Vol. 95, April 9th, 2024 Published a day early online
Writing Books & Houses
“That’s a nice kitchen, Josh, but...do you even know how to cook?”
I leaned back, sheepish. “...Yes...I mean, I did.” I also knew something about trigonometry–once– but have gone Sam Cooke on that, too.
Carol (of Appalachian Word of the Week) eyed me skeptically.
“Ah!” I said, going back to the house plans I was showing everyone. “I do have a microwave on order. I can work that.”
It’s official: I’m getting a house built. It’s a modest little modular, and should suit me fine. (Especially the microwave.) The basement walls are up, the floor is poured, and it goes up soon. I put beehives in the back yard, and caught a swarm yesterday. It’s an auspicious start for a new chapter.
Speaking of chapters, there’s a new book in the works, too, and you’re invited to contribute (ideas, not money). The working title is Early Work. It’s a guided notebook for users to document their past–their “early work” to borrow a musician’s phrase. It’ll be filled with prompts like “your first car” and “how you met your spouse”, plus some zany questions like “what would my theme song be?”
I could use some more ideas. Send along ideas for prompts. And a recipe for me to try in the new house.
Joshurban@protonmail.com or PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588
From the Ground Up
The new house build is rolling along. The freshly-poured basement floor looks spiffy, don’t it?
Book of the Week
Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit (PG Wodehouse)
Choose this the next time you need a laugh and some good clean fun from ‘54. The audio book is excellent, too.
Quote of the Week
“The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do.”–Galileo
War’s End/Surrender at Appomattox
The bloody Civil War ended at Appomattox court house on this day, 1865. It seems worth studying–and remembering the lessons.
Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week
C. Stuart sends along Blinked: “No! Don’t use that milk! It’s blinked.” (Soured, rotten.)
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. #180)
Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: “New Toy Alert”
Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! Andy Griffith’s Mayberry is modeled after his hometown of Mt. Airy, NC. Grady grew up there, too, at about the same time. Good thing for me he moved north. The War in the Pacific didn’t make him bitter. A twinkle in his eyes gave hints about the brilliance behind them–physicist, engineer, discoverer–but it was easy to miss if you didn’t slow down. He married, raised a family, and lived as a kindly grandfather across the way. One evening, he came to dinner. Somebody said he brought a telescope.
My ten year old ears pricked up. A telescope!
“Reckon we can have a look after dessert” he said in a voice as mellow as a Carolina afternoon.
The adults conversed at half speed, voices drowsy in the heavy air. I tried not to rattle my fork. The November wind seemed impatient, too. It rattled the door. After about fifty years, the plates where cleared, and it was time.
The wooden box held a small white telescope. Dad and John fiddled with the mount while Grady aimed with the iron sights, ready to shoot down a planet. “There! Almost...wait...Jupiter!” The tiny disc of the gas giant swam into the eyepiece, sporting twin stripes of cloud belts, with the four main moons that Galileo saw, points of light in a line. Oh, you’re kidding.
More wrestling of the scope, more aiming and squinting, and..Saturn. It really had a ring. I’d never be the same. The planets belonged in books, in kiddie drawings, real, of course, but out of my way. But now, far out in the night, they existed. I was happy for three days.
Time passed as it always does. Sadly, Grady died a long time ago. I’ve been hooked on space ever since that evening. Hundreds of people have viewed the planets through my own collection of telescopes. It’s still hard to behave, too, but it shows up in different ways now.
“Mom, by the way, I’m heading up to Charlottesville tomorrow for a bad decision...but it’s not a girl or anything.”
The line was silent for a moment. “You’re buying another telescope, aren’t you?”
“Well...it’s a good deal, and my buddy has it, and it’s a piece of history, and...” (How do mothers know?)
The miles flew by on Saturday, the mountains rose up, fell away, and the early green of the tulip poplars waved from the roadside. Borderline graffiti marred the wooden box: “TELESCOPE. HANDLE WITH CARE.” Ironic is how the buddy put it. Inside, the small white tube from 1965 spoke of everything a telescope should be. It looked like Grady’s. I bought it.
Oh, to go back in time, and thank him for changing my life. If I were sitting at the table now, I’d lean over, and tell young Josh to be patient with the grown folks. Give ‘em another few minutes to talk. It goes faster than you’d think.
The new scope works great, showing Jupiter’s bands, with an echo of that November evening when the planets came to life. I’ll think of Grady every time I use it.
What a world(s).
Catch you on the flip side,
– Josh
The 1965 (ish) Unitron 760 looks west over the Shenandoah valley