Night's Radiance

Chapter 29

Night is not dark, Silence is notsoundless

Silence is not silent; null is not empty. Carol and Karen

Drifting into time passages

Years go falling in the fading light

Time passages –

Eric Stewart / Wilfred Collins / Jim Falcone / Paul Nieser - Time Passages Al Stewart Time Passages


Night's Radiance

“This is a spaceship compared to JB’s Roadrunner. There are lights everywhere, very cool car. How are you getting along with your Dad?”

“I never didn’t get along, but Mom made it difficult to see him. He continued to work obsessively on his new tech project. It hasn’t been not getting along as much as simple absence. He invited me to join him on what he calls his boat during the summer.”

“What would you call it?”

“A yacht, maybe a small yacht by yacht standards, he doesn’t sail it, there is a crew on board.”

“Are you going to join him?”

“I haven’t said I would, I am thinking about it. I doubt he will be there the whole time. He is throwing himself into a new project on climate it’s a nonprofit.”

“And your mother?”

“I think we should take a break from each other, establish a little space. I’m not a teen anymore. I know barely, but still true.”

“Let’s go inside. I opened a bottle of wine before I came out to join your groupie party would you like a glass, now that you’re not a teen anymore?”

“Yes, on wine, Groupie?”

“You were digging on your friend Madison, earlier. I came up to the venue and find I’m the aunt of Emmy Lou Harris.”

“I enjoyed that I would love to have stayed, but I wanted to talk with you. You have done amazing things on the farm here.”

“I had an opportunity and I worked at it. I called Ruth she told me Lee was a very reliable worker. He had worked with us for about three years. His father worked for a tiling outfit and now he drives a truck. His mother worked for us until she got an LPN license.” Carol gave a glass to Karen and sat down in her favorite chair.

Karen sniffed and looked at the wine, “I am told you should sniff and look at it in the light, but it seems, I don’t know why.”

“I have a wine subscription; bottles arrive every month. I avoid selecting or knowing much about wine. I can rate the ones I get, allowing the bot to better know my tastes. Modern times even wine preferences are digitally stored.”

Karen laughed, “I see why, I searched for Emmy Lou Harris 1970’s and look at these images. Your clothes are very similar. I don’t have the long dark hair or pretty face, but I have her clothes.”

“Yes, I loved her albums. I must admit, I enjoyed hearing them call you Emmy Lou. I would remind you how pretty you are with blond hair, but everyone keeps saying you look like my daughter. As Spock said in the reboot movie it would sound ‘oddly self-serving.’”

“You’re a Trekkie?"

“The original shows were reruns when I first came here. They ran them late at night. I became a fan; my options were limited back in those days. I’ve seen all the movies and many of the other shows.”

“Do you go to movies?”

“No not often when my boys come home for Christmas and New Year’s. We sometimes go as a family outing. Our rural telephone coop brought us fiber optic and now I can stream movies, documentaries, and more weird video than I could ever watch.”

“I like the wine.”

“I always feel a little guilty drinking in the house, Grandma and Grandpa Parker never allowed any alcohol on the farm. I am not sure what they would think of the concert venue, wine tasting events, and wedding receptions we now host at the zoo. At least it was not part of the original home place.”

“How well did you know them?”

“I came here to visit with the family for the holidays when I was small. I spent three summers here starting when I was about ten. I really enjoyed it. I helped alongside Grandma and got to see some of the farm with Grandpa. I learned something of gardening and farming while I was here. I learned to can and freeze fruit and vegetables from Grandma. She put away enough food to feed two large families every summer. She gave away about half of it to people at church every year. Grandma Parker died while I was in my flower child era. I didn’t find out until I was back home. I came with Dad to see Grandpa Parker a couple times before he died and came to his funeral. It rekindled my idea of starting a business here."

"Did you know your other grandparents?"

"My mother was from Kansas and the youngest in her family. Her parents had died before I ever knew them. It was here that I felt I had family. It was here I identified as my place, my real home.”

“I haven’t been here too often, but you’ve always made it feel like home to me. I was here most when my parents were heading towards a split; I needed the security I felt from you.”

“I’ve always enjoyed having you here, I have two sons. Grandpa and Grandma had three sons. We Parker women are a little outnumbered and need to stick together.”

“What was it like to come here and start a produce and fruit farm? How many other women were doing that?”

“No woman on her own was operating a farm around here when I started. Now women are part of the family operations and no one finds it odd. Not many women operate on their own even now.”

“Were you shunned by the community when you first came?”

“Shunned, no. You must be part of the community to be shunned. This was a modern close-knit community, not a religious sect from a gothic novel. I wasn’t seeking to fit in, I was trying to get produce growing. I needed more producing fruit trees and strawberry beds. Trees and strawberries take more than a season to start peak production. I didn’t buy much in the first year. Uncle Leon had asked for a couple pieces of furniture and Uncle Lance really just wanted some of his toys and other childhood things from here. Everything else just stayed. I still had food in the freezer and canned stuffed still in the pantry, the sheets and towels, the old TV, even their clothes. I became the only family going through and putting Grandma and Grandpa’s stuff to rest. It may seem odd, but I didn’t find it odd. It was comforting. I felt assured if I worked hard, I would find the joy living here they had. I didn’t bring in much money the first year, but I wasn’t spending much either. JB was working for his rent and not here often enough to be building up surplus hours. JB was the more out of control version of himself then. He was polite, if he wasn’t drunk. "

“As I remember JB is Ruth’s husband, he was your renter?”

“JB was not paying any rent on the house where he lived because his family had always worked for Grandpa Parker. Ruth didn’t come here until my third year here and they were married in the Fall. JB agreed to work enough to pay for a fair rent. I operated with very little cash outlay that first year.”

"Simplicity was bliss, then?"

"Simple times because it was necessary. I made progress on building for a profitable second year. I was alone much of the time, except for that pup my neighbors had given me. People did not come here to buy things; I was going to farmers markets, festivals with vendors. “

“How did people treat you in the first years you were here?”

“People were suspicious I think that was the most common reaction. They were worried I was here to organize a Woodstock, a hippie commune, or I was growing pot. No colony of hippie’s appeared, or out of control music festival. Pot wasn’t found with my produce sales; county police did look around a couple of times. I became accepted as an eccentric. Small communities are good with eccentrics as long as they are one of their own. A few people assumed the worse and tried to act rude, but when you don’t care it doesn’t have much effect. Their behavior made them look bad to the others in the community who believe in politeness. Around July 4th some kids came by and tossed a large firecracker on a couple nights. They did it again around the 4th my second summer here, but JB recognized their car when they went past his place. He told me not to worry it wouldn’t happen again. I didn’t ask, but I assume he made sure they knew what a Vietnam Vet could do to them. It never happened again, which was good once Ruth started keeping horses here.”

“You have a music venue, now, if not a Woodstock.”

“I could have never had a ticketed controlled music event then. It would have brought drugs. It would have made everyone here feel unsafe. I would have been arrested. I could not risk all the liability. I was not looking for a repeat of the commune experience. The Hippie era had died by then. I was here to build a new life. Keeping to myself, working hard, and making some money I began to turn the locals to viewing me as another Parker not some radical.”

“It sounds lonely at least at first. How did you feel?”

“I did have my dog Sam. I was not lonely not for the first year or so. Have you ever watched a video of an animal released back into the wild?”

“Were you a wild animal?”

“I felt so free of all that I had been burying inside. My life on the road had been a disaster. I had to come back home. I had to fight myself, not to fight over comments, attitudes, and even the lack of trust in me. I proved myself a daughter again, but I wanted to prove myself independent and successful. It drove me, I worked from dawn to dusk every day. I was too tired to be lonely. I was young; I felt good every morning. I kept doing the next piece of my plan. I was learning what worked how I could survive. I prepared for production that would yield significant revenues. My father was beginning to see I was following a good business strategy. He was using the rent from the traditional farming to pay off the loan on the farm and I was demonstrating the ability to produce revenue on the part of the farm not suitable for row crop.”

“Did you consider yourself a feminist trail blazer?”

“I considered myself a capable woman I was not proving what a woman could do; I was proving what I could do. I fully believed in women’s equality, I thought it was beyond debate. I assumed my generation would all accept a Friedan, Steinem view of equality. I guess I hadn’t heard of Phyllis Schlafly, then. I didn’t seek to be an activist, nor did I want to be part of a movement. I didn’t get upset when old men called me a girl, but I wouldn’t allow it from colleagues and my own generation. I was only proving I could make a living on the old family farm. I couldn’t farm like the Greene’s did. They farm our farm, their own, and several others. They have a huge investment in equipment. Large equipment has made it impossible to make profits on a small-scale traditional farm. I had to make it by alternative means taking small crops and fruit and creating markets. I became convinced I could be successful, I only needed to keep working. I found satisfaction in watching things grow, the fruits of my labor were my early companions. Also, the old memories of the land.”

“Memories of the land? What are those?”

“Subtle touches to your spirit when you work and live in a land like this one. A memory connected to a place but not a time. I have sensed when being on the land not just a jog of memory but a feeling existent from a different time. As if that self was still active there. I have also encountered impressions of feelings not from memory. Sometimes a place holds some thread of another. These are lightly traveled lands. These fields and these woods were focal points of exertion, joy, sorrow, loss, pain, heartbreak, pride, all focused on the land itself. Sometimes they drift into your present being. There exists a great spirit and soul in a land as this. Urban places have driven out any residue, too little concern for the land. The spirit has been lost for too long a time. After my husband Stephen had betrayed me, my father and brother asked why not leave? I told them I would not return to their soulless suburbs. I said my life was here. I had focused on this land and it held my soul. I could not leave and have any self, left. My whole being was planted and rooted in this land. I have joined many past generations fixed in a life on a bountiful earth. I think that was only good phrase I adopted from Stephen.”

“Are there ghosts here?”

“No not ghosts, nothing is haunted. People men and women who are part of your DNA were immersed here. The land carries the effects of the cultivation, sometimes it holds a residue of themselves. Sometimes you can sense it. I have something in my room you may want to look through and I will show you something.”

Carol lead me to her room. “This was my room when I spent those three summers here. It has two east windows and one on the south wall it is a very bright morning room. I felt like I was moving into my old room. “

She pulled a book out of her dresser drawer. “This book is a diary, an ancestry record, and a work of historical fiction. Here hold the book.”

Carol then extracted a wooden box. It had latches to keep it closed. “This is something of a scrap book to accompany the diary you are holding. we will take them down to the desk. If you are really curious about me, you will want to look through these. The office desk is a good space to study them. I want to show you the mirror. “

Carol opened her closet door. On the back of the door was a very old mirror. The overhead light cast a bright glare on the mirror our reflections were almost not visible. “In the morning when the sunlight hits the mirror, I often feel like I am viewing myself and many others. My reflection and hints of other reflections, those who have also stood and wondered what the reflection told. I have sought to learn something of those who were here before. “

“We should have another glass of wine and talk; you can look through these tomorrow.”

We went back downstairs and left the book and box on the desk. “If we wear jackets, we could sit on the porch and listen to the night.”

I slipped on Aunt Carol’s leather jacket and she her barn coat. We sat on the porch silently listening.

After a while I said. “it’s quiet but there are so many sounds.”

“Yes, we blare away missing the sounds of life, they used to be all around us. People in houses without air conditioning heard the night through their open windows. Have you heard them say you can hear the corn grow?”

“no”

“On hot humid nights when the corn is streaking from knee high to above your head to form a tassel the slip as the stalk grows out of the leaf joint can be heard. Only on certain nights and only when it is quiet. I don’t allow any night lights here. Any lighting has to be switched. I want to walk out in the yard or over to the market in natural light. The night sky is amazingly bright even without a moon. People have tried to sell me security lights. I think they are atrocities not providing any security. Now that people call me old, I might be more of a target. People exaggerate threats and allow their fears to steal all their lives, waste all the joy. Your eyes should be adjusted let’s walk out to the barn.”

I was surprised I could easily see the porch steps the yard and flower beds. I looked up, “Oh my, the stars are beautiful.”

“They are and all those concert goers will speak of the beautiful night in the country. It is, but none of them will see the real beauty we are now experiencing.”

I stood staring fascinated. A dark silent night had created in me an appreciation of the real world. I heard a distant noise.

Carrol spoke the first words between us for an immeasurable span of time, “That is a car or truck coming, it just went through the dip. They will be here soon if they are turning in our lane. Let’s go up on the porch, I’ll turn the light on, so we don’t frighten them.”

The porch lights did seem blinding and did obliterate the beauty, the not silent beauty of a pleasant Spring night.





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