This morning, we awoke to a frigid dampness and a gray Virginia. The phrase "bone-chilling" is an overworked one, but there are times when one can truly understand the origin of such expressions. In the early light of this particular Sunday, we felt the cold seep into our bones. We felt as if we were moving in slow motion, every small task a monumental effort.
After breakfast, we went on to church early, because a group of us were meeting to pray for the new Sunday School classes. As we were preparing to leave, icy snow spattered down across Possum Cough, driving the warmth even further from our bones.
When we arrived at church, we met an older couple who used to be members of our church. They moved away some years ago, and are now spending weekends in Bristol because they are renovating one of their houses, a house occupied by their daughter until recently. So while they are in the area on weekends, they'll be fellowshipping with us'ns. They seemed to be nice, down-to-earth folks.
We ended up missing the prayer meeting, because we assumed that the folks milling around were there for the same reason we were. Turns out that the prayer group was already underway in one of the Sunday School classrooms, and everyone else was just there to coffee-up and socialize before classes started. Ah, well.
I was a little disappointed that my class won't be meeting in the library. Instead, I was assigned to teach in classroom #4, a room about the size of our dining room and office combined. Very stark, very utilitarian. At least it had a white board and a podium. I much prefer the library, though. A homier feel, and more room.
I was very surprised and pleased to see the number of people who came for my class. We were literally a capacity crowd. There were 12 people crammed into that little room. And in short order, the body heat combined with the furnace's forced-air heat and turned the place into an oven. I could feel my face getting red as I taught, and I could tell that others were uncomfortable. I'm hoping we can make other arrangements for next week. At any rate, I was pleased with the class, and it went well. And as always, it meant the world to me for my beloved MeeMaw to be sitting there, listening and silently encouraging me as I introduced my solemn subject to a dozen souls.
When we came home, we ate a light lunch of leftovers, then did some reading. By 2:00 pm, we were both sleepy, so we put on a CD of classical music ("Great Choral Anthems"), turned down low, and MeeMaw stretched out on the couch while I did the same on the loveseat. The wind moaned around the house and the pine tree out front bowed and swayed in the high wind, and we slept for over three hours. Yes, you read that correctly.
At almost exactly 5:30, the cats came in and awakened me, since their unerring belly clocks told them that it was time for the old man to make with the vittles. I got up and fed them and the barn cats outside, and we spent fifteen minutes marveling at the length of our nap and speculating about how difficult it will be to sleep tonight as a result. But weekends are good things, and we've used ours well, three + hour nap included.
Friday, we finally got our seeds ordered for our gardening projects. The only thing we couldn't get from our seed company (they sell only heirloom seeds; no genetically-modified crap seeds at all) was seed potatoes. We're planning to plant potatoes and mangle beets (which will serve as feed for goats and chickens) up in the south pasture. Gabriel (next door) has offered to plow up a plot for us.
MeeMaw had to work yesterday. After she got home and after we finished a few oddjobs, we headed back down to Kingsport. We spent a little time in one of our favorite antique shops, "The Haggle Shop." It was a great day for browsing: gray, rainy, not very many people around. We could have spent hours and hours in there; we were both in a mood to browse and poke around. MeeMaw found a pretty little antique mirror. I saw several books I would have liked, but decided not to get them just yet. More on used books in a moment.
Then we went next door and ate at our favored Stir-Fry cafe. MeeMaw got chicken teriyaki and a California roll (sans roe, of course), and I got an order of sake-maki (salmon sushi) and a bowl of beef lo mein. I wanted tekka-maki (tuna sushi), but the waitress explained that they were out of tuna. Stir-Fry offers half-price sushi on Wednesday nights, and apparently, it's a big hit. They have some difficulty knowing how much tuna to order, as it is flown in fresh from Hawaii once a week and they don't want to get too much, for obvious reasons. Anyway, the salmon was good, and we enjoyed the meal. The only negative aspect was the red pepper sauce with which they decorated MeeMaw's plate's edges. She got a bit of it on a bite of her chicken, and her reaction was, shall we say, picturesque. She offered me a bite, and I can attest that the sauce was incendiary.
When we were driving home, we passed through the Lynn Garden area. The local feed store had a big sign out front: "Seed taters are here!" Another problem solved for PeePaw.
Speaking of things agrarian, I read a lovely essay over at Gene Logsdon's blog. The old contrary farmer offered a profile of Harlan Hubbard. I highly recommend y'all give it a read.
I mentioned used books earlier...MeeMaw found out that the Kingsport Public Library is having their great used book sale next weekend. Guess where MeeMaw and PeePaw will be on Saturday, d.v.? Last time we went, we spent eighteen bucks, if memory serves, and walked out with four or five big bags loaded down with great finds.
Also on Saturday, we hope to attend this year's Home Show down at Meadowview. Last year, we had just bought Possum Cough and were enmeshed in moving preparations, so we didn't get to go. We're looking forward to it. If it's half as much fun as the Farm Show was a few weeks back, we're in for a treat. Plus, free stuff!
The wind is still literally howling out there, and the temperatures are supposed to drop down into the teens. Our springtime ruminations will have to remain in our minds for now. Winter is still firmly settled in at Possum Cough.
I'll leave y'all with a photo of tonight's sunset, along with one of my favorite works by the great Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas. Rest well, loved ones.
THE FORCE THAT THROUGH THE GREEN FUSE DRIVES THE FLOWER
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.
