Sunday, October 14, 2012
The Deck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Out here in Backroads, our trees are BEAUTIFUL!
I feel like I am living in a New England calendar. Genius was dispatched this afternoon to record the views with hues for posterity. I suggested the glowing yellows down by the creek in the mailbox vicinity, or the street in town by the library and the dead-mouse-smelling post office. Genius, however, held out in favor of Hick's creekside cabin foliage. Most of which is now on the deciduous forest floor, thanks to last night's storm. That little structure in the background is not the cabin. It's a deer feeder.
The mailbox area caught my fancy when I stepped out to get the mail this afternoon on my way to town for a 44 oz. Diet Coke. No, we don't have mail delivery on Sunday. We have mail delivery on Saturday, and three guys who would forget their head if it wasn't held on by that flap of skin called a neck. The sky was overcast, making those yellow trees pop all the more. The air had that fallish smell of crushed leaves. But the wind whipped like the lion of March.
It was not an ill wind blowing no good. More like a wind of fortune. A windfall. The green metal pipe mailbox custom-made by Hick contained a letter for Genius from Missouri S&T. The school of science and technology. Formerly the University of Missouri-Rolla. Way formerly the School of Mines. The letter offered Genius a scholarship package of $8,500 per year. Nothing to sneeze at. He has until May 1 to accept. Right now he still has his heart set on MIT, then Stanford, then Washington University. He looks at Missouri S&T as his safety school. I look at it as a perfectly suitable choice for his engineering major.
That wind was out of control. Last night, it blew right into the very wall of Genius's bedroom window. He had a leak from the top of the window to the sill. Hick thinks the rain blew horizontally and ended up coming in through the soffit on the front porch roof. He checked the attic, and could find no evidence of a roof leak.
As I exited my Tahoe to re-fill-up my 44 oz. cup of liquid energy, the wind whipped around me like an invisible cartoon Tasmanian Devil. I daresay my shirt would have gone up over my head if I hadn't plastered it to my sides with both arms. The gales of November have come early. Such blustering should not be felt in Missouri. Backroads convenience store parking lots are NOT as exposed as the deck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
I love this season.