Beaten Trails

Retreat, re-calibrate. It's a big deal, any more, for me to go out and be a social person. To be photographed and interviewed seems silly. I'm the only one at the lodge wearing insulated bib overalls, but no one mentions it. Could be a trend rather than a lapse. Bridwell was sighted, coming out of Le Possum, wearing his familiar tan Carhartt overalls, with the legs unzipped and rather flashy wool socks peaking above well-worn work boots. I don't believe what I read, that's not why I read it. A couple of months ago I was walking downing down a country road, literally kicking a can, with a dear friend who channels Emily. We were talking about repressed sexuality, how being a plumber might be good therapy, how being a Cubs fan sucked. She stopped, suddenly, and looked me in the eye. I'm suspect about this, because one of the cardinal points about meeting a bear in the woods is to not look him in the eye. Or her. But what are you going to do, five miles in to a ten mile hike? Later, of course, I'm suspect, to imagine you might cross paths with another pilgrim. The odds are rather large. Still, I'd rather gamble. The beaten trails. Darren called in the morning, on Spring Break from teaching, and wanted to come visit. Two guests in one week, a winter record. D always brings stuff, cheese, beer and we hadn't talked in months. Excellent few hours. He's teaching film photography, which he loves. After he left, I picked up a few things, ate an early dinner of left-overs and a toasted biscuit. Sat for a while thinking randomly, read a chapter in Arctic Dreams, then zoned out completely editing myself. If it rains all day tomorrow, which is the forecast, and it gets to fifty degrees, which is the forecast, the driveway snow should be history. Then another cold spell will refreeze everything and I should be able to drive in with supplies. Getting a little too close to the bone. I fantasized about a chocolate bar. Not to mention that I need almost everything; I'm boiling filtered melted snow for drinking water and coffee, I'm out of cornmeal, and weevils got into the masa. I have a great many dried meals, stored in a tin, I have beans and rice; D brought me some sausages that would make a great chick pea soup, but I'll have to make it with pintos, because I don't have any chick peas. If I get to town, I'll shred a batch of greens into the pot. Kale has gotten too dear, but mustard greens are still cheap and I love their bite. Shell-shocked a little, coming out of winter.