AMERICAN RAMBLER

A self-confessed ne’er-do-well goes off in search of the eccentric tree planter of yore.

Fitzgerald, a devotee of tattoos and booze, might have been tempted to go gonzo in this rollicking travelogue, but he plays it reasonably straight. The author of Dirtbag, Massachusetts (2022) opens with a scene out of Steinbeck: On one of the moments that finds him “choosing sobriety occasionally,” he’s on the run from a railroad bull, a mean-spirited cop enforcing the private property rights of the rail line along which Fitzgerald has been walking, narrowly avoiding getting smacked by a locomotive. But Fitzgerald’s options are limited: The supposed Johnny Appleseed Trail is really just a placard on a northern Massachusetts highway, as a spokesperson tells him: “‘It’s to encourage tourism in the area,’ she says, before adding, with an almost concerned tenor in her voice, ‘for motorists.’” Searching out the path of John Chapman, aka Johnny Appleseed, puts plenty of wear and tear on his legs, but it also gives him the vantage point of seeing small-town America up close. And although that America is sad and frayed, it’s also full of interesting and well-meaning people who speak to “human civility.” Having groused at points about how the whole nation, though, is built not around humans but cars, he gives in and buys a used Jeep, which affords him a less rigorous journey (and puts a tiny bit of lie to his subtitle). All to the good, though, for he gets everywhere Chapman did, including Chapman’s grave. What we learn about the real Appleseed is fascinating. He was well-to-do, religious, an abolitionist, well-spoken, and not at all crazy (and planted apples mostly to make alcoholic cider). What Fitzgerald learns about himself and the state of the nation is more compelling still, with all their triumphs and tragedies.

'Blue Highways' with hiking boots, and a grand entertainment for travelers real and armchair.