I had just finished my radio program, playing 3 hours of some of my favorite music.  I thought I would step outside and enjoy the peace of looking at the magnificent night sky.

The sky was beautiful.  I could see the milky way.  I could hear a neighbor scolding  her dog.  She sounded like a six year-old.  It was bizarre.  She was obviously taking out her frustrations on the dog. It was torture for the dog and my ears.

Things quiet down, I take a seat in the front yard and return to gazing at the sky.  Ten seconds later this pickup truck comes careening up the road and stops 20 feet away from me.  Then it lurches forward another 30 feet and stops again.  This is like shattering glass to my peace.

I wait for people to emerge.  No one does for several minutes. When they finally do, it’s apparent they are severely intoxicated.   They amble back down the road, even stating “we are walking down the road” in a sing song voice.  They disappear into Jay’s house.

At this point I decide there is more peace inside the house and come back inside, locking the door behind me.

My thinking 5 years ago was that I’d have more peace here than in the city.   It’s nights like this I can’t wait for winter to quiet everything down.


Oct 26, 2011

It’s probably time to move.

Small Town Morning

It snowed more than 32 inches over the past 24 hours.   I step out into the sunless early morning to a muted white landscape.  It’s so quiet, even my own sounds don’t propagate far.  My snowboots don’t make a sound in the fresh powder.  The scent of woodsmoke fills the air.

My walk to the post office to pick up yesterday’s mail will take me across the two-lane state highway and the center of town.  I see that the road is already getting congested with skiers and snowboarders heading up from the cities.  None of the sidewalks are clear so I have to walk on the edge of the roadway.

Leaving the highway, I turn down First Street.  I peer into the co-op to see if it’s open yet.  The lights are off and the sign in front says “closed”, but I can see steam accumulating on the inside of the windows.  I know someone is in the back kitchen baking scones and muffins.

I continue to the other edge of town where the post office is. The air here has a different scent of woodsmoke.  It smells like fine tobacco being smoked in a pipe.   One thing I love about this town is the variety of wood that is burned in stoves and fireplaces.  Each block has a different scent.

I pickup my junk mail and deposit my Netflix DVD into the mail slot.  I contemplate taking a different route back home, but decide I want to pass the co-op again to see if it is open.  The idea of a fresh baked muffin sounds so appetizing.

I walk up First Street and peer into the co-op windows.  Yes!  The lights are on and the sign says “open”.  I ask the clerk if there are any muffins yet.  Just then a women carrying a tray of fresh baked chocolate covered raspberry scones emerges from the back, answering my question.  She puts the scones into the display case and tells me about all of the other baked goods in there.  It was a tough choice, but I settled on the banana cranberry, peach muffin, a large one.

Outside, I break off the crispy top part and begin nibbling on it as I walk up the road.  The bottom part of the muffin is steaming.

The highway has even more cars on it now.  Although the traffic is only crawling along, nobody wants to stop to let me cross.  Finally I just go for it, forcing the issue.

Looking up at the Divide as I walk west, I see the sun is shining.  It won’t be long before it’s sunny here.

Back at home, I make some Earl Grey tea and finish my muffin.  I look out the window, between the houses, and see the traffic is stopped dead on the highway.  I’m content not to be in that mess.