Monday, August 25, 2008
Hyper Active Thyroid. Saturday, the whole village came down with one. Or two. Folks came from the very back forty with chain saws, trimmers, trucks, tractors and kids knee high to the village mutt.
Swear I didn’t know from whence they came, but there they were. They sawed, trimmed, hauled and generally made a deal of noise.
About noon all became quiet, the equipment vanished, the dust settled and the people followed the equipment into memory.
They left behind clean Barr Ditches, clean empty lots, mowed and groomed ball field, the Locus trees (those with the five and six inch thorns) hiding the “Welcome to …” sign met their doom. Stray bits of shredded plastic and paper swirled in Sundays breeze, but the village looked good.
All set for the Labor Day festivities. The villages annual chest puffing exercise. I’m happy to report I have absolutely no idea what is planned for this year.
There were no Mule Races last year, which pretty well killed my interest. No mule gymkanda, no mule baseball, no concert put on by the mule riders, no BBQ (free) in the ball field parking lot. No smells of mule exertion, no sandal clad bare legged women with skimpy halters caring for the mules, fetching and carrying for the rough riders. Nope, none of that stuff.
Probably, there will be a seven year old on a mountain pedal bike leading a parade of tractors, volunteer fire men on salvage worthy donated fire trucks, a couple of old time cars that spend time from year to year hiding under tarps in the back corner of the machine shed; maybe, if we’re lucky, there’ll be a good looking (meaning a strange face) fem type person riding in the ratty looking 1940’s convertible whats his face borrows from, well I don’t really know where he borrows it from.
Yep, this year will be different. The grocery store is gone. The convenience store is gone. The restaurant is gone (though there’s talk of her re-opening). The liquor store is gone (though there is talk of a new one up by the junction). And the population is down from four hundred to two hundred.
Still, it’ll be a good Labor Day. I just know it will. All the talk about small town America dying is just talk. I’ll believe that when bib overalls; floppy, wide brimmed hats, high topped shoe, wearing folks appear on the streets chewing on the stiff end of a wheat straw (wheat harvest was in June/early July, if you want to be accurate).
Sigh. I hope it’s warm come next weekend.
From the reaches,