Homecoming

Nighttime temps dipped into the high 20’s last night here in the country. The furnace installers were here all day yesterday, back again today to finish up. Had to make do with space heaters and the wood-burning stove. I’ve got enough wood in the shed for a couple weeks but will need to stock up soon. To chop, or to buy: that is the question.

Between October travel and awaiting furnace parts, it’s been a month since I’ve been here. Driving out, I noticed both the slowness and steadiness of change. Two of the boats that were for sale along the roadside all summer are still there, the third is gone – sold or carted in for the winter. Pretty much every real estate for sale sign is still up. The “Cuban Sandwiches” billboard is still there, though no Cuban sandwiches have been sighted in at least a year. There is a new traffic light by the Citgo, where once there was a blinking yellow light. The deer are out, too close to the road, in groups of three and four. There is a new soup self-service area at the General Store, and the coffee shop in S-burg has expanded to include some organic groceries. C. the Postmistress has put her garden to bed with piles of grass clippings, and across the way are about six cows new to the neighborhood.

(In the city, after a month's passing, 1/3 of the apartments in the building would have turned over, advertisements at every bus station and in every subway car would be different, people you know would be now divorced, pregnant, and/or dead, stores would be filled with product lines for the next nearest holiday (chocolate Easter eggs in early-February)).

I arrive at my house - every time, but especially this time - braced for whatever calamity may have befallen. This time, most everything (thankfully) in its place. The wheelbarrow knocked over, a small tree fallen into the backyard, the grass long but not too long, medusa-like sugar snap peas (no actual peas) toppling over their supports, unidentified feces in the front yard. Inside, a few fly carcasses on the windowsills, spider webs and cobwebs of course (Happy Halloween). Leftovers in the fridge grown fuzzy as newborn chicks. No phone messages.

The transition from city to country is always something – something to be undergone. Energy ringing, mind racing as mental space is created, and thoughts – real ones and garbagey ones – migrate from crowded spaces into more open ones, look around the metaphorical room to see if there’s anyone to talk to or good food at the buffet table; then either plant themselves somewhere strategic or go along their merry way. It takes some time to settle in. This time, even more intense after the long absence. During the summer, a long sit on the porch, or ceiling-staring from the couch will do it. But in the cold, sans furnace, the ringing turns in on itself, seeps into the skin and blood and fat, becomes, I think, physiological.

Somewhat defenselessly, I made a fire and ate. And ate. And ate some more. The pup stared accusingly, but oh well. The body needed something, and I gave it. It would take more time for the mind to find its breath and air, but time – here in the country – I got. There is the generosity of slowness, of knowing inaction and waiting not as laziness, not as poor productivity, but as tending to the aliveness of body and soul. Paying attention. Letting. The pup rolled around in the front yard feces, his greatest indulgent joy (qua pup), and I thought: Let him. Just let him.