(For the audio version, click above, or visit the podcast.)
Vol. 71, October 24th, 2023 Published a day early online
Quote of the Week
“I never saw a discontented tree. They grip the ground as though they like it, and though fast rooted they travel about as far as we do.” – John Muir
One For The Books
Living in a Postcard
It was a perfect day. The wind charged up the mountainside, tried to knock my hat off, failed, and went to shake vermilion maple leaves off the ridge line.
The valley unfurled below, a vast patchwork quilt of farms and towns, rolling west to endless chains of blue mountains, while cloud shadows chased each other across the foothills. Up in the heights, the leaves danced in full splendor, brilliant against the blue sky, granite boulders and crags offsetting the color with a cool lichen gray.
I’ve been visiting these mountains with my parents since the toddler days. Grown now, I sat and talked with dad, meeting halfway for snacks and views through the solar telescope.
Tourists wandered across the parking lot at the scenic overlook, marveling at the (safe) view of our nearest star, the reason for every leaf on every tree.
We talked life and science and God and aliens–good conversation around a telescope, even in the middle of the day.
There’s something in the silent song of weathered rock and gnarled branch that feels like home.
Listen close to this letter, and you might hear the wind, too.
The Blue Sky Route
Built during the 1930s’, Skyline Drive winds along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Autumn colors blaze roadside in October.
Happy Birthday, Papa Smurf
The little blue men make their TV debut this day in 1958, from Belgium artist Peyo.
Book of the Week
The First Circle (Solzhenitsyn, 1968)
A Soviet prison for scientists is the first circle of hell (it could be worse), a nod to Dante’s Inferno.
Share Your Story
(Replacing Down the Rabbit Hole)
What’s the best place you’ve traveled to, and what did you learn there? Drop us a line with the details: 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. #157)
Appearing in the Altavista Journal: Late Night Radio– The Birdie Things
Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show. It all started on a postcard October day not too long ago–a warm, green day to remember when February refuses to relent. The Indian Summer sun smiled down as I lugged a crate of classic records into the venue, and ran the speaker wire. When I’m not a pretend newspaper DJ, I’m a real one for parties. In they came, in twos and threes, dressed with autumn outfits of orange and gold. Most folks wait till Friday night to party, but the seniors at the Campbell County Library fall picnic were more sensible than that. Tuesday morning at ten would be fine. There were pumpkins to paint, and candy corn in a jar to guess. (15,537 is wrong.)
Normal people spoke of normal things. I stood by the record player, spinning Elvis tunes, soaking it in with my newfound appreciation of the ordinary. The “normal” seemed boring, until we gave it away during COVID. How sweet a smile is.
I’ve been a lot of things. Some of them were good, but ungrateful sure was a shame. Maybe it’s part of being (formerly) young. Maybe it’s living in a first world country, where the triumph of the past becomes invisible, leaving only the flaws of today on display. Instead of seeing the gifts of civilization, I noticed only the shadows. Thankfully, over the years, people older and wiser than me told stories of sacrifices in the mines and farms, on the battlefields, and in the foundries. I read some more, appreciation dawning. Modern life didn’t simply show up. It was built. (Sometimes it takes me a moment to catch up.)
I used to be more naïve. Do you know if you say “orange” slow enough, it sounds like “gullible?” (That’s a joke.) Why can’t everyone just dance their troubles away? Well... no. Look at the horror in Israel. It’s dawning on me what a privilege it is to be able to dance in peace. It cost so much. Whatever made us think it was permanent? It seems important to realize this, and value it, especially if we’d like to keep it.
Back to the party. One of the librarians told me Chick-fil-A had brought lunch.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: GREAT NEWS!” I leaned into the microphone, eyes sparkling.
“It’s almost time to EAT MOR CHIKIN.” With a flourish and a press of a button, I hopped out onto the dance floor. “Allow me to demonstrate!”
“The Birdie Song” filled the air. Soon, a bunch of us flapped our arms and frolicked, doing the chicken dance. I strutted like a rooster, bobbing my head. “Look at all these hens up here.”
If it’s a luxury to be silly, dig my diamond rings. It’s the birdie things, man. Times are tough in the world. I’m doing what I can to appreciate what I have, including dancing like a fool, and realizing it’s a gift. Maybe that will help preserve it. You won’t catch me ungrateful. But if you do, chuck a chicken nugget at me.
Catch you on the flip side,
Josh