(Posted September 21, 2009)
“Hi Mark”, a familiar voice from the distant past says as I sit in my EZ Up tent watching folks stroll by, soft autumn light, the last true light of the year before the sun descends to irrelevancy washing the scene. Her name is Kim. She and I dated a few times in high school. We’ve known each other for the better part of five decades of life, having gone from elementary to high school together. I also know her brothers; quick footed guys who were fast around the old cinder track at Duluth Denfeld. We chat for a moment or two. I am happy for her. She looks great, younger than her years and tan despite a summer of clouds, cool weather and little sun. She and her friend turn and walk away, their path taking them down a ribbon of asphalt between the changing leaves of aspen, birch and maple trees. Reds, yellows and browns intermix with the greens of spruce and pine. Additional colors; patrons wearing loud pinks, subtle blues, and the like; move through the natural pallet of Chester Park’s woods as folks wander in and out of vendors’ tents in curiosity.
Rene’ comes back with a hot cup of coffee and mini-donuts. One can never sit at a craft show and not eat a bag or two of mini-donuts. The cinnamon and sugar explode in my mouth. I wash the doughy texture down with coffee. My wife and I talk about her latest endeavour; mosaics inlaid on concrete benches. Across the diminished trickle of Chester Creek, perched high above the bustle of humanity below, the rusted skeletons of two abandoned ski jumps rise unnaturally above the trees. I remember being recruited by Elwood Ramfjord, a neighbor guy, a guy who had four daughters but no sons, to carry on his legacy as a competitive ski jumper. I was eight years old when he bought me a pair of jumping skis and tried to get me to soar into the blue winter sky off Little Chester, the least onerous of the two remaining jumps. I wouldn’t do it. Not then. Not now. I don’t view myself as a coward, and lord knows I had my moments of delinquency as a child. But there are certain laws that I will not offend. Gravity is one of them.
Look for me (I’m the one who’ll be carrying concrete benches with a bad back) at the Apple Festival in Bayfield, Wisconsin October 2,3 and 4.
Peace.
Mark
