Wind In The Timothy Press
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Wind In The Timothy Press |
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Dudley Laufman
Back Issue, Winter 2006-2007
How My German Ancesters Celebrated the Winter Solstice
They had this Hessen hillside maybe 40 % grade clear cut for a pasture flanked on both sides by a dark forest small castle at the top where the local lord could view his holdings down to the River Weser
Around midnight say men and boys dressed sort of like them guys in those Breughel paintings wearing that jock strap kind of pouch over their britches feathers in their caps ragged teeth like fangs probably had a brandy with an egg would scurry forth from their thatched homes go to secret stashes under sheds and cribs bringing forth old wagon wheels saved all year stuffed dry straw between the spokes set them afire sent them rolling downhill while one of the men blew on a long brass horn
Back Issue, Spring 2006
Back Issue, Fall 2005
Back Issue Fall 2004
Back Issue Summer 2004
YOU'RE ON A RISE IN NANTUCKET
out there in the scrubby moor and you think you are, you know, in a regular forest, high trees and all, but then you see the top of a truck snaking through the tree crowns, or the head of a cyclist, the stacks of the outgoing ferry. You hear lawn mowers, hedge clippers, a tennis ball bouncing but can’t see the court or the ball like in that flic Blow Up. Then the voices filter up through the roses... you watch the sox last night?... make some egg salad sandwiches… meet at six for drinks… catch the last boat... Dudley Laufman
Back Issue Summer 2004 THE CALENDAR ACCORDING TO DUDLEY Ok, you know that June 21 is Midsummer summer solstice, at least in Sweden it is. It means that the days start getting shorter then. Ok, so then it stands to reason that December 21 is midwinter winter solstice and the days start getting longer So ok, if Dec 21 is midwinter when is the first day of winter? Well, count back six weeks and you have Halloween as first day of winter. Then six weeks the other way from Dec 21 gives you Feb 2, Candalmas Day Ground Hogs Day half yer hay, half yer wood burn the solstice greens, & the first day of spring. St. Patrix Day or thereabouts is spring equinox 6 weeks down the road puts you at May Day & the first day of summer, that’s what they call it in England. Another six weeks or so finds us at Mid Summer. How can it be first day of summer if the days start getting shorter? Hell, I’ve seen it snow June 21, worn a T shirt & shorts Dec 21. Makes sense doesn’t it? Beginning of August is first day of autumn mid September fall equinox and then Halloween, first day of winter, that’s when all the old souls appear wanting solace before the cold.
WINTER 2003-2004.....................................................................................
When he was four, he wore those knitted red & green two piece wool suits w/ bright shiny buttons along the collar bone.
He outgrew them about the time he was ready for knickers. He had two pair, one tweed that came down over the cuffs at the knee, stockings went over the cuffs or under, didn’t matter couldn’t see them anyway. The other pair was blue corduroy that went up straight from the cuffs, socks went either over or under. If over meant they might slide down, if under then the cuffs showed & he really liked this way best, the tight feeling of the elastic cuff. Years later he would think of that always picture himself in the same place, about half way up the block from home. although they must have made that sound everywhere! But neither way was good in the neighborhood so he would have them one way one day & the other way the next day.
Then he was ready for long trousers. Wore them long except when playing football, at which time he rolled them back up to the knees to be like the Eagles at BC. Otherwise, no problem with socks they went under the pants legs although some kids stuffed their pants down inside their socks but they got laughed at so there was no problem here no choice to have to make.
Fall 2003.....................................................................................
CAPTEUR LE DRAPEAU Dudley Laufman Pointe a Tom, NB 1939 Les garcon are waiting for the whistle to blow to start their game. The whistle comes from that mail and milk train as it approaches La Rue St Denis five miles away down le valley. They know there will be time for a game, maybe two before it arrives in their village to drop off mail and milk cans and for Monsieur LaPlante to bring the mail up to the post office and for Mme Losier to sort the mail and ring the bell that the mail is out there and the game is done then.
The boys usually play Lacrosse. They are used to carrying sticks. It seems strange to be taking the flag away from the goal rather than be putting a ball in.
Each boy carrys a small stone in his pocket him should he capture le drapeau He will wrap it around his stone to give it weight in the event he needs must pass it to a mate on their way to safety.
Each boy dreams of being the one who snatches the banner from its post dodging his pursuers, like Le Rocket Richard, making his way though a secret path in the bushes to home.
Summer 2003.....................................................................................
Dudley Laufman
Before balers before choppers before buckrakes, we pitched hay by forkloads onto doodlebug drawn trailers. The boy on board had to arrange the load so that the outside was always higher than the middle, he had to direct by means of wrassling, each forkful to its proper place, walking back and forth up and down the middle to bind it in. Making a true load.
The boy on the ground had to push the hay along the windrow until he had a forkful. Then push the fork into the pile and twist it so’s he could toss it up onto the wagon, sometimes twelve feet high. Then while the lad on the load rounded it off the boys on the ground scraped the sides of wisps before heading to the barn, staying on top for the moving air. Last load of the day, it could stay out all night to be put up in the morning when the mow was still cool.
Today I have a small place. No cows, no meadow, No doodlebug, no wagon. Scythe, pitchfork and wheelbarrow are all I need to harvest my meager crop of timothy and Reeds Canary Grass. To get the cuttings from ditch, roadside and garden path to the mulch pile, I needs must build a load on the wheelbarrow. Which I do, high on the sides low in the middle, rake off the loose strands to pack on the top. I still know how to build a true load.
Spring 2003..................................................................................... THE SKIDDER Dudley LaufmanEeyi and Jeff drove up to Nash’s Used tractor parts in Colebrook Out on the Dixville Notch road. They was looking for a skidder, Figgered Nash would have one or two. Cold January day, they looked at Several, pawed the ground, Pushed back their baseball caps, Scratched their heads, puffed their ciggies, Finally settled on a faded red one, Chains on the rear tires. Nash said, Good, come and git her Anytime, I’ll leave her ‘side the Road where you can pick her up.
Back in Nelson, Eeyi said C’mon in Jeff, Diamond’s got some Coffee and cookies, c’mon in. At the table Eeyi said, Jeff I didn’t take a wook Underneaf that skidder,check for Wust or anyfin wike that, Did you? Looked ok to me, Jeff said, But you might have to check the bearings Sometime soon, but don’t worry about it.
Diamond said, You buy another Skidder Eeyi? Why yes I did Diamond, what’s it to ye? Well yer a damn fool Eeyi Murdox. Oh Diamond, I never said anyfin When you bought that new vacuum cweaner.
Winter 2002...........................................................................................
When I was a kid my father took me to hockey games at the Boston Gardens. We’d walk on the sidewalk plowed by horses, to get the Cambridge bus. Subway from Harvard to the North Station, and up the ramps into the gardens with the magic white ice below. Everyone inna crowd had those Boston accents there. Guys wore fedora hats, suit 'n tie, gray garbadine coats with collars turned up, trouser cuffs rolled up two, yellow sox, loafers with pennies in slots. Women in dresses, fur abouts, high heels.
Smoking allowed, ciggies, cigars, haze rising to the rafters. Live organ music only between periods while old men push shovels to clear the ice and pull the hot water tank to make the new surface, walking in time to Chattanooga Cho Cho.
Then the players came on, goalie first to their song Paree, and they all skated around in time to It's Just Elmer's Tune, making small talk. Then when John Kiley rendered into Boogie Woogie, the Bruins picked up the pace in a circle around their net, wings on their skates.
Barely had the game started when the puck in icy mist, beats the red light. Boston goal scored by 14, Dumart, unassisted. Time of the goal, 48 seconds. The uproar is still going when the light is on again, the Ranger goalie sprawled. Boston goal scored by 16, Bauer, assisted by 15, Schmidt. Time of the goal, 1:23. Then Bill Cowley scored, assisted by Dit Clapper, time of the goal, 1:58. Then Bauer again unassisted at 3:10, and Jack Crawford at 5:11. You can imagine the excitement. But that was it for the B’s. They just pulled it out 5-4.
Pushing with the crowd down the drafty ramps onto the elevated to Park, then to Charles, Kendall, (where the lights blink out) Central and Harvard, bus to Pleasant and home through the brown shadowed snow.
Next day on Spy Pond, on our self cleared rink, flooded with hot water from Teddy’s on the shore, we played the game over, no icing, no blue lines or offsides, nobody goal sucked, furiously dug errant pucks out of the snow banks or bull rushes by the shore if they sailed that far. Goals were 2x4’s and chicken wire. If New Prep School was using the nets on the adjoining rink, we used boots placed six feet apart, no lifting.
One Sunday afternoon before the snow, we chased a loose puck all the way to East Arlington, and there, skating with his kids was Frank Brimsek, the Bruin’s goalie…Mr. Zero himself. We didn’t dare ask for autographs. Just stood leaning on our sticks, Watching our hero, Mr. Zero. Slowly skated back to our side of the pond, to our game and the pot of hot cocoa over the fire on the shore.
Fall 2002...........................................................................................
DO-SI-DO-ING Dudley Laufman
Some kids, when they do-si-do, look like angels, arms crossed over their chests, hands palms down flat by their underpits. How did they learn it that way? Teacher showed us, they said. Where in god's name did she pick it up? Most folks fold their arms like a cradle and shashay around each other, rocking the cradle as they go. I do-si-do when I do an outdoor shower, catching water in the cradle til it runs over my arms as the band plays Over The Waterfall. My partner twirls on the flagstones. It must be like square dancing at a nudist camp. When I am sad I do-si-do alone in the shower, hugging myself like an angel.
Summer 2002........................................................................................... Dudley Laufman
Used to be a fiddler in Illinois, shot up a dance once, it being on the dull side, spent the night in jail. Anyway, here he is now years later, living in a retirement home. Walks up to the local dance, straw hat, yellow shirt, blue tie, white pants, cane, to the teeth as he used to say. Went and sat by the band. The caller was a young feller, dressed sort of like the old scratch, you'd think they was related. Girl comes in, runs right up to the caller, thin willow of a thing, dark hair, pretty's all get out, see her slip through her dress, throws her arms around the boy, cocks her leg up in back, big kiss. Another girl, more a woman, big busted long yellow hair, same scene. And one more, perhaps more plain but a honey you can bet, same drill. The old man reaches out with his cane, taps the boy on the bum, says Hey, know what I would do I was you? I'd go home right now while I was still ahead.
THE CHORUS Dudley Laufman
Sunday afternoon traffic jam, farmer bringing his cows in to milk middle of Ennis. Found John Reid's house, greeted by a little black girl, Is it himself you'd be wanting? as John appeared behind her, big man, blond, more Scandi looking than Irish, saying This is my adopted daughter, Sara. After tea in the front parlor under the pictures of Christ and Kennedy, we entered his study, a collection of uillean pipes, fiddles, melodeons, tin whistles, sheet music, field event results, (no hurling or football), some LPs, one of them the Tulla Celi Band. I have that I says, my favorite, where I got Cooley's Reel. John said, That's my band, that's me at piano. Say now, you Yanks have a chune Chorus Jig. We have it here only call it The Chorus, it's a reel, you know that. But we do have a Chorus Jig, that is truly a jig. can't bring it to mind now.
Later, saying goodnight outside under the lamp in the mist he took my hand swung it back and forth in the old Irish custom, diddled a tune, deedle dum dee dum, deedle dum dee dum, That's it, that's the Chorus Jig, that's the one.
Gramps and Fiddlehead Fern appear on CONTRAPARTNER, an on-line dance periodical.
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