Huh? What? Shiiiiiny!

I had classes yesterday, but wimped out after math, skipping my art class to go home early. I didn't feel too great, and I was certainly tired. (I hate dozing off in math class, I'm sure it irritates poor Moez, but I just can't help it. x,x ) After walking through the bridge-tube connecting the 3rd floor of one of the school buildings with the parking garage, and descending to the first floor of the garage in search of my car, I hear this shout: "HEY! You're a retard! Hoo-hah-hah-hah!"
I turn, shocked, to make sure they're talking to *me*, and it's my younger brother. 9,9 Silly doofus. I walked over, shouting back how I was gonna kick his ass. He shushed me though, as he was on his cell with his girlfriend.
Anyways, got home and lazed online a bit. Dad got some gasoline for the mower, and had me go out and do my part of the lawn. (We have a big lawn. One acre. I think mowing it is a waste of time, effort, and money, but I never win that argument.) So I go out, bringing along my cheap 20-buck wakizashi-sized blade, and proceed to mow the lawn in the gathering darkness, taking slices at the brush and twigs that encroach on my lawn-orbit. (I mow a part of the lawn larger than a basketball court, starting at the edges and spiraling inward.) I shouted and railed at the storm for no real reason, making references like 'Foliage Foes' as I hacked and swung. Drops of cool rain started pattering on me as I rode the lawnmower around and around...reminding me how much I love autumn. Some of the best times of my life were in the fall...some of the moments I truly felt like I was part of a group...accepted, liked, appreciated, *Fitting In*.
Canoe trips with folks from my old church in Detroit contributed to that. We would camp near the Rifle River, (it sounds a lot faster than it is,) and canoe for perhaps three to four hours. The peace, the silent motion as the landscape slides by you, is precious. We'd always stop at a certain sandbar about 3/4 of the way to the end, and eat the lunches we'd packed. Coldcut sandwiches, cheetohs, oreos, apples. It all tasted three times as good as it usually does. The sun on our faces, the wet sand on our feet and clinging to our legs. The scrape on aluminum as someone launches again back into the green river.
Even though we've been living in Ohio now for more than seven years, it's still tradition to journey back up to Michigan and see old friends from church and cruise the river again. I didn't get to go this year, due to a class I have every Saturday now.
A somewhat related experience was my trip to Cedar Bend farm in Michigan when I was attending Spring Arbor University. All freshman are required to go on the trip at some time during their first year. My 'COR' class, (I don't know if I ever learned what that stood for,) rode to the farm in a big van...listening to songs on the radio like O-Town's 'I Want It All' and that 'Hit 'em up' song about women taking their deadbeat boyfriends' money. My classmates were singing along, and teasing each other, and I felt...included. I wasn't on the outside. People genuinely liked me in that group, and talked to me.
The experience at the farm was unique. We got there at dusk, and it darkened completely as we listened to the HUGE bear of a man who runs the place explain a few things. (No, really, this guy was like a believeable Paul Bunyan. Built like a fridge! We learned later he was a blacksmith too, no surprise.) He told us to leave any flashlights we had behind, and took us down a path between two fields to the outskirts of a small forest. He instructed us all to hold hands, and then led us into the woods. It was pitch black in there... We might as well have been walking with our eyes closed. The lead person shuffled ahead and murmured warnings like 'root,' or 'low branch' to the person behind. Miraculously, no one was hurt or even fell completely during the 15 minute-or-so walk into the depths of the woods. Eventually we stopped, and the Big Guy had us all spread out and just stand there...listening. Listening to the sounds of the woods, the wind soughing through the trees, a cool mist of pre-rain filtering in through the screen of trees to kiss our upraised faces.
That kind of set the theme for the rest of the weekend. Our class was divided in two, with one group staying on the farm to do chores the first day, while the other group hiked into the woods with a bunch of gear to camp. We had no tents, we had to fashion our own shelter from two big tarps they provided us with. (We ended up with a clumsy drooping structure of sticks and tarps that would've made a boyscout weep.) We worked to move a large number of rocks up a creek to rebuild a disintegrating dam, and in return we received a bunch of vegetables we could use to make soup. We all did little chores to keep the camp together and tidy, and it bonded us. We returned the next morning to find the group that had stayed behind at the farm had made a tremendous breakfast for us. Then we switched; the other group went into the woods to camp and we got a taste of farm life. Wheeling barrows of manure, (I'd done that before, but not when it was soaked with rain. GOD!) learning about spinning cloth, pressing apples to make cider, slaughtering a chicken, learning how to make nails with a forge and anvil, carving wood, and surely things I've forgotten. I do have a photo of myself there, holding one of the barn-cats that roamed the property. I'll scan it if I remember. The evening after all the farm work, we sat in the farmhouse's den, a fire blazing and one of the girls playing the piano for us. It was...just so cozy. It felt like Christmas feels when you're a kid...not today, when it's just a day or two off work and some gifts. That *something* was there. You never want it to end, but you do, too...just to experience it again in another year.

Well, enough reminscing for today. I want to make this fall a memorable one too...somehow.

Current Music: Enigma - Some Spanish song I downloaded by mistake