I’ve come to a town called Keno. I crossed back into California briefly on the way but I’m back on the path north again. I’ve reached the east side of the Cascades. I can see them from my window. Progress has been slow.

My awe of the forest had not subsided; in fact, it has only grown with every second spent here. My mind has known peace for a few days. I am able to find calm at the simple thought of all the cities I will be missing on my new path. The road has been almost clear of people, which has been a great relief to me.

Keno is set on the bank of the Klamath River a little south of Klamath Lake, which just peeks over the horizon. I would be a fool to call it anything but heavenly here. I would be a fool also not to mention Klamath Falls east of the lake, but I have chosen against seeing the falls there, as I am told they are not falls by anything but name. The map in Eagle Point continues to bewilder, though I am so far from it now.

It occurs to me, here with the riverbank outside the window, and the lake and mountains out to the far north, that you hold us above all of nature, Lord, though it is so beautiful. These people who tire me so, who I speak so lowly of, are your greatest creation. How can it be? How can it be that people, men of Earth, were made in your image, Lord? The only answer I have is that I am wrong about them. The mission stays. They must be rid of me. I will be at home away from them, Lord. This is my path, as much as theirs is together.

Forgive me if the y in “You” should be capitalized. I will start.

My progress on the book has been slow. I find myself thinking of each poem for days upon days at a time without reading anything else. Silas the workman has stuck in my mind the longest of all. I feel he is my best friend. I hope to meet a man like him, if only because I know he does not exist. I will miss books more than anything when the cabin is done.

The war. I’ve not heard much of it for many days. America has not joined, I know this. I hope they will postpone their decision until after the cabin is built. I’m afraid anything less than a few month’s suspension would be my death in some Prussian field where my ancestors now lay. I suppose it would be fitting for their line to die in their homeland, killed by the descendents of their friends. I have no control over such things. I am in Your hands, Lord. You are the sole protector of my mission.

I misspoke about Keno. It is not solely a paradise, of course. The river and mountains only dull the feeling of corruption that is ever present in the world of men. It hasn’t faded much, even as I have confessed I am wrong about it. There are not many Indians here.

I will be leaving for the mill town Pelican up the lake. It is at least two days walking distance from Keno. I will try to walk all day and night to get there before resting, but I fear I will collapse in the wilderness. In fact, I fear the worst. It is thirty miles from Keno.

I’ve done something unusual. I left and have returned from the inn lobby, and will now continue this entry with a pause in between.

I asked the innkeep for advice. I wish I had another choice. I told him about my mission in vague terms and he seemed to understand. I made it clear I wish not to take the railroad but he insisted it was the only way.

The next 100 miles to the Deschutes are largely uninhabited and almost free of inns and towns of any kind. He said it is Indian country, some of it. Most of it is wilderness. He warned me repeatedly that I would be killed by an animal if I were to trek through it alone, and spoke also of an Indian legend from the marsh, a water beast. The bears were enough to scare me off the journey.

He gave me one choice. The railroad.

There is a line from Klamath Falls to a town called Rosland on the bank of the Deschutes or a tributary of it. I’ll be able to build my canoe a few miles north of Rosland and begin my voyage, if voyage is the right word. The innkeep told me the Deschutes is navigable. Thank You, Lord.