The Good Neighbor

Mid-afternoon of a mostly cloudy Sunday, looking out at the front yard from a table under the evergreen tree, and the mosquitoes are a-buzzing. I’m fast learning how to gear up for time spent in the yard when dampness, or whatever it is draws the females from their caves. I read in a book somewhere that only the female mosquitoes bite, but if that is true then what do the males do for their vampirish needs? The prevalence of mosquitoes here in Oak Hill reminds me a little of Louisiana where in certain places and times of year they can be ferocious. This area has seen squalls of rain for each of the past several days and along with a refreshment of everything green, it’s brought out the mozzies. For refreshed green, notice the lush Liverwort wrapped around the trunk of the tree behind the table. A few days ago that was completely brown and shriveled. I thought it was dead. 

With the help of family this morning another great heap of stuff got loaded up and delivered to the house. I have the bookcases here now, but am reluctant to fill them as they become too difficult to move with books in them, and there is good chance I will want to shift furniture around finding the best arrangement. All the books are now in the country, but wait in tall stacks around the walls of both bedrooms. Eventually, they will find a spot in bedroom or living room. For now I am doing my best to sort them all, arranging the categories. For the past three years my shelving has been mostly random, but this time I hope to bring a little more order to the shelves. For too long Moby Dick has stood pressed against Captain Jack’s Woman.

The heavy lifting these past few days is starting to show in the bone-deep tiredness I feel each night. Returning to the beach last night it was all I could do to make it from dirty clothes to shower to bed. And then at 7:30 this morning I got a text from sister Beverly saying, “On the way. Get ready to load cars!” Well, thank God for family and friends, but without a push I would have slept until noon on this traditional day of rest for everyone but coal miners.

Had a good talk with my closest neighbor earlier. Randy and his wife divide their time between Florida and New Hampshire and will be returning north in about three weeks. He is a goldmine of information for someone like myself who is new to the area. But in connection with something I realized a week ago, these country folk are quick to offer help. The reason Randy came over was to ask if there was anything he could do to assist with the unloading and carrying of bins from car to house. A few minutes later the subject turned to lawnmowers and Randy offered, “If it turns out the lawnmower needs repair, give me a call and we can put it in my truck and take it to the shop.”

A restaurant not far from here serves breakfast for $3.18. They offer what they call a 2-2-2; two eggs, two pancakes or slices of French toast, two sausage or slices of bacon and coffee. Hard to eat breakfast at home for that price.

On Old Dixie Lane

Today’s carload of items going from beach to country filled both trunk and backseat, a few bucket loads more than usual. As always were the books, doubled this time, a bunch of kitchen things like plates, bowls and glasses, the hi-fi system, fountain pen washing machine, an outdoor chair, bottled water and clothespins, the wooden kind 50 for a dollar at the Dollar Store. And for all that the house now has the tinge of being inhabited—or at least part-time since there is still no bed anywhere.

An hour after getting everything unpacked and put away, I saw some specks on one of the windows and ended up washing all the windows and the glass doors going out to the screened porch. Who doesn’t love newly washed windows? Still buzzing with energy, I started with the cobwebs on the porch and didn’t stop until I had brushed the majority away, say five pounds. Couldn’t stop there so swept the concrete floor of the porch, but what felt like only the first layer. I will have to go back to that a couple more times. What I would really like to do is put outdoor green carpet over the whole floor.

A tile just outside the screened porch

Manny stopped by and asked if I would run him up to the small store in Scottsmoor five minutes south on US 1. He showed me a back way that I was unaware of and gave me a good look at some of the land around my house. A half mile down from me someone has what looks like a farm with a herd of goats mixing and mingling with the cows. The second surprise was learning of the small store so near to home, which includes the sale of gasoline cheaper than anywhere else within fifty miles or more. Finding this was good timing because a friend with a truck is helping me move stuff on Saturday and I can fill his tank for a good price before he heads home.

Seems cooler on Old Dixie Lane today. Cooler than yesterday and the mosquitoes don’t seem as bad either. But then, I’m wearing my poison wristband guaranteed to ward off winged pests. Maybe it’s working better today than yesterday. My sister suggested tucking a sheet of Bounce fabric softener, half in-half out of a pocket, that it would send to all bugs the scent of death. What a thing, to be conjuring death in this green paradise.