Hazel and Harry Firth, and the Day Before — Day 8

Posted by bfahrenbac in Leaning Birch, Lemurian Grand Tour, Barbara’s Journey, Home Hosts. add a comment , edit post

Hazel and Harry Firth could not be friendlier folk. When I return from my meeting with the Mine Keeper, they show me their home and outbuildings. The setting in the Lemurian Valley is a perfect site. To the west, there are the ancient rock formations — the hoo-doos — spiraling into the sky. To the east, the rolling hamlet of Leaning Birches is spread out below the homestead. Looking closely, I follow the Owl Creek which flows through the center of town, and winds towards Mount Olympus. Hazel points out seven or eight houses snuggled into the hollow and others dotting the country nearby. The town has a church, a general store, a livery, the raven postal service. Hazel watches me as she adds slyly, “and we have a coffee shop, complete with internet service.”

How is that possible, I ponder. Did I misunderstand? “Internet? Are you sure, Hazel? Our internet? Everything seems so –well — quaint. Not that it’s bad. I don’t mean that. I just didn’t expect….

“Expect that we keep up with the world? You’re mistaken, my Dear. It is possible for us to know what the world is like in your land.” Hazel tsked at me a bit. “It is simply that we choose not to follow your way. We prefer our life as it is. But if you wish to go to town and send a message to your companions, why there’s a computer all set up for travelers. I’ll take you there myself.”

I have to think this through. “Maybe in awhile, Hazel. First, I’d like to see the rest of your property. Everything is so lovely.”

Harry overhears me, and together, the Firths take me on a tour. We explore the garden, all a color with reds and pinks and whites. (”My favorite colors,” says Hazel.) The greenery is so deep and shiny, so multi-colored, it is a spectacle in its own right. Harry lets me peek into the garden shed which is as immaculate as a kitchen is at home. The brick floor is recently scrubbed, and the shelves are painted and embellished with tiny paintings of flowers. Each flower corresponds to the seeds above them. Against the other wall are bins of potato sets, soon to be planted in the furrowed fields. A storage shed is behind the garden; the potatoes from the recent harvest are stored there, ready to be distributed to the Lemurian colony. Behind the house is an enclosed pen housing chickens and goats. Two baby goats cajol and dance with each other, occasionally butting their tiny horns. I find myself amused with their antics, and I wish I could be as carefree as they seem. The chickens, Hazel proudly informs me, lay enough eggs to supply all of Leaning Birches’ families.

We return to the barn, which is a simple structure, yet light and airy. Harry has his own mule, a stubborn cuss named Simon, Harry says. “You can’t imagine your good fortune having a donkey like Damascus. The most impressive beast I’ve seen in many a year.” Of course, even though Damascus is gobbling down another stash of hay, he overhears everything.

“Why, pleased to have you be so kind,” says my donkey, demurely. Can I believe this? Not only is Damascus turning coy, why, he’s blushing. (I’ve been with him long enough now, I can read his every expression.)

I resist bursting into hysterical laughter by stepping into the house with Hazel. I hadn’t had time to look about the home when I dropped my pack off earlier this afternoon, but now I stand in the central room — all living room and dining room and kitchen in the one room. A pot belly stove sits on one side of the room and a wood burning cook stove is on the opposite wall. Comfy furniture and crocheted afghans and doilies make the room cozy and well-cared for. The dining room table is set with three places, and the smell of home cooking fills the room. Flowers in tin cans are set about the room and a canary sings on its perch. Everywhere I look there is yet another tiny treasure to enjoy.

“Now, you go on and wash up, Dear. Here’s your room, off the kitchen. A nice view of the flower gardens and warmth from the stove. Daresay, you’ll want for nothing.” Hazel shows me into a spacious room with windows for walls on three sides of the room, and flowers and vines climbing up the window trellises. The bed is dressed in pure white, layer upon layer of linen and pillows. A small bureau with a porcelain wash bowl atop it and a lovely cushioned rocking chair fill out the room. There is a basket on a shelf that contains everything I might need — soap, brushes, lotions, shampoos, and other goodies. There are rolled up towels and a plush white chenille robe in just my size. I sit upon the bed to think a moment.

Hazel calls to me through the door. “Why don’t you rest a bit before dinner, Dear? You have about thirty minutes.”

Grateful for a little time alone to calm my racing thoughts, I muster a thanks. There is so much to think about. How will I prepare for the mining of the cave? When will Harry tell me his secrets of mining? Will I succeed in my quest? I think of writing an e-mail to Riversleigh — now how weird is that? I decide to fore go modern technology and be satisfied with my journal.

Hazel calls me to dinner while I am yet mired in far flung thoughts. Breathing deeply, I gather myself together and come to the table.

“Look at this,” says Harry. “Why Hazel had gosh darn gone all out for ya, Dear! And I get to eat all the special treats, too.” Harry spoons piles of food onto his plate, while I decipher what is in these heaped-to-the-top serving bowls. Mashed potatoes in one, with gobs of melting butter sliding down the mounds. Scalloped potatoes and ham in a second dish. Potato and vegetable soup in a tureen. And potato dumplings in honey for desert.

“Why it all looks so good, Hazel. Let me try everything,” I say, a little amazed at quantity of the food. I only need look at the table a second to know I am amongst potato farmers. But I eat all the food, and fully enjoy it, especially those honeyed dumplings. Yum. I wonder what will be served for breakfast, but this is hours away and I don’t waste any thought on that.

After dinner, Harry speaks up. “Dear, Damascus has finally had his rest and grub. He’d like to talk to you for awhile.”
I shake my head in shame. In all this time, I have not given a thought to Damascus and his needs. I am ashamed as I go out to the barn, but my feelings are dispelled. Damascus is in a fine mood and Pigeon has made himself a tiny nest and he is sound asleep. Both my companions seem content.

“Well, Dear, did you have a nice rest and dinner? I am truly satiated and my nap has revived me.” He hee-haws a few times to show me he is in good spirits. “I’d pass on that trip into Leaning Birches for the time being. Harry will talk to you tonight, and we’ll start out at dawn tomorrow for the Alluvial Mine.”

“Oh, Damascus. I don’t think I’m quite ready for mining yet. Maybe in a few days…”

“Sure you are, Dear. Just keep a stiff upper lip and listen carefully to Harry. You’ll do fine tomorrow.”

As Damascus returns to nosing about in the hay, Harry calls me. “Dear, meet me in the garden in a few minutes. Do you hear?”

“Sure, Harry. I’ll go now.” I turn to Damascus one more time. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck?” he guffaws. “Why, you need courage and discipline and persistence. Well, and maybe a little luck. Now, begone with you.”

So Harry and I walk and talk in the garden until it is black outside and I can see only the glowing windows in the house. I try to remember all the things Harry is saying, but I feel a little overwhelmed. When he finishes, he tells me to get my rest. That is the last thing he says to me. Hazel wakes me in the morn.

In the fragile light of dawn, I eat riced potato porridge and then half-stumble to the barn. Damascus is ready for me to load him and in mere minutes we are on our way. Pigeon flies ahead as our lookout. It is finally time for me to explore the mine.

Damascus turns his head and eyes me. Then he turns away, keeping his head forward, watching the road. “Courage, my Dear. Courage,” he says to me.

Courage, I think. “Yes, indeed, Damascus. Thank you very much.”