“There are times for sleep, for inactivity, dreaming, indiscipline, even lethargy. You’ll know when you deserve these times. They come after you’ve been broken.”
― Mark Helprin, A Soldier of the Great War
This morning P and I were puffing up the hill to the Ridgeline, through the jungle that has exploded to life all around us here at Tara.
"You know, I'm becoming a Yankee," P observed with her east Tennessee lilt.
"How do you figure?"
"It's forty-something degrees out here, and it didn't even occur to me to put on a coat."
She's right. We are in fact becoming Yankees. Next thing you know we'll be fixing bland suppers, or stopping for an ice cream and a Spiedie instead of a cabernet while we're wandering these hills.
It is in fact beautiful up here.
P and I have spent a lot of time in those two chairs over the last three evenings, enjoying cool breezes and sun and rain showers. We've also struggled with the incredible volume of pollen showering down continuously on us and everything around us. P's eyes about swelled shut on Saturday, and I've been shuffling around sniffling and hacking most of the weekend.
It almost didn't happen, my being here I mean. On Friday I was booked on a 2 p.m. flight out of ECP, then through ATL to DET, then on a final leg to ELM. Each layover was a little over an hour. No sweat, right?
Although ECP was a mob scene, I boarded the first flight right on time, and arrived at the gate at Hartsfield a little ahead of schedule. There was just enough time for a late lunch at the Sky Club, working on files so I wouldn't lose all this otherwise billable travel time, then down to the gate for the flight to Detroit.
I arrived to a milling mob and a voice on the loudspeaker: the crew's connecting flight had not arrived, there was weather in Florida, and our departure time was pushed back from 5:45 to 6:50. I dialed up my itinerary on my phone--the new arrival at Wayne County Regional would leave zero time to make it from Gate A54 to B20, a sprint two-thirds of the way across a very big airport. I brooded on this, texted P that I might not make it, and started working on other plans. Google maps said the drive time from Detroit to Corning would get me home at about 5 a.m. I've done it before, but didn't relish the thought. At least it would beat sleeping in a hotel or on the floor at the airport. Delta was already sending me messages asking if I wanted to re-book on a 2 p.m. flight the following day to Elmira. Nope, I'd definitely be driving all night.
The crew finally weaved through the crowd and onto the plane, and we pushed away a couple minutes earlier than the delayed start time. I was in a foul state of mind as we climbed out over the Smokeys. The steward delivered a couple little Woodbridge Select bottles, and waved off my credit card. I worked, read, and tried not to think about what was unfolding this Friday night.
Arriving in Detroit, there was a delay getting to the gate. Perfect. Plus, I was thirty-three rows into the bowels of the 757, and those ahead of me didn't seem in much of a hurry. Time ticked by. The going was so slow, in fact, that I had time to reserve a car with Hertz for the likely next leg.
Finally emerging from the jetway and juking past shuffling oldsters, I ran sweating and panting to the B concourse. The Elmira flight was at the very last gate, of course. As I approached, now five minutes past departure time, a tall woman in a Delta uniform waved at me from the ticket counter.
"I'm glad to see you. We were waiting."
"You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Thank you, thank you, thank you." I could feel myself misting up. What can I say? It'd been a long week.
I landed in my seat back by the lavatory with a thud, and texted P. I was coming home.
The flight landed at ELM around ten. Peg was waiting at the truck, right across from the statue of Mark Twain lounging in front of baggage claim. A Slane on the rocks was resting in the cup holder. We were both so tired, but not ready to call it a night. We sat up until 1:30 talking, then fell dead asleep.
The next day we tried to sleep late but were up and about by seven. After a late breakfast we rode out to Keuka Lake for a snack and a chance to sit outside on a day deemed too hot for outdoor activity by our New York friends. It was supposed to get all the way to 91. I guess our transformation into Yankees remains incomplete.
Turns out most of the dining establishments up on the lake are still closed for the season, and for lack of help according to one owner who walked out to talk with us when we pulled up. He suggested hitting one of the wineries on the ridge above the lake, which was advice we happily followed, splitting a too sweet bottle of rose over some goat cheese and crackers, enjoying the warmth and the view.
On the way down the hill toward Hammondsport we drove up on a doe that seemed oddly nonplussed by our truck idling maybe twenty feet away.
Swinging by the house to change clothes, we easily made our 2:39 tee time at the country club. Perhaps due to the heat, we had the entire course to ourselves, riding around whacking golf balls and talking about life. I always play better on a deserted course.
Sunday brought bad news, when we heard during church over in Addison that Josh was following his husband, a Lutheran pastor, who'd accepted a call in Philadelphia. "We just don't see maintaining a marriage five hours apart," he observed. "Boy, do we get that," I whispered in P's ear.
Not sure what's coming for that lovely little church. With maybe twenty at the rail on Sundays, they'll be hard-pressed to do anything other than morning prayer three Sundays a month and supply clergy for a monthly Eucharist.
After church Peg put me to work hanging curtains and trying to install these giant air conditioners she bought while I was away. Turned out we needed tools for the latter, although the former turned out okay.
Now trying to get into gear on a day that was supposed to be filled with a now-cancelled Zoom deposition. Instead I'll be working on an appellate brief, if I can get myself focused. Ju Ju and Lily need a ride to dance practice mid-afternoon, and the foster grandparents (that would be us) agreed to cover. I haven't seen the girls in several weeks. Looking forward to it.
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