8-16-1955 Compliments of Hurricane Connie

We arrived out here Saturday night in the last fine drizzle of a day of steady rain, compliments of Hurricane Connie. We unpacked, settled ourselves, received a few last instructions and went off to bed - the air coming through the open windows was damp and chilly & getting into bed under cool sheets & a blanket smelling of a cedar chest was very pleasant - the odor reminded me of something good and warm & friendly - the nights since have been warmer & we haven't needed the blanket, but the mornings are cool and everything outdoors is heavily dewed.

It warms up well by noon & the sun is hot & direct & the insects swarming - the only flaw in the whole experience. They buzz and hum & swoosh about my head but fortunately do no more harm - no mosquitos to bite. The dogs are finding comfort in the shade of the young maple on the lawn near me. My surroundings are beautiful & all but soundless. I looked out across the valley at the opposite hill & felt awed by its beauty but on thinking just what was beautiful about it, I could say no more than trees & sunshine and shadows & what is so beautiful about only these things? Only that I love them & love makes beautiful. And there is beauty in the clean, even unbroken (save for one treetop) line of the ridge of yonder hill, in the space of a field between two woods - it is smooth & fresh green & might be the edge of the world.

This morning while I sat on the porch, reading, I heard some chickens, might have been the hens in the barn, cackle & chatter as if in alarm - it would seem that it was a warning call of some kind for I noticed the mother hen, loose in the yard with her chick, had ruffled her wings & feathers and squatted down right where she was while the tiny chick nestled close to her under the feathers with only its head exposed.

Yesterday while filling a bucket from the shallower pool in the spring house, I saw, with mild horror & surprise, two pincers rise from the settled mud at the bottom - was a crawfish I had disturbed which commenced to crawl awkwardly through the tiny spillway into the deeper portion of water.

Another curious thing, indigenous I suppose to such situations as this, is the clarity of sounds issuing from across the valley - sounds of people, animals & machinery carry with a loudness belying their distance - almost with a sound of mechanical amplification.

August 15, 1955 - Toadstool

I just found at my feet a toadstool - I don't know the difference between the edible mushroom & its inedible cousin, but I mean to learn it someday - the specimen I just examined has a feathery underside of a pale, pale pink covered by a mottled creamy white dome.

I'm sitting here at the top of the hill behind the Hartman farm - my company consists of the two dogs (our favored Betty & the H.'s elderly scottie, slow, serene and in awe of the boxer) and the sights and sounds about me - I hear the distant barking of another's dog, the far off rumble of a plane, the nearer sound of a multitude of insects, humming & buzzing & plaguing me, the steady hum of the locusts in the trees all about me, the occasional crow of a neighbor's rooster, and the panting of the dogs at my feet.

The sights I see include Queen Anne's Lace & Goldenrod in abundance, dark-centered yellow daisies, lavender clover, wild strawberry plants scattered all amongst the tangle of low growth - the grapes on the vines behind me are hard, green, silvery clusters - the sumac leaves already have brilliant tips of red & a black butterfly with spots of white & stripe of blue is balanced on a thistle bloom.

Across the valley on the opposite ridge I see farms & fields, pastures & woods, rich greens constrasting with browns of plowed fields & locust tree leaves dying early from the dryness of the summer. The heat of the day is heavy on the dogs, on me & the landscape - the sky patches between the great masses of grey & blinding white cloud, hazy with heat - - - later the sky cleared itself onlyto be blanketed with a single rolling rain cloud which dropped an insignificant portion of its contents and rolled along clearing the sky behind it.

June 30, 1955 - The Strangest Thing

The strangest thing just happened. I happened to glance up the hill at the Maerkers' now-empty house as I went down the front steps; when I saw the darkness of the windows, the raised blinds & the propped-open screen door, such an unusual feeling of genuine sadness filled me. I couldn't take my eyes from the sight of it - so strangely forlorn - this feeling surprised me because although Karl & Bob got along well enough & Gay & I enjoyed chattering together, we were not by any means close friends - I mean by that, there were no deep feelings between us singly or as a couple, but it was such a sincere sadness that I persisted in examining it and could only explain it so: Gay is about as different a personality from me as it is possible to be - she was always vivacious, happy as her name, sparkling and constantly chattering - but never in the ten months we've known each other, has her chatter been annoying. In fact, she makes it contagious & I was able, without being conscious of it, to return some of the gaiety & vivacity she expressed. And so it must simply be that I naturally associated this effervescence of her with the lights in their windows & the open welcoming door. Now it is so completely unnatural & inmproper to see these aspects no longer present when I look up the hill and I feel sad at their absence.

June 30, 1955 - Golf

I'd like to learn to play golf. I just saw a film showing a women's golf tournament - the full swing of a drive looked strange to me - I wondered why - and realized what struck me was the absolute lack of inhibition inherent in such an action - I felt that were I trying such a swing, my arms would tighten and I would be unable, or more truly, unwilling, to swing so freely - but I'd love to learn to be able to act with such confidence & freedom - if only I could learn, I'm sure I'd benefit in other ways.

------------------------------

I'm speaking now to Sara Menaboni - I saw something this evening that would please you, I believe - I looked toward the cherry tree atop the hill, heavily studded with scarlet, and I noticed a cardinal helping himself to the bright, sour fruit - a larger shape of the same scarlet, brilliant against the dark green foliage.

4-10-56 Just Now

Walking up the road just now had the nice kind of feeling a yawn has. I guess it was the stretchcing of my legs as I walked up the hill with the cool breeze at my back and the warmth of the sun on my face - it was a small beginning to the awakening I spoke of - there were at last tangible green buds on the trees - I could have kissed them - at long last - I wonder if this is just another false beginning - I walked thru the bare open woods to the edge of the neighboring nursery & looked down at 51 curving up to the shopping center, at the cars, small from my standpoint, manuvering for position - it felt unspeakably good to be high, alone, among the trees looking out & down at such activity - good to be up so high - I think I must always live on a hill - not to look down on things in the common sense, but so as to be removed from them, distant from them, closer to wind, and sun & birds --

4-9-56 So Hard To Explain

It's so hard to explain & I even get embarassed when I try - I just said to Bob in a voice I couldn't make sound natural that "It was as though I needed it to exist" and he laughed in his embarrassment - thus it is, when you say something really close to yourself from deep inside you where you really are. I was referring to my need of looking at & being with mountains and all related things - such sights, sounds, smells & surroundings are very real food & drink to me - and at this point & after being house-bound, winter-bound I feel literally starved & wasting - I feel dry & parched as dormant seeds must feel waiting for warmth & moisture to ensure their continuance - I need to be, want to be, reawakened & refreshed. The pictures of the Grand Canyon whidch I have not seen & the Grand Tetons which I have seen stirred this hunger to the point of actual pangs centering in my tear ducts rather than in my stomach. It is something I really cannot explain even to myself.

2-26-56 Through Our Binoculars

We have just been looking at the moon through our binoculars. Tonight is one of a series of the most beautiful nights I can remember - there have been & will be other kinds of nights as beautiful but there can be none more so. After winds & rains & snows the upper air is infinitely clear - as though a vacuum - the moon is a full, serene sphere - the stars are distinct & tremulous - the clouds rushing and transparent. Looking through the binoculars I can see the craters along the top of the sphere, outlined by shadow - there are the dark masses (have I heard it said this is vegetation?) - and faint signs of the canals I have heard described. It looks like it might be a Japanese lantern, or a magnificent pearl, or an onion - it seems not real - I must reassure myself that I am looking at the moon - not a picture of it and not a model of it - but the moon, pure and simple - I think of setting foot on it, of the trips to the moon I hear being planned for the future, and I do not like to think of it as being within reach, as another place to visit - I want it to stay as it is now - I'd like to be a part of it, or a part of the wisp of cloud rushing over its face - I'd like to be as distant, as unruffled, as untouchable, "by the jarring testimony of mortal mind".