In bold white letters on the cover of Smithsonian Magazine : “28 Places to See Before You Die”. And there they are, starting on page 78, grouped in fours around seven themes. “We’ve travelled the globe in search of destinations certain to inspire”… And I am sure that these are indeed inspiring locations and well worth a visit – Tikal, Machu Picchu, the Louvre, the Grand Canyon, Angkor Wat - Three stars in any Michelin Guide.
But somehow I seem to increasingly find inspiration in the small, the up close, the personal; marvels that can be reached without getting into a metal tube that moves into the air lifted by the lack of pressure on the upper side of is curved wings (a physical phenomenon that I understand intellectually, but that amazes and perplexes me every time just before liftoff). Or even getting into a metal box that rolls along predestined paths powered by small, eloquently timed explosions of an aspirated liquid that comes at great expense from deep under the earth’s crust thousands of miles distant.
Yesterday, my neighbor delivered a couple of cords of green hardwood, cut to stove length and split into still meaty pieces, ready to stack to dry for a year before they will provide heat for the winter. It is mostly red maple, with some oak, beech and birch mixed in, all cut from his woodlot on the other side of my immediate neighbor’s field. The grain of the wood is still moist, though not wet, and smells sweet. Each piece is a slightly different color, though there are patches of wood in the pile that have been cut from the same log and are clearly siblings. Some of the logs have a dark and punky core (a tree that was ripe for harvest) but they seem bug free and solid, and certainly heavy. The are quite even length and stack well in the 8´ x 8´ bay of the woodshed, a cord filling half of it in two rows floor to ceiling. The finished wall is a pattern of light half circles with dark rims and cores that looks oddly modern and composed. All the more pleasing for the tired back and arms and hand wrapped around a cold beer.
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October 1, 2012 - Begin
1 comment:
Well said brother David of dirt road fame. I enjoy your musings much as I have for decades...I still have a hard copy of the 2003 Muck Boot incident...perhaps the world might benefit from spending some time observing the transcendent Bowdoinham population as they rise above the pettiness of political differences. I confess to feeling the tugs of nostalgia as October in Maine rushes on toward winter...here in the Blue Ridge of Virginia we will indulge in the seemingly endless autumn...almost wishing for the sting of early frost...and the retreat of cabbage worms.
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