We are weathered in for the next few days. The dust has rolled in as thick as ever but the wind is unusually still for the moment. The sun is setting and the light is as orange as the fruit and impossibly even. There are no shadows, everything is lit as much as anything else; all in a grungy orange glow. We are wired to presume light comes from a source, one direction; this place looks like a computer generated scene that has neglected some basic principles of physics. The fluorescent tubes pour out a hospital blue tinted light that contrasts against the orange like nails on a chalkboard.
The Pathfinder commander shot a pig the other day. The Pathfinders hosted a volleyball themed pig roast. I had a Dr Pepper and a few ribs fit for Fred Flintstone. There is something primal and delicious about wild meat. Farm raised pigs are fed garbage and are too fatty. This meat wasn't like any other pork. This bit of flesh was definitely the locomotion of a beast that has spent its life running. It was lean and stringy, you could imagine the boar scrounging and foraging through a farmer's crops illicitly after sundown. These pigs have captured my imagination. I have been thinking about them moving around the landscape in little groups; each with the same understanding of the fragility of their existence but without words.
Maybe Tuesday's boiled chicken was just that terrible.
63 Years of Memories....
63 Years of Memories....
that's what I have now. The photo below shows the chair on the point which for so many years was my father's favorite after-supper place to contemplate and cast for walleye. As much as I feel guilty about what's happened, I know he would understand and even say there's nothing to forgive. He lived life fully and moved on many times. I'm the one with the unique experience of being attached to a beautiful place for my whole life. And despite all my best efforts, yesterday the 'cabin' was sold. I signed the papers and, truth be told, a weight was lifted. A new life lies ahead without the obligations, but with all of the wonderful memories. My unrelentingly positive attitude says this is truly how it is, but my heart is still sad.
There are some things in life for which the balance between the obligation and the joy of ownership often cannot be sustained forever. It became clear that I was no longer up to the task of taking care of the place quite a while back. However, knowing what needs to be done and doing it are often far apart. Finally, no choice was left. It had to be sold.
Now it's gone. No more worrying about how long the grass or how deep the snow is up there. No more sublimely pleasurable early morning cups of coffee sitting on the dock when the color of the lake is like pale blue glass and the air is completely still. No more endless repairs, high taxes, and utility bills. No more late nights around the fire pit with friends and family - warm from both fire and friendship. No more frozen pipes or emergency calls to the furnace guys. No more saunas and midnight skinny dipping that make you feel like you'll live forever while your connection with nature is confirmed by the gazillion stars of the milky way and the loons calling out in the dark. No more concerns with low well water levels or water so hard and full of iron the clothes turn yellow and your newly washed hair feels like brillo. No more finding the way home by boat in the dark after a long day on the lake feeling like this is the only place you really, really belong. No more praying that the boathouse will make it another year without collapsing. And ultimately, no more making new memories with friends, family and loved ones. No new memories, that is, at Half Bay, Lake Vermilion, Tower, MN. New life... here we come!
How do you thank a place for memories?
1 comment:
Sounds like you would rather be in Afghanistan. Your description of the light is fascinating. Vanilla Sky?
Post a Comment