HILLSPEAKING
from The Anglican Digest 

EASTER A.D. 2008

NOW well into my later 80s, I find myself appreciative of and intrigued by the “small things” that Bob Horine speaks to so eloquently in the “Thanks for the Small Things” chapter of his book, Stories, Tales and a Few Small Lies of a Country Parson (Forward Movement Publications, not available through The Anglican Bookstore).

I have lived at Hillspeak longer than anywhere else in my life so that the memorable “small things” that have occurred have, for most part, taken place here on Grindstone Mountain.  The bigger things such as the Great Depression (as a boy), World War II (as a youngster in his 20s), the Korean War (as a not-so-young family man), have, by and large, left little impression. 

On the other hand, being hit in the pit of my stomach by a frightened rabbit’s hard head is a memory that is likely to stay with me.  Similarly, being hit on the tip of my nose by an off-course bumblebee is an experience to remember.  Fortunately, it was a head-on collision so his stinger wasn’t deployed.

Sometime in the mid-70s, I was on a ladder making some small repairs on the Old Residence where Patient Wife and I then lived.  One hand was firmly gripping a rung (I am not particularly enthusiastic about being up on ladders); the other held a hammer.  A hornet, wasp, or yellow jacket scored a direct hit on the lobe of my right ear.  I dared not let hold of the ladder and I couldn’t smash him with the hammer.

He took his time and then merrily sailed away while I scrambled down the ladder as fast as I could.  I had a “leather” ear for several days following.

The Silver Cloud Ranch (so called before Father Foland and his colleagues arrived in the ‘60s and renamed the place) earned its name because of the fog that occasionally enshrouds Grind-stone Mountain, cutting it off from the rest of the world.  If weather conditions are just right, two beautiful, but quite different, phenomena can occur: If temperature and humidity are just right, the fog appears to be made of tiny particles of ice.  It is a phenomenon that occurs seldom and lasts only a short time, but those few minutes are well worth remembering.  The other sight to gladden the eyes and the heart comes only in the early morning just as the sun is clearing the hills to the east of Hillspeak.  If the sun is red enough and the fog of just the right density pink fog occurs and sometimes lasts for a half-hour or so.

A different sight of quite another color gave Patient Wife and I considerable concern on an early fall afternoon when leaf raking and burning was underway in the neighborhood.  We had just stepped out of the Farm House and looked toward Saint Mark’s Cemetery and saw what appeared to be a roaring wildfire bearing down on us.  Not until we had walked closer could we see that it was the setting sun’s rays being broken up by a light breeze blowing through the dancing leaves.

Rabbits, bugs, fog – not really related, yet interrelated to make up the warp and woof of Hillspeak.

Come see for yourself.



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