of the boat.

There's an ebb and flow to our lives, and certainly there are many twists and turns in anybody's float trip through life. Sometimes a stream divides, and travelers have to make a choice about which route to follow. The river teaches us to look for the stream that carries the most water so we can have an easy voyage, but it is difficult to make the correct choice. Our eyes and our hearts can play tricks on us, and they can lead us into dangerous waters. As my story continues I will try and explain how they influenced my life.

CHAPTER 3

Earlier I reported sightings of a ghost on our trip, but I’ve not told you much about him. Pirsig’s ghost was Phaedrus, and I suppose our ghost plays a similar role. He makes a strong appearance during times of conflict, and he knows that my husband and I approach problems differently. Our divisions are perhaps along the same Romantic--Classic Split that Pirsig describes - I proceed along the intuitive and Norris works in a mode of rationalism. I operate most of the time in a romantic mode, but we both sometimes slip into the opposite frame of reference. Our ghost is aware that we become adversaries, dredge up unpleasant feelings from the past and he observes how we let them snag us due to our insecurities. At the same time he knows how we forget to enjoy the here and now when we become dissatisfied. We both have major flaws: Norris takes his frustration out on me, and I place too much importance on what he says or does. I allow things to hurt me because I exaggerate their significance, and Norris doesn't stop and think about what he says.

That’s what happened to us in the Bighorn River valley on a hot day in August. During one minute we contentedly traveled through the valley, and the next minute we wondered what caused our friend Craig to like it. We grew road weary somewhere close to Thermopolis, and I asked Norris to stop so I could call ahead and make motel reservations. We disagreed, and Norris suggested staying in a run-down motel instead of driving further.
Figuratively the stream we traveled led us into a swift curve, and without thinking we both started leaning in the wrong direction.

Our disagreement turned into a terrible fight, and figuratively our canoe started to take in water. Past misunderstandings took over, and things went from bad to worse. We both dragged up garbage from the past and said terrible things to each other. After another turn we were trapped in the midst of proverbial rapids. We faced the possibility of one of the worst things that can happen on a float trip, having a canoe stuck in between rocks and fast moving water. We knew that a swift current could bend a canoe almost beyond repair unless we acted quickly to improve our situation.

We talked about ending our trip, but Norris fought to gain control. He thought I was interfering with the steering of the canoe and lashed out at me. As a result we did turn over and lost our paddles, but we did not lose our canoe. We had no dry towels, matches, or warm fire because we were out in the middle of nowhere (up the creek without a paddle). Part of our problem was that we had never agreed on rules about how to disagree peacefully. We both felt defeated and didn’t know what to do. Norris pulled off the road, stepped from the car, and said he no longer wanted to travel with me. I knew we had to continue down the road so I took the wheel, told him to get back in the car, and agreed to drive us into Cody.

The ghost observed that our argument came to an end, but he was not aware of the amount of adrenalin flooding my body. I operated like a zombie but after checking into our motel and having dinner nevertheless agreed to visit Cody’s famous history museum. Maybe our trip to the West was a big mistake, but I shut my feelings down and forced myself to think about special people we expected to see in a day or so.

Looking back on this situation reminds me of the time in the real world when we took a friend of ours with her husband on a canoe trip. She was excited about going, but her husband wasn’t crazy about the idea. His attitude kept him from enjoying the beautiful scenery, and he resorted to pulling the canoe during the last half of their trip. He gave up trying and started yelling and cussing. Although he was an expert horseman, he couldn’t figure out how to steer a canoe.

Their bad experience on that day almost proves the theory among canoe fanciers that a disaster on a couple’s maiden voyage can break up a marriage. My decision to book a reservation in Wyoming and Norris’s reaction to it almost broke up ours. The problem was not that I wanted to book a room nor the way I went about it, but maybe it was the different modes in which we operate. Nevertheless, we did not resolve the dispute. By the next day Norris seemed to have forgotten what happened and saw no need to rectify his behavior, but I had the hurt boiling around for days if not weeks. The ghost (or devil) we carried with us was probably delighted.

CHAPTER 4

Norris and I drove through the Shoshone National Forrest the next morning and into Yellowstone. We made some stops to see the sulphur pots, but passed by the Visitor Museum. I made no suggestions about sights to see in the park, but Norris thought we should see Old Faithful. A strange thing happened to me when we reached the geyser. While we waited to see the timely eruption a terrible depression hit me like a ton of bricks, and my legs seemed to buckle under me. I rested until the spectacle ended, and then I tried to stand. My legs still weren’t working so I asked Norris to assist me in walking. I thought I might need a First Aid station, but once we got back to the car I asked Norris to drive us out of the park. The severity of our fight finally caught up with me, and even though I tried to tuck my disappointments away, they remained. I hoped and prayed things would get better, but the spark and excitement of the summer faded.

Our trip to the West continued with Norris driving us to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, where we had reserved a Bed & Breakfast arrangement. Jackson is a beautiful ski resort area in the valley of the Snake River, but because of my zombie-pressed-beyond-limit near-shock state of mind I can’t tell you much about it. We stayed in a cement block home with metal furniture, and we never saw our hosts. They left us with written instructions and provided us with a Spartan breakfast. The whole experience was sterile and sort of went along with my general feelings. Norris and I had emotionally detached and were drifting along like two separate skiffs in a stream.

Norris called his brother the next day to get directions to his home in Idaho, and we arrived in the late afternoon. We had a pleasant visit, spent the night, and left the next morning. We drove north toward Boise, and I remember little about that part of our trip except for the fruit growing along the way.

I tried to think of happier times such as floatin' down Roaring River face down on big inner tubes. Thinking about a family activity that brought us much joy distracted me temporarily from my state of mind. Even as I write about this mind wrenching terrible experience, my joy returns with my memories of happier times.

During the very first summer we moved to the Ozarks we headed for Swan Creek, the place where I had vacationed as a child. We found the stream, but due to road and bridge construction over many years, the stream bed and the creek were not the same. I was disappointed but determined to find a place with similar water so we could have fun like I did as a child.

We learned about a place called Munsey that had a series of natural chutes of water for stream travel but not canoeing. At first we sat on our inner tubes and air mattresses and twirled around in the water, but we could not keep ourselves in the flow of the stream. Then we discovered that if we positioned ourselves in spread eagle fashion on top of our vessels we could maneuver more easily. Each of us had to find a big stick to help guide our way, but if we were careful and persistent we could make it down the river with utter delight.

The water was almost perfect for what I had in mind. It was only a little over a foot deep in its shallowest spot, and the chutes carried us about a quarter of a mile before we had to take out. Then we walked back to where the chutes began and repeated the process until we wore ourselves out. Every once in awhile we saw a snake, and we had to watch out for the cows and poison ivy, but there's no doubt in my mind that our little family spent quality time together during several summer adventures at Munsey. Although there have been rough places in my life's journey, somehow or the other I was able to keep things afloat.

Sometimes we have to improvise, and sometimes we have to adjust our expectations. Often I had to discard a floatin' stick for a better one, but I was able to make it to the end of the float. The best part of it all was how it used to be after floatin' for a couple of hours on the river. I would be totally exhausted, dirty, and hot, but it was a wonderful feeling. After daydreaming about Munsey on my way to the Yakima valley, my life's struggles didn't seem quite as bad as they did earlier.

Sometimes after tube floatin' if we had time we would put our lawn chairs in the stream and let the cool water flow through our legs. You see Roaring River is spring fed, and the water year round is quite cool. When we had company from out of town in the summer, we'd take them to Munsey for a real treat. There's nothing quite like drinking some wine coolers while sitting in a spring fed stream. I prefer floatin' in a canoe, but there's real quality in floatin' inner tubes.

Here are a few things I learned from Munsey:
1) There's lots of fun in inventing unique family activities.
2) Adventures with low risks are rewarding.
3) Take turns with air mattresses and big inner tubes.
4) Take some time in choosing a good stick.
5) Learn how to steer your water vehicle.
6) Stay away from cows.
7) Float with at least one other person.
8) Keep your head up so you can see where you're going.
9) Stay away from places where poison ivy and snakes abide.
10) Wear shoes because the rocks will cut your feet.

Some of the people we know would turn their noses up at floatin' at Munsey, but that's OK. You see we were asked to not spread the news around about the location because the local folks wanted to keep it to themselves. The streams in Missouri belong to the public, but the surrounding property is privately owned. We don't go to Munsey much any more, but last time we went there to reminisce, the chutes remained.

CHAPTER 5

We traveled north on Interstate 82 to the Yakima Valley where they grow apples. I enjoy looking at different crops, and learned how to do so from trips I used to take when I was young. My Daddy liked to take long rides on Sunday after church, and we always had a good summer vacation. Sometimes we went to New Orleans in the fall around Thanksgiving, and my parents always talked about the crops. Norris and I didn’t try to identify the crops in the fields on our float trips, but we did study the water and the banks of the streams. Just like you can tell a lot about a region of the country by the crops under cultivation, you can tell a lot about a stream by the changes in the color of the water. For instance, darker colored water indicates a greater depth than lighter colors, and light brown means you are close to the gravel in the stream.

I like being on the water (similar to Pirsig's preference for the Plains). In an Ozark stream I can see clearly the fish swimming by and hear the swish of the boat moving through the water. Each of our canoes made a different sound, and the heavier one rode lower in the water. The peace and quiet in a canoe on a summer day calms my soul, and I like gliding without breaking the rhythm of paddling. When the sunshine dances on the water I am spellbound. Sometimes I can see the reflection of our canoe in the water, and the light plays tricks around the edge of the stream. There's another good example of quality in my book.

When we planned our trip to Seattle I wanted it to be an extension of the good time I had in the seminar, but I was too idealistic. I studied on a high plain with some of the best teachers in the country and drew strength from them.

Once I participated in something like a think tank in New York where I had an interesting discovery about the truth. In an informal setting I spent several hours discussing philosophy and applying it to the real world. I particularly remember one evening when I bounced ideas off of other participants as we traveled by car into the city. We stopped to read a map about the same time we all seemed to reach a common agreement on one particular idea. We all laughed, and someone summarized our conclusion. He said, "None of us know much about the truth, but at least we all know a tiny particle of it right now."

We seemed to have reached a common feeling of understanding. I remember sighing and then smiling all over as if I had finally arrived. None of the folks back home would probably understand or appreciate the moment, but I often return to it for satisfaction and joy. Somewhat ironically at the same time I was learning how little I really knew, many of the people with whom I associated behaved as if they knew everything.

I learned a few things about quality during my study forums.
1) Sit close enough to the speaker to be able to listen and participate with full attention.
2) Read as much of the recommended material that is available at the time of the forum, and read the rest ASAP.
3) Ask pertinent questions, and don't let the speaker be intimidating.
4) Make friends with other forum participants because they are a source of knowledge and experience.
5) If possible get acquainted with the professors and directors.
6) Connect what you learn from the forum with previous learning.
7) Find humor in your learning environment instead of becoming overly serious.
8) Eat well, exercise, and get plenty of sleep.

I enjoyed all the study forums that I attended, and I always returned to school in the fall refreshed and ready for another school year, but I didn't like losing touch with my friends and family back home. I have no doubt that they had a positive influence on my life, and I consider myself fortunate to have had those experiences.

CHAPTER 6

We arrived in Seattle and Norris made friends with the husband of my friend, Maxine. We felt comfortable and made plans for sightseeing the next few days. They drove us around for 2 days, and on the last day we took a cruise to Victoria by ourselves at their suggestion. We had a quality vacation, and although we were only with our friends a few days we felt like we got to know them. I remember a remark that Maxine made while we were there that sort of explains our relationship with them.

She said that they never wanted to be so close to any of their friends that it might put them under too much pressure. Instead they chose to have acquaintances like Norris and me with whom to do things. She probably did not want the responsibility that close relationships might require of her, and I told her I understood.

After three days in Seattle we took Interstate 5 and drove to Portland where we spent a couple of nights with some friends, Bernice and Wilber, who used to live in Missouri. We were happy to see them because the lady of the house had developed leukemia since she had moved to the coast. She and I shared a friendship for several years, and I missed being with her in our community orchestra. We both played the flute which has something to do with my understanding of quality.

When I was a young mother I taught flute lessons on Saturdays to earn some spending money. I had taken some private lessons at the high school to improve my playing, and my flute teacher, Ruth Kneile, told me she had helped me all she could. That's when she suggested I enroll in the music department at the university, and soon she asked me to join her in teaching flute privately at the school.

Ruth was a flute virtuoso and an inspiring teacher who was concerned about the quality of my instrument. I played the same flute that I used in the high school band, an Armstrong. She told me that if I had a better flute my playing would be much more refined, but she realized I did not have the means to buy one.

After several months had passed, one Saturday I had a wonderful surprise when I came to the school to teach. Sitting on a music stand was a flute case with a Haynes flute inside. A note was attached to the flute case explaining the anonymous gift that was designated as the George B. Tack flute. Tack, an elderly flute teacher was a mentor to the flute community who also cleaned and repaired flutes. He had cleaned and repaired my old flute, but he was not the donor of the new one. My only requirement was to continue to make the flute sing or pass it on to somebody else that would.

We concluded our visit with Bernice the following day after we went to Fort Clatsop built by Lewis and Clark. On the following day we traveled through the national forest close to Mount Hood on Highway 84, and I remember the beauty of the big trees and the Columbia River. I was glad we were heading home because I hadn't been home for over a month. I missed my children and pets and the security of a familiar routine.

I learned from my flute playing and teaching and from my experience playing in a community orchestra for several years from friends like Bernice.

1) There are kind and generous strangers who walk among us.
2) Music fills our lives in ways that nothing else can.
3) Don't be afraid to step out and provide assistance to people who need our help.
4) When you find an honest and attentive friend like Ruth or Bernice, do not take his/her friendship for granted.
5) Teaching is a form of generosity that can bring much pleasure and fulfillment to our lives.
6) Cultivate friends just as you cultivate a flower garden.
7) Life is full of wonderful surprises.

We turned on to Highway 70 before we entered Colorado, and we spent the night with Bernice's son and wife outside Denver. Now we were in territory that was much more familiar, and I realized our journey was coming to an end.

CHAPTER 7

I didn't recognize my struggle for personal growth nor could I predict the twists and turns of my quest, but my life was full. I did more than survive; I made some major changes. I concentrated on the things I could do something about and tried not to think about the rest. I learned the art of teaching while increasing my knowledge base, and I committed myself to lifetime learning. Although my teacher colleagues disapproved of my quest, and my school administrators dismissed the value of my achievements, I kept working on self-improvement. Although some of my colleagues were good teachers, they did not have the same concept of Quality as I did. Norris made some adjustments, and he did not flip me out the canoe again.

I can now summarize what quality means to me - whether you're traveling down the road on a trip or just passing through your days on this earth. If a person is searching for quality in his/her life, they need to do as many of these things as possible. Taking part in quality activities (doing), however, is not all that's needed. We must be as magnanimous toward others as we possibly can be.

1) It's floatin' down a stream in either a canoe or belly down on a big inner tube with a stick to guide your way.
2) It's sitting in your lawn chair under a big shade tree and listening to bluegrass music with your family.
3) It's sitting at a seminar table with other scholars who are searching for the truth and want to hear what you've got to say.
4) It's going through the stacks in a good university library and picking out books you're planning to read.
5) It's going through a good art museum and taking time to study the masterpieces.
6) It's being at home with my cats and dogs and giving them lots of good petting.
7) It's playing games with my grandchildren and laughing a lot.
8) It's worshipping God in my church with my friends.
9) It's learning new ideas.
10) It's taking a walk in the woods.

We arrived back home late the next day and were thoroughly exhausted. It was very good to be home, and somehow the conflict we had before going to Yellowstone didn't seem as important. We forgot about the ghost because we both had lots of work to do, and I called my mother to tell her we were back home. That's what I always did after a trip, and now when I return I call the children. My teenage son adopted a new short-hair calico kitten while we were gone as a playmate for a calico kitten we already had.

We took a few trips to Europe after the trip out west, but never again did just the two of us take a trip like the one to Seattle. Most of our traveling nowadays is to visit our children who all live several hours away. Twenty years have passed, and we don't feel like we've got to prove anything. We're more content to stay at home, but we still love bluegrass festivals.

Some people would say the quality in life has alluded us, but I don't see it that way. My experience was not the same as the narrator of Pirsig's book nor should it be. We all travel our own roads, and each trip is unique to who we are. Pirsig benefited from the trip he took and the things he learned, and that is what's important. I learned how to maintain my motorcycle despite the problems I experienced, and I returned home with a greater appreciation of my home and family.

AFTERWARD

As I kept trying to think of anything that I should have added to the account of my journey, the following words came to me as an explanation.

I was never a smoker, but my father was a heavy smoker. I'm sure his smoke affected my general health because I had lots of bronchial infections as I was growing up. People didn't know back in those days the damage caused by smoke to people's health so I have no bad feelings towards him for this.

About 20 years ago the health of my lungs continued to get worse, and I was referred to a pulmonologist. I learned at that time that I had a moderately severe case of COPD, and that it would get worse. About 8 years ago I was told that I would probably have only 5 more years of carefree life, and my doctor suggested I read to find out about my prospects.

I didn't want to know all about it, but I thought I might learn something I could do to slow down the deterioration of my respiratory system. I didn't learn anything positive, and I was faced with the cold hard facts. At that time I figured it would be only a matter of time that I would be carrying around an oxygen tank, but so far I've not had to do that.

I kept teaching, but during the last couple of years I missed a lot of days in the classroom. I wanted to keep teaching, but I realized it wasn't fair to my students.

Now, the reason I'm telling you this is because learning to face my mortality has changed my outlook on life. Many of the things that used to bother me don't anymore. Each day that I can breathe OK without a lot of coughing is a wonderful day. I've been through the stages of grief about this condition - anger, sadness, etc., but now I'm fairly OK with it. I have to stay home most of the time because excitement can trigger a lung infection.

I knew about my COPD when I took the trip to Seattle, and I think that's one of the reasons I wanted it to be a good experience. I probably put too much emphasis on the trip, and maybe that's why I let my bad experience get to me. Also I'm not supposed to get excited or emotional about anything (if you can imagine) because emotions can trigger a lowering of my immunity.

This may just muddy the water, but then again it might help you understand my quest. Study, intellectual discussions, time with grandchildren, etc. distract me from facing what lies ahead. Life is not a total struggle except when I'm in the midst of an infection - instead I think we have to learn how to endure - regardless of our circumstances. I try to think positive about life and for the most part -do it.

æ Rosemary Bradford Grant

Dr. Rosemary Grant Obituary.
October 28, 1938 - July 28, 2017
Dr. Rosemary Grant, 78, of Hollister, Missouri (formerly of Monett) went to be with her Lord in Heaven on Friday July 28, 2017 while at Cox Hospital in Branson, Missouri. She was born in Fort Worth, Texas on October 28, 1938; the daughter of the late E.A. and Ruby (Hunter) Bradford. She was united in marriage on June 20, 1957 in San Diego, California to Dr. Hugh Norris Grant; he survives.

She was a retired teacher from the Monett School District, had her doctorates degree from the University of Arkansas, and was a member of the 1st Presbyterian Church in Monett and Branson, Missouri. She was a member of many clubs including the Missouri League of the South, Daughters of the American Revolutions, Daughters of The Confederacy, Zeta Tau Alpha, Monett Symphony, Phi Beta Kappa Chapter Member, and the Missouri State Teachers Association.

Rosemary is survived by her husband Dr. Grant of the home, two sons: Brad Grant of Norman, Oklahoma, and Barry Grant of Kansas City, Missouri; two daughters: Angela Grant of Memphis, Tennessee and Cheryl Grant of Goleta, California; and six grandchildren.

She was preceded in death by both her parents E.A. and Ruby and one brother Melvin.

Memorial services for Rosemary are being held on Tuesday August 1, 2017 at 11:00a.m. at the 1st Presbyterian Church in Branson, Missouri with Rev. Tom Wilcox and Rev. Walt Hammer officiating.

Arrangements have been entrusted to the care of the Bennett-Wormington Funeral Home in Monett, Missouri.
Click Here For Original Obituary, and Photo Of Rosemary Bradford Grant.

Original Writing By Rosemary Bradford Grant, With Editing & Posting by Henry Gurr, July 6, 2005 thru July 29, 2005.. FormatRevHSG09Jan24.

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