Let It Grow Organic Gardens

And I resumed the struggle. -Vladimir

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Who Am I and How Did I Get Here?

I'm going to make this brief because I'm not altogether sure I even want to talk about it. I'm going to, though - it seems like an easy tale to tell and may even be good for a knowing nod or a chuckle. I'm not impressed, though, and my interest in the whole matter is dissipating more with every additional moment I put it off. Here goes, just to get it over with.
It was fund raising day at the Spring Creek Volunteer Fire Department, and most of the valley made their way down to the station. The fire engines were polished brightly and lined up for show. There was gospel singing. There were pork sandwiches and cole slaw. People milled about and chatted with each other. T-shirts and baseball caps and license plates were being sold. The nuclear family was by far the most common group unit present. Tobacco growers, cattlemen, well-drillers, dump-truck drivers and back-hoe operators were represented, as well as home-makers and dental hygienists. I had a good time with I*. He threw a ring toward this thing that was supposed to impale the ring, and didn't, but he got a prize anyway. Then he ran around with a bunch of other kids and they all made noise. Then I bought him some ice cream.
We left as it started to get dark. A friend has just taken over management of a shop in Hot Springs and was having a Grand Opening, of sorts. Only it started raining between the Spring Creek Fire Department and Hot Springs, so there wasn't much of a crowd when I arrived. A few folks were sitting on the porch though, some in chairs and some just on the floor. Some were wearing shoes and some were not. Most had long hair. Innumerable sexual orientations were represented. Someone had a guitar. A bottle of homemade wine was being passed around. And what were they talking about? Seems like someone wants to put a cell phone tower somewhere near town. Everyone opposed it, and were plotting their strategy. Someone suggested a march. I sat in the corner with I* nodding off on my lap, sipping homemade wine and trying to make sense of it all.
Madison County, North Carolina. Home. Where, as a T-shirt says, Mayberry meets the Twilight Zone. But last night, I sort of felt like, well, I'm not quite sure. Like I'd driven from Brooklyn to the Serengeti in about ten minutes. Or something. And left pondering, where do I fit in? Who am I? And, how did I get here?


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