By Maryanna Gabriel
As hoped for, nobody was at the small country border. It should go well then I
thought. I pulled in. A young fair haired official asked that I go into a waiting
room. This was different. Let us put it this way. A very long time passed.
Very. I longed for my book. He then came in and requested my purse. He rifled through it. It seemed a bit excessive. He went through my wallet. Uneasily I
answered his questions. After ascertaining that the camper was new to me, he
wondered if I was aware that everything in the cupboards had fallen out. “Had
it, really?” I replied. I was suspicious and wondered if it was actually customs
who had caused it. We headed to the back door together and I looked inside.
Everything was everywhere. Groceries were spilled in the aisles and my things
were higglety-pigglety in an upsetting jumble of goods. He actually blushed as
I was given the go ahead to leave. In my travels, I have been through some
remarkable border crossings, some at gun point, and this one was right up there. I drove into the United States. I was in Idaho. My first act was to pull over and put everything to rights. Using bungy cords, I criss–crossed from handle to handle. Smooth rolling hills spilled away from me as a weak sun warmed the October air. I drove south...... it seemed to me I could almost hear and see the Shoshone and Paiute riding and whooping as I felt myself relaxing in pastoral a countryside.
