Letter From America: Manna in the Wilderness
Ronnie Bray writes about life in Montana - and the search for a pair of Wellington boots.
Montana Diary by Ronnie Bray - When the Children of Israel were strangers in a strange land, wandering in the Wilderness of Zin on their way to the Promised Land, a benevolent Deity provided them with miraculous food.
When they first saw it, they scratched their heads and asked, What is it?" which, in Hebrew, came out as "Man-hu?" When the Hebrew Bible was translated into English, Man-hu was transliterated as Manna, which has become the standard name of all examples of divine Providence.
Although I have been in Egypt, I did not venture into the Desert of Wanderings in the footsteps of the Israelites, and a proffered visit to St Catherine's Monastery in Sinai miraculously failed to materialise. Yet, I have been providentially supplied with Manna, and in the wilderness at that!
We live in the Bull River Valley of the Cabinet Wilderness in North Western Montana, where it is "Eight months of winter, and four months of relatives!" For winter weather (a week a go it was a remarkable minus forty degrees Fahrenheit overnight), if you venture beyond your cabin door, you will need something to keep your ears from freezing, robust gloves, a stout coat, and appropriate footwear.
At the first sight of snow in early winter of 2002, I searched the local shops for a pair of sensible Wellingtons. "What? Rubber what?" came the puzzled responses to my solicitations. I explained to them who the Duke of Wellington was and how he curtailed his riding boots to knee length, thereby starting an industry, and a way of life.
I bought a couple of pairs of half-price yellow working boots, but they turned out not to be my size after all. Perhaps the store had some kind of gas to make feet shrink and fit footwear they needed to sell, but once out of the shop my pedal extremities reflated to their normal size. The boots made useful gifts.
A search of the Internet turned up some good looking green Wellies, but for the dollar price I could have bought a river front house up the Yaak! So, I put thoughts of Wellies on the shelf where I keep all my abandoned dreams, along with Marmite, Heinz Baked Beans, Dandelion and Burdock, and Black Pudding. I felt the hunger of the émigré for the familiar things of his homeland, and cried myself to sleep.
A couple of weeks ago we drove to Libby for blood work and cheap bread, and called in at Ben Franklin's, an arts and crafts and most-everything-else shop. By the ingress, I saw a sight that I thought I would never see in Uncle Sam's fair land: Wellington boots! These unmerited blessings were of good quality, steel toe capped, with cheerful yellow trim, and the price was a piffling $8.99 a pair, which translates into a fiver!
When this week's snows reached an accumulated depth of twenty inches, I donned my Wellies and ventured out among the local in downtown Troy. For a place with so few American Indians, there sure seemed to be a lot of Israelites. "Man-hu?" they asked, pointing to my fashion statement. "Wellies," I answered, sensing their envy before sauntering off in my best Compo impersonation.
Now, when I hear a sermon on Manna in the Wilderness, I smile inwardly with the self-satisfaction known only to beneficiaries of the special Providence reserved for strangers in a strange land.
Copyright © Ronnie Bray 2004
