Ithaca, NY is a town about four hours north of the city. Though everyone in the city knows of it, few have been brave enough to venture to this gem in the Finger Lakes region- it’s marvelously crunchy. The amoral platitudes expressed in Manhattan tend to wax nostalgic about the “natural beauty” in the Hamptons- home of the season’s annual polo event, not Ithaca- home of the world’s largest human peace sign. Nevertheless, the town of Ithaca is a source of pride in the state, as its breathtaking landscape and progressive mindset have made it a haven for the universities in the region.
Shamefully, prior to August 8, 2009, I was Ithaca Ignorant. In fact, when some of my Combat Paper friends from Savannah invited me to join them up there, I said, “Um, I don’t even know where that is.” “Finger Lakes region of New York. Very pretty,” replied Paper Nate. Paper Mike opened his home to us and The Great Savannah Reunion (plus a few new faces) was set.
My co-hort and coworker, Xtina, by virtue of sitting eleven inches away from me, was Ithaca Intrigued by this point. Under the pretense of protecting my virtue, she invited herself on the adventure (I’m glad she did this- the trip would not have been the same without her). Twenty-four hours later Rosie the Rav4 was laden with bagels and heading north by northwest to the home of all things Ithacan (excluding Greece).
The drive to Ithaca winds through the Pennsylvania Poconos and the New York farming countryside. This is a verdant area peppered with ads for “Holsum” bread and big shiny silos. Xtina had never seen one before, or at least, that’s what her vociferous glee led me to believe because she screamed at every turn until we arrived at Paper Mike’s pad.
We pulled into Mike’s drive and were greeted by a statue of a beaver, and a watermelon filled with vodka. If this was any sign of things to come the four and a half hour drive was already worth the trouble.
After taking a brief moment to settle in and meet our hosts, Mike’s landlord, Jonathan and his dog Snowy (“He’s deaf- so don’t bother telling him to quiet down”), we began a trek to Buttermilk Falls State Park to find out why “Ithaca is Gorges.” (NB: It’s because there are gorges of limestone hewn by glacial melting, and the gorges are gorgeous.)
Hiking down Buttermilk Falls Gorge was an education in map-reading, “well, we are hungry here, but we want to go there. Where should we hike to?” This topographical ingenuity brought us about halfway down the falls, to a vista of a Home Depot superstore nestled among the rolling hills of green pine trees. Xtina saw a spider.
Our moment in nature induced both Xtina and I to breathe a little easier, a little deeper, but for the boys it was another moment altogether. Nate and Mike were coming off an ages long tour of god’s green earth to bring people together, veterans in particular, by making paper out of their old military uniforms. The process is a cathartic way to deal with their war experiences and to have a visual, active, and creative aid in their transition back to civilian life.
I can only imagine what this moment was for them, at the end of a long trip which was just one of many journeys they would make. There was a moment of calm at the bottom of the gorge as we looked out over the Home Depot Superstore. Finally Nate and Mike said “Let’s go get Louie” and we started back up the falls.
As Mike’s fully laden Saturn chugged up the steep hill to Louie’s home, we got the rundown of the man himself. Louie had been working for peace for over forty years, beginning with the Vietnam War, and was a close friend of the boys whom they admired very deeply. They spoke with fond determination of Louie, and of a veterans healing center they are going to build in Ithaca and of how it would be a safe space for vets to come, to be understood, and to “get right.”
Louie himself is a tall man with a noble face. He wore camouflage colors in solidarity, with messages of peace emblazoned across his chest. This is a common theme for all the boys I met both on the roadtrip through the south, and up in Ithaca, and is important to understand when considering the Combat Paper Project. A great deal of their clothing from their wartime travails has been pulpified and turned to paper, but some vestiges remain. One carries their gear in an army bag, one wears camo cargo pants cut off at the knees, even Nate wears his dog tags every day. I can only speculate that this is partly out of solidarity with the men and women they want so desperately to bring home. Hearing them speak of it is heart-wrenching. The sheer number of people who are currently in war-zones makes it impossible that the boys know all of them from their time serving, but to hear them speak of it, you would think each one is a sibling, a lover, definitely a friend. Intriguingly, it’s not politics with these guys. Of course, they have their leanings one way or another, everyone does. But with these guys, it’s just about getting people home. Home. Home. The word is repeated and it brings tears to the eyes.
Louie seized on Xtina and I as a captive audience and spoke so earnestly about peace. To be honest, I don’t even know what peace looks like. Is peace the absence of war? Or everyone getting along? Is peace Utopia? Is peace Ithaca with all its crunchiness or Afghanistan without war, without soldiers there and a Taliban government that sprays battery acid in the faces of young women who try to go to school? Is peace thousands of returning moms, dads, sisters, brothers, friends, teachers, lovers coming home and being safe and healthy and not scarred by what they’ve seen and done? What is peace? Louie desperately loves peace and speaks of the world needing it as Heathcliff spoke of needing Catherine. She is right where he can see her, and would complete his life if only she were within his grasp. Maybe peace is the completion of life. Cynically, maybe peace is the completion of life, and Heathcliff and Catherine are united in death. I hated “Wuthering Heights”- I never read past when Catherine died, and I changed the ending a lot every time I read it. Working for peace is Louie’s way of trying to actually, and meaningfully change the ending of a real life blight.
We waxed philosophical over a mound of blueberries Louie’s incredibly lovely neighbor, Claire, gave us, as we waited in Mike’s car for the remainder of our party, Nate’s identical twin, Jim, and a childhood friend, Jeremy. Unsure of what we were looking for besides an identical twin, Xtina and I exchanged looks as a 1983 top to tails maroon Cadillac eased around the corner loaded with friends, family, and food. Hell yes.
We picked up some beer and headed back to the house to prepare the dinner of gorgeous vegetables Nate’s and Jim’s mother had given for the trip. Jonathan, an accomplished chef, took one look at me, and, despite my assertions that I can, like, do stuff, cooking wise, said “You can make the salad. Follow me.”
I followed Jonathan to his small patch of garden as he negotiated his way through a mojito he had just finished, and beds of greens. We spoke of his plans to rent out plots of his land to less privileged families at a fair rate so they can experience working the earth, and get food out of it. A noble profession. I asked if he had the proper insurance for that.
A local writer joined us on the porch later on, and read some of her work for us. Her work focused on the human (very human) fallout of the war(s). Nate read some of his work, and we spoke about Louie’s recent stint in Nicaragua.
Stories continued on the porch over dinner as we were dazzled with tales of the more hilarious parts of the Combat Paper road trip. Beauty Way (a mix of berry tobaccos) and watermelon were passed around. The night wore on this way, and though the cloud cover obscured the stars, we were not lacking for shine. The company, beer, and beauty held up as the mild seventies dropped to the chilly sixties, and we gathered around a campfire for warmth,
Mike’s home is a haven of peace festooned with Tibetan prayer flags and flanked with quiet art installations depicting Mike’s journey from birth to war, from war to peace. It’s a recognition of self and others, and it was to here we adjourned when it got too cold to stay outside, joined by Mike’s new roommate, a lovely young woman whose name escapes me.
The next morning, we banded together to make a delicious bfast of vegetables from the Nate’s mother’s garden (Thank you Mama Lewis). I was trusted with stirring zucchini, and a gorgeous spread that included the bagels we brought from New York, prepared us all (even the migraine suffering Xtina) for the day ahead. (To be honest, I have no idea how Xtina would've made it if not for drugs, and the very kind concern from Jim, who mercifully kept her company throughout.) We bade a quick farewell to Jonathan, Mike, and Snowy, and headed down to the Ithaca Commons.
As a college town, Ithaca needs some place to get a beer and grow facial hair- the Commons are just this sort of locale. Souvenir stores with overpriced t-shirts are set adjacent to used bookshops, where bargains are to be had on everything from treatises on the Soviet War Machine’s threat to Cold-War era capitalism (Nate), to Dinosaur Origami kits (me).
The boys went to a deli for snacks while Xtina and I ran to a coffee shop for some much needed post-herbal-tea caffeine. Much to Xtina’s surprise/secret delight, the coffee shop did not have splenda. Or Sweet and Low. Or Equal. Only real sugar and vanilla syrup. Xtina, responded with “Wow, y’all ARE crunchy.” They made a flower with the foam in her coffee. It looked like a Bavarian hop.
A thunderstorm blew wide open, so we said our goodbyes to the boys and went our separate ways. Xtina and I made pitstops to gawk at gorgeous Cornell University, get ice cream, and attend an ATV rodeo- which was cancelled due to inclement weather.
Patience was maximally tested for the 8-hour ride home through interminable traffic, but the fun we had and friends we made, quietly living life “the beauty way,” if only for 30 hours, was worth it.
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