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Beech Mountain |
Grandfather’s cabinet full of scotch and guns
him seated a cursory glance at the Journal
morning coffee
nothing immune to the greenbluebrown patchwork
an accommodating floor
pictures from olden days line the downstairs
forming a makeshift gallery…
Grandmother, matriarch
in kitchen reaching for the spice rack
deliberate in her choice
she fashions Thanksgiving
brown plates alongside orange cups
comprise setups
at the long wooden table where we all sat…
Little things they collected
his journals, accounts from WWII
kept locked in a trunk
baseball cards and sweets in the pantry for the kids
other considerations—crude ski equipment
hung from the wall not for beginners
old liquor for older men turning the shelves into a chemistry set
keeping the house stocked for family
a stronghold in the lawless mountains…
She with an affinity for pigs
that softens the manor’s high beams
and that laugh! admiring an indulgence
that spans many generations voices wind chimes
even spilling over into the driveway
pigs in the garden, fat ones next to fine china,
and shopping lists
"I’ve been dieting for one week and all I’ve lost is seven days…."
For evening entertainment
you can usually find the fox
busy hunting in forest confines
nocturnal
searching for pieces of meat we might
hang off the deck
to shine a flashlight on him makes us laugh with abandon…
Four unique swivel chairs
are but vantage points
from which to see the pool room
chock full of activity
a faded felt tip hopefully won’t wreck the marble red hue
looking stately
acting as centerpiece
amidst a handsome outline of quarters…
Garage smelling faintly of hardware and sawdust
boxes piled high with contents
impossible to decipher these unnecessary packings
that crowd the edges
making way for a vintage golf cart
pipe holder on the dashboard
the smoky perfume of a long neglected habit…
If you’re running low on supplies
visit Fred’s General Mercantile
purveyor of goods
town hall
sandwich shop
pulse of Watauga County
hiking boots, magnets, and a temperature gauge
to show you just how far the noontime sun has fallen…
Trails that crisscross the mountaintop past natures conservancy
and onward towards trees. Trees! Including the one off
#3 fairway its twisty gnarled branches perched
atop a massive tree trunk anchor
roots spread out, visible
securing a residence in North Carolina…
Fort Shawneehaw the abandoned Indian settlement
once a thriving community
now great for doing dares
like standing on the swing set
doing an Apache imitation
auditioning
a nighttime watchman guarding his homeland…
Golf course the perfect place
to kill an afternoon with cousins
over hotdogs, stale beer,
collars wilting like paper airplanes
doused with water
making outrageous bets where no one follows through
a treasure trove of lost golf balls lies somewhere
in the forest or at the bottom of a lake…
4th of July festival
annual roasting of the hog
includes country music, dancing
nervous sons and daughters spread out
over green hills and blankets
anticipating fireworks or even lips of strangers
once the very fulcrum of existence
kisses fleeting as a secret
that fades like the intensity of these explosions…
Grassy Gap Loop Road winds a familiar path
along the mountain’s ledge
alpine houses on stilts sit on cliffs
that stare down to a basement of trees
their leaves quietly ablaze in Halloween
the mosaic
leaving no spaces between
commit this all to memory
from inside any bedroom…
Elevation makes for strange weather
in winter months
flurries, then sleet hitting the southern highlands
followed by winter carnival
skiers stem Christie
vying for friction on trails that are really
small appendages of the main road
entire families
snow blind on a gradient…
Christmas, king of holidays
ouses family from far corners
to convene on one driveway full of out of state plates
dawn breaks to a mad scramble
adults in semi-circle
surround a procession of ornaments
with each person wondering
which wall was removed to house this frasier fir…
The stone hearth set at the far end of the family room
exudes warmth but requires a lot of fuel
eating logs like an automaton
and summoning those who wander too close
above, on the mantle, our family crest
Dirhelm der Steinegger, 1223
holding court over his branches
topic of conversation
inviting us to look up…
Several years have passed since our circle has seen
the mountain air rise up to greet
the resonance of our time
new occupants cannot stake claim to the steep downstairs
leading to floor level, half submerged in the bedrock
At the end of the long hallway past all the photos
I remember the eye in the door
on the outside Beech Mountain
its dominion over the pioneer
North Star…
copyright 2005
Eric
Steineger |
