Winter Cold Moon
I was at the table last night when the Woolly Mammoths gathered at Scott Simpson’s house in Minnetonka, Minnesota. Scott and I tested the Skype connection earlier, both on his laptop and on his new phone. When Mark Odegard came early, I spoke with him using Scott’s phone, able to see and be seen. Video phone calls! No flying cars, but…video phone calls!
Mark told me of his desire to go to Burning Man, holding up a coffee table sized book featuring various art installations from this annual festival of strangeness. He’s always got a next adventure coming on line. This was involves camping out, carrying in all your food and water (a gallon a day for the weeklong event), and required participation. “No observers” is a Burning Man rule.
Later on I was able to check-in along with Bill Schmidt, Warren Wolfe, Frank Broderick, Scott and Mark. This time I was on the laptop at one end of the table, able to see most of the guys, though when individuals checked in, somebody would turn the laptop so I could see that person.
Part of the beauty of 30 year old relationships is knowing the backstory. When Frank talked about helping a young dancer, I knew about his relationships to the arts, especially opera. When Ode talked about Elizabeth and her family, I knew them, having married Ode and Elizabeth. As Scott talked of being snubbed in his workplace, I knew the story of his transition from counselor to financial planner and his plans underway to retire. Warren spoke of cleaning things up at home. I knew about the time when he owned four houses. Bill had positive news for his venture, U-Face-Me, a possible investor. I knew about his coding, his work on mainframe data storage, his life as a Jesuit. Just as, when I spoke of Shadow Mountain, of my new knee, of the book I’m writing, they knew about my past as a Presbyterian minister, of my two ex-wives.
We can hear the subtle resonance of words and feelings, know often where the current dilemma fits into a life. I felt lucky to be part of the meeting last night. Not the same as being there physically, but nourishing in its own way.
Kate had Bailey Patchworkers for most of the day and I spent the day up in the loft with the dogs, so the jackhammering didn’t bother us. This will be worth it, but remodeling is never easy since by definition it has to take place where you live.
Black Mountain, which is covered in lodgepole pine and actually green as a result, has small gold flecks this morning. Those few aspen groves on its slopes have begun to turn, as have more and more aspens between here and Evergreen, but not those on our property. Too, Orion appeared in the southern sky a week or so ago, the early morning southern sky. On Shadow Mountain Orion and the changing of the aspens are true harbingers of autumn.
Politically I feel and have felt in, but not of, mainstream American politics. That is, political action has been another key ancientrail in my life, but I’ve had to engage it from a stance left of even the further edges of liberalism.
Palisade, Colorado has had a bumper peach harvest. There is a small area on the Western Slope that has an ideal peach growing microclimate. They have other crops, too: lavender, apples, sweet corn, strawberries and vegetables. The newspapers have carried photo spreads of workers in the orchards with peach baskets gently picking and placing the delicate fruit into baskets. Back in Andover, this time of year, the honey harvest would be in, the raspberries just beginning. I would be out planting garlic and pulling the last plantings of carrots, beets, leeks and onions. This is the peak harvest season, when the land and its workers combine to feed millions, even billions of people.
Being so far removed from farms and large truck gardens feels strange to this former Midwestern lifer. No more so than in this long harvest season. Corn pickers and combines have begun to roll through fields. The state fairs have swept up 4-H’er raised cattle, pigs, sheep, chickens. The vegetable harvest has peaked. Self pick apple orchards have hayrides and cider stations set out. Not there, though.
Labor Day does mark the winding down of one season long harvest up here: tourist dollars from Denver folks. July and August are the heaviest tourist months for our favorite mountain town, Evergreen. We’re not a winter tourist destination, at least not like the ski resorts, so the roads will have less traffic and fewer visitors in Evergreen’s restaurants.
