‘Twas an hour or two before midnight when, walking stick in my right hand and oil lamp in my left, Becky and I strolled out the back door for the somewhat traditional Christmas walk up the hill pasture, while Cindy stayed behind in the warm house, the other two dogs curled at her feet.
Up the rise by the pawpaw trees and through the gates we pass, before entering the wooded lane, where the lantern throws imaginative and ominous shadows. Becky stays close to me instead of choosing to explore the night. An owl hoots far away. The tires of a late-night pickup sound on the highway below, silent for moments as it rounds a bend, then reemerging just below the farm before fading into the distance.
Nearby lights from the neighbors we still do not know filter through the trees. The man and woman have been in that house for a decade but are moving back to Florida. Having spurned our overtures to be neighborly and more comfortable as city dwellers, like salmon, they now return to the stream that spawned them.
I turn the corner of the lane and begin climbing the hill pasture. The remnants of the late fall forages gather thick around my boots. I breathe heavier as I crest the ridge, and the full moon comes into view. Always an hour or two late to rise in these steeper wooded valleys, its light dwarfs the one I carry.
I stand for 10 minutes staring at the cold familiar face, unable to turn my gaze: just the moon, Becky, and myself on this cold Christmas Eve. Eventually, it slips behind a sleeve of clouds, breaking the spell. I turn and face back to the west. Our farmhouse sits below, the windows beckoning with an inviting glow.
Off in the distance, on both the northern and southern horizons, blinks the red of a newly invasive species, a cell phone tower. Unwanted and unloved, it signals our fear of being alone.
I call for my dog, unnoticed at my feet until she rises and begins, without prompting, the journey down the hill. I trudge through the tangled grasses, back down the lane, through the gates, and into the house. “I’m here,” I call.
I turn the wick down on the lantern and the fire goes out. I unplug the lights on the Christmas tree, pour a nightcap, and walk up the stairs. A little later, before turning out the house lights, I ponder whether tomorrow will see the first lambs of the season. Many of our ewes are heavily pregnant. And, as it often occurs, that most innocent of livestock is born on this farm around the 25th of December.
A lovely evocative post, Brian. I appreciate the way you fold the bittersweet elements into describing your experience–it makes the simple pleasures of the moment all the more precious to also have the reminders of cell towers and the like. We woke today to a inch of fluffy new snow covering our barren brown landscape. Hooray! It’s a white Christmas after all. Rain coming in the next few days will take it away again, but it brings a festive brightness to the day. Best wishes to you and Cindy.
-Sarah
Thanks, Sarah. My best to you and Rick as well, enjoy the snow. I’m glad you appreciate the balance. Too much either way and you get sticky sentiment or a harsh rationality that leaves little room for love.
I just joined in to add my two cents and see that Sarah has already expressed so very eloquently exactly what I was thinking. So, I’ll simply add, “Well done, sir. Well done.”
Thanks.
Can’t help but to take notice of your dog being smarter than your neighbors for befriending you. Walking the landscape with an oil lamp in hand must also be quite the rich aesthetic compared to, say, a flashlight or car headlights, now all touted as high intensity.
Ah, thank you kind sir. I’ll let Becky know she chose wisely. Ah, the lantern. Too often, I fear it falls into the category of conceit. But, I do like to use it on certain types of walks. It does seem less intrusive.
Hello Brian,
Thanks for the lovely description of your walk in the woods. I too, took a walk in the woods this early afternoon, as it was such a nice day. At least for being this close to the North Pole. LOL My wonderment at the solitude was broken by the sight of so many Ash trees succumbing to the Asian Ash borer, who has begun his cruel work in our area. It makes me wonder if bringing all that cheap crap from China was worth it-and what else will we lose in the bargain.
Sorry to hear of your “neighbor” moving on. But then again they really didn’t fit the definition of neighbor, now did they?
I hope you and your wife had a wonderful Christmas. I certainly did (two new granddaughters).
Well, I know some neighbors that lost their front yard to “cheap crap”. I’ve never seen so many deflated Santa’s in one yard!
Brian,
Beautiful post. Your writing, in particular this post, reminds me of James Herriot’s books. You have a gift for expressing your experiences in clear language that conveys both your laughter in life as well as the wisdom you have gained. Have you ever thought of collecting your posts into a book or two?
Well, now, I can die happy now that I’ve been compared to Mr. Herriot. He was a true master at the small story narrative. Thanks!
Beutiful as always. Am beginning to notice an ongoing fascination with full moons here. Nothing wrong with that I suppose – unless they induce mysterious changes in facial hair…
I’ve always been fascinated by the moon, it seems more personable than the sun.