Two Hundred..!
A Nighthawk Anniversary
Vol. 200, April 14th, 2026 Published a day early online
Two Hundred
Two hundred weeks ago, the State of New York announced a plan to give lonely senior citizens robots to talk to. Two hundred weeks ago, I felt glum and alone, reading the news–and saw that. I leapt up, stung. “Not while I can write letters!”
Enter The Nighthawk. It’s a way for us to stay in touch, to make new friends, and stay human. Thanks for the cards and letters, the stories, and the wisdom shared. Thanks to Carol for sending in her Appalachian words, keeping a dialect alive. Everywhere I go, there are things that must be shared: the way the Whippoorwill sounds, how wood ducks meander on the bac pond, foraging and showing off. Seeing that the green is in earnest now, standing at the threshold of summer and infinite possibilities.
Speaking of infinity, I spied the Whirlpool Galaxy the other night. It glowed softly in the telescope eyepiece, churning across 30 million light years, shimmering with the unresolved light of 100 billion stars. Mighty spiral arms seemed to pull in a smaller neighbor galaxy. I had to tell you. Thanks for reading. Here’s to many more editions of mountain breezes and starlight.
Happy Birthday, Loretta Lynn (1932)
The Coal Miner’s Daughter was born in a shack in Butcher Hollow, KY, singing her way to fame and fortune, becoming “The most awarded lady in country music history.”
Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week
Wheelbar (wheelbarrow). “Load that wood in the wheelbar.”
His Sunday Best
Wood Ducks return to the back pond. The male is resplendent, styling for the ladies.
The Good Word
“He is a reward of them that diligently seek Him.”
–Hebrews 11:6, KJV
Album of the Week
King Of The Delta Blues Singers (Robert Johnson)
Columbia compiled the ‘36 and ‘37 recordings to an LP in ‘61, sparking a blues revival. (See: Eric Clapton, etc.)
Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #280)
Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc.: Ghosts Along The Way
Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show. It was one of those April days where the land looked like a painted Easter egg. The air was as fresh as a half dozen wintergreen mints. “Mmm!” I mumbled through the mouthful of candy. “Boo-fi-ful”. Even the sky seemed Curiously Strong.
I drove along, relishing the sights that matched the flavor. The rest of the day, I saw ghosts.
Don’t worry, the Altoids didn’t cause hallucinations–although the recommended serving is probably under 30...No sir, I saw Civilization.
Look closely, and things seem haunted. We live on the Past, built by the ancestors, with yesterday’s effort.
I first noticed these ghosts years ago from a train window, rolling south through New Jersey after a weekend up north. Forget Sunday morning–Johnny Cash would have sang a different tune if he saw the abandoned scene. An old factory sat crumbling by the tracks, a million bricks set by a thousand unseen hands, Sunday evening coming down.
Factories close, buildings die. It would be a shame to forget that someone built all this in the first place.
But forget I do. The bills and chores call. I run down the road, blind to the poles and mailboxes and curbs and telephone lines that people sweated and froze for. Eventually, Civilization turns from expected to invisible. Forgotten things are easier to gamble with.
Yesterday, on the day like an Easter egg, I remembered. I could almost hear phantom hammers building the stores, see a shadowy landscape crew planting the trees in the median, while echoes of salesmen shook hands for every car. People have worked so hard for us.
War’s made me think. It shows how fragile things are, how precious. Ominous news casts a long shadow, and brings the ghosts out. Appreciation becomes urgent–and a joy. “Hey man, nice choice” I said to the fellow with one of those sky-high toffee coffee creations as he held the door for me.
“Yeah, it’s a great day.”
“Yes it is.”
If there are ghosts watching, they’d be shaking their head. “Frankie, check this guy. Too many Altoids mints. He’s trippin’.”
“Nah, Joe, lighten up. He’s finally appreciating our efforts.”
We’ve got a lot of reasons to work for peace. We’ve got a lot to cherish. I’m starting to notice.
Catch you on the flip side,
Josh
Send postcards and mint refills to P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or on X Josh Urban