Down the road , on the way to picking up Kevin,
the cloud covers of the day converged, slightly breathtaking , on by one of the
farms peripheral to suburban sprawl. All those houses slowly sprouting up ,
pressing up against fields and crops and the shifting array of cattle and cows
and goats.
A few years back, I was in the same place, paused to take a shot of this tree by this stream and meadow. A young cow was lying on their side, belly big. I went round various houses til I was told that the farm down that dirt road was the one who had these cowlets.
So round I drove, discovered the tiny Victorian with of course the extended barns out back. And who should answer the door, but the sister of an Amherst neighbor of mine. The sister of a delicious guy I once had a passing crush on . The daughter of a local grocery owner.
Her parents owned one, and then two grocery stores locally , had ten or eleven kids; I forget. Worked hard hard long hours.
They had a huge long long house up on the hill , right out of town, and I first started going by the store when I was a 23 year old wild one , working at a youth center in a pretty impoverished nearby town. Breaking up fights with my arms and feet, and flushing out the pot smokers before the cops went round. Going to the station to make nice and look out for picked up kids.
There were no jobs, the school system sucked, and generally the kids ended up pregnant on welfare, in the service, dead or in prison.
I drove too fast , drank too much, slept too little, and wilded away the struggle to settle myself with what life often is .
I'd go by the store for this or that , and the mom and I would talk. About the day. About her 1,000 kids! About how she kept a barn full of more horses than her husband knew about, which was her big reward... Those huge creatures. We were works apart , but talked nearly every day.
In Amherst several years later , I was 30, grown and more sane, a beautiful four year old and a beloved I'd just married there in my front yard, in a house we bought the year before , across the street from her store .
Ten years later we were renting a house in North Amherst, across from a house she owned and rented out . Across from a field and stream with herbs my three kids would help me gather and the stream I'd bring them to all throughout the long hot muggy summer days, and then the freezing cold deep snow days too , to tromp about in the frozen beauty .
Across the street also lived her older daughter, in a small small house with her six kids. She took care of kids and raised vegetables to sell and in between she'd escape, and go for a long run. In the past, she'd been a long distance runner, and after all those sweet kids, packed into that three-bedroom cottage, she retained those long powerful sinews, and always her broad shy smile.
So it was with some delight that, while looking for the farmer of this small cow, I came upon a younger daughter of that clan that day , and introduced myself , an old neighbor of her sister.
She had the same long sinews, the same broad shy smile , and directed me out back to where her husband, this big loud man, was on coffee break with his hired help.
He thanked me for the news about the calf , said he'd get over there directly after his coffee and doughnut , turned and went back into the dark cold shed where they all sat.
So with a wave at her , in her quiet life as I left, off I went , past the long low dirt roads and the afternoon's rising moon.
A few years back, I was in the same place, paused to take a shot of this tree by this stream and meadow. A young cow was lying on their side, belly big. I went round various houses til I was told that the farm down that dirt road was the one who had these cowlets.
So round I drove, discovered the tiny Victorian with of course the extended barns out back. And who should answer the door, but the sister of an Amherst neighbor of mine. The sister of a delicious guy I once had a passing crush on . The daughter of a local grocery owner.
Her parents owned one, and then two grocery stores locally , had ten or eleven kids; I forget. Worked hard hard long hours.
They had a huge long long house up on the hill , right out of town, and I first started going by the store when I was a 23 year old wild one , working at a youth center in a pretty impoverished nearby town. Breaking up fights with my arms and feet, and flushing out the pot smokers before the cops went round. Going to the station to make nice and look out for picked up kids.
There were no jobs, the school system sucked, and generally the kids ended up pregnant on welfare, in the service, dead or in prison.
I drove too fast , drank too much, slept too little, and wilded away the struggle to settle myself with what life often is .
I'd go by the store for this or that , and the mom and I would talk. About the day. About her 1,000 kids! About how she kept a barn full of more horses than her husband knew about, which was her big reward... Those huge creatures. We were works apart , but talked nearly every day.
In Amherst several years later , I was 30, grown and more sane, a beautiful four year old and a beloved I'd just married there in my front yard, in a house we bought the year before , across the street from her store .
Ten years later we were renting a house in North Amherst, across from a house she owned and rented out . Across from a field and stream with herbs my three kids would help me gather and the stream I'd bring them to all throughout the long hot muggy summer days, and then the freezing cold deep snow days too , to tromp about in the frozen beauty .
Across the street also lived her older daughter, in a small small house with her six kids. She took care of kids and raised vegetables to sell and in between she'd escape, and go for a long run. In the past, she'd been a long distance runner, and after all those sweet kids, packed into that three-bedroom cottage, she retained those long powerful sinews, and always her broad shy smile.
So it was with some delight that, while looking for the farmer of this small cow, I came upon a younger daughter of that clan that day , and introduced myself , an old neighbor of her sister.
She had the same long sinews, the same broad shy smile , and directed me out back to where her husband, this big loud man, was on coffee break with his hired help.
He thanked me for the news about the calf , said he'd get over there directly after his coffee and doughnut , turned and went back into the dark cold shed where they all sat.
So with a wave at her , in her quiet life as I left, off I went , past the long low dirt roads and the afternoon's rising moon.
No comments:
Post a Comment