|
|
|
||||||||
|
The Richards Bend Journal
|
|||||||||
|
This Until the Hepatica Bloom
October 27, 2001 - Late Feburary/Early March
Page 11
|
|||||||||
 |
|||||||||
 |
|||||||||
|
Listening to: Sound Track to
Field of Dreams
December 2
The cabin at Richards Bend, the Richards Cabin I mean, was built in 1842 - I have the entire history of the place, composed by Joe Richards, Sr. Various people have lived in the cabin over the 159 year history - A fellow named Diddle Hargus was the last person to live there - from about 1962 until he died there in 1981. There are many people around the place who remember him well. And they all say the same things- that he was some what of a "loner". They also say that Diddle was a fine craftsman - a wood carver and a clocksmith. Several old men of the area have told me that they own shotgun stocks that Diddle carved for them... I can't imagine having something like that; something that was carved at Richards Bend.
When I arrived here, late in 1998, the place was nearly falling down - I worked hard to restore what I could; then it seems, everyone lost interest. There were some problems with the arrangements. But having cleaned up around the place, significantly, discarded things occasionally pop up into view - things that were either lost or thrownaway at Richards Bend, in the past... Yesterday, milling around the place, I found an old clock gear laying in the dirt - and I thought, can any more appropriate thing be found? An object from the past - a former livelihood, conducted at Richards Bend - clocksmith Diddle lost a gear for a clock - twenty to forty years later, I find it - and marvel about the passage of time; and history.
- -
The woods are so deep now - there's a feeling of remoteness I can't describe - of more distance wildernesses deeper in, down around the Big South Fork River. The creek at Richards Bend is full and the falling water below the place is loud - I can stand for a moment and it reminds me of different waters - those from my past - those deeper in.
December 4
I am not writing well - I am not feeling well.
There are times I fall apart - which is a strange thing... other times, I go along - live my life as if nothing, nothing at all, is wrong - go to my job, work on my projects - cook my meals, brush my teeth and hair; work on the cabin and dream my dreams... Then other times, the true state of affairs comes to my mind - and I fall apart... I fall to pieces sometimes -
My Son has been on my mind - my little boy; He is always on my mind - nearly every minute of every day; other times, thoughts of him are so deep, so all-encompassing, I can't do anything, except think of him. There are times, i can't believe things are this way - I can't believe he and I are separated. I don't know why some times are different from others - why or how I miss him more than others - I miss him all the time, but sometimes, my heart and soul are crippled, unable to function, for thoughts of him.
There is a movie we've watched together for years - we first watched it when he was barley able to comprehend a movie, or retain it's meaning - the movie, Field of Dreams is now what seems to be a touchstone for him and I -I remember, and this is very difficult for me to write - difficult for me to remember - I remember a time, we were all together - I believe he was four-years-old - I sat in a rocking chair; Jon Boy was playing in the floor with a ball - he was in-and-out of the movie - My wife, his Mom had already gone to bed. At the end of the movie, when Ray and his father played catch, I couldn't help but tear up - and I sat quietly in the chair, crying silently - he happened to notice the tears steaming down my cheeks, and he became intensely curious - my own Son, four-years-old, asked "Daddy, why are you crying?" I remember wanting to stop - that maybe it wasn't good for him to see me that way, especially over a movie - but I couldn't... he stood with the most intense look in his eyes and face, demanding an answer - demanding to understand what this meant... When I realized I wasn't going to be able to steady my voice enough to speak, or dry my eyes enough to offer an explanation, I simply said...
"I'm crying Son, because Ray and his Daddy are playing catch.
They are playing catch - My God! They are playing catch".
I don't think, in fact, I am sure that he didn't understand what it meant, other than, the scene touched me very deeply. And now, he's growing up - he's ten years old and he knows that I am easily reduced to tears - I sometimes notice him watching me, during a sensitive, touching moment - to see if I will cry - I think he knows me well - almost too well...
There are times I am gripped by the idea, this is not the way things are supposed to be. His Mom tells me so many great things - his school work is excellent - he plays basket ball and football - he plays chess at school... and I sometimes get to go to these things, to see him play - and he loves me - We are close, and I call him every night - every single night - but the simple fact remains, we do not live close together anymore - and I sometimes miss him more than I ever imagined my heart could ever miss another human being - and there is nothing but this deep, deep longing - and it is a strange feeling... I am so proud of my Son - I can't imagine life without him - and I would pay any price - anything - just to keep what I already have.... This boy as my Son - God could not have blessed me any more than he already has, if he granted me the entire Universe. I love my Son so much, there are times, it hurts. And, and this is at the heart of my pain, my Son, when older, with kids and a family of his own, may be so moved by the scene of a father and son playing catch, that he, himself, may be reduced to tears - I pray to God, he will not be haunted by the same things that haunt me.
JONATHON, My Son, where ever you are, what ever you are doing, if you have a moment... I love you.
December 5
Our marriage was ugly almost from the start... I sometimes don't understand why or how we even thought we'd make it work. After our Son arrived, things really went from bad to worse - she changed then; became a person I didn't know - she became more mean than I thought human beings could be... We know now, something was wrong - that this wasn't exactly in her control - but at the time, it made life with her a desperate hell, I am remained with her, only because of our Son. For years there was never a kind word for her - that after living in the world for a day, I'd come home to a cold, cold home at best; a violent and hostile home at worst - for several years. Jon Boy and I bonded during this time - he was a toddler - and I cared for him as if I was his only parent. We took trips, went for hikes - I cooked and cleaned for him, read him his bedtime stories - there came a point, he didn't even want her around - she'd come in his room sometimes, attempted to listen to the story being read, and he'd throw a fit - and she'd leave, mad. I felt bad for her - but I also knew there was something wrong with her - my only grievance was that she didn't seek help - Jon Boy and I became very close - If I ever needed to leave the house, he'd scream - he'd fall to pieces.
In 1995, I decided I couldn't take it anymore, so I filed for a divorce - found an apartment for me and Jon Boy - My wife never believed I'd do this - so it devastated her - She was going to loose her marriage, and probably her Son - So she came to me and asked what could be done - I told her nothing could be done for the marriage - it was too far gone - but that she still had time to be a decent parent to our Son - she needed help. And help she got - she spent the next two years working through a great many things, and over that time, she became an outstanding parent - she became the parent I always wanted her to be.
Emerging on the scene as a wonderful parent - our Son now seven years old, she contests the custody arrangement - she wants him back in her home, full time - things got brutal - things got very nasty - and because I'd already spent what money I had on the divorce, there was little or nothing I could do to stop her from doing this - When it ended, I felt as if there was no justice in the world - For all means and purposes, I stopped living. I quite my job and came back to my mountains - I was n a state beyond what any person would reasonably call devostation.
Three years later, things are not as troubling for me - He comes to spend summers, and he comes for his longer vacations... I go visit him every three weeks or so, and I speak to him on the phone - but I miss him sometimes, horribly. And when my ex-wife tells me she thinks I ought to be closer, and she needs more help from me, physically, I am not at all sure how to feel... Most times, I just feel angry.
People say to me, they don't know how I can stand my life, so quiet and isolated - Sometimes I do get a little lonely - but it is not the mainstay emotion - the quiet woods and hills - streams and rocks - and trees; they have meaning for me so deep, I don't always understand... These mosses, and the plantain growing low to the leaves just above the forest litter - and the owl song - the foggy mountains in the morning times, and the moonlight, and star filled nights - these are the things that have give these times meaning for me -
I have purchased these lonely treasures with a portion of my heart and soul... and I am still, even after these years here, healing.
|
|||||||||
| page created with Easy Designer |