Playing Fair and Being Kind

The big moon sliding over my head affects me to no end. I know the forest does as well. I need to spend more time in the woods even though I live at the edge.

I had to get up this morning at 2 o’clock. I was restless and overheating just lying awake on my day bed in the living area of The Castle. I’ve chosen to sleep out in the living room because of the very cold temperatures lingering along the east coast this final month of this 2017. I am nervous about pipes freezing during the coldest part of the night. So I lie down on the day bed and during the night I listen for the trickling of water coming from the bathroom sink where I have left the cold water tap slightly open to prevent ice from forming in the line under the house. It is the only way to protect the water lines there.

The crawl space is not air tight; enough chinks in the cinderblock foundation lets the wind chill flow through the space under the house. I haven’t lived in the house during the coldest part of the winter for five years. Usually I am south of the Mason-Dixon Line by the end of December. The house has been shut down, water turned off and pipes blown dry to prevent freezing. All water bearing equipment has been drained and the cavities filled with non-toxic anti-freeze. It only takes Billy Arsenault’s crew about an hour to perform the task. When they are done the keys to the house go into the Beast (my 1990 Dodge Ram pickup truck). They hang the keys from the driver’s side sunvisor. Anyone needing access to my house know they are there. The keys are always returned to that spot when not in use.

This year I am staying at The Castle. I have lost the knack of living here in the cold part of the year. Two times the pipes have frozen. I’ve had to scramble to get a source of heat to thaw ice jam before the pipes burst. Each time the ice jams could have been prevented. I just wasn’t thinking. It has been an adventure. I have four cords of firewood outside. Two cords are stacked and covered for this winter. I have over a hundred gallons of K-1 fuel in the oil tank for the kerosene heater in the living room. I’ve been burning wood and heating with K-1 simultaneously this past week. The temperature outside has been hovering at 0 degrees F. I feel like a novice. Five years away from this routine shows how much I’ve forgotten. Next week the temperatures will return to seasonl norms; the high twenties into the thirties. I’ll relax then.

So the moon got me out of bed in the middle of the night. I was thinking what I could do to occupy myself during this nightowl excursion. The thought of biscuits came to mind so that is what I did; I made biscuits. 2 cups of flour, a tablespoon of baking powder, a half a teaspoon of baking soda, a pinch or two of salt, four tablespoons of vegan butter, a cup of almond milk. Make a dough and kneed it briefly. Cut out a half dozen large rounds of dough and bake at 450 F for a little beyond ten minutes. When they are done eat two of them with a gigantic cup of Italian roast coffee. There you go. Thank the moon for this.

Now all the bowls and dishes are washed and put away. What’s left of my coffee is too cold to gag down so I put the cup on the back of the woodstove to reheat. Today I was reminded of a week I spent in Galax, Virginia. You’ll have to look it up online to see where it is.

When my brother and I traveled with our mother during the summers to follow the county and state fairs along the eastern seaboard Galax was one of the weekly stops. Mother was the musician for stage shows at the fairgrounds and Jerry and I were the stage hands to unload the electric organ and speakers from our panel truck, set it on stage and assemble all the pieces; Hammond organ and Leslie speakers, foot pedals, shade umbrella, and various ancillary items. Once all was set up we were free to wander around the stage area during the show. Other times we could take off for a few hours by ourselves to explore the midway, exhibition tents, and the barns where the animals were being shown. The whole thing was of great interest to me. I was nearing the end of middle school so I was old enough to be on my own.

Early in the week at Galax I noticed a hound dog hanging out by itself. It was just hanging out. Our tent was with the other camping trailers and tents owned by the various stage acts and performers. This hound dog was hanging around in with all the temporary housing units. I saw the dog and I liked it right away. He was a tall hound, what is generally known as a coon hound. He saw me about the time I saw him and we gravitated like two spacial bodies. He leaned up against my legs and I bent over and started to scratch his ears and pat his ribs and back. That was the beginning of a fun albeit brief friendship. We became pals for the week. I didn’t name him. Hey, was good enough for us. I never heard him bark. He was polite, well behaved, and quiet. We got along well. I didn’t know where he came from and he never asked me questions.

During the week the typical summer heat rose and the sun beating down on the open fairgrounds made things nice and warm. A little bit too warm some days. On really hot days the hound dog could be observed lying in the shade of a trailer or by the side of our tent. Those days I wished I could find a shady spot to flake out in. Someone in our small troupe of performers told me they’d heard there was a swimming pool up the hill along the road next to the fairgrounds. I was interested in visiting the pool so I grabbed a towel and my bathing suit. The pool was about a 15 minute walk away. When I got there I found the entrance easily and next found the desk in the lobby where a middle aged man was in attendance. When I walked in he watched me approach. He didn’t say anything but his way of watching me indicated he was curious and wary. As I mentioned earlier I was middle school age and not quite five feet tall. Hardly scary.

The man asked me where I was going and I said that I wanted to use the pool. I guess enough words came out of my mouth to trigger something in him. His expression hardened ever so slightly and he asked me where I was from. I told him I was from Boston. Now this is the place and time to mention that Bostonian kids don’t speak English. We speak Bostonian and we speak it fast with no spaces between words. I suspect what that man heard in response to what he asked was something like, “Yukster-yuskster riddle a body bib and hoe up in misty.”
And then, “Bwosson”.

That poor guy just stared at me and then he stared a little longer. He had no idea what the heck I said. I was confused as well. I thought I was pretty articulate plus I spoke English as it was meant to be spoken. After all I was from Boston.

He kind of motioned with his head the direction I should go to the pool and handed me a rubber band with a locker key looped into it. All the while he kept his eyes on me as his mouth formed a sort of grim curl downward. I didn’t hang around to try to get a translation of his sourpuss. I moved out into the sunlight by the pool and accomplished my mission of getting wet and cooled off.

This scene played out with no more drama than what I’ve indicated. Just the same I realized over the years that the man was old enough to have had experiences with Yankees and I was one of them. I was new to the South so I was not familiar with nuance in regard to all that. I suspect the man was more curious but that my speech startled him so much he was nonplussed. As I aged and experienced various regions of the country I came to believe the man was feeling a little prejudiced once he caught on that I was from the north of Galax. I don’t blame him. This was in 1952 and big differences in culture existed between Galax and Boston.

If we could only have existed like that coonhound and I did.

Peace out.
See you next year,
G. M. Goodwin
31 January 2017