Here are the men, leaving this afternoon, after they cut and piled and took away the hundreds-of-year-old part of the tree which had completely blocked the yard.
I think those men could truly HAVE taken the wood from the tree and milled it and thrown together the outdoor pavilion of my dream. They seemed that sort.
He told us this morning that he's from just south of Asheville, that he has a wife and two children, one of them a little baby and he's trying to buy a house in Crawfordville, which is just down the road, and is moving them here.
"You get your wife and babies moved," I told him. "They need you."
He acknowledged this to be true and I hope they are all together soon. I can visualize his poor wife, possibly seething after his years of being gone overseas, and now this separation too as she struggles to take care of a five-year old, a newborn. I hope she is as kind as her husband. I hope they are happy when they are finally all truly under the same roof. I hope that Crawfordville suits them, treats them well.
Something about those boys, something about the Railroad Company, CSX, doing this job and doing it so well has made me feel a little better about the world. We're not all going to hell in a handbasket. Some people are doing their jobs and doing them cheerfully, and being polite and kind while they're at it.
"Nice to meet you," the fellows said as they took off to their truck which was parked down on the easeway of the tracks.
Yes, I thought. Yes it was.
I am cooking black-eyed peas for our supper tonight and I have gone crazy, hog-wild, and put two pieces of bacon cut-up into them. I went to the store today even though I went yesterday, to buy chocolate chips. I am going to make cookies for Mr. Moon to take with him gator hunting. This is as involved as I get in the process. I'm going to make him cookies with those chocolate chips and oatmeal and raisins and pecans and maybe some nights as they travel down the dark rivers, they can eat those cookies and be fortified. I don't know what else they'll eat for that week. Manly food most likely and I'll bet they get their eggs and grits and sausage when they come off the river in the mornings at the Mexican restaurant at the foot of the bridge over to Apalachicola where the people spill out, waiting for their American Breakfasts advertised on the sign.
I live in the south. People hunt gators here (and actually, the man who is hunting with Mr. Moon is from Canada and he flies all the way here to do it) and people are polite, generally, and people like pork with their beans and with their breakfasts. We live beneath and beside live oaks that are hundreds of years old and cypress trees that can live to be over a thousand, and maybe now I can plant some blueberries over there where the sun will be finding the ground for the first time in centuries.
I don't know. I will need to study the way the sun falls there now. I will have to ponder.
It's early evening and we've had our late afternoon shower and the water is dripping off the magnolias, the pecans. Even after all the rain we've had this summer, the ground takes it up, receives it with grace.
I feel lucky. In almost all ways, I do. Especially on an evening like this.
Yes. Lucky. With a little more sky and a grieved-for tree cut and hauled away, its grave-ground smoothed over and watered now by the rain.
That dirt is black. I bet it is rich as hell.
Me too. Rich as hell.