Landfill Picnic

And it was a picnic compared to that "Epic Nightmare" of 12/23/2012. (The nightmare before Christmas? For more specifics of the nightmare please see the next post "Catching Up" of 1/19/2013 as well. ) I went back to the top of Vigo County to smell the fresh air. Only it was warm, and dry this time. Piece of cake. The view is spectacular which my cell phone camera cannot, of course adequately convey:

Landfill, that's all you need to know. All in a day's work.

So I've considered changing the name of this blog. I mean, where's the nightmare? Commuting to Indianapolis every day was a nightmare, truly, but all in all I'm happy with what I'm doing now. Still, "They're slinging missiles in the Mid East, they're slinging mud here in the States...(Chris Little)." Like Johnny Cash, I'll continue to wear black. We're Big Boat Buddhists.

Process note: The upper photo was not staged. I'd idly thought about getting a snapshot of the basket earlier but was working and didn't get the chance. I figured it would be gone when I got back, ploughed under by the heavy equipment that regularly shakes the compacted mass, but it was still there, only now filled with dirt and a soda bottle next to it. "Look Boo Boo, a Pikanik Basket!"

Jumped the Gun

Who knew that July would be so mild? I usually wait until I've spent a few restless nights before I install the air conditioner each year. I did it pro forma this year, expecting the worst. Once done it's not easily reversed. I can now no longer open my window to the night.

Yesterday morning I shuffled out of my bedroom to find the rest of the house cooler and sweeter than my climate controlled sleeping chamber. Last night I just left the thing off. I slept OK but the air was stuffy when I awoke. I could hear the birds though, which is a plus.

There's no point to this inanity, just to say that the weather is beautiful, I guess. Happy Independence Day!

Morning Muse

Dawn: Jewel in the crown of the day. Both of the transition periods are gorgeous but dusk is so frenetic, its promise relief. Dawn is peaceful, the start of something new.

I've said before that one of the unexpected bonuses of being a truck driver is that you get to see many a sunrise. That still holds true as a local driver, even at midsummer. I've had to start early every day this week and have seen as many dawns. Thursday's was my muse:

The temps were in the seventies, the humidity low yet a mist rose from every field, dale and hollow; sometimes homogenous, sometimes stratified in undulating layers. Before the sun actually rose its red orange light reflected off a bank of cloud setting the eastern sky ablaze. As the light grew its reflection reached the blue grey mist in the fields setting a zone of oh, so subtle color alight atop it. I realized that Monet wan't up to this task. With all of Van Gogh's candles on his hat it would still be hopeless. Maybe Turner could have captured its essence?

The light grew until the whole eastern sky was on fire and nothing was subtle any more: complimentary colors were hovering above the fields before my eyes! You probably wouldn't believe it if you saw it in a painting.

Then the sun rose behind that reflecting bank of cloud and the glory deflated. Regardless, the mist was no longer blue grey and orange, now pure silver. The beauty never stops.

The beauty never stops still those moments of rapturous glory are rare. I traversed the selfsame territory at nearly the same time yesterday but everything was different. The humidity more intense with no atmospheric reflectors to enliven things; the world was just gray. I still got a visual treat worth mentioning though:

It was later in the morning, the sun already up. Travelling east on I-64 in Louisville, along the bank of the Ohio both the river and the sky were the same color, one vast expanse bisected by the lines of bridges. The water was luminous, seemingly giving off more light than the sky. I don't remember the sun, just a general haze, yet it must have been shining because a barge and a couple of small boats in the distance set the water around them sparkling.

Keep your eyes open my friends, the beauty never stops.

Auditory Ques

Gorgeous weather; what I'm talkin' 'bout.

I was working in the garden yesterday morning when I heard something approach. I knew it was an animal, a four footed rhythm. Expecting a dog I saw a spotted faun.

My first thought was that it was coming to graze, but no, the poor thing seemed unaware of both the garden and me. It stopped just ten feet from where I sat and with its tail wrapped tight between it's legs sniffed the air, the grass, the woodpile. It wandered over and examined the opened shed where the lawnmower resides. For a moment it sensed me, looked right at me sniffing with its ears all akimbo, then moved on to the back yard.

I fear for it. It spent about twenty minutes within my gaze and not once did I hear the husky bark of its mother or see another deer at all. It will find its way home, whether that's within the fold or the belly of a coyote I don't know, but I was graced by its presence.

Later I had the chain saw out getting ready for next winter when I heard a motorcycle. Between cuts I turned to watch the road and didn't see anything so went back to work.

But wait, I could still hear it and looked again. Still the road was empty. I revved the engine then let it idle trying to determine if the sound was coming from me. Nothing; so I went back to work.

Soon back pipes were firing and a whole gaggle of motor bikes were passing me by, I could feel the vibration in my chest; I thought I'd heard something.

Summertime.

Honeysuckle On the Breeze

 

I got the inspiration for this post over a week ago, I'd better write it while it's still Springtime, the best time of the year in my book. The days are long and getting longer, the temperatures comfortable and the humidity low, for the most part. People are outdoors at barbeques and yard sales, going to baseball games and having parties in the back yard, the front lawn packed with cars. In other yards kids are playing sports. Why, when I came home just this evening my next door neighbor was playing tag with her two young sons whose laughter was music to rival the ever-present birdsong, except after the sun sets when the crickets and frogs take over.

Ah, and the vegetative world is growing with the exuberance of youth; the woods and meadows lush, the agricultural fields nascent with tender seedling. I crested a hill and beheld a valley so green that I couldn't believe it. I'm not sure what created that effect but that's what prompted me to write this post. I don't remember now where exactly it was, on some Southern Indiana back highway, but I do remember that view was of nothing but trees, no buildings or power lines of any kind. Strange; you'd think some contrast would further the sensation, but whatever the cause it was a beautiful experience.

Yet still people complain. There's always something wrong. It rains too much, or it's a trifle too hot. I've found myself doing it, it's almost obligatory in certain situations. Then again it hasn't been all sweetness and light either. We've had a few warm days with high humidity. I've been uncomfortable.

There was one day when the humidity was as thick as I believe I've ever seen it. Indiana 157 north of Bloomfield runs along the crest of the highest ridge in the area. It's a place where one can still see vistas across the "Little Smokies" even with the trees in leaf, on both sides of the road. On the day of hyper-humidity the atmospheric perspective was so pronounced that the receding hills looked like flat cardboard cutouts placed in front of each other, growing whiter with distance; not blue, white.

One last anecdote before I head to bed: I was caught in a downpour leaving the Club. The parking lot is ringed with locust trees, which had been in bloom for a couple of weeks, I guess. The rain was knocking the delicate little petals loose which then fluttered down like snow. The air was thick with their scent. I ran to the car, not so much to keep dry, but because it felt good to run, to be alive!

Shhh, This is the transition time. I just heard the conspicuous silence when the bird outside my window quit singing. No, not silence, the crickets are already chirping. After a bit there were a few birds doing their "Good night John-boys." Now the frogs have begun to join the chorus. The owls will be out later. I haven't heard any whippoorwills here since they cut the timber.

Enjoy it.

 

Rebirth

Springtime! Color returns to the landscape: "peachy" leaf buds, magenta redbuds trees, yellow forsythia, the white and pink of flowering ornamentals, with a light dusting of the delicate green of baby leaves settled on the hillsides, a darker green brimming the lawns and pastures. And it's just begun. The blades of the bulbs are up, but I haven't seen any blossoms yet. I'll probably see my first tommorrow.

It's not that there's no color to winter, it's that the color is so muted and somber. Winter has its own stark beauty, not even counting the snow clad wonderland. I surprised myself by being nostalgic for it even before it was gone. It was last week, or the week before. I was coming back from the quarry with a load of limestone on and as I rounded a curve the the bare branches of some red stemmed shrub were set against ocher fields. "This won't last much longer," I found myself saying. Not that I'll truly miss it, but at least the moment was appreciated.

There are some things I will miss about the winter landscape. The vistas across our karst topography here, our "Little Smokies," soon to be hidden by leaves. Along the same vein but more practical I'll definitely miss being able to see what's coming ahead around curves on these windy country lanes I have to drive with my big truck. I don't think I ever miss the beauty of the snow or its crunch underfoot, there's too much else filling my senses in the Spring, Summer and Autumn, but I do enjoy it when it's here (and hate it too, let me be clear).

Anyway, Happy Spring Everyone!

Negative Seven

 

Seven degrees below zero was the temperature that the local radio gave. It was 8:00 AM and the guys said, "We don't unload trucks in negative temperatures. Maybe by noon."

"Sweet," I thought but knew that they were only kidding. I was the one that had to go out there to unstrap and de-tarp the load. They waited till I had it mostly clear then shuttled out on their forklift and back again.

I did well; I kept moving and got the job done. I'd say about an hour and a half of constant exposure. All in a day's work.

The thing that I can't understand is that I share the story but get no sympathy. I can only imagine one or two of you who could have endured that task not only without complaining but, while struggling to fold the frozen tarps (forget getting them off the trailer in the first place) stepping up to transfer the chalks so that the fork lift driver in his ski mask doesn't have to move off his seat.

I don't know why. I start to tell the story and suddenly everybody's got their own story to tell. I know that it's nothing compared to what our ancestors endured throughout the Ice Ages, but I'd like a little respect.

What was it Rodney Dangerfield said?