Dunga Brook Diary

The rural life through the lens of an iPhone and notes from the field…

Archive for chevrolet

Chevy seen through a link and a tiny bit of Thoreau…

chevychain

“One must maintain a little bittle of summer, even in the middle of winter.”
― Henry David Thoreau

 

Last winter we lived on a farm in Fly Creek that had 20 of the most beautiful rolling acres I have ever lived on.

The property was owned by an artist and all through the fields and trails he had set up whimsical finds…

Broken mirrors (the thick vintage kind) in which you could catch a glimpse of the sky and tree branches and your own smile, a lovely wood and rope swing, the wood and rope so thick it was guaranteed to last decades, this chain, vintage glass bottles, all found objects just waiting to be found, again.

Each morning walk with the dogs was a discovery, if nature wasn’t enough there was art .

This land belonged to a certain man with art in his soul.

I could tell it was a labor of the heart, very personal, not meant for wider audiences, a conversation between a man and the universe.

XO, V

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Monday night, February 18, 2013, let the waxing gibbous moon be your guide…

Monday night, February 18, 2013, let the waxing gibbous moon be your guide...

So, its about 11 degrees out, snow on the ground, and I come home late from the art studio and, since they’ve been in the house for hours, I let the dogs out.

Chevy disappears into the night.

I call and call and call. Time passes, I wait for his scratch at the door. Now I want to go to bed. I try again but despite the cold, he isn’t coming back.

About a half an hour ago, he let me know with a distant bark that he was at Tim’s barn. An acre or so away. The ancient barn I take pictures of incessantly. That big, dark behemoth of a barn that scares me just looking at it.

The temperture is dropping. I put on my boots, coat, hat, gloves and grab the flashlight and walk into the dark. I love this dog. There isn’t any other way about it.

As I cross the field, I hear the crunch of snow beneath my boots, a billion stars twinkle in the sky, in the distance a dog barking urgently, not Chevy, probably coyote hunters.

The moon is bright, the snow is blue. I stand beside the silohs and the moon streams between them, I wish I had a camera, I don’t even have my iphone, it is insanely beautiful. Insanely cold.

I think about the time I was caught outside, alone, in a typhoon on a late Hong Kong night, morning really, and how I almost died from hypothermia (I embellish), my clothes were heavy with the tropical rain that came down in solid sheets when the wind wasn’t whipping it sideways. I was lost, a bit drunk from a typhoon party in a bar I’d walked out of an hour before..walked right into rain so solid that I lost sight of the other patrons and since then I’d seen no other living thing. Lightning was jagging the sky and illuminated a dead cat floating down the sidewalk, now a river around my feet…I was in mortal danger. But it was just so beautiful.

Tim and Margo (the barn’s owners and my only neighbors) are on a long trip, there is no one here in the night but me. Careful, I think, don’t fall down, there will be no one by. Until spring.

The silohs are black giants. Looking up at them and the moon, I don’t feel so alone.

Finally, I hear the sound of a dog galloping across the crunchy snow- it’s Chevy, full of burs and bursting with the joy of having such an adventure to share in the night with me.

I scold him half-heartedly.

We head home by the light of the moon.

Chevrolet

Chevrolet

Dunga Brook Dog

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