Its a little after noon, I pull on my shirt and collect up my rifle. Well, not my rifle, I have been carrying this one for a few weeks but I don't really feel like its mine. I quit flying and changed companies so I've had to trade the pistol for the good ol' long rifle. My rifle from Afghanistan felt like mine. I could spot it from a hundred others. I haven't even shot this new rifle.
Anyway, my knockoff RayBans were the last thing on the counter to grab. I slip them on and push open the door. Its startlingly bright, even through all the dust. The heat hits next. Slaps you in the face. It feels like you are in front of the worlds largest hair dryer. I glare at the thermometer with a little bit of disgust. 107? You're kidding right?
The dust is pretty thick today. Sometimes the dust has its good sides. I stand outside on the plank walkway for a moment to get my iPod going. Stickly forbidden of course but who is even going to see me through all this dust?
The soup kitchen isn't a long walk but long enough. The 'cooks' have put up a sign over the door with flames styled like a barbeque joint might have. They must have a sense of humor. They don't cook anything here, the food is served out of plastic bins. Speaking of not-quite-edible, today they are dishing out Yakisoba. Another reminder that Korea is ingrained in the DNA of the Army. I bet in fifty years, they will be dishing out some native Iraqi dish to some poor slobs in a country that doesn't even exist yet.
The dust gives the Yakisoba some needed flavor. Not in the same way that salt would but more in the way that sandpaper would. Every bite of the overcooked spaghetti noodles abrades your enamel and irritates your throat. You can tell when its going to be a dusty day because of the blurry orange light and your bloodshot eyes when you are first cursing your alarm clock thinking "Shit, I haven't been awake long enough to have my corneas scoured with a wire brush."
A few friends invite me to their table in the soup kitchen but they are all too tired to have anything much to say. We choke down our noodles in silence before the ambitious sergeant reminds us of how lazy we are for taking this long. He blabbles something about soldiers these days and how much tougher something something blah blah something the door closes behind him. Whatever homie, whatever.
I put my headphones back in and turn the volume up. I think I can turn the volume up higher than the thermometer. We'll see about July when that comes around.
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?
2 comments:
...and I heard from a reliable source that this dust season lasts 6 months.
What can we do to distract you? help you get through the next months? make you more comfortable?
xo, Mom
The new Star Trek movie is out. NPR Science Friday dudes say that 'beaming up' isn't possible but most of the other stuff in the movie is.
Damn, I was hoping we could 'beam you home' soon.
listen to music honey, but don't go deft doing it. you still have us to listen to when you get home! i love you and your ears/what little bit of hearing you have left too!
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