Hello, Darkness, My Old Friend

Well, that “extra” hour went by fast.

I spent it cleaning up a sewery splurt of geee-yuuuchch! around the drain of my downstairs shower. I’m dreading how much a rod-out is going cost. Probably not as much as simply hoping it won’t happen again would.

October passed without me rhapsodizing about it, as I usually do, annually. I also forgot, and WordPress apparently did, too, (no message of congratulation) that I passed my 5th “blogiversary” in October.

I don’t mind, because I spent so much time out enjoying the glory of my favorite month. I had banked more paid time off than I realized, and used it to extend each of my weekends by a day or two so Angelic Daughter and I could take our “fall excursions.” Each included a trail ride through a state park that offers guided rides on rented horses.

It takes at least an hour from my home to reach areas that could fairly be described as “rural.” But once you’re there, you know it, and it isn’t just because of the scenery.

It’s because of the politics.

I noticed several displays of flags proclaiming business or property owners’ enduring allegiance to their Great Pumpkin, Cheeto in Chief, Frito of Falsehoods, or whatever other nickname for a spray tanned dissembler you can imagine. These were usually displayed in rows, where the oversized flag bearing the last name of said Master of Mendacity (why do his supporters seem so prone screaming their fealty in GIGANTIC LETTERS?) was flanked by two additional flags displaying automatic rifles, crossed in the style of military swords, and maybe the flags of a few of the branches of our armed services.

Our destination when passing these displays was a farm that promoted itself as selling huge pumpkins. When we got there, what we found was a scene of despair. Although there was a sign pointing toward pumpkins, the driveway wasn’t marked, and the pumpkins were sitting, forlornly and mud-caked, on three idle hay wagons.

The front yard, if you could call the area in front of the barns a yard, was strewn with rusting equipment and overgrown with weeds. I chose a few pumpkins, quickly paid the nice woman who seemed to live there with a recent litter of tumbling kittens, and moved on down the road.

I couldn’t believe this farm had always looked like this. Maybe it was the competition from other farms that had turned themselves into temporary autumn amusement parks, with kiddie Ferris wheels and trains, giant slides, bouncy houses, and barns converted into bakeries, creameries and candy shops, with hayrides, corn mazes, and some pumpkins and gourds thrown in for good measure. Obviously, the rusty yard farmer had been left behind.

But “attention must be paid. Attention must be paid to such a person.” Maybe that’s why the flags out there were so huge. These folks want someone to PAY ATTENTION to them, and not in a patronizing, holier-than-thou, disparaging way.

But I’m afraid the moment to offer a listening ear has long passed, and our nation will suffer the consequences until the veil is lifted and the giant flag folks finally pay attention to “that man behind the curtain,” and see an imposter pulling levers and blowing smoke.

Mercifully, after the next trail ride, I found a real pick-your-own pumpkin patch. No rides, no petting zoo, and only a tiny little gift shop in a shed attached to an empty silo, which was decorated with pumpkins, gourds, and swags of corn tied with gingham ribbons.

Just like when I was a kid, you drive right up to the edge of the field, get out of the car, and spend a good hour searching for the perfect pumpkin (at least my brothers and I did when we were kids), considering and rejecting dozens of the round or oblong squashes before finding one that would become the perfect Jack-o-Lantern.

I was so happy Angelic Daughter got to see a place that hadn’t been swallowed by the petting zoos and “biggest corn maze in the world!”s and the kiddie coasters. Plus, the drive along a river to get there was lovely, with some tricky and not-very-well marked turns, until we found that farm.

And now, we’ve “fallen back.” After an enormous windstorm yesterday, which cleared my deck of leaves so I didn’t have to use the blower, we had one more gorgeous, cloudless, October-blue sky today (even though it’s November now) with that unmistakable slanty light illuminating what was left of the leaves from beneath or behind, making everything glow.

And then the sun set. Just after 4:30 in the afternoon.

Drawing the cloak of November around me tightly, hoping for some light but fearing more November darkness after Tuesday, I remain,

Your concerned, sentimental, October-mourning, winterizing,

Ridiculouswoman