Away
The day came, and I found myself weeping as I did the chores of getting ready to leave the piney woods. Don has been gone two months, but I guess leaving the last place he lived was something to be mourned. Did my heart think he might come back here on a breeze looking for me and the trailer? Perhaps in some corner of my brain ungoverned by good sense I’m still hoping he will just drive in with his truck. Once again, the nest of angels that are working here at the forestry center hugged me and wished me well, inviting me to return if I needed to, even just for a few days. And I had a nice last dinner with the good daughter and husband on their sailboat.
My first stop was at my cousin David and wife Sally’s wonderful house high in the steep hills near Natural Bridge. They have moved into their house, but are still happily working on it. The woodwork is so smooth I can’t help stroking it, and many of their ideas are innovative useful and beautiful. Good food and lots of catching up, and sorting out of family tangles. The next day we awake to 2 inches of snow, changing everything around the house, and that night it went down to 24 degrees, weather that doesn’t belong in Virginia at this time of year. A warning to me to get south, I guess.
Next day, I headed down I-81, which threads its way through the mountains, now covered with snow. The roads are all clear and dry, the ground is not frozen yet so it isn’t real winter driving yet. I’m still driving in silent mode, except for the CB to listen to the truckers. I have several ways to have music as I drive, or even books on tape to listen to, but I like being alone with my thoughts, watching the traffic patterns, wondering who is going where, what the trucks are hauling, rerunning old times in my head or imagining the future.
There are many signs warning us off I-40 which runs to the south into North Carolina. The whole mountainside came loose about a month ago and buried all of the interstate in huge rocks. They say it will take nearly 3 years to repair. The interstates seem like such superbeings, zooming over the ups and downs, rivers, canyons and lesser roads. I was surprised to hear that one was just taken out, laid dead by a fall of rocks. I guess I thought they would have stabilized the overhanging cliff. Mountains don’t often rear up and just smash things, baring earthquakes, but they are still alive in some ponderous way. I am irritated by the people who build right on the ocean, expect new sand to be trucked in, rip rap to protect them. Then, inevitably a storm comes and washes the house away, and the beach sand and the rip rap. They then start all over again, often with gumment help. The intervals between ocean rampages are short enough so you would think people would start to see the pattern. Not with mountains, that steep rocky place in North Carolina probably won’t move again for 500 years, plenty of time for us to forget.
Today on the road I blew my horn at a dangerously stupid move someone made, and the horn stuck. I whapped it and it stopped, but just now this evening it started to blow again, for no reason. I went out and whapped it again. Hope it doesn’t need to do that in the middle of the night. There is an electrical box up under the hood with relays in it, so I may have to take out the relay for the horn if this is going to be a habit. I know it’s just a mechanical problem. Probably corrosion or dirt somewhere, but it is so loud and peremptory that it makes me think the truck is angry at me for something, or has a whole knot of seething emotions that just burst out suddenly. Darth is 12 years old, so I guess a little truck dementia is inevitable.
Monday morning, another night in the 20’s. I’m beginning to think I should just get on the interstate and go south instead of wandering down the Natchez Trace. It’s going to be cold and rainy the whole way, not the fantasy of exploring lovely country and boon docking that I was carrying in my head at all.
I will rethink after a family visit at Fort Campbell KY, where Don’s Army Medic grandson is stationed. Right now I’m above Knoxville waiting for it to get above freezing.
I had a great visit with the grandson, stuffed him and his girlfriend with pancakes, while it poured buckets. After they left, I shed some more tears, leaky again, it was at this campground that Don had the first of his strokes, and I won’t see the grandson again for a year.
I’m just interstating my way to Texas, it is just too cold, I would rather drive the Natchez Trace when it’s warm and I can explore.
My first stop was at my cousin David and wife Sally’s wonderful house high in the steep hills near Natural Bridge. They have moved into their house, but are still happily working on it. The woodwork is so smooth I can’t help stroking it, and many of their ideas are innovative useful and beautiful. Good food and lots of catching up, and sorting out of family tangles. The next day we awake to 2 inches of snow, changing everything around the house, and that night it went down to 24 degrees, weather that doesn’t belong in Virginia at this time of year. A warning to me to get south, I guess.
Next day, I headed down I-81, which threads its way through the mountains, now covered with snow. The roads are all clear and dry, the ground is not frozen yet so it isn’t real winter driving yet. I’m still driving in silent mode, except for the CB to listen to the truckers. I have several ways to have music as I drive, or even books on tape to listen to, but I like being alone with my thoughts, watching the traffic patterns, wondering who is going where, what the trucks are hauling, rerunning old times in my head or imagining the future.
There are many signs warning us off I-40 which runs to the south into North Carolina. The whole mountainside came loose about a month ago and buried all of the interstate in huge rocks. They say it will take nearly 3 years to repair. The interstates seem like such superbeings, zooming over the ups and downs, rivers, canyons and lesser roads. I was surprised to hear that one was just taken out, laid dead by a fall of rocks. I guess I thought they would have stabilized the overhanging cliff. Mountains don’t often rear up and just smash things, baring earthquakes, but they are still alive in some ponderous way. I am irritated by the people who build right on the ocean, expect new sand to be trucked in, rip rap to protect them. Then, inevitably a storm comes and washes the house away, and the beach sand and the rip rap. They then start all over again, often with gumment help. The intervals between ocean rampages are short enough so you would think people would start to see the pattern. Not with mountains, that steep rocky place in North Carolina probably won’t move again for 500 years, plenty of time for us to forget.
Today on the road I blew my horn at a dangerously stupid move someone made, and the horn stuck. I whapped it and it stopped, but just now this evening it started to blow again, for no reason. I went out and whapped it again. Hope it doesn’t need to do that in the middle of the night. There is an electrical box up under the hood with relays in it, so I may have to take out the relay for the horn if this is going to be a habit. I know it’s just a mechanical problem. Probably corrosion or dirt somewhere, but it is so loud and peremptory that it makes me think the truck is angry at me for something, or has a whole knot of seething emotions that just burst out suddenly. Darth is 12 years old, so I guess a little truck dementia is inevitable.
Monday morning, another night in the 20’s. I’m beginning to think I should just get on the interstate and go south instead of wandering down the Natchez Trace. It’s going to be cold and rainy the whole way, not the fantasy of exploring lovely country and boon docking that I was carrying in my head at all.
I will rethink after a family visit at Fort Campbell KY, where Don’s Army Medic grandson is stationed. Right now I’m above Knoxville waiting for it to get above freezing.
I had a great visit with the grandson, stuffed him and his girlfriend with pancakes, while it poured buckets. After they left, I shed some more tears, leaky again, it was at this campground that Don had the first of his strokes, and I won’t see the grandson again for a year.
I’m just interstating my way to Texas, it is just too cold, I would rather drive the Natchez Trace when it’s warm and I can explore.
posted by Thistledown24 at 3:25 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home