When the jury has your back but your neighbours tear your house down?
BENT MOUNTAIN THE SCENE OF A TERRIBLE TRAGEDY.—SALEM, VA.
Bent mountain, in this county, was the scene of a terrible tragedy last night. A man by the name of Thomas Webber, who lives in that section, upon returning home found a man by the name of Collins with his wife. Webber remarked that he was going to kill Collins. As soon as he said this he struck Collins with an axe, splitting his head open. Death was instantaneous. No further particulars have been learned.—*Richmond Dispatch.*
November 1886, Salem, Va.
**CONTINUED UNTIL TO-DAY.—**
The case of Thomas J. Webber, for killing Henry Collins recently, was called in the county court last Monday, but on account of the absence of an important witness it was continued until to-day (Friday), when it is probable it will be heard.
**The Jury Acquitted Him.**
The trial of Thomas J. Webber, for the murder of Henry Collins, on Bent Mountain, in December last (the particulars of which are well-known to our readers,) was concluded in the county court last Friday, the jury rendering a verdict of acquittal. The evidence of others, and the statement of Webber, were such as to convince the jury that Webber had committed a justifiable homicide. After hearing the evidence the case was submitted to the jury without argument, and in less than twenty minutes the jury returned with the above stated verdict, which seems to give entire satisfaction. In fact we have never heard any one express a belief that it would be otherwise. The following gentlemen composed the jury: Coleman Smith, J. W. Bushong, E. F. Morgan, T. H. Rhodes, Allen Anderson, John Owens, John Strickler, Wm. A. Brown, James H. Peck, Wm. A. Henderson, George F. Heller, L. D. Marshall. We learn that the jury were unanimous in favor of the verdict rendered.
**THE OLD LOVE TOO STRONG.—**
Thomas Webber, of Bent Mountain, who killed Henry Collins last December for undue attentions to his wife, and who was subsequently tried for murder and acquitted, has lost to some extent, if reports be true, the sympathy of the people of the locality in which he resides. He went back after his acquittal to his old home and lately decided to live with his wife again. Accordingly he rented another house and having fitted it up as comfortably as he could, he and his wife and children moved into their new home.
On the first night of their occupancy, however, a number of unknown men visited the dwelling and pulled it down over their ears, warning them at the same time not to attempt to live together again in that neighborhood.
*Roanoke Times.*
The *Times* is altogether in error in the above item, and does Mr. Webber an injustice. From reliable parties we learn that Webber did not go back to his home with any intention of again living with his wife; but a few days ago he did go there after his children, and took them away, together with some of his household effects. That night, however, some unknown parties went to the house formerly occupied by Webber, and tore it down, but at the time no one was in it, and Mr. Webber was then at the house of a gentleman near Salem, to whom he had engaged to work.
A cave on private property in Catawba that was a popular daytrip spot for locals from Roanoke or a excursion from the nearby Red Sulphur Springs Resort (now the site of Catawba Hospital psychiatric facility) I’ll put the text from one long article below from 1915.
The caverns beneath so-called Murder Hole on top of a mountain about three quarters of a mile north of W. E. Thomas’ farm house in Catawba Valley have been explored by a trio of Roanokers. Prepared for any emergency, Messrs. C. G. Miller, H. H. Yost and Geo. von Kromer, stayed under ground the other day for eleven hours, from 8:30 a. m. to 7:30 p. m. The following story of their subterranean experiences is told by George von Kromer:
The depression, commonly known as “Murder Hole,” 300 feet in length and 150 feet wide, on one of the mountain tops north of Catawba valley has no doubt been visited by many people who could not fail to be impressed with the forbidding look of this awe-inspiring hole in the ground. To gaze upon the immense, moss covered boulders of rock at the bottom, all but hidden in darkness by a depth of 125 feet, and to observe its perpendicular walls, is to shudder at the thought of falling down there. Women with delicate nerves have been known to become faint and sick upon beholding this awful, sinister hole in the ground. Surely, the place is aptly named, but by what incident cannot be said with authority. Some say that a boy, while at play many years ago, was killed by falling in the hole. Others have it that murder was committed there and the body of the unfortunate victim thrown down. In the face of rather conflicting hearsay and in the absence of any definite data, the most plausible explanation why that name is accepted by general consent is, that more than one comparatively recent cave-in, both in its walls and its caverns below, makes this place a murderous trap indeed for any one attempting prolonged habitation therein.
Barring perpendicularly, the only way of entering the depression is from the northeast. Then even it takes a stout heart and steady nerves to safely reach the bottom because of the absence of foothold in some places. Excepting a few feet, the descent is made at an angle of a little more than 45 degrees, and rotting leaves make it more hazardous.
If one, before reaching the bottom, will turn to the right a short distance, an opening three feet high and one and a half foot wide will be seen in the wall. This is the entrance to some caves in which the writer, with two friends, Messrs. C. G. Miller and H. H. Yost, recently spent an entire day. He sought to explore these subterranean recesses, about which no one, so far as we have been able to ascertain, seemed to know anything except the fact of their being there and “full of holes.”
Having been inside a short distance at a previous date, were were convinced of interesting possibilities on further inspection and in consequence were fully equipped with ropes, rope ladders, carbide and electric lamps, cameras with flashlight powder, and other paraphernalia with which to combat any emergency likely to arise. Ample food was taken along, in fact our luggage was extensive, and frequently had to be handed piece after piece from one to the other. The three principal chambers of these caverns are interesting and noteworthy from the fact that they are almost wholly beneath one another. The top, middle and bottom chambers respectively are the centers of three distinct labyrinthine recesses.
With lamps lit, and upon going through the entrance of the caverns, the way immediately became one of sharp descent for about twenty feet when a perpendicular drop through a small, jagged hole, nine feet deep, was necessary. After securing a foothold on the slanty mud bottom, one must drop to the knees and turn to the right in order to come beneath the top of the passage which, 35 feet long, leads abruptly downward to the top chamber. Mud is the predominant feature on the ground all along here and great care must be taken while crawling along the left wall so that no misstep would send one into the black pits on the right below. The top chamber is about 15 by 30 feet in size and fully 20 feet high, but can only be walked upon in the middle, a ridge of rock dividing the chamber in two parts. Several large stalagmites stand here majestically. To the right some small rooms and passages extend for about fifty feet downward. The entire left half of the top chamber is one great yawning hole (the devil’s slide we called it) with a decided twist to the right at thirty feet down further. Ropes are here necessary because of the steep and smooth rock floor.
The “devil’s slide” with its turn opens into the middle chamber which is a little larger and has a more level floor than the one above.
On one end, climbing upward over stalagmites and rock and passing upward over fine tubular stalactites, a wide passage brings one to a rather large room filled with fantastic stalactites of wondrous beauty; on account of the whiteness prevailing on the walls, we named this the white room.
Returning to the middle chamber we perceived, on the other end, an opening, perpendicularly downward, the darkness of which our combined lights would not penetrate. This is the continuation of the “devil’s slide” (on its right side) and seemed to us to go straight into the bowels of the earth. We unstretched a 25-foot rope ladder here and let it down, fastening it to the trunk of a young tree which we had brought down with us. The rope ladders were made of sash cord with 8-inch sticks of wood 16 inches apart. One of us went down with a rope tied under the arms as additional security.
Reaching the end of the ladder, it was seen that the hole takes an opposite turn like a spiral, and exposes to view a portion of the ceiling of a vast chamber. A carbide lamp had been lowered to the one below and after looking for a projection on the sloping rear wall, he found one within reach, about the size of a cup. Bracing himself upon it, he called to his comrades, who were anxious for news, to pull up the ladder and let down the 100-foot rope ladder instead. While waiting, and using the cord as a means to steady himself, he soliloquized upon life’s insecurities in general, and possible immediate punishment for minor indiscretions, in view of the impenetrable darkness of uncertainty below. However, in time, the longer ladder came down and the descent was continued to the bottom. The ladder a little more than reached to a dry knoll in a sea of mud. The luggage tied to a rope was lowered down, after which the other men followed. It was 12:30 o’clock by this time and lunch was made to serve itself. The repast over, we experienced the welcomed diversion of walking, or rather sliding, on more or less level ground. This bottom chamber, uneven in dimensions on account of extensions here and there, is apparently 125 feet wide, over 300 feet long and about 60 feet high, with an extremely slippery substance, glacier mud. Resembling river mud in looks and color, it has the consistency of putty. Little mounds from one to two feet high are everywhere down there, and the deeper places are covered, from two to six inches, with crystal-like water. If slipperyness is one of the desirabilities of a well-appointed ball room, then this bottom chamber could be made to be the finest ball room in the world. Walking there is a ticklish proposition. The farther end of the chamber runs into several passages, the principal one being several hundred feet long, going slightly upward, with crevices here and there.
Probably because of tremendous pressure, this tenacious clay-like substance aforementioned, oozes out of the walls here, forming myriads of adornments for them, of all conceivable shapes and sizes. Whole columns, large and small, standing out or up, would appear to be solid rock, but a finger may be pushed up to it full length or a hand full broken off with ease. Clusters of gorgeous stalactites are seen everywhere, the largest to come under our observation being suspended for about 35 feet from the entrance side of the chamber.
Judging from this and comparing certain facts gathered and calculations made by scientists regarding other caverns, these caverns are as old, if not older, than others in this section of the country. No animal life of any kind was in evidence, except a few bats and some small lizards close to the entrance way above. It is true, at the end of one of the passages leading from the bottom chamber, the skeleton of a small animal (perchance a young ‘possum) is found embedded in half formed rock, due, we believe that the animal fell down the crokscrew hole and died trying to get out. So far as we could discover no human being were ever down there except two, the names of whom evidently were imprinted in the mud with a finger 20 years ago. The inscriptions are “W. H. King, July, 1890,” and “Thayer, July, 1890.” They had been there together, it seems, and the footprints of these two, only were found. We took care not to obliterate the autographs and added our town. The air in the caverns is damp, but otherwise excellent, with a temperature of about 50 degrees Fahrenheit; an inconvenient places were the drops of water regularly trickling down.
The ascent was made with difficulties but without mishaps, though taxing our muscular strength to its utmost capacity.
Scientists tell us that stalactites are formed by carbonates, deposited by drops of water, building at the rate of an inch every century, so that the magnificent large clusters of stalactites we saw must be several thousand years old. And many years before that the cavities must have been formed by agneous energy, which after recession, made the formation of stalactites possible.
While the “Murder Hole” caverns are not as extensive nor so varied in sizes, shapes and numbers than other more famous caverns, there is no absence of all the single and collective beauty of stalactite and stalagmitic formations for which other caverns are known. There are cascades, like foaming cataracts caught in mid air and transformed into transparent amber alabaster; Indian shawls, exquisitely woven, long, hollow blades, “Titan’s swords,” which when sounded, give forth deep sonorous sounds; twig-like projections, lateral outgrowths, to which the name helictite has been applied, are met with uncertain portions of the caves and are interesting by reason of their strange and uncouth contortions. One’s fancy can well imagine so-called “thrones” “Saracens tents,” and other names given to similar formations of magic beauty. Excellent flash light pictures were taken.
The dimensions of the various chambers and passages other than those mentioned, cannot be given on account of the great irregularity of their outlines, both vertical and horizontal. Nor can their size be estimated from a diagram because there are several tiers of galleries with their vertical depths, leading perhaps into larger cavities, other than we have inspected.
Although we have tried to be as thorough as possible on our exploration trip in virgin territory (to us) of Pluto’s domain, we have failed to discover any other out or inlet to these caverns. It is possible, or probable, even, on account of the good air present, that some other means of entrance exists. The possibility also remains that entering passage ways at the bottom, on the level with Catawba valley, and made by receding waters, have been sealed up by an invasion of glacial drift. Marks of that tremendous cataclysm and diluvium deposits are plainly seen at and near the bottom of the caverns.
The theory advanced regarding the formation of Murder Hole itself, is that ageneous energy, after forming the cavities in its recession, undermined the support of certain portions near the top, causing them to collapse. Another theory is that some meteor happened to hit the hollow spot there. However, our magnetic needle was not influenced by the iron which meteors contain and which, in the bulk, large enough to cause such havoc, would not fail to exert some influence. In all probability the former theory is correct.
That “Murder Hole” was once a cavern can be seen by the stalactitic formation on its walls, the surprising fact being their nearness to the top of the ground, high up on a mountain.
Although literally covered with mud from head to foot, and somewhat tired from the continual physical exertion, during our eleven hours stay under ground, we emerged, greeted by the full moon, in good condition and happy at the successful termination of a most enjoyable and instructive trip.”
What he says is true, and while I am glad to have left Tiktok, Twitter and Meta for the most part, and I have enjoyed transitioning primarily into blog form again, after a long hiatus of mutli-syllable content by me. I am reinvestigating blogs I used to read heavily, even some old live journal folk (livejournalists? ) just to sniff around a little. I’m even crossposting there now and again just to have a few backups handy for whatever reason.
I’m happy to return to a rather unfiltered extended spot too… might be nice to see something like webrings or something akin to it return.
In my feelings a little bit about how leaving awful social media platforms can freeze you out of discovery and reach. Even if it’s the right and healthy choice. The post “Oh, baby, you’ll freeze out there.” first appeared on urbanbohemian.
Today felt like: a collective exhale after a heavy week, wrapped in light domestic quiet, comfort food, and a much-needed sense of relief.
The day moved like this:
Hit The Green Goat for lunch for the first time, dining out on the porch. Snagged a Starbucks chocolate chip cookie for dessert on the drive home, and stuck our noses into Kelley’s Music for a moment. Returned home to finish up my FIL’s phone recovery, do a little crafting, and zone out with the in-laws in front of *Kath & Kim*.
I noticed:
• something small: a tiny sweat bee resting briefly on my thumb during lunch on the porch
• something living: a young male deer out back with asymmetrical antlers—a fork on one side, a single lone spike on the other
• something that felt out of place: Victor the Securitron from *Fallout* standing guard on the mantle, blending in reasonably well alongside the usual lineup of gnomes, yeti, Bigfoot, Mothman, and werewolf toys
Victor from Fallout: New Vegas
animals / visitors:
The young fork-and-spike buck making his rounds, and a friendly little sweat bee at lunch.
I kept thinking about:
How local quirks quietly drift away over time. It looks like the Roanoke superhero fad is fading-Hollow King retired, and most of the others have gotten rather quiet.
I’ve also been struggling to stay focused on *Starseekers* by Nicole Glover for book club on Monday. It just isn’t winning me over, and I keep letting myself get lured away by better books (including chewing through *The Martian Chronicles* yet again instead of reading what’s due).
small good things:
• the huge relief of BHK appearing clear of cancer after yesterday’s procedure, even as we wait on final biopsy confirmation
• an onion and olive calzone on the restaurant porch
• getting my FIL’s phone fully recovered with his research intact (even if watching his reliance on AOL and indiscriminate web surfing makes me wince)
• a warm Starbucks chocolate chip cookie for the ride back
Tonight:
Taking a breather with the family, relaxing over TV and crafts, and letting the stress of the medical stuff dissipate.
free write:
This afternoon, BHK was regaling me with stories from back when she was six years old, living in the holler and collecting minnows in the creek.
It was a deeply emotional moment for her to pull those quiet years back up to the surface, but it was clearly such a pleasant, cherished memory. Listening to her recount the feel of the water and the simple focus of watching silver streaks dart around her feet was a lovely reminder of how those small, unburdened pieces of childhood stay rooted in us forever.
After a couple of tense days centered around doctors and waiting rooms, sitting together in the quiet of the house and sharing those gentle, uncomplicated memories felt like the best kind of breathing room.
The location is called Freeway Park, and while it is one of the most interesting single examples of Brutalism in the United States, it is so poorly designed in terms of public safety that it has been renovated multiple times, but continues to be geographically troubling, as its design has facilitated a lot of murders over the years. It was the subject of a funny but gruesome article in The STranger in 2002 called “Topography of Terror.” The city doesn’t keep an official tally of how many murders or assaults have happened in the park, but two men in their 30s were stabbed nonfatally during a robbery there earlier this year, for example.
This is nothing new, but so many folks dont seem to know anything about it. It isnt hard to disable mic use by apps, and it really helps your phone run better to not have them running in the background, while conserving power and data.
If you have an Alexa or Google device listening all the time, I dont know how to help you, unless it is a version you can set up that only listens when you press an activation button of some sort.
a bit better than the last week or two has. Cooler outside this morning, and bodily pain, while still real enough, has dialed down from a seven or eight to maybe a five.
The day moved like this:
Sometime today, I should be getting my FIL’s replacement phone, so I’ll be moving his data over and backing up what I can to an SD card. BHK has a doctor’s appointment today ahead of her procedure tomorrow. Mostly doing chores and chugging along in the usual way.
I noticed:
• something small: an insect on the backyard cam last night, masquerading as a “spirit orb” in the rain • something living: a house centipede making a quick appearance • something that felt out of place: a early-morning junebug clinging to the screen
animals / visitors: Pearl, a house centipede, and a junebug are the first three nonhuman creatures I saw today, though maybe something else will appear before the day is out.
Today’s weight: Offering support for BHK. My main goal today is to be a calm presence and not contribute to the stress she naturally feels whenever she has to deal with anything medical.
small good things: • a chocolate croissant from the farmers market for breakfast • possibility of some arts and crafts later • a refreshingly cool morning breeze on the porch
Tonight: Dinner with the in-laws, though BHK will be fasting in preparation for her procedure tomorrow. Leftovers and TV, I am guessing. I do know we probably won’t be continuing Quirke.
Tomorrow: I am serving as BHK’s driver, which will probably consume the bulk of the day from the morning into the early afternoon.
free write: Checking the backyard camera footage from last night revealed mostly steady rain and the occasional bug drifting past the lens, masquerading as a floating spirit orb in the infrared light. It always amuses me how a tiny speck or a gnat takes on a whole paranormal aura when viewed through a low-res night-vision feed.
Inside, the focus shifts to data preservation. Setting up a replacement phone for family is a high-stakes endeavor when years of research are involved. My father-in-law’s primary concern is ensuring his family history files and edited photos don’t vanish into the digital ether. Getting those safely tucked away onto an SD card, and handling the phone setup is one of those tech chores that feels deeply satisfying to get right as something small I can do for my family that they might have a bit of trouble doing themselves.
Watched the first episode of Quirke last night, and it was possibly the most tropey, predictable noir show I have ever seen. Absolutely nothing new, but I can see the appeal to a certain type of viewer. I read a couple of the books a few years ago and remember them being pretty decent. Not addictive enough to make me seek them all out, but certainly good enough reads to enjoy at the time.
The day moved like this: Spent a chunk of downtime yesterday and today fiddling with my new Palma 2 Pro.
I noticed: Always neat to catch a glimpse of the local wildlife doing its thing, even if it is just a quick blur of motion through the window while the weather stays dreary.
animals / visitors: a deer completely zigzag out back really fast, just sprinting and weaving through the trees like it had somewhere very important to be.
I kept thinking about: I am really unsure why anyone would want a SIM card for it. I assume it makes syncing easier, but if you have Wi-Fi at home or, even better, always carry a phone with hotspot functionality, you can do it in real time without needing another data charge or subscription to monitor. I guess you could use it as a phone if you liked, but that seems to defeat the whole simplicity vibe I mentioned earlier.
small good things: • now that everything is in place, reading is smooth • comics look good on the color e-paper • I can have my Kindle, Libby, and other assorted ebooks and audiobooks in the same place
Tonight: For our evening screen time, we have been watching Beyond Paradise. It is pleasant enough background television, lightweight mystery filler that keeps us entertained without asking for too much heavy lifting. The in-laws are visiting right now, so tonight we are opting for Chinese takeaway with bhk instead of cooking in the kitchen. I am going with the homestyle lo mein with tofu, which always hits the spot on a soggy summer evening like this one.
free write: I like the Palma now, but there was a learning curve yesterday setting it up and making it play nice. The security was glitchy out of the gate, asking for a PIN before I had assigned one, the text size scale was not great off the bat, and everything seemed like it needed a lot of tweaking. Nothing smooth out of the box, to the point where for a moment I was considering returning the thing. I eventually sanded off all the ugly bumps in the interface and got it to play nice, and now I like it quite a bit. I certainly would not recommend it to anyone who does not like to tinker. It has a lot of unnecessary bells and whistles, which seems counter to the simplicity vibe that they are trying to project.
Today felt like: a combination of pressures and releases, almost as if I were being played like a musical instrument.
The day moved like this:
Terrible morning for breakfasts. Herding cats, bad planning, poor accessibility issues (Larry Foot, my back, buffet at Green Goat), Hang 10 closed, Donnie D’s last straw with beef tallow/MAGA/pedo/Mormon/service issues.
Still trying hard not to be a grouch.
BHK got very ill, and her garlic bagel with butter, large orange juice, and ungodly amounts of liquids did an upstairs return to sender.
I noticed:
• something small: a tiny rubber band used to hold cables together under the couch. • something living: a night heron! • something that felt out of place: two food trucks in front of a restaurant. It seemed redundant.
animals / visitors:
deer munching on tree, yellow cat and spiffy bug
The valley:
There is a quiet, heavy calm that settles over the Roanoke Valley on a late July afternoon.
The mountains around us are wrapped in that familiar mid-summer haze, holding in the mild heat while a light breeze moves down off the ridge. It’s the kind of Sunday where the best option is to move slowly, sit on the porch with a cold drink, and watch the clouds drift over the horizon.
something strange:
Today, the whole world seems a bit weird to me. Politics is maddening. The massive amount of ignorance that seems like the norm is so off-putting, but so many people are absolutely wonderful. Sometimes I honestly wonder how humanity manages to be so amazing, funny, terrible and stupid all at the same time.
I’m so glad for the good stuff, and so angry at that bad right now. Lots of feelings.
I kept thinking about:
Taking more time to step away from the glowing rectangles, appreciating the here and now, and letting my brain run idle for a few minutes.
Today’s weight:
Health, mine and my family’s. We have many challenges, and we can meet them with work.
small good things:
• happy blog birthday, Darktrain! https://darktrain.livejournal.com/ 27 years! • Pearl is currently sleeping in a bed that seems roughly 40% too small for her. She refuses to admit this is uncomfortable. •hearing Larry tell stories of being a teenager, horsing around with Ernie and teasing on the farm. Failures at bowhunting, harvesting corn, capturing rabbits.
Tonight:
Recharging our batteries after a lot of stress, heat, and pressure. I am glad we have the facilities to do so.
Tomorrow:
might bring more challenges, but more victories seem likely.
free write:
It started at about 6:30 AM with a glass of tap water and a sweet tabby peering through my soul.
Pearl has a specific look she gives me when she feels I am failing as a steward of her domain. It is not anger, but more like the disappointed head shake of someone who knows better watching me make a rookie mistake. She sat next to the sink, tapped the faucet twice with a silent paw, and waited.
I turned the tap to a trickle. She took three laps of water, looked up at me as if to say, “Thanks, Pop,” and strolled off to sleep on top of the couch.
***
I have been reading a lot lately about data center resource consumption. Millions of gallons of cooling water get pulled from local water tables just so a network can process a slightly better picture of a capybara in a chef’s hat.
There is a disconnect between the invisible weight of modern technology and the tangible reality of our immediate surroundings. Software engineers spend ages trying to abstract away the messiness of hardware. We build virtual machines inside virtual machines, cloud instances on top of distributed clusters, and sometimes we forget that somewhere down the line, physical copper is getting hot and real water is evaporating into the air to cool it down.
Every time I clean a clogged fan on an old PC or watch the municipal water meters around Roanoke, I am reminded that you cannot abstract physical reality forever. Nature always collects its toll in entropy.
farmers market, bagels, small batch liquidations, missed delivery of palma 2 pro, i stayed home due to post-egg-belly-trouble
—
i noticed:
• something small: river pebbles on the roanoke looking dry, but round • something living: a tiny brown moth with white speckles, very pretty ! (royal walnut moth) • something that felt out of place: sky seemed gray, clouds more blue
—
the valley:
a lot of mist coming down the mountain, then riaing up again, like a cotton blanket being aired out
—
animals / visitors:
skinny cat, junebugs, dragonflies, deer and inlaws
—
something strange:
learned my local bagel joint uses beeg tallow in all fried items, no wonder i liked the taste, but as a vegetarian not ordering that stuff again. surprised i’m not angrier.
—
i kept thinking about:
Recently heard folks with ADHD live about a decade less due to comorbidities like depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, and sleep issues.
Add that to being a fairly clumsy, obese, left-handed giant, and I’m honestly surprised I am alive at all at this point. —
today’s weight:
feeling a bit of a gloomy gus. ready to be more of a chipper chuck.
—
small good things:
• egg, cheese and hash brown on salt bagel (not so small, really) • free pile of mini muffins when they had to recall us to put hash brown on our bagels • trinket rade a little found plastic jesus for some cool bug stickers
—
tonight:
“better than sex cake” and thai food was dandy, aus version of death in paradise was weaksauce. good to be with family though.
—
tomorrow might:
be a brighter day
—
free write:
Not much today. Man-thing doodle
Ted Sallis: probably had a worse day overall than me. Why should I grouse?
The day moved like this: The morning started soft; light rain kept things cool, but by noon the air felt thick enough to notice with every breath. Clouds built slowly over the ridge but didn’t commit to anything. Two visits to Altar Coffee (no pastry had arrived yet the first time), McDonald’s, and Dunkin’ to feed the troops. Scrap Collective for a browse: yarn and crafty bits, a sticker book, and two very reasonably priced hand-knit sweaters.
View from the parking lot at Dunkin’
I noticed:
Something small: sweat drying almost as fast as it formed on my forehead.
Something living: a bird sitting still in the shade, beak open.
Something that felt out of place: a sudden cool pocket of air near the trees, in the parking lot of the Dunkin’ while we ate egg and cheese McGriddles.
BHK got 10 punch buggies on my 3.
The valley: hazy, softened, like the mountains were holding their distance.
Animals/Visitors: Very little moved much during the day. Everything was waiting. The brown bird, and a deer out back. A young groundhog on Electric/419 being smart and keeping off the pavement. In-laws watching movies in the evening. Enola Holmes 3 (yawn), last episode of Hardacres. Pearl clucking at BHK at 5 am. Saw Annette for the first time in an age in old SW.
Something strange: the feeling that the storm was there, just not yet visible.
I kept thinking about: how weather can feel like a decision being made.
In Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, the phrase “I obscenity in the milk…” appears frequently. It is, in fact, an expurgated version of the Spanish saying Me cago en la leche de la puta que te date la luz, which translates directly to “I s— in the milk of the whore that bore you”.
Fannnnnntastic. Adding that to my mental file immediately. I wish I had learned it in school back when I first read it.
