Today, Wednesday, is our second snow day. The weather channel alarmists had said earlier that we might get several inches of the white fluffy stuff but when the storm track shifted, we got rain, and then icy sleet, followed by about a half inch of snow. The dusting of white is covering a solid crunch of ice as I walk back and forth from the barn. Slick and hard, everywhere is an awesome opportunity for busting one’s bum. The horses have lived in their blankets now since this all began, and are warm and cozy despite the midday temps still in the low twenties.
Monday, by stark contrast before the storm, was a balmy sixty degrees or so, sunshine and blue skies. So as no to waste such nice weather and, having heard the forecast for the next few days, I ventured out to ride my mare, Sunset. We were walking along heading to a trail head, when another of my hilarious horses came galloping up behind her as we strolled down the lane next to that horse’s pasture. The other horse’s intent, of course, was to incite Sunset to gallop with her, and throw in a few bucks. Sunset bounced and jigged, and she felt like a powder keg about to blow, but didn’t. With a bit of distance away from the galloping trouble maker and we went on and had a nice ride from there. It was a pleasant ride with no plans for any real training for the day, just a
jaunt to see what was out and about, a stretching of the legs and a chance to go to a peaceful place for my brain, if, I didn't get myself bucked off.
I rode to a piece of the farm that we rarely visit now, the site of where we once parked a mobile home when we first moved to the land, now twenty years ago. Small saplings grow there now, our temporary house on wheels long gone away. Thick underbrush surrounds these small trees and narrow game trails lead deeper into the brush from the field where we stood. A good number of these small trees had their bark rubbed off from some male deers that had scratched their antlers upon the trees, either relieving an itch or marking a spot, I am not sure which.
After my ride with Sunset, I figured on a bit of multitasking to prepare for the upcoming snow days. After all it was being hailed to be a declared state of emergency by the governor and one does need to prepare for such. I gathered the empty gas and diesel cans I could find and loaded them in the pick up. I figured to stock up on fuel, wine and other basics, and also to take the stacks of cardboard boxes and bags of paper and plastic to the recycling center.
This particular recycling center that we use, was opened many years ago to help create some
jobs for the handicapped, the mentally and physically challenged, people in our area. There was no formal recycling done in those days as it all went into to the dump, or the side of the road. And so the center was opened for those who wanted to voluntarily recycle, but who had no where to do so, and thus it provided jobs for these challenged people to sort through and process all of the enormous amounts of stuff that could and should be recycled. It was a win win back then in many aspects, and still is.
Over the years though, I have taken our recyclables to this place many times, and have always felt guilty about feeling an unease in being around the workers, these people. When I drove up, always, every one of them would look at me with blank faces and unrevealing eyes. Their blank stares unnerved me, this lack of connection. Having been taught it is impolite to stare, I avoided their eye contact, uncertain of what to say or do. I always felt a relief to have been done with it and be gone. The awkwardness I felt, was unpleasant.
That changed one day when I drove through the building as always, and stopped where the unloading place was. I turned off the truck and stepped out to my surprise, to hear a radio playing “Mustang Sally”. Joining in on this song were twenty or so folks of varying mental capacity, all singing at the top of their lungs, dancing, and wearing smiles that covered their faces with joy. I felt humbled by their being so incredibly, unabashedly, deliriously happy in this unexpected moment. They were in a place and time that I could not go to, and I drove away that day questioning my feelings of guilt at my intellectual superiority and, my vastly superior life, or was it. I had to wonder, who was in the better realm of consciousness.
In truth, I realized, in ways I envied them. Like little children who have not yet learned the real truths of life, when the fairy tales have been not been stripped of their magic, and all things are still good and pure, they seem to live in a world of a limited vision to the reality of most “normal” peoples” and seem to be happy and oblivious. Their innocence is sweet, and theirs is a place they will never leave. They will live in childhood for their entire lives, never leaving Never Never Land, or the land somewhere over the rainbow.
One of the fellows there is a friendly guy who always introduces himself and extends a hand for me to shake, every time he talks to me. This is just before he asks “Who was That Girl?” referring to the sitcom in the 70’s. Marlo Thomas was the correct answer for that one, and I generally get that same question asked several times in the brief time I am there. What I have come to learn, though, is that he is a walking encyclopedia of the 70’s sitcoms and their actors, a savant of sorts of some rather obscure information and he is very entertaining.
Another fellow there always is decked out in clothes, and hat, emblazoned with the University of Alabama logos. He says “Roll Tide” frequently to himself and to no one in particular while he does his work unloading the bags of stuff I have brought. When I recently echoed his call with another “roll tide” of my own, he smiled and squirmed with delight and repeated yet another enthusiastic call for the tide to roll.
I drove away from there on Monday, with a smile on my face.
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