Miles To Go I Know

The dog and I seem to have settled into a kind of winter routine: get up early, check wood inventory, check food supplies (beer, cigarettes), chain smoke. So the first order of the day's business is to make sure there's enough fuel for the morning, afternoon, evening and over night. (Recall there's no central heat.)

Demolition has slowed if not stopped; still picking away at the floor boards upstairs. But not really.

The-one-that-got-away left a message the other afternoon; at the risk of royally pissing off tia, I do miss her. I take comfort in the fact that she would totally (her word) hate it up here.

I had forgotten the difference between an axe and a maul. (Sp?) The hedge apple in Mr. Hill's northeast swale sent me almost immediately to Home Depot.

I'll end this not surprisingly boring post with the notion, again, that my days seem more meaningful than they have been in 20 years.

Oh, Moonpie killed something I can't identify, it's way cold here, more snow, Terry Gross is the best interviewer working today, pulling for Auburn monday night, tractor needs a new battery, missing mom and dad, will probably return t-o-t-g-a's call though I shouldn't, and watch a lot of PBS sunday.

Reading a lot, but mostly stuff I've read already.

God And Details

No, not that really gay men's magazine. Come on, really.

Many years ago, Jess and I built a hearth with moss rock in the basement of Bending Tree Lane for mom and dad for a wood burning stove. Jess was the mason, I was the hodman. I think that was 1991.

While we sat by the stove one winter night, with the dogs laying close, she told how when she was little and staying with her Kading grandparents, her grandpa would come in from his winter barn chores, his favorite collie close behind, and would lay his barn jacket on the floor of the kitchen close to the stove, and the dog would curl up in it. Iowa winter winds are the stuff of legend.

This past Sunday, Jess, Al and I threw 3 chainsaws all up in an old elm that had fallen in Al's north field along his creek. We loaded up Jess's truck with almost 6 weeks of heating fuel and headed over to my place where we unloaded it neatly with much satisfaction in our work when we had finished.

We went inside where I rekindled the fire from the morning, visited for a bit, mostly about rototillers, chainsaw maintenance and snow removal. Jess took off shortly after to get back home before too dark.

It was a bitter cold, snowy, windy evening, so I got the fire roaring. Moonpie dog came in, finally, from her evening perimeter sweep. I looked at the pile of winter coats Jess and Jane had brought me from their closet the weekend before, and saw a big fake sheepskin coat that's way too big for me. I looked at Moonpie, who was looking at me, and I laid that coat on the floor close to the stove. She slowly sauntered up to it and curled right up in there and didn't move for nearly 3 hours.

It's hard for me to describe just how moved I was at that moment, a sort of perfect mix of sorrow and joy, pain and elation. Dare I say, redemption? It didn't last long, but it was unmistakable. The sun had just come out only long enough to set and cast the rose color on the snow that we used to call alpenglow in Winter Park.

We've repeated the ritual every night since. In fact, she's curled up there right now as I write this.

A very blessed New Year to you kind, decent, generous people, and I'll endeavor every day to deserve you folks.

P.S. I gave myself a wireless device for The Internets, so y'all aren't quite rid of me yet.

home

celebrating pre-mas with family in frankenmuth michigan where they have no shift key. got to piqua nearly 7 weeks ago. things are good, honest, difficult, meaningful. wood stove installed wednesday. jess showed up with 4 weeks of fuel this a.m. before we headed up here. i have internet for the next 10 hours only. don't take this the wrong way but miss y'all dearly. had rough august and september, was in a place devoid of hope and no longer wanted to be alive. but now, out of the abyss, i feel mom and dad's presence every moment of every day, and all i want to do is chop wood, tear out drywall, expose rough-hewn beams and salvage 100 year old lumber. no dog has ever been as happy as moonpie dog, even though it's deer season. we're home, but, more importantly, i'm keeping a sacred promise to a dying woman. through christ jesus, all things are possible. damn it. i'll check back in soon. i promise. god bless you people.

Last Day

Today's my last day at work. Turned in my notice Tuesday afternoon, with a phenomenal Letter Of Resignation. Don was visibly moved. Go figure.

My PODS shipping container arrives either tomorrow (Saturday, probably not) or Tuesday. I'll pack slow, maybe take a week. Then maybe have it shipped up to Piqua the next week. Then I'll follow it after a few days and possibly be there to make sure they don't back into the pump well house when they're dropping it off.

Then? It's me against Wicked Mother Gaia. (She'll win, but I won't go gently into that "Good night, Irene!")

Wish me luck/kind thoughts/prayers, and I'll see all y'all up there. And a six-pack to whoever can get the fridge in the house without ripping the screen door off, and a case to whoever can by ripping the screen door off. Seriously.

Peace.

P.S. Won't have internet for at least a month, now that I lost my "RollTide" server at the house.

The picture is looking east-by-northeast from the easement. It looks better the further you get away from it.

Dispatch From Piqua

Arrived late Saturday night, July 3. Bad crash just north of Chattanooga had us sitting in traffic not moving on I-75 for 2 hours.

Reunion at Julie and Steve's in Athens, Ohio, July 4. All were there save for 2 nephews and a sister-in-law. Great food, great games, pretty good fellowship. And quite sad. Mom's absence, for me, was abundantly and palpably present. Or, rather, her presence was absent in the most fundamental way. Still working through that.

Lots of mowing and pruning of apple, cherry (I think) and peach trees. The tractor did everything I asked it to do. Eventually.

My 1/2-mile easement to the house is riddled with blackberry bushes with the most sweet candy-like berries.

Moon Pie dog was completely and totally in her element.

Jess came over Monday the 5th to help with the new chainsaw, a magnificent Stihl that's a treat to use. 4 killed. We ended up visiting for nearly 5 hours. A good visit. Al came over the following Wednesday. I was having a bad morning. He planned on working, but I was so tired we just talked for about an hour or so.

Thought about mom and dad nearly the whole time.

Met my neighbor who has farmed the property surrounding me on the west, north and east sides for 32 years, a Mr. Tom Hill. Seems like a good man, though far too young to have farmed for 32 years, unless, of course, he started when he was 10.

Lots of foraging for fuel for my (future) wood burning stove to survive the winter. Unprompted, Mr. Hill said he would consider it a favor to him if I were to keep his woods surrounding his tillable land free of fallen and dying trees. It's times like that, with Jess standing right there next to me, when faith in Jesus H. Christ gets in the way of my atheism. I've already apologized to him many times for calling His Father an Incompetent Asshole.

Got back down here yesterday, Sunday, around 6 in the evening. It felt, and feels, strange to me. Different. Almost... unfaithful, if you will.

All in all, the 2 weeks were filled with anxiety, excitement, fear, sadness, loss, and a moment or 2 of strict clarity. I plan on being up there permanently before Labor Day.

Making Do

"After a late start, Danny and Lyda had seven children: Will, Royal, Coulter (named Coulter Branch, Danny said, for the stream that ran down off the Coulter ridges), Fount, Reuben, and then ("Finally!" Lyda said) the two girls, Rachel and Rosie. I won't need to make much mention of the children; I name them all together now to give them my blessing. If the world lasts, there are going to be Branches around here for a long time. As the boys grew older, they made do with old cars and old farm equipment as they earlier had made do with old bicycles and outboard motors. This is the way they will survive--by being marginal, using what nobody else wants, doing well the work that nobody else will do. If they aren't destroyed by some scientific solution to all our problems, they will go on though dynasties pass. By this late year of 1986 Danny and Lyda have already got a whole company of grandchildren."

-Wendell Berry, from Jayber Crow

Moon Pie Dog

She came to me in late March of 2002. She was a stray. I had her fixed and got all her shots for her. She's a border collie/husky mix.

She's never been particularly happy here. She didn't much like Block Head. I have a small yard -- plenty big for a big dog, but I, like my mom and dad, hate keeping dogs within fences.

I took her up to Piqua with me for Memorial Day week. We got in late Wednesday night, having driven through the worst thunderstorm ever in my life. She slept through the whole thing in the back seat, using the armrest as a pillow. The storm cleared just soon enough to reveal a gorgeous sunset.

We woke up to the site of 3 deer in the east pasture. She didn't see them. I kept her on the leash while I worked on dismantling the split rail fence. Jess showed up about 2 in the afternoon. He asked why she was on a leash, and I said I wasn't sure what she'd do. He said he thought she'd be fine. So I let her off, and she wandered off. "Don't make a liar out of me, dog," recalling the "too windy to burn" incident.

So she wandered off. And then she wandered back. Wandered off and back again, all afternoon and evening, testing the boundaries.

Let me just say this: That was the happiest I've ever seen that dog, laying in the pasture, taking it all in. Every time I turned around I almost always saw nothing but a buried head and a wagging tail. By the mulberry tree, by the wood pile, by the hydrangea, by the falling down porch. Buried head, wagging tail. My heart nearly burst with the knowledge that she wasn't just content; she was at home, or, rather, she was home. Home, whatever that means anymore. She was happy. Truly happy.

She killed a groundhog Saturday night during A Prairie Home Companion, and paraded it around the whole pasture, staking her claim, while I burned the day's trash under Homer's "rosey-colored fingers of dusk".

Sunday, before we left, we saw 6 deer in that same east pasture; she barked and growled at them through the glass door. "Get off my lawn!", she was saying. Then we went outside to a beautiful windy sunny day. She lay near the burn pile surveying all that was newly hers, content. We're both home. I opened the back door of the car and she begrudgingly hopped up and in. I assured her we'd be back in less than a month. She seemed to know that already.

Turns out she really is a great dog, that Moon Pie.

So, I have Grandma Kading-era running water, i.e., the pump out front, electricity, 11 channels on the TV, a toilet that won't flush, and a dog who's about to realize her Aristotelian "becoming". I'll try not to be far behind. And I think I'm adjusting the permanent move date from May 2011 to October 2010, just for her. She'll love the cold, and I'll love the wood burning stove. There are worse reasons to move than for a dog. I'm even certain my mom and dad would approve. Heck, they might even be proud of me for that alone. They were that way.