A Green House Nighthawk
+ Happy Birthday to Gene Wilder
Vol. 104, June 11th, 2024 Published a day early online
The Green House
The sprinkler remains a puzzle.
Boyhood summers were graced by the robin’s egg sky, and the squeak of the front gate on the way out to play. But like a water dragon guarding Mrs. B’s flowers down the block, a sprinkler lurked then, too.
Mrs. B sparked my love of gardening, and always had snacks for the neighborhood munchkins. Visiting was a must. The sprinkler guarded the sidewalk, though. There’s only two cycles, but it was one too many.
With a rat-a-tat-tat, it would chase me down, no matter my heart-pounding calculations. I’d show up for a treat, dripping.
Another blue sky gazes down at me today, as a grown man putting in the lawn at my new place. Remember that “flying house” picture from a few weeks back?
Well, the contractors raised a whirlwind of dust and hammering, and roared off, leaving a serene home to live in. It’s done. The mountain guards in the distance. Three crows patrol every morning, and a red-wing blackbird reigns king of the old horse pond. This house with the green siding needs a lawn to match.
I’m almost getting the hang of these sprinklers. Almost. Look out!
Happy Birthday, Gene Wilder
Born in Milwaukee, the legendary actor would be 91 today. He was also a talented pianist (even adding soundtracks to some of his films), and had a fear of flying.
Know Your Meme
This image of G. Wilder looking unimpressed has lead to a series of “condescending Wonka” memes.
Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week
Carol Stuart of Roanoke sends this along: Hope: Help. “Let me hope you.” Makes sense, especially when one is in a bind.
Quote of the Week
“The only way to find your voice is to use it.”
–Austin Kleon
Book of the Week
Play It Loud
(Tolinski & Di Perna)
A history of the electric guitar, and how technology gave rise to rock ‘n roll. It’s a big inspiration for my American Sound lecture series.
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. #189)
Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: Heading West
Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! Maybe I should have been a dog. They notice. They investigate. They play. I got to thinking of this heading west out of Richmond the other day. Had I bought two energy drinks instead of the one, I would have put my head out the car window to better take the air.
The privet was finished blooming, but the vetch flowered pink on the roadside banks, great for both bees and the traveler appreciating the view–and smell–of the countryside. Rain brewed in the distance, and the forest grew dense and humid. All around, life bustled into a fragrant summer.
The road stretched towards the sinking sun, past pine cuts and soybean fields, into the denser woods, out to where the hills start to roll. I watched through my dusty windshield, and hoped that the towering clouds to the south would show mercy. Please rain.
‘Round about now, a dog would stick his head out the window, and enjoy the smells. People have to stay seated. That’s the price one pays for driving. I compromised, and rolled the window down, letting the hot breath of June blow in. All manner of trees and barns and wildflowers rolled by at sixty miles an hour. I watched the roadside show.
A dog could leave it at that, but I’m a silly man. I need a reason to tell you about how dramatic the high-tension towers looked framed by the thunderheads, and what a nice job some unknown farmer did with his round bales.
There’s a gem of a book from ‘61 called The Phantom Tollbooth. It’s technically for young adults, but like the Muppets, packed with nuggets for the rest of us. In one chapter, the protagonist visits the city of Reality. It’s completely invisible. The residents got wrapped up in their own routines, looking only at their shoes as they hurried from one place to the next. Ignored, the city gradually fell into decay, and then obscurity. People bustled up and down unseen steps, through doors that used to be beautiful, along streets that faded into nothing. Nobody noticed.
In today’s world, we still see the streets...or do we? It’s been nice to pay attention to the ordinary, the everyday. It’s easy to ignore. Lately, I’m seeing something else: the resentment, the destruction, the willful tearing down of what’s always been.
The empty streets during COVID rattled my cage, and taught me to relish the everyday rhythms (even traffic) of “normal life.” I didn’t realize it was so fragile. I hadn’t noticed before.
Maybe I’m making a drive west on a June afternoon into something it’s not. Maybe I should stay in dog mode. Smelling the breeze is it’s own reward. Either way, the sentiment is the same. The everyday is worth cherishing. It starts with noticing it.
Catch you on the flip side,
Josh
Send treats and postcards to P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588, or on X @RealJoshUrban