Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Watermarks

I sat at Blythe's Ferry landing, an old road that basically ends jutting 300 feet out into the Tennessee River, the other day for a long time. The ferry served people wanting to drive across the river to Cleveland and other areas until about 10 years ago when a bridge was finally built. From what I've heard from locals, the ride across the river took about 15 minutes, meaning that some people had to wait half an hour for a ride when the ferry was on the other side. Still, that would have been a lot shorter wait than a trip all the way down to Chattanooga and back up I-75. Most of the time I would never trade the bridge for anything, but a ride in my truck on the ferry would have been nice.

Listening to the wind whip across the water with my eyes closed almost made me feel like I was at the beach. I don't really like the beach for the reasons most people choose to vacation there. I don't like to swim, I don't care about getting a tan, I hate the feel of sand stuck to wet skin and hate having tons of barely clothed people lined up on the beach like a used car lot. But I love to stare at the horizon, wondering what exact point the water meets the air, smelling the salt air and listening to the sound of waves attacking land over and over. In the moments that I opened my eyes at the ferry landing, I became fixated on this watermarker (right), probably since it was the only thing to look at close by, and thought it made for an interesting analogy of recent life. My depth of comfort is not to the mark I would like, but beauty still surrounds me during this strange time.

I had a meeting yesterday that determined my official moving date to be June 12, which though not ideal is still much later than I imagined just last week. I'll still have to live with quite a bit of noise going on upstairs and around me (the back porch will be torn down to make a balcony). Unless Myra's apartment is completed way ahead of schedule, I will be moving into the Huston R.D. apartment that day for an indefinite period. Hopefully, I'll be able to move into Long just a few weeks later, making the "homeless" feeling not so burdensome right now. I've grown quite attached to the Rhea House in my short nine-month stay, I realized recently. It's going to look very different by this time next week.

I have this strange feeling that life will suddenly slow to a crawl in about a week, and I won't know quite what to do with myself. I'll work approximately 50-60 hours this week for the paper, while watching my guys leave for the summer and some for a new life in the "real world." Next week I have about the same work schedule and Bryan meetings every day before entering the weekend of Strawberry Festival, which contrary to certain cynics is a very nice cultural experience.Yes, there are those people that only come out of the hills once a year for the festival, but for someone that grew up in urban/suburban America it's a breath of fresh air.

Once life does slow down, I think I'll toy more with the idea of taking up learning to play the upright bass. Watching it being played at the Nickel Creek show the other night reminded me of a long-lost desire to float down river at night on a Tom and Huck-style raft while plunking out some mellow tunes to echo off the water and surrounding cliffs.