Letters from Josh
A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city.
10/04/22 Vol. 102
Howdy, folks! Happy October! It strikes me that Oktoberfest is Fall’s version of St. Patrick’s day - beer, strange outfits, ethnic music, good food, and a jolly good time. Seems like something we can all get behind. Ein Prosit!
On the subject of Oktoberfest, I bring you the slightly anti-climatic news. Nobody threw pretzels or beer steins at me while I ran around in lederhosen at the fancy country club. I had an excuse: DJing for them, but still, the hospitality is notable. The stage guys even put up a video of Bavarian scenery behind me for special effect. The gig the next day at a community in Alexandria was similarly smooth. The social discipline folks have to not point and laugh while strange men run around in silly shorts gives me hope for the world. To all I say...Danke.
Since we’re talking about unusual work garb, it was just this afternoon that I pulled on a pair of overalls, took a swig of piping hot black coffee, grabbed my Ka-bar (work knife/dagger), zipped up a windbreaker, and kicked the ATV into gear. The steady drizzle drenched my face, and for a moment, I felt like a tough guy - a real mountain man. Then I remembered who was out here first. The rain was unrelenting, and I picked up the track of another ATV. Down the ridge line and across the field I patrolled, shifting into third gear. The mountain rose on the other side of the creek, cloaked in a cloud, and was just starting to smolder with changing leaves. Where was she?
“Mommmmm!” The cry echoed off the mountain, but there was no reply. “MOTHER!” I bellowed. Nothing. The ATV sputtered back to life, and off I zoomed, cold and dripping. She had told me she was off to find saplings to transplant, and I said I’d help. Now I couldn’t find her.
The bee field was empty, the bramble patch a summer memory, an the cut up on the hill silent, save for the steady rain, and a wind descending off Long Mountain. The Chestnut Oaks seemed to chuckle. “A 61 year old lady gave ya the slip, eh son? Can’t even find your own mom. Look at this guy, Joe!” Back down in the pasture, the stream ran refreshed in the hurricane rain, but the pine grove was deserted. Nothing. After about twenty minutes, and the idea for this letter firmly wedged in my wet brain, I went back to where I started. There she was, waving me over.
“Joshie! There you are! I’ve planted three trees already!”
Guess I’ll stick to writing, and not become a tracker or outdoorsman.
10-4 Good buddy! - Josh