One thing's for sure, life in this world has grown louder with the passing years. Worst was during the war. Odd thing was, once we'd landed ashore, quiet could be even worse. Nothin' like the dead silence of being set up in the black of a tropical night to give a man the heebie-jeebies. Death'd come creeping on cat's paws. Sometimes just the slightest noise and the night would light up. Turn into a wall of explosion. Out there in the Pacific quiet would often mean death and noise usually meant it was too late.
Anyhow, all those explosions made me a little deaf. Not all the way deaf but should there be background noise, I lose words. Not so up at the cabin off the McFarland Road. Here, words don't get lost in the jumble 'cause there is no jumble. Most of the time there aren't a lot of words either. That's fine. What I feel like saying, I write down. Not sure why but I do.
Mostly I work. You see, I've got a house to finish. The intention's to get it done, down to the last stick of furniture before I call it complete. Varnishing the floor turned out to be a good reason to go camping. First I figured to pitch the tent in the yard. Instead, I headed all the way over to Esther Lake about four miles away. The DNR'd started stocking Esther with trout back in the '50s so old boogers like me could catch a few and still think they had it. Not near as much fun as bushwhackin' through a half mile of brush to chuckle over a handful of little brookies but the campsite let me fish in the morning, head back to the cabin and varnish my way through the midday hours. Then, head back to Esther for the evening hatch.
Also afforded a chance for intelligent conversation. Well, conversation anyway. Can't say most of it was worth remembering but it did make me thankful for living on my own. Maybe I shouldn't be critical. Could be one of the good old boys was brain damaged from all the bug juice he slathered on his head. 'Bout every half hour or so he'd pull his ball cap and foam a thick line of spray along his hat crease. Hard not to stare when the juice started seeping toward his eyes. Scary and fascinating at the same time. Made me want to grab a rag to stop the flow before he was blinded. But each time the stuff reached his eyebrows, he'd reach up with both hands and work the repellant in like he was washing his head and hair. Got so I'd hang around before turning in to see if he glowed in the dark.
Four coats plus two days to let the smell go down. Varnish is powerful stuff. Could be that's why it lasts as long as it does. Also smelled a lot like a heavy dose of bug juice. That's why I stayed away the two extra days.
Spend a lot of time in the Lookout. Sleep there, read, write, think about the world but mostly do a lot of looking. Never get tired of the view. Once in a while I get lost in thoughts of Lena. Not like I conjure her up. More like she comes riding in when the light is just so. Or on a smell when I'd be cooking dinner. Usually onions frying in butter. Yeah, when we were together that's how meals would start. Guess our love was grounded on onions and butter.
And I missed Archie. Didn't see him much over the next couple of years. Then nothing. Didn't know where 'til the first letter arrived from Fort Campbell, Kentucky.
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