Nikki’s Dress
“Trees frame my world. The old barns are vanishing. What light there is seems to emanate from deep inside the ground. Water noise lays heavy on the land, the hum of some thing, going down, always down. I had these funny thoughts as my truck pulled through a slurry of muddy ruts today, basic questions, like: why is a hill? Do we love this place so much because it’s not flat? The variety of joy in every curve, hummock & glade is beyond description. It’s the same joy that creates isolation and hardship, and extra work, and work stoppage. I pass the same trailers, encampments more similar to the forts I made in my backyard as a child, surrounded by objects that once had utility. Plastic trikes, junk cars, abandoned fridges, scrap metal & wire. The draw is strong, to meddle in such yards. To reminisce over loss, & carnage, to pull out treasures that have no busy being discarded. I would like to sweep the porch. Far away in my mind, I would like to sit with any person still living here, and find out what I can’t quite grasp. About my own life, and how we are always closer to the bone than at face value. Why things have to be this hard. And yet, the grace of the humpy rills, the maples gone feral & apple trees un-manicured, even what I see as dead weeds that could be gone, well, it’s just a habit of mine, to love what is beauty in neglect. I don’t do much to myself, either. I’m past the point of dolling up, or ironing evening clothes, or even being able to lay my hands on a pretty dress. I too, am all about disappearing inside a fortress of unrecognizable stature. Where no one can call me out, or criticize, at least not within earshot. Because they’ll never know. And the ones who know, will know. What constitutes a display of flamboyance out here, runs more like this. On Christmas day, my daughter & I decided to take a walk down the road, in the dimming light, after we’d sewn, and made potholders, and sat indoors by the fire for long enough. A mucky Christmas, but the road still fit for boots, out we went, to see Christmas from the viewpoint of rain, and saplings, & ditches. Heading down towards the bridge, a familiar sight appeared: my neighbor’s SUV, slowly creeping along, as they spotted us. She rolled down the window. “Merry Christmas!” we said, reflexively. It would be as merry as we were willing to make it, and we all knew it. Suddenly she put her tank in park, and jumped out onto the road. “Look”, she said,”at my new dress!”. She was truly a sight for sore eyes. Forest green, a comfortable knit, falling well below the knees. Her daughter in the passenger seat looked visibly, both embarrassed, and proud. She was used to this mother, but looked away as my neighbor modeled her recent thrift store purchase, unable to hide a smile of delight in the absurdity of a fashion show here, right up towards the dead end of a dirt road, where a few of us still managed to survive. It put a bell on the sleigh, shall we say, of a very soggy holiday. I love my neighbor. After she had driven away, we proceeded down the road, at an amiable pace. The sound of the raging mountain stream seemed to silence us, as we walked along side, though it was hidden in a ravine. Eventually we slowed to look at intricate ice formation on a culvert waterfall. I decided to rappel a bit, using roots, for a photo. Now we were halfway there. It made sense to explore more. Slip-sliding over slimy logs, and skidding on wet leaves, we eventually stumbled water-side, below a neat series of water carved cliffs. “I didn’t know this was down here,” my daughter said, somewhat stunned. We both stood, stepped cautiously, and drank in the local spectacles, of wild water, hemlock & moss. It was almost too dark to navigate. I imagine this was the perfect place for both of us to be. Enveloped by trees, protected by no one knowing, stripped bare of any holiday, and yet, celebrating our Christmas, exactly how we did. Like any other extraordinary day.”