Summary: Sometimes the people I meet in my travels give me an unexpected glimpse of a life that I could also be living. For better and for worse.<br> On my recent swing through New England, I visited Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts, known for its pedestrian-only<a title="For more about this edifice of civic pride, here's the website" href="http://bridgeofflowersmass.org" target="_blank"> Bridge of Flowers</a>. <br> The bridge was built in 1908 for trolleys to cross the Deerfield River between the towns of Buckland and Shelburne. When the trolley line discontinued in 1928 the local women’s club took charge. Today, over 500 varieties of annuals and perennials are planted along the 400-foot span, thanks to the work of volunteers. <br> After going shutter-crazy on the bridge with my new camera and touring some local art galleries, my traveling companion Jill and I returned to the Buckland side of the bridge, where we’d parked our bikes.<br><br> <br> Some tea and cherries with a Vietnam veteran<br> <a title="More about this terrific member of a co-op" href="http://www.greenfieldsmarket.coop/" target="_blank">McCusker’s Market and Deli </a>was a great place to grab some local-organic produce to supplement our bagged lunches. Its tables faced the bridge; perfect for people-watching. <br> Shortly after sitting down and opening our feed sacks, a man in his late ’60’s (or so) ambled over and took the seat to my right. I had seen him earlier when we parked and figured he was a local, just passing the lovely Saturday as we were. We said “Good afternoon,” and he smiled and returned the greeting.<br> It didn’t take long for me to notice his un-showered tang, but I didn’t give it much thought. When I asked him if he lived in Buckland he replied that he was homeless until his benefits were approved and he could move near his daughter and grandchildren, some two hours away.<br> He said it as matter-of-factly as I may have said I was from Charlotte. <br> Candidly, I was in uncharted conversational territory. I asked if we could offer him something to drink and he graciously accepted the bottle of Honest Tea I proffered. He didn’t take his thanks over the top. I liked him for that.<br> It came to me that I shouldn’t put his homelessness at the center of our conversation. I had no business questioning him on the subject. I decided to treat him as I do every other person I meet by chance on my travels. So I asked him if there was anyplace he would recommend we see before we left the area.<br> We are more than our resumes convey<br> Over the next forty-five minutes of engaging conversation, we learned that he had served in Vietnam, had been an EMT with an ambulance service in Hawaii, and spoke a First Nations language in addition to English. We were fascinated by what he told us about some of the tribe’s matrilineal customs and spiritual practices.<br> We shared some cherries with him from the pint we bought at McCusker’s. At first he said he would only take a couple, but every few minutes or so I would wordlessly hand the green container over to him and he would delicately pluck one or two of them out by their stems. He refused everything else we offered him.<br> He had an older-generation phone with pictures of his grandchildren on it, and told us a couple of cute stories about them. In the course of conversation it came out that the benefits he currently receives are mailed to him at his daughter’s address, but they are insufficient for lodging. He hoped to have everything approved so he could get a little place by January, which made me wonder how he would keep body and soul together in the months between. <br> I looked at this week’s forecast. Daytime is mid-50’s and below freezing at night.<br> Homeless or “houseless?”<br> Several years ago I heard a middle-school student talk about what she learned abou...
