Monday, November 21, 2011

Dinner Bell

Dinner Bell

Uncommon valley, an area that is well hidden from common roads. The road leading to it is an undisruptive type of road, dirt built as to not give away to folks passing by of its existence. Living up here in the mountains there are many places of the same nature that I consider rewards for choosing the good life. The uncommon valley has become one of my well kept secrets and adds years to ones life. Many mental health “experts” charge thousands of dollars to offer answers to peace of mind that the valley has to offer for free of charge. Some of the locals refer to this part of northeast as Gods country. Believing that there is truth to that statement is to see for your self. Driving down a tall, purposely kept dirt, hill that is heavily lined with thick brush and trees, I enter into a small well-hidden valley. It opens up with out any warning with green fields lined with mountains, which encase the fields and several simple homes within. I would like to mention the name of the mountains but prefer to let the hunt begin. At one time the fields must have produced an income for the folks who once lived there. Evidence supports this statement with barns and rusty old farm equipment that now line the over grown fields. The oil soaked barns, dark and brown, are not in use as they once were but now available to artist paintings. Fortunately not been torn down and have taken on a new meaning. Once a storage area never quite big enough, now a relaxing image.

In the middle of the fields stand three oddly placed trees. I say oddly because it makes no sense to a casual eye on why they are there. Probably placed there to shade the farmer at midday, as he would take a break in the field rather than traveling to the house. The intriguing part to the trees is the unexplained stonewall. Round gray boulders stacked four high above the ground and most likely three to four stones below the ground. They run past the trees by ten feet on either side. There is no logical explanation for its existence for I sat for several hours trying to explain in logic why they are there. It is possible that this farmer held a local degree in mental health. While setting up this lively hood for his family he, with out question had a rime and reason for the placement of the stonewall, just at this current writing it goes unexplained. Maybe some one in his family could explain better by simply looking at what he saw.

Looking at the trees you slowly begin to notice that the branches are pointing in a southeasterly direction. The winds of time coming down off the mountains have formed this branch direction over many years. The trees elected not to fight the Mother Nature yet incorporate her in how they grow. Standing fifty to sixty feet high I would guess that they are 100 plus years old. Branches gracefully swaying in the breeze a though of love comes to mind for there is no question that love has hung around the trunks on sunny days. Local teens daydream during school hours about returning home to meet among the branches. Surly many hundreds of curious smiles accompanied with curious glances have meet under the branches. Long summer days made short by mothers who decided for “no apparent reason” to have dinner two hours earlier than normal. Perhaps instinctively knowing to sound the alarm of the triangular dinner bell. Two mothers on opposite sides of the valley coincidentally make an evening arrive early. One father, hearing the dinner bell, enters the kitchen having day of common patterns and predictable moves abruptly cut short. Entering the kitchen and scrunching his eyebrows, looks around the kitchen with out asking any questions, looking for evidence to why his day has been cut short. He knows better than to question his wife’s decision for he has learned well in the past. She looks at him briefly and tells him to “sit, dinner is ready.”

Several hundred yards past the trees lay the mountains. They rise up, not that high but high enough to make you bend your neck to see the tree less tops. Covered with lush greens. Much rain has fallen recently and the foliage has taken full advantage of this. They have multiplied their growth to hide any evidence of ground beneath it. The clouds roll down from the northwesterly direction and gather steam. Tending to bounce off the mountains in search of a path of least resistance. While bouncing they reform into different shapes and forms of indescribable blotters. The trees continually point in the direction that they must follow. The clouds agree but show some resistance to a known of the valley, that a path has already been chosen for them.

While I was enjoying the scenery, I relit a cig stashed in my leather jacket. Noticing a chipmunk scurrying across the dirt road, apparently busy taking care of her home. She jumps on top of a rock to get a birds eye view, in search of her mate. You see, the male species can conveniently lose focus on what we need to do when it comes to home chores. Commonly coming up with reasons of better things to do that will benefit our families and becoming quite good at it. “My dear, I have money to be made elsewhere” he states. She is not disturbed by his answer only content. The rain starts to fall again and I must go.

It is a beautiful part of town and when I do not feel well I visit it to get that pleasant feeling again. That feeling… that it is good to be alive.

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Dess Dermondy