Friday was overcast at home, but as I went south on the Western Kentucky run the clouds broke up and let the sun shine in: sun and shade, sometimes deep shade, chasing each other across a tattered sky. In the shade the fall colors were rich and mellow, in the sun they were bright and vibrant. The color had just begun that far south the last time that I'd been that way, just the week before, but they were coming on strong now.
My final delivery was in Owensboro, which meant that I'd have to get back to Plainfield overland, on small highways through the hilly terrain of Southern Indiana. The more direct route, with the better roads is up US 231, then over US 50 to IN 37. It's a frustrating route, though, passing as it does through the congested towns of Huntingburg and Jasper. Even with the city driving it's slightly faster that way, and I was anxious to get home. They'd stuck me with a second load on Thursday and I wasn't able to go home that night, having to sleep in the truck. That put me behind a little since I had housework to do before my guests arrived. But still, It was peak autumn and I've been wanting to take that drive all the way up IN 37 through the Hoosier National Forest. It wouldn't take me that much longer either, unless there were a lot of Leaf Lookers crowding the roads; my greatest fear.
I needn't have worried, the road was practically deserted. Nor do I think it took me any longer to go that way in the end. When I'd timed the drive it was at night, when it's harder to gauge the severity of the turns, plus I think I'm beginning to learn the route. And oh my God, such beauty! Words utterly fail me. I have tried elsewhere to describe how certain autumn color mixtures ignite a response in my soul; almost a pain, though a pleasant one. There are no words for that beauty, it cleaves the tongue to the roof of my mouth. I definitely chose the right route to travel. My only regret is that the tricky road too often required more of my attention that I'd like to have given.
That tattered sky of sun and shade followed me all the way up through Bloomington and beyond, even opening out somewhat into larger clear patches. I was approaching Martinsville when I got a call from a friend wondering about the party the next evening. He was looking at the sky too and thought that we were past the worst of the weather. “Hey, unless it's simply pouring I'm having a fire,” I said. “I don't care if anybody else comes, I'll be there.”
Just past Martinsville I was waiting for my turn to cross through the construction on the River Bridge when I noticed a dense mass of cloud crowding over the hills on the far side of the river, and then the sheets of rain pouring down as they progressed across the soy fields toward me. “Um, I think you spoke too soon, Miles,” I said to the empty cab, since I'd already hung up with him.
Sure enough Saturday dawned gray and rainy. I soldiered on nonetheless. As morning turned into afternoon the sky cleared and by late afternoon things had dried out pretty well. The next thing that I knew guests were showing up while I was still running around putting the final touches on things. It turned out to be a nice little party. There weren't as many people as I'd have liked, perhaps my smallest gathering ever, but with the weather and the short notice, I didn't start putting the word out until only a couple of weeks beforehand, I can't complain. I'm actually honored because people came both from Indianapolis and Raccoon Lake to visit.
It was a nice party, but the bonfire was kick ass. It was the best bonfire I think I have ever seen, let alone had myself. Perhaps not as big as some, but ineffably elegant in its shape and impressive in its radiant power. There was a slight breeze throughout the evening that blew all of the smoke in one direction, away from the party, and fanned the flames continuously. It was truly a sight to behold.
Yup, it was a mighty fine party, but I still think there were too few people. For the first time ever I had leftovers of my famous guacamole. Mmm, breakfast.
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