Wrestling (Not Rustling) Leaves

Yesterday morning, I opened the windows and doors of my house to allow fresh air to circulate—the first fresh air in nearly two weeks.  When I opened the front door, a half-dozen leaves that had fallen from my Mayday tree whisked inside my house and began a highly animated wrestling match about three feet behind me as a cool wind pushed at me.

“Good morning fellas,” I said to the leaves.  And then I stomped on them, because that’s what humans do.

--Mitchell Hegman

Silver for Rain

Early this morning, I opened my back door to blackness and a swell of chill air.  I heard the sound of honest rain falling against earth made hard by lack of moisture.  I could still smell wildfire smoke in the air, but it no longer stung my nostrils as before.

Naked, I walked out into the rain, opened my hot tub, and slipped into the steaming water.  Raindrops kissed my face and shoulders as I closed my eyes and leaned back into a watery seat.

I sat there as the rain intensified.  At one point, I opened my eyes and watched a pair of headlights drain down through the scattered pines of a distant mountain.  The headlights soon dissolved into a dark fold.  I closed my eyes and lifted my face into the rain again.

The rain kissing me.

There was a time when I bought and held silver as a hedge against a crashing economy.  Well, the economy did not crash so much as did the price of silver.  Same happened to me with gold.  Out of necessity, I sold at the bottom of each market.  I always tell people expressing interest in precious metals to check with me and then do the opposite of what I think.

I thought about my silver as I sat in the rain and watched the sun hoist first light against the far clouds.  I have come to learn that, out here in the West, rain is sometimes far more precious than silver.

My silver has been gone for a very long time.  If I had any left, though, I would have given it all for this morning’s rain.  I would give it again for rain tomorrow.

--Mitchell Hegman

A Blizzard Might be Welcome about Now

The constant smoke and the wildfires clawing through nearly every chain of mountains that surrounds us have converted our normally expansive views to life behind gray curtains.  At the moment, I cannot see the nearest horse pasture or nearest hills just beyond my house.

I woke this morning feeling stuffy and hot.  I did not even open the windows last night for the thick smoke and fire-smell.  As I wrestled out of bed and plodded off to make coffee, I thought, “Man, a blizzard might be welcome about now.”

Today, I am posting a couple of photographs I captured early one winter morning while driving through Helena on my way to work during a blizzard.  I posted one of these photographs previously, but looking at them feels pretty good right now.

--Mitchell Hegman

At Some Level

Simple, inflexible reactions to intractable and layered problems must be, at some level, mistakes…but why do they feel so good?

--Mitchell Hegman

The Mayor of Hauser is Gone

As a child, you never suspect that you will become friends with one of your parent’s friends.  Honestly, I was a bit frightened by my father’s friend, Leo St Clair.   He struck me as a little loud when he spoke.  It did not help that when you went to his house, you found on the front door a sign that read: Don’t Go Away Mad, Just Go Away.

Just the same, as I grew into an adult, I became good friends with Leo.  Hopefully, I became a little bit family.  In 1991 my wife and I constructed our own house near his place on Hauser Lake—on property that my father, Leo, and Leo’s brother purchased together.  By that time retired, Leo came up to check on me every day during the course of construction.  He helped me with laying concrete block and helped me lift walls into place.  He would sometimes bring me hardware from town.  I borrowed tools from him.

At some point, everyone that visited the lake started calling Leo “the mayor.”

My life stopped for a while in the spring of 1996.  That’s when my wife, Uyen, was struck by transverse myelitis, an autoimmune disease that left her severely disabled.  After two months of hospitalization, Uyen was finally scheduled to come home again.  I felt both happy and distressed about how I might care for Uyen.  My work in construction did not provide me with time for leave so that I could take Uyen to the weekly doctor and physical therapy sessions that were required for her long road to recovery.  In a conversation with Leo and his wife, Elma, I expressed my concerns about both keeping my job and delivering Uyen to her constant appointments in town.

“That’s not a problem, Mitch,” Leo assured me.  “Elma and I can take Uyen into town so that you can go to work.”

They did just that.  Several times every week, for another three months, Leo and Elma drove Uyen into Helena as she slowly drew herself up from a wheelchair and began wobbling around with a cane.  I was able to remain working, thanks to them.

I cannot count the times when Leo helped me fix mechanical whatnots.  I cannot count the hours of simple conversation at the lakeshore.

I do not have the words to express how much difference Leo made in my life.  “Thanks” seems a bit common.  “I could not have done it without you” is barely a start.

Leo passed on yesterday.

The mayor of Hauser is gone.

Long live the mayor’s good deeds.   

--Mitchell Hegman

Hauling

As I looked through some older files of photographs on my computer yesterday, I found a file with some photographs from my 2009 trip to Vietnam.  Posted today are two photographs I captured while diving along in our hired van.   The streets and highways there were often packed with motorcycles.  Sometimes, the motorcycles are used for hauling goods to and from the markets.

--Mitchell Hegman

The Pull

War, politics, and television programming are all proof that, collectively, we tend to gravitate to the level of thinking achieved by the looniest persons among us.

--Mitchell Hegman

A Bruised Sunrise

Only coyotes seem to truly understand the need to openly cry when the final shoal of stars falter above the western horizon where clouds break like seawaves against the bruised colors of first light.

--Mitchell Hegman

A Brief Adventure in Smartphone World

Here is an example of how I use my smarter-than-me-phone:

Yesterday, I wanted to text my nephew’s wife some information about huckleberry jam.  Within fifteen seconds of picking up my phone and fiddling around, I inadvertently sent a phone call out to a septic service outfit I had called earlier.  I somewhat panicked when I realized that the call went out and inadvertently closed-out entire interactive screen as the phone continued the call.  After about five rings and countless swipes and taps, I finally managed to stop the call before someone picked-up on the other end.

Once I finally managed to send out a text, I kept it simple: “Call me.”

--Mitchell Hegman

Toilet Paper Research

My friend Bill called his daughter the other day.  “What kind of toilet paper do you use?” he asked her.

“What for?” she asked.

“I am doing research,” Bill responded.

“You need to put Mom on the phone right away,” his daughter said.  Bill handed his phone over to his wife.

“What is Dad doing?” Bill’s daughter asked her mother.

“He wants to find the best toilet paper,” Bill’s wife responded.   “Something he read in Costco Magazine got him started.”

“How long is this going to last?”

“I don’t know…you know how your father is.”

Fact is, Bill’s toilet paper research may take some time.  To begin with, there is more to toilet paper than you might suspect.  Secondly, Bill intends to personally try every brand.  At present, Bill has three brands on the vanity in his bathroom: Kirkland, Angel Soft, and Charmin.

“Kirkland is losing-out at the moment,” he grimly informed several of us as we discussed his research.

We did not ask for details.

For those interested, a host of toilet paper reviews can found online.

Toilet paper can be of one-ply, two-ply, or three-ply manufacture.  Some brands are made from recycled materials.  Several factors are considered when reviewing toilet paper.  Price is obviously a factor.  The square footage per roll is measured.  The strength and absorption of the tissue is calculated.  Dissolvability is tested (especially important for those with septic systems).  Some reviews are more concerned with how soft the tissue is and whether the tissue—I hate to mention—leaves behind balls of material (pilling in toilet-paper-speak).

My friend Bill became positivity giddy when he started talking about Northern Ultra three-ply toilet paper.  “I think that will be the winner.  It has great reviews.”

One day, a few years ago, while a bunch of us were cruising Hauser Lake, Bill had me dock my boat at a public campground so he could use the restroom.  Holding my pontoon boat against the dock, I watched him waddle off and enter the restroom.  A few minutes later, my cell phone.  It was Bill.  He had not yet emerged from the restroom.

I answered: “Yes?”

“I’m all done in here.  I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks for sharing, Bill.”

I am hoping that Bill does not call me from his bathroom as he is personally reviewing his next three brands of toilet paper.  Chances are, he will.      

--Mitchell Hegman

We Have Jupiter

It is not enough to acquire a Goldilocks zone orbit near a bright star, such as that of our Earth and the Sun, or to be of similar size and range of temperature to Earth in order to produce and then sustain life.  A planet must also have what amounts to, essentially, a “big brother” in orbit nearby.

We have Jupiter.

Jupiter is massive.  The surface area of Jupiter is something over 120 times that of our Earth.  Gravity on the big planet is a bit over twice as strong as that which holds leaf and stone to the surface of our planet.  The gravitational pull of Jupiter may well be the very thing protecting us from a sudden and cataclysmic demise.  Acting like a giant vacuum cleaner, Jupiter sucks from the space surrounding most of the large, Earth-threatening bodies whizzing through the solar system.

Jupiter protects us from fatal collisions.

Thanks, Jupiter!

--Mitchell Hegman

To Hell with Communism

Following is one of my journal entries from February of the year 2000.  The event and conversation took place at Discovery Ski Area:

After skiing down from sun-filled ridgelines and navigating cuts through tall pines I reached the lift line for a double chair behind my two partners.  They paired-up for the chair, leaving me as a single.  Noticing an older man there in line without a partner, I asked if he cared to share a lift chair with me.

 

He affirmed and we merged into a pair.

No more than a dozen people stood in the lift line ahead of us.  We quickly herringboned ahead and flopped into a chair.   Save for the come-and-go squealing of occasional tower sheaves, the chair smoothly ascended the vast snow and timber mountains, often whisking us high above snowy forest or snowpack  runs filled with skiers and snowboarders draining back down to the lodge in their quirky patterns.   The elder gentleman and I began chatting as soon as our skis lifted from the base of the mountain.  I detected a distinct accent as we spoke.  Though some might consider such a thing rude, I asked him where he had come from.

“I am from Poland,” he said.

“What brought you to this country?”

“I came to escape communism.”

“Oh, I understand.  My wife fled from Vietnam for the same reasons.  Her family actually began a flight from communism near the Chinese border.  For many years, they kept leaping just a little ahead of the wave, until they reached the southern tip of Vietnam.”

The gentleman nodded appreciatively.  “I am glad she is here.”

“Me, too.”

Following the sinusoidal mountainshape, the chair slowly dipped into a small valley, then began to ascend rather sharply up the long, timbered face of a mountain.  “The thing is,” the man continued, “communism is a stupid system.  I don’t understand why it took all these years to fall.”

“Do you have family left behind?”

“Not much.  A brother-in-law and sister.  I am old.”

I nodded, not exactly wishing to agree, but unable to deny the gentleman’s advanced age.  I clacked my skis together and gazed out over the ever-expanding panorama, the rugged Anaconda-Pintlar Wilderness, Georgetown Lake.  “I love the vista from this chair,” I said conversationally.  “These are beautiful days, skiing.”

We talked about other things as the chair scaled up toward the roving clouds and mountaintops.  Someplace above the expanse of snow and forest, the subject turned to Butte and the strong union sentiment there.  I told him I favored unions over all other options.  He admitted that he saw them as less than ideal.  The gentleman thought unionism, when overplayed by workers, when over-controlling, was a second-cousin to communism.  We spoke about the Midwest, which he did not like, having lived there for a few years.  “This is where I want to live,” he told me.

We said ‘good-bye’ as the chair drew close to the top.

I think about that ride up the chair because in many ways I know as much about that man as I know about some people I have known for ten years.  We agreed.  We disagreed amicably.  And I don’t even know his name.

--Mitchell Hegman

Drifting Away on the Inside

Not to rage against.  Not the whole of a nation grinding to a halt.  Not to leap from a jagged cliff with arms outstretched.  Not bloody martyrdom amid sprays of gunfire.

Instead…just this once…to quietly slip out the back door while the rest of the family whispers in another room.  To drift out, numbed, amid the field of red poppies.

The clouds now frozen in place.  The rivers gone away.  The songbirds quiet.  Not to walk, but to float toward the chain of mountains that never clear from the mist.

--Mitchell Hegman

Hell

Red sun.  Veiled sky.  Flaming trees.  Blackened fields.  Smoldering mountains.  Homes gone.  Hell hath no fury like the West beset by firestorms.

--Mitchell Hegman

Just Wondering

What cruel trick of fate has landed all know-it-alls in the position where they know everything but lack the ambition to do anything about it?

--Mitchell Hegman

The Slow Crash

My friend’s eighty-something-year-old father is slowly crashing to an end.  His father’s body is permanently crooked and weak.  Recently, the old man has been stringing together bad days.  He has been confused and nearly as helpless as an infant.  The world is now passing him by.

My friend sometimes helps to care for his father.  The other night, his father emerged from several hours of delirium and beckoned my friend closer.  “Son…can you help me?”

“Help you with what, Dad?" 

“I want to live.”

--Mitchell Hegman

Just Before Dark, Just After Dark

Just before dark, gusting winds forced the trees at the lake to bend down and touch their knees.  Plastic cups and napkins flew off with the feeding swallows.  The lake converted into a mass of whitecap waves.  A lone fishing boat Doppler-droned off down through the rough waters.

Though the inrush of chill air felt rather delicious brushing against our faces and arms, that girl and I gathered up our belongings and drove the short distance from the lakeshore to the house.  We arrived at the house just as oversized raindrops began to ting against the truck and the last of daylight melted into a wall of invading clouds.

Just after dark, lightning began to pulse within the clouds and bright bolts cracked down into the surrounding mountains.   That girl and I dragged two lawn chairs out onto the back deck and watched the light show amid the rumbling thunder.

At once, an over-bright bolt of lightning knifed into the mountain immediately across the lake from us.   Only a minute or two later, orange flames began dancing among some trees there.

I grabbed my phone and called 911 to report the fire.

Then came rain wholesale.

That girl and I moved back under the open arches at the back of the house as the dry landscape released the scent of wet stone and wet sage.  The rain continued.  The fire in the trees across the lake opened and closed, crawled a little, then died in the rain.

We sat in the rain until the lighting and thunder retreated back into the clouds again.    

--Mitchell Hegman

Details

The small details found within our lives are often the most frustrating or, contrarily, the most pleasing.

I recall, on the frustrating side, struggling to open the plastic bags I pulled from the rolls at the produce section of grocery stores every time I tore a bag free and tried to stuff apples or some other handful of produce inside.  I mean, time after time, I stood there wrestling with the bags as if they were live fish—swapping ends, grasping, pinching, trying to open the damned things.

For years, I struggled with plastic bags.

About three years ago, a smartly dressed young woman took notice of me as I attempted to open a plastic bag.  I suspect I was putting on a pretty spectacular show.  She approached.  “There is a trick to those,” she proffered.  She reached out a hand “I can show you.”

“Sure,” I said.  I watched as the woman lightly moistened the thumb and index finger of her right hand with her tongue.  She then pinched the end of the bag with her finger and thumb and made the motion of snapping her fingers.

The bag immediately rolled open.

That simple.  My life changed forever.

Yesterday, on the pleasing side, I took notice of something that has evaded me for the entire summer.  Posted is a photograph of my socks and shoes as I stood on my back deck.  The colors match perfectly!

Hey, I’ll take victories where I find them…

--Mitchell Hegman

Sucker Creek Fire (Continued)

As of late last night, the Sucker Creek Fire had spread to only 150 acres in spite of burning in heavy timber.

Fires behave and misbehave in mystifying ways.

The Sucker Creek Fire essentially laid down for a while, marooned by calm weather and higher humidity.  Given a hot, dry day and a kick or two from the wind, the fire might easily get swept up and crown across the forest like flaming birds set free.

Years ago, a bad fire season and grim fire conditions in Idaho’s rugged Selway pushed the Pete King Fire through 161,000 acres of forest in a single day.  When a fire blows-up, flaming logs and snapped treetops and seemingly volcanic flames burst forth and spew across the mountains.  Weather systems build like atomic mushroom clouds overtop such blow-ups.

Firefighters have been trying to establish defensive lines around the Sucker Creek Fire.

The policy to actively fight all wildfires came over 100 years ago in 1910.  That summer, a horrific firestorm swept across Idaho’s panhandle and deep into Western Montana.  The firestorm of 1910 converted 3 million acres of forestland to ash in only two days.  Several small mountain towns were wiped-out entirely.  The fires left 85 people and innumerable forest and domestic animals dead.  That firestorm triggered both the public and the Forest Service (only five years young at the time) to adopt a policy of aggressively fighting any wildfire within reach and to make all attempts to reach them early.

If the weather conditions remain favorable and the terrain is not too rugged, the Sucker Creek Fire might be contained.  During the year 2000, when Montana seemed burning from end to end, I read quite a bit about wildland fires.  Some of the information seemed a bit obvious.  Fires travel faster uphill than downhill.  Cool temperatures and high humidity press fires down.  Somewhere along the line, I read a lengthy fire study.  I jotted down a few things I found interesting.  Posted below is part of what I found on a table for fire speeds.  The speeds are for calm conditions.  Obviously, strong winds will drive fires much faster.

I did not write down the source for this study.  I believe the study was conducted by the Forest Service.

--Mitchell Hegman

Sucker Creek Fire

This summer, parts of the West that are unaccustomed to drought and wildfire have been experiencing both.

Here in Montana, wildfires are a natural force in shaping the landscape.  Living near the east slopes of the Rocky Mountains—caught in dry rain shadow—I expect to experience a “fire season.”  As I watch the occasional lightning storm prowl through the mountains, stabbing jagged daggers into the forests, I always wonder how many fiery beasts have been released with claw and flame to begin tearing down the forests.

Montana has been fairly fortunate so this summer.  Wildfires are presently raging in Glacier National Park.  Late last month, the Cabin Gulch Fire near Townsend tore through about 1,600 acres of grassland and scattered timber before firefighters and a turn in the weather dragged the beast to a stop.  Though the potential has been present, we have not seen anything near that wildfire devastation experienced in the year 2000 or 2003.

Yesterday, however, a forest fire flourished to life in the Sucker Creek drainage of the Upper Blackfoot Valley.  By mid-afternoon a billowing arm of smoke was reaching over the mountains near Helena.  The fire is only about ten miles from my cabin, but is presently pushing in the opposite direction.

After finishing up my last appointment for the day at about 3:00 in the afternoon, I drove home to grab that girl.  Together, we drove to the top of Flesher Pass so we could see exactly where the fire was burning.  Posted is a photo I took from the top of Flesher Pass.

Hoping for the best.

   --Mitchell Hegman 

Sunrise on Hauser Lake

On a still morning, this.

--Mitchell Hegman

A Google Search

Yesterday, that girl doubled a tapioca pudding recipe and ended up with a zillion gallons of tapioca pudding. We were swimming in the stuff.

“Do you think we can freeze tapioca pudding?” she asked as the cats paddled away.

“I’ll check the internet,” I suggested.

I grabbed my laptop, intending to write “Can tapioca pudding be frozen?” into my Google search box.  Following are the letter-by-letter top Google results that appeared as I typed my question into my laptop.  On the eighth character (counting one space between words) I found my answer.

“c”

craigslist

“ca”

capital one

“can”

candis cayne

“can _”

can i run it

“can t”

can turkeys fly

“can ta”

can taylor swift sing

“can tap”

can tape worms be passed from dogs to humans

“can tapi”

can tapioca kill you

can tapioca go bad

can tapioca pearls cause cancer

can tapioca pudding be frozen

Freezing tapioca pudding is fine, by the way.

Some canine tapeworms are zoonotic, which means that they can pass from dogs to humans.

Taylor Swift can sing and is incredibly generous with her fans and her time.

Wild turkeys can fly, but tend to stay on the ground for most part.

Following a “can I run it” thread will land you at computer game sites.

Candis Cayne is a somewhat mannish-looking woman for good reason.

Capital One and craigslist are commercial ventures.

Blank boxes generally yield nothing.

--Mitchell Hegman

The Guardians

Yesterday, that girl and I drove up to the cabin to finish up a little wiring and sheet the last unfinished kitchen wall in preparation for applying a faux tile product.  After a few hours of work, we took a break from our work and hiked up the mountain behind the cabin to check on my neighbor’s cordwood-construction sauna.

Just as we arrived at the sauna, we bumped into a pair of mule deer.  The deer bounced off to a slightly greater distance when we approached within thirty or so feet, but hung around us as that girl and I stood near the sauna, talking and admiring the look of the project.

All is well at the top of the mountain and the mule deer have taken to guarding the perimeter.

Posted is a photograph of the deer near the sauna.

  --Mitchell Hegman

Our Best

We do our best when we stuff our own mortality in our back pocket and begin climbing the cliff anyhow.

--Mitchell Hegman

Montana State Capitol Building

Last week, I took my visiting sister to see the Montana state Capitol building.  She—like so many other people raised here in Helena—had never taken time to see the Capitol building.

She and her husband were impressed.

The Montana Capitol building officially opened for use on July 4, 1902.  The dome is covered with copper—a metal that largely defined Montana’s history for the first forty years of statehood.  Inside the building, you find yourself wrapped in brilliant colors and natural daylight that fills the stairways and dome.  The columns and open spaces and rising constructions are awe inspiring.

I have posted photographs of the Capitol in previous blogs, but cannot resist doing so again.  These photographs were captured with my smarter-than-me-phone.

--Mitchell Hegman

Midsummer

An hour into full light, I walk from my house forcing grasshoppers to blossom in reds and yellows and then deflect out over the sun-warmed expanse.  The distant mountains have become solid jade and the upper sky has become steel.

As a young boy, I longed for these long hot days.  I wanted to chase through the heat with a stick or fishing rod in hand.  I wanted the sun to stand there forever, pressing warmth into the creek waters and forest shadows.

Today, I worry about the invasion of exotic weeds and wildfires.  I think of retirement accounts and friends vanished on the horizon.  I reflect on the bounces in my life that brought me here.  I pause, trying to determine what it means that a television show I watched last night featured five young, well-known celebrities that I have heard nothing about.

 

For the first time in my life, I think my mind is full. 

--Mitchell Hegman

An Awful Sound

Yesterday, I experienced connectivity problems with HughesNet, my internet provider.  After calling several of the requisite wrong numbers and then punching through numbers on my dialer to wade through an automated menu, I finally connected to the technical help line.  A recorded message informed me that I would have an extended waiting time.  I switched my smarter-than-me-phone to speaker and set the phone on the kitchen counter beside me.

That’s when elevator music filled my phone.

The sound was horrendous—something like what you might expect to hear if a garbage disposer tried to eat a drum set, three French horns, and a small pickup truck at the same time.

At first, I thought something was wrong with my phone.

I actually jumped back, cringing.  After no more than ten seconds, I turned the volume down.  I considered ending the call.

As I reflect back on all of that this morning, I wonder how many calls are shed because of the awful waiting music.  Could it be part of a purposeful plan to reduce call traffic?

After suffering through the music for a while, I finally talked with someone in India.  I was told that the network was experiencing problems on their end.  I am posting today through my smarter-than-me-phone because my HughesNet is still down.

I am a bit reluctant to call again.

--Mitchell Hegman

Crayfish

Male crayfish are behaviorally similar to the male of our species.  According to Crayfish Confrontation, an online article I found at Wild and Free in Montana, crayfish are aggressive and territorial by nature.  They tend to brawl a lot—using their big pincher claws as the weapons of choice.  Most of us have likely not given notice to such crayfish activity because they live at the bottom of rivers, lakes, and ponds.  They also tend to hide under rocks by day and are active at night.

Some male crayfish—just as their human counterparts—avoid fighting by employing bluster and fakery.  No, they don’t run out and buy big trucks with chrome roll bars and oversized tires to make up for other shortcomings.  They don’t flash wads of borrowed money.  Instead, some male crayfish will grow abnormally large claws that scare the hell out of potential combatants and cause opponents to scuttle away in fear.

Two points of interest here.

First, the larger claws are actually weaker in “pinching power” than those of normal size.

Second, some lucky biologist garnered a pretty decent paycheck to test the pinching power of oversized claws on male crayfish.

Here is and intentional blank space: ___________.  You are welcome to insert a sigh or the curse word of your choice into the blank space for not being the person to think of measuring the pinching power of crayfish as a career move.

Brilliant!

 

Almost as brilliant as researching and documenting what happens to mosquitoes when a raindrop hits them in midflight.

Biologists call such things as crayfish growing oversized, but weaker claws “dishonesty in weapons signaling.”

Here is another blank space: ___________.  You are welcome to insert what you consider the appropriate dollar amount for developing the phrase dishonesty in weapons signaling.  I landed at just under $100.00 on this one.  If lunch was involved, I am also willing to cover that as an added expense.

Finally, I have posted a photograph of a mess crayfish that my cousin Buzz boiled-up over the weekend.  They were my inspiration to read about crayfish.  Buzz caught the crayfish in some traps he set in some shallow water near a heap of boulders along the shore of Canyon Ferry Reservoir. 

They tasted delicious!

By the way, pretty much nothing happens when raindrops strike mosquitoes in midair.

The more you know…

--Mitchell Hegman

Riptide

A song (with lyrics) by Vance Joy.

--Mitchell Hegman

If the video posted here fails to launch, please click on this link:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yy21fr7z6wY

First

Sitting here on my sofa at 5:10 on Sunday morning, with my hair sticking up like a cluster of antennae that have been shredded by a hurricane force winds, I am surrounded by a rare calm.  I have outlasted the foundation-side crickets below my open windows.  I have bested the night-moths that fluttered against the screens.  I am stirring the air before the first songbirds.  The sun has yet to slice up through the eastern mountains.

I am first off the line today.

I celebrate in perfect silence.

--Mitchell Hegman

The Experiment

Sometimes, I am inclined to think that the whole lot of us are like that experiment you conduct where you go outside, dig up a bucketful of dirt, then take the dirt inside and water it to see what kind of weeds will grow.

--Mitchell Hegman