August 24, 2008
Dear Family and Friends,
The milkweed has cropped up again
In the summer field barely
Two weeks after mowing.
The pears and the peaches
Are round on the boughs
And it’s only begun:
Are we reaping or sowing?
Let’s just go back a couple of weeks…just a few lines…tales and stories of life. Simply that.
I left the Island in the dark of early morning with all my gear packed and a map spread out on the seat next to me. I have done this so many times the past few years…saying good bye to Philip. It is never easy, and I know the weeks to follow are the withdrawal weeks and the ‘remembering to live on my own’ weeks. Nevertheless, I boarded the early morning ferry and watched the waking lights of the village grow dimmer and dimmer as I headed away from the village.
The drive across North Carolina was stunning and I took the long scenic route following the Blue Ridge Parkway. I stopped at several of the pull offs just to be astounded by the beauty of the mountains. At one place I pulled out my guitar and played a rousing rendition of Take Me Home Country Road. It was such a great playback of those long ago hippie days, and I could not help but wondering why I ever gave up the guitar. Folks slowly crept up the mountain side and gave me a wave and a holler as they drove by, thinking I was Joan Baez or such. The urge of driving cross country in that old Jeep was a tempting issue. I wanted to call my school and just resign over the phone, but I pulled into Gatlinburg instead for the Storytelling Conference. It was a great three days of connecting with friends and fellow colleagues…discussing the same=2 0issues and some not quite so same.
After all the workshops and keynotes, we settled back into our cabin inn the mountains which Ellen and I shared with several other tellers. Folks stopped by late into the evening as we sat out on the screened in porch listening to the frogs and the creek running down the mountain.
Too soon the road called me back as I made the journey home.
Manure makes the valley route sharper,
Enhances.
The ride to the west
Where connectedness happens.
I run to my mate, to my muse,
To my maker
Aroused in the reek as the
August dusk deepens.
With only a few days to settle=2 0in, I spent time with Matthew and Jonah and became re-acquainted with my small town. With so many stories to tell, so many to hear, I sat out on the stoop in the evenings as friends and neighbors stopped by. But the suitcase was never unpacked as Jo and Brandy and I left for Houston a few days later for a surprise 60th wedding anniversary celebration for my parents. We all flew and drove in for this amazing week end. We slept all over the house (the few hours that we slept!) Needless to say we did surprise them, and in a really big way! It simply was over too soon, and we were back at the airport hugging our good byes.
Churlish remaker
Your absence can only
Enhance my unshakable
Faith in enthrallment
As I stare at the shade on the
Long lawn at dusk
Drink in hand and
Consider again what it all meant.
With but another few days, I found myself in Indy for the Fringe Festival. For two days Ellen and I traipsed all over the downtown…watching shows, visiting with friends, sharing dinners in small cafes and late night smoky bars.
Again I said good bye to friends. Always saying hello and good bye…Are we sowing or are we reaping.
The shadows were deep and heavy as I drove north through Indiana. If I would have parked my car and stepped off the interstate I could have wandered fields and rich farm fields. Barns. Silos. Corn. Indiana.
I made my traditional sweep around the Mound, and I was home. There was something sweet and fresh as I got out of my old Jeep. I don’t know if it was just the lovely thought of being home or the angular jaunt of the sun or one small branch of scarlet high above my neighbor’s house, but I can tell something is different. I unpacked the car and strolled throug h the gardens. The raspberries are heavy with October berries and the sunflowers are drooping with heavy faces and hearts. Tomatoes and cucumbers and long zucchinis filled my arms along with bouquets of zinnias. I noticed the crabapple trees in the front yard are heavy with the small apples. Maybe I will take the time to turn them into jelly, or let the winter birds feed for months on this year’s supply. I filled the feeder and put corn out for the squirrels and pinched a sprig of basil before going in.
Item: afternoon wasted regrouping,
Revamping, redressing,
Repotting, replanting,
Daydreaming, moonlighti ng
Rabbiting, bickering,
Scheming you everywhere,
Finding you wanting.
It has grown dark now and the sky is violet with the crusty sound of the crickets. My neighborhood has moved inside and I am cozily writing on my screened in porch. It is peaceful, sweet, quiet. I play Nikolai Rimsky Korsakov, drink a glass of red wine, and with the windows wide open, I bring the outdoors in. For as I said, there is a scarlet branch high in the trees.
I am home once20again at the House at the White Picket Gardens.
The eclogue is over now,
Back to your book again,
Ruiner, let the life
Be what it seems.
Beam me up soon
On your dulcimer handwidth
At home along
Halving importunate dreams.
Love to all,
Lou Ann
Poetry by Jonathan Galassi
