Morning Light

 

It never rains but it pours, or not at all it seems. Earlier I wrote about the deluge we experienced here in Indiana; I haven't told you about the subsequent drought. I think Monroe County got the worst of it. While I was out and about in the region getting rained on occasionally my friends here at home were watching the satellite images track the storms as they split and left us high and dry. I heard that from at least three different people independently. I believe it's true. While the entire region is parched Bloomington and environs are desiccated. I was just up in Michigan, above Lansing and we have more early color here than they, only ours is because the leaves are drying up and falling from the trees, not because of the turn of the season. The eastern end of Griffy Lake, where the boat launch sits, is dry. My neighbor was out on his riding mower to chop up the fallen leaves and I could barely see him through the cloud of dust he was kicking up. I thought it was Pig Pen (Charlie Brown). One can reasonably ignore those warning signs in the bottoms that say “do not cross when flooded.”

That's not to say that it's not still Beautiful around here, it is, always. Green is still the dominant color though the corn is amber and the soybean plants are turning their end of season yellow. It's been a good summer for me, despite the drought. Usually it seems that summer is over before I've had a chance to really experience it, but this year I don't feel like I've missed anything. Perhaps that's because I was out in it on my bicycle, in contrast to all those years I only saw it from the cab of my truck. Still I hate to see it go, and I'm apprehensive about how the fall will turn out, it being so dry, though it will undoubtedly be beautiful, regardless.

I sit writing this in the gray half light of dawn. I see dawn almost every day, but from the cab of my truck. She always comes in beauty, revealing incrementally the landscape I'm passing through and renewing my vigor as she paints the sky with delicate colors. Until He rises as a challenge, demanding action, if I happen to be heading east. How novel then, how wonderful to experience this enchanted interlude here in my own home. On my days off I usually stay up late then sleep in. I might waken shortly after dawn, but the light is generally broad by then.

So what am I doing up at this hour at home? Grrr, we're touching on a can of worms there. I'm just off of a three day weekend, for Labor Day. True to form they couldn't let that happen without making life difficult in some way. They scheduled my first trip back as a load to Owasso, Michigan, which meant that I either had to drive on the holiday or leave out hours earlier than usual. I set the alarm for 1:00 AM.

The route is over 600 miles round trip, just what can be fit into a trucker's eleven hours of driving for a day. So if there was any delay, in a traffic backup, say, or for a mechanical breakdown then I might run over the fourteen hours of my “tour of duty” and thus be unable to make it back to Electrolux at 5:00 AM to get a normal load the next day. In the past on this run I've been given follow up loads that could be picked up late, or with open delivery times. I'm not sure if there wasn't such a load this time, of if it's just a function of my new fleet manager's incompetence, but I wasn't given any load for today. I was just told to be ready by the phone this morning, an hour ago.

Oh yes, I stayed up late last night, which was nice, and I'm enjoying my time here with you in the still soft but strengthening light, but I can't really afford another short day. What's the use of getting a longer than usual trip (I get paid by the mile, plus stop pay) when I get a shorter than usual trip the next day? And the paid day off was nice, but the rate isn't generous. Oh well, I'd better stop myself before I start boring you with my complaints, and I do have more things to complain about.

As the sun rises, shining through the foliage, a soft pattern is thrown onto the western wall of the living room gently moving behind the still, sharp outlines of the houseplants in the window. The light is orange. Birdsong replaces the insect cacophony of the night.

 

Natural Light

 

Sweltering; our heat wave has come back, with a vengeance!

So whatever happened with my feral friends, you may well ask? Well, I captured four of the five kittens and took them to the animal shelter. It's unlikely that they survived; found homes. They were both too old and possibly too young. Too old because they were unsocialized, and I really don't know how many weeks they were, but there's a minimum, and the shelter was already over capacity. Like I said, I didn't ask, just hoped. But what was I to do? I was lucky I had that time to deal with the problem as it was.

I knew that I'd never capture Momma again, but I tried. I took the owner of the trap's advice and put a tarp over it to disguise it and make it look like a secret tunnel. I checked once and saw that the trap was sprung but when I removed the tarp it was empty. She's a smart one, a survivor. Still I tried, putting out no food except that which was bait in the trap, and left it out overnight. In the morning the trap was sprung and I heard rustling inside as I approached. “I've either caught Momma or the last kitten,” I thought, but pulled off the tarp to reveal a opossum. Ugh, the thing stank.

I saw Momma again, just before I was to leave for Chicago. She sat just beyond the deck and looked at me through the railing. I could read no thought or emotion in her gaze but I had to wonder what she thought of me. She'd once trusted me, but then I'd tried to trap her and stole four of her babies. I relented and set food out, away from the trap. She wouldn't even eat that. It was as if she'd raised her middle claw and shook it at me.

My problem is solved though, in any case. Momma took her last kitten and split. Neither hide nor hair of them has been seen since I got back from my trip, lo these several weeks ago. They're someone else's problem now, I guess.

I had a perfectly marvelous time in Chicago with the kids, though whenever I was alone I found myself grieving for the kittens. I'll miss them, and Momma too. They were sooooo cute bouncing around the back yard, climbing trees and tumbling over one another. There's no doubt that they had to go. I'm not home enough to care for kittens, but they were a joy to observe through the back door window.

It's kind of like the Rainbow family that squatted here when I was over the road. I told them they could “crash” at my place for a month while I was out on the road, before my brother in law was to move in. Instead they moved in, furniture and all. With three young children and winter coming on they figured rightly that I wouldn't kick them out and Bart agreed, finding other arrangements. There was no question but that they had to go, come spring. I have to admit, though, that it was awfully nice having children and pets around the place again, especially when I first got home for my monthly shore leave, when they would greet me so sweetly.

As for my trip to Chicago to see my own, grown daughter and son in law, I had a great time. If I'd written a couple of weeks ago I would have told you many stories. Now, however, I'm out of time and the stories grow stale, don't seem so much worth the telling. What, we played scrabble with Shoshana's boss, went to movies, cooked out? We were supposed to go canoeing but Shosh had a cold. She works at the Shed Aquarium where thousands of school children rub their grimy hands on the glass and railings weekly and so is susceptible.

But I will tell you about one morning when I took a walk by myself to the big lake, while the kids were still abed. Just as I was cresting the little rise atop which the endless water came into view a swallow arced down and away in front of me so close that I could feel the wind of its passage. Looking around I saw the air crowded with hundreds of dancing dragonflies, and scores of swooping swallows, all in constant motion.

OK, I'm bragging now, but in a few months the Shedd is sending Shoshana to the Bahamas as part of a team to collect coral spawn. She's SCUBA certified now and will be part of a global effort to help save the coral reefs. They grow coral there at the Shedd. Indeed, the roof is lined with skylights letting them use natural light, which helps.

 

Heat Wave

 

“Always choose beauty over money.” That was my motto, my maxim. I coined it when I'd had a chance to cross I-80 at night, to get my load off early and thus set myself up for another load, and more money. It was peak autumn and with plenty of time on the load I chose to sleep through the night and run the highway in the daytime. I'm glad that I did, it was sooooooooo beautiful; across the “endless mountains” in their autumn glory.

So I was torn when, after single stop load to South Bend that got me back to Plainfield early, at noon, I was given the choice to take a North Vernon load, or not. There was an angel and a devil sitting on either shoulder whispering in my ear. Then I remembered my motto and chose the angel. Hell sank in disappointment, defeated.

I'd been wanting to take a bike ride. I'd meant to over vacation but was so busy with those cats that I never did, other than just up and down the road. I didn't want to leave the trap for too long, in the midst of our heat wave, which has thankfully broken. I got home and set out on two wheels. But damn, it seemed like I was working awfully hard. It was an effort to pedal the bike on the flat let alone the hills. “I'm really out of shape!” I thought. “I didn't ride far last week, but I did ride, what's up?”

I was disappointed but figured I'd better not get off the ridge top or I might have to walk the bike back up, so I went every which way except out on the highway, turning around each time at the brink of the hill. It was a nice ride, and I explored the side roads that I usually pass. At some point a light went off in my brain and when I got back home I checked my tire pressure. Both tires were 20 lbs low. Duh. I told you I was a novice rider.

It was too late then to go back out for an extended ride so I mowed the lawn. Both heaven and hell feel a little better for having gotten that done. Whew, with the heat and humidity I nearly overdid it though. I might have had to walk the bike up the hill anyway.

But like I say, the heat wave has broken. The palpable humidity, that a chainsaw wouldn't cut, has relented, and I just got back from a nice little ride. Funny; the trash truck is in my neighbor's drive. It passed me way back on North Shore Drive. It took this long for him to work his way around to here. But my point is that it's sooooooooo beautiful! The corn is high and the wildflowers in riot abandon. With all the rain we've had GREEN is still the color of the day, and the neighbors have a right to be proud of their gardens. For those of you that don't know the area let me assure you there is a lot of mature hardwood 'round these parts.

My vacation was very nice, just what the doctor ordered, but I'll come back to tell you about that, perhaps...

 

Enhanced Topography

 

I remember another random observation I made: The corn is high, but not in the low lying areas that were flooded. The deeper the depression the smaller the corn until the plants are just little anemic stalks, and finally bare earth in the lowest areas, so the natural topography is accentuated into rolling hills of corn.

That's all. I captured two more kittens so I've got to run...

 

Feral Friends

 

I wonder; would Monet, were he alive today, have done a series of canvasses studying wind generators? All white they are the perfect foil for changing light, and with their curved form, particularly the aerodynamic twist of their blades, they are a study in gradations of shade too, especially while in motion. Of course the motion part would have been a challenge even for Monet's brush, so we'll leave that up to the once and Futurists.

Verdant grass, chicory blue and the intense amber of a mown wheat field, all under an indistinct sky; The light was just there, like it came from nowhere, the colors muted. A high fog, I guess.

Those are a couple of the random thoughts that I remember having. There were more, and a story I wanted to tell, I went back to Shipshewana, but that was way back last week. I'm on vacation now. I have the whole week off. I either had to take the time, just the money, or lose it all. I'll take the time, and the money, thank you. I need it. Friday my boss called and asked if I'd work Monday. I considered it but I was afraid my car was on its last legs. I couldn't commit. I'd already given up going to a pig roast in Indy on Saturday. It turned out that it only needed a tune up; duh. I could have called my boss and volunteered, but chose not to. He called today, Tuesday. I didn't answer the phone.

The pig roast was a year unspecific reunion of the art school I went to, back in the seventies. I'm sorry I missed that but it way worked out. Sarah, a Northern Jersey girl that spent four years here in college and who worked at the Pub back then, was back for a visit, eight months pregnant and happily married. Betsy's band played at the Player's Pub; oh they of the horn section. We claimed half the bar. Sometimes the stars align and beautiful memories are made. I feel like I already know that baby, she had to have been dancing in the amniotic fluid.

Then, Sunday, a real musical treat. My friend Chris Little has had a Sunday Jam, where who knows who will show up with their instruments and play, for about as long as I can remember. Me, I'm not a musician. I bang on bottles with a stick or slap my thighs, and occasionally sing, but it's all good. The only trouble is that with my job I can't stay up that late Sunday night; but hey, I'm on vacation! With a recent rain everybody was indoors (we're talking the deep woods here, the end of Hash Road, on the border of Brown County, with a pond and everything), in the middle of a song. The damn door stuck, swollen with the humidity and I felt like a fool charging in. “Steve Levine!” They stopped the music. It felt so nice to be welcome.

I'd seen Chris since Allison died, at some show at Jake's. I'd hugged him, told him I loved him and that I was looking forward to the songs he was going to write, the seeds that grow from this ground. As things were breaking up Sunday he told me to hang on and disappeared for a minute. He came back with a copy of the Randys' last cd, with Allison on the fiddle and vocals, and a home burned disk titled Songs to Allison in magic marker. I am both honored and humbled.

So...I've got a problem. I am home so little through the week, and so hassled playing catch up on the weekends (which I never do, we just play tag) that my neighbor had to tell me that I have a feral cat with kittens living under my deck. So that was the strange bird I'd heard in the early morning: kittens. I'd seen the momma before, so rail thin I thought she was a male, certainly not nursing. What choice did I have but to feed her; them. Well, my other neighbor tried target practice with his pistol, but that's not my choice.

That was a couple of weeks ago. I borrowed a trap from Vanessa. This is my project for the vacation. I caught two of the kittens without even baiting the trap; took them to the shelter. They're probably too old to ever find homes, but I'm not going to ask, just wish. I didn't set the trap again until this morning. I kept them hungry over night and baited the trap. Snap, I caught momma. Problem solved; only when I picked the trap up it tilted forward, the door swung open and the cat was gone in a flash. I didn't know that was something to watch out for!

Now what am I going to do? Is she ever going back into that cage? They have a program here in Monroe County where they'll spay a feral cat, called “Feral Friends.” That was my plan. How do I explain to her that her life depends on going into that cage? My next best option is to borrow the true neighbor's rifle. I just can't have feral cats multiplying like rabbits in the neighborhood.

I couldn't get so lucky as to have the coyotes come by and clear them out. In fact it's interesting how in charge she is of her space. I've been putting food out for two weeks and haven't seen a trace of raccoon or opossum. Nikity, my ex-wife's fat, declawed, eighteen year old cat that's come here to retire mostly stays in the front yard, feral momma in the back. Every now and then there's a skirmish though, and I rush outside to protect Nikity. The other day I heard a confrontation and rushed out just in time to see Nikity giving chase to the young survivor. I'm sure that my backup plays a significant role in this social order, but see, we've got that settled: Queen Nikity. Now how do I convince momma to go back in the cage?

And I'm going to Chicago to see Shoshana and Amir on Thursday.

 

The Merits of Agressive Driving

 

To make a long story short I was in a hurry. I called to say that I was going to be half an hour late, but hoped to shorten that. Traffic was terrible, not only was it Friday rush hour, but a holiday weekend as well. I took the left lane because an insane motorist had pulled right in front of me, it was my best option. Since the light turned red I figured this was a good time to get ahead of that truck in front of me that's heavier, starting slower. It would have been easy except the pickup truck in front of me was texting. Once I got going the other driver thought I was trying to be bad and gunned it. We had a regular drag race on main street. At 10 mph above the limit, slightly above my running speed I let him win. I really wasn't in competition.

Traffic soon worked in my favor and I pulled ahead of him. I admit there was some satisfaction there. Later I was way ahead of that guy, but had some bad timing at further lights. I can't be sure it was the same truck but I think he got in line behind me as we waited for the green arrow to turn left on Ameriplex. There's the merits of aggressive driving for you.

When I got to Electrolux, at 20 minutes past, the gate was closed. So why did I just bust my ass and endanger the general public?

* * *

Oh sacred Valley of the Beanblossom River, under the spell of a summer morning. I do like bicycle riding through the neighborhood. It's work getting back up on the ridge top, but worth it, and it gets easier. I'm still a novice rider; not ready for the Hilly Hundred yet.

Taking a break I sat on a bridge parapet and watched the water below me. The ripples released by the water bugs expand concentrically from a fixed point, even though the water itself is moving. I found that interesting.

Watching those ripples reminded me of one morning a few weeks back. I was hooking to a trailer at the Electrolux yard in the predawn darkness. There were some ducks causing a ruckus on the pond so the reflections thrown onto the trailers were complicated. At one point there was a very clear interference pattern. Light displaying the properties of a wave.

Oh, and by the way, there are fish in that pond, I've seen them.

Let's see, what else? I've told you about the alley that I have to back into off of main street in downtown Madison before. It's a sight side, thank goodness, but the hole I have to enter is insanely narrow. I noticed that I wasn't just holding up the cars, but that a pedestrian was waiting to cross the alley too, a young woman. I was going to apologize but as I came abreast of her she said, “Awesome! That takes some skill!” So I thanked her instead. You've got to take recognition where you can find it.

IU moved their fireworks display out to the fairgrounds, damn them; you can't watch from in town any more. I got invited to a private display on a farm outside Ellettsville. It seems that Brad, one of the cyclotron rats, has a fireworks license. It was the real deal, man, it was awesome. They started with some medium sized rockets while it was still light out, which was interesting, then they waited until the Ellettsville display was finished, which could be seen over the tree tops, before starting with their big ones. Boom, I love it when the ground shakes.

I guess I know where to go on the Fourth (or third) of July now. It was a great party too, with a huge potluck spread in one barn and a cash bar in another, port-a-potties and a hay-wagon shuttle back and forth to the road. To top it off I could take the back roads all the way home, except for a half mile stretch of 37. On my way home there was a ton of traffic coming the other way. Oh yeah, someone does fireworks out at Lake Lemon too, that's right. Maybe I'll check that out some year.

 

Green Revolution

 

Let me start with the rivers, the recipients of the runoff, the conduits of motion. There have been lakes where there should not have been lakes, swamps amidst the cornfields, crop damage, a drowned teenager. I crossed bridges with the water so close I could have dove in. We've had a lot of rain.

It's subsiding now, the sandbars begin to reappear and the snag that was causing all that turbulence reveals itself (White River). Further downstream (Evansville) there are still unmapped lakes and the rivers are wide. I crossed the Ohio today, with the sun shinning. The weather has broken and now we are in paradise here in Indiana.

The agriculture follows the curve of the earth. What was it my Dad used to say, “Knee high by the Forth of July?” Up north the corn is at least thigh high; down south ten foot. The Green Revolution.

Green is the color, the setting. The bright yellow mustard fields of spring gave way first to ripened wheat, and now to haystacks as well. The grasses yellow too. Flowers are sprinkled everywhere.

Happy Independence Day!