A Bluebell Nighthawk

Vol. 145, March 25th, 2025 Published a day early online

The Off-Road Bus

I wouldn’t call you imaginary. You’re real, but you’re there, and I’m here, and an off-road bus doesn’t exist.

But still...sometimes I feel like I’m adventuring down some path with all of you, on a ramble with imaginary friends, all piled in the activities bus. Wouldn’t that be fun? The thing better have knobby tires and an off-road suspension.

I’m always on some out of the way trail. Yesterday it was a duck off the main drag onto a soft sandy path on Percival’s Island in Lynchburg. It used to be a railroad yard. But the trains are gone, and only the ghosts of industry remain: a paved-over path where the tracks were, a crumbling brick wall deep in the woods, and a few steps leading to nowhere.

The spicebush is starting to flower where they’d line up the hoppers, and a half-dozen turtles basked on a rock in the now-quiet James river. I thought of you, wishing we could all take a tour of this early spring garden together.

Until we get that imaginary tour bus, I’ll stick to bringing you the written report. Look, just under those trees. Clumps of green leaves, and the nodding flowers of bluebells. Spring at last.

Hey, is that another turtle on the opposite bank?

Island Life

Bluebells nod in the early spring breeze on Percival’s Island, Lynchburg, VA.

I sure hope this is a bluebell. Whatever it is, it looks nice.

Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week

Hisself (himself): “He picked an entire row of beans all by hisself.”

Happy Birthday, Aretha Franklin

(1942-2018) The “Queen of Soul” would be 83 today. The pinnacle of 60’s soul, her “Respect” and “Chain of Fools” echo through the years.

Quote of the Week

“Few people have the imagination for reality.”

–Goethe

Album of the Week

Mozart: Symphonies 40 & 41/Karl Bohm

Add a little beauty and order to your day with this excellent recording by the Vienna Philharmonic. Don’t have the CD? Snag it with your phone on YouTube, or try the Spotify app.

Write to Us!

The Nighthawk is a new old-fashioned way to connect, published weekly. You’re invited to write back, or just enjoy reading. Let’s have some fun! It’s a social paper! Send stories, etc to: PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or Joshurban@protonmail.com

Letters from Josh

(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #226)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: The Shadowbox

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! You should have been there. “I hate to sound over the top, man, but if you could put a day in a shadowbox, what would it be?”

Tim eyed me over his microphone. One of the seniors on the retirement home podcast, he was used to strange questions, but this?

I continued. “I was spinning records at a nursing home years ago, and they were doing a shadowbox project–putting mementos of their lives into a neat little display case: a Navy pin, a favorite baseball logo. That was cool and all, but what if you could do that with days? What times would you put in it?”

I told them about the non-date that following evening with a girl who thought I was a goof, but I didn’t care. “We went to the worst concert. There was a confetti gun. I snagged a piece, as if I could press the memory in storage something. She half-laughed at me, but I didn’t care. That shadowbox build got me thinking about stuff worth remembering. Who’s got a day like that?”

Jane bailed me out. “My wedding.”

“Tell us about it.” So she did. The cake, the plethora of wedding crashers, how they decorated her car. Then Harold chimed in. “I took a 75 mile bike trip on a perfect spring day once.” We sat and listened to his memory, almost feeling the breeze, and seeing tiny bubbles in the celebratory glass of wine.

Bikes led to more bikes. Lucy piped up about the day she got hers as a little girl. “A naval commander had moved, and my father’s friend found the Japanese bicycle they had left behind. It was smaller, and perfect for me.”

James shared the story of braving the hill on two unfamiliar wheels, and the repainted red Christmas present of freedom and adventure. “Nothing like a bike.”

We didn’t even get to summer nights at the ballpark, or beach trips, or Sunday shenanigans, or the smell of flowers in the late summer on the river. There’s a lot to remember.

On one hand, the topic seems silly, trivial, useless. What’s one person’s memory to another? But–life would be gray without a day or two to treasure. Hearing someone else’s keeps us human.

I realized it later: the conversation on the podcast marked five years since the COVID lockdown. Back then, it didn’t look like anyone would ever have a normal day again. But, things started to shine through. People are tough like that. They refused to be flattened. I worked in another nursing home during that time, and realized I could follow rules that didn’t make sense. I can still smell my cowardice and confusion, mingling with the chemicals of the fresh mask each morning. Some good parts showed up, too. I’d help a lady sneak out to the courtyard, and we’d eat lunch like people and remember what was real. (Until we got busted.) Another resident taught me how to play cribbage. I think I’ll put that in my shadowbox, too, so I’ll never forget what a gift an ordinary day is.

What’s in yours?

–Josh