Sunday, November 5, 2006

My Green Meadows River Home Our departure gate at Minneapolis/St. Paul airport is C4. Not a good omen to have your gate named after plastique explosives two days after a terrorist plot to blow up planes is uncovered. And because of said plot, it wasn't a good omen to be caught trying to bring any form of water, creams, toothpaste, lotions, gel bras, Go'gurt or insulin on a plane either. But I wasn't about to let any weapons of moist destruction keep me from flying into D.C. for a visit with Jim and Melissa (Of Jim & Melissa fame). Several other friends, including my ex-wife, Heather, were also flying out to see them. Their stay stateside was so short we figured we'd rent a house in the Virginia countryside and all congregate there. We had found a place called Green Meadows River Home located near the lazy town of Luray, Virginia. From the online pictures and descriptions it looked like Huck Finn would walk by trying to catch fireflies in a mason jar while Norman Rockwell humped a pie cooling on the windowsill. But first we had to endure the War on Moisture while getting through security. There was minor grumbling over the inconvenience, including an overheard discussion on how much TNT a determined terrorist would be able to cram up their rectum and the belief that Halliburton must have just landed the beverage concession contract at America's airports. The lines moved swiftly for the most part, but it was worrisome to see all the confiscated liquids--which were being taken from us because they might be combined to form a bomb mind you--all being emptied together in one big metal bin right in the middle of hundreds of people. While there may have been a real threat from several individuals somewhere, this was pure TSA Security Theater and nothing more. Heather and I sat next to each other on the flight and I was reminded of the opposite images we'd be leaving for work together in the morning. I'd be all scruffy and unshaven in jeans and a T-shirt, while she was a fashion art director and looked the part in a totally put together look from 'do to shoes. With matching skin tone and red hair, we were more likely to be mistaken for brother and sister than husband and wife. An assumption we'd play up at various parties to get horrified looks from just-met guests when they later saw us making out in a corner. After an uneventful flight we quickly left DC behind and headed south into Virginia and the gentle curves of the Blue Ridge Mountains. We passed through several small towns, each having a statue of Stonewall Jackson looming in its town square, musket raised, his permanent scowl seeming to indicate he was about to let loose with a "Y'all damn kids git out of my yard!" We stopped at the supermarket in Luray for provisions. The first thing we noticed was a tractor driving down Main Street. Okay, let me take a paragraph here and say that I could care less about the Civil War, but lets face it, whenever someone wants to imitate a total moron, it's usually in a southern accent. And I'll admit I had my Yankee radar up for any indication of redneck activity for the sole purpose of providing me with easy punchlines for the weekend. I could have been playing a chess match with a local while discussing cost push inflation in haikus and still be hearing banjo music. Stereotypes are just a great time-saving device. We didn't have to wait long. While parking the car at the supermarket we got our first taste of southern culture when a woman set a ratty-dressed snot-crusted kid on the roof of the car so she could light her cigarette. She grabbed her uncle-daddy's-baby, resting him on the bulge of her newly pregnant belly and kicked close the door of a late model Chevy that had been assembled from at least four other cars with enough force to knock a significant amount of the rust off. I think it had a 2x4 bolted to the back for a bumper too. Granted, I've seen similar people at my own local store back in the Union States, but, wow, this was just making it too easy. While the market was lacking in some products, it made up for it in others. Who knew there were that many edible parts of a pig? Who knew you could buy crosses already pre-soaked in kerosene? Okay, I'm joking about the last one, but two things did worry me, apart from the fact that the freezers were broken down and had this sign on them... One was the bargain bin of meat; an overflowing freezer section crammed with various unidentifiable animal tissues for 'sale in a hurry'. The other worry was wondering if they'd sell us alcohol on a Sunday. This is an act that adults in Minnesota are not deemed responsible enough to handle. When I started stacking the booze on the check-out counter, the woman in front of us gave us a stare that said we'd be asked to put it back and say half a dozen Hail Marys. I was still unloading groceries when the clerk reached for a twelver of Killian's Red. The successful 'boop' of it clearing the scanner made me turn to Heather will a silent "Yessssssssss!" "Melissa said this place was 14 miles past where the road ends. Or until we can only pick up far right wing Christian radio stations" I said as our tires left asphalt and began kicking up a cloud of gravel dust that would have done the General Lee proud. High grasses pressed in on either side, being urged forward by tall pines behind them that reached over the road to shake hands with their counterparts on the other side. Out here, rivers were called 'runs', but only meandered. Settin' on the porch seemed to be more popular than cable and we were treated to street signs bearing names like Mountainview, Lost Corner, Paddlers' Retreat, Fodder Notch, Bovine Drive and the inexplicable Little Egypt. We missed the narrow driveway on the first pass, but backed up and left the road. The woods seemed to press uncomfortably close on either side as the sunlight was being strangled into shadows by the branches. Which is why we thought we saw a human skin hanging from the gate in the road. It turned out to be a pale yellow Tibetan prayer flag (stupid Nepalese king). The house was just up around the bend on a big plot of land that had been carved from the forest. It had a huge porch with plenty of tables and benches in the back and a screened in porch up front. Green Meadows River Home by day... Heather and I brought in one load of groceries and set about exploring it right away. It was a tiny place seemingly made up of Escheresque room after room with no apparent order or reason on why they connected or where they led to. There were plenty of little discoveries, however, like antique crumb brooms in the heavy dark wooded china hutch, a Tibetan temple bell in the kitchen and a diary from 1947 nestled on a bookshelf upstairs. This olde school blog revealed that most of people's time back then was spent eating and going to church. We readied the house for the arrival of the rest of the group. Heather was impressed that some of the bed-making lessons she had taught me while married had apparently stuck. We grilled up some pork chops and had dinner by firefly light on the front porch. A large possum waddled its way along the front hedge just ahead of the dusk, but didn't stay long, choosing to seek its dinner elsewhere. Jim and Melissa showed up a few hours later. In tow, they had their three young daughters--Mercedes, Reeve and Cian--as well as our friend Katie. The house immediately filled with energy, laughter, music and mayhem. The kids most urgent mission was to set up a minefield of Leggos dispersed over the entire wooden floor of the dining room. Various plastic dinosaurs and African wildlife was set up to patrol its borders. It was unbelievable to think the last time we had all been together was long ago and far away in the warm sands of Dubai. Hugs and food and drinks were passed around as we re-explored the house and divvied up the bedrooms. Melissa said when they drove up the darkened driveway and came to the gate, Reeve had said "I scared a little." At that point we all admitted our festering belief that this was the perfect setting for any type of slasher/ghost/horror movie. Your towering sharp angle of your first view of the house through the low-hanging branches along the driveway was almost cliché. Only a pipe organ soundtrack and flash of lightning would have made it more so. The house was full of creaking stairs and doors and other sounds that went unidentified. There were mysteriously locked doors. A soulless black pond with a cracked statue of an angel gazing mournfully into its depths was positioned at the edge of the looming Blair Witch Woods. So were several shacks and sheds with dusty cobwebbed windows you couldn't quite see through. The breezy curtains of the bedrooms danced in the wind, creating various specters from shrubs and a laundry pole in the yard. Or was that an ancient cross used for ritual sacrifices? ...and by night. "Come on, now." I said. "Just because that gypsy woman Heather hit with the car said this place was built on an ancient temple before she died doesn't mean anything is going to happen. Besides those graves in the basement look really old, so they can't be where the insane woman who used to live here buried her family. The asylum staff has probably recaptured her by now anyways." We laughed. Then laughed nervously. The basement was Horror Flick 101 whose walls and floors were just packed dirt. The air was musty and corpse cool with nothing more than a dim bare light bulb to bring the shadows to life. There were strange gouges in the wall and part of the floor was damp with a thick reddish liquid. I giggled at my tingling spine as I walked back up the groaning wooden steps. But I did check the latch on the door (twice) before hurrying back to rejoin our group. To guarantee everyone's safety, Jim, Katie and I stayed up far too late. And drank far too much. And had far too many entrants in our 'Most Embarrassing Song on Your iPod' contest. But we were far too tired to care. "You want another Dogfish Ale?" asked Jim from behind the open fridge door. "Of course." I yawned. "If we're attacked by zombies they won't want to eat our brains if we kill off enough cells with alcohol." Even Jim, a former national debate champion, could not argue with that logic and joined me for one more on the front porch. 11:38:55 PM    Say it don't spray it... []

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