It has been a dark and stormy week, but things brightened up considerably Wednesday evening when we went to the brewery to greet a cool band from Brooklyn, Bandits on the Run. Chip is the Arts Council treasurer, ticket-taker, and transportation guy (he’s good at moving stuff and people from the ferry to the Chilkat Center). It makes sense to take them to the brewery where the Arts Council could feed them and have a beer or a rootbeer, plus it’s warm, dry and beautiful in there.
I don’t have a picture of the scene, because Paul the brewer doesn’t like cell phones. He also doesn’t take credit cards and he sells beer in reusable growlers, in case you want to take some home. The regulars include loggers and artists, social workers and carpenters, retired teachers, and equipment operators who will be plowing snow soon. Everyone gets along. The guys that signed my recall petition when I was on the assembly greet me with genuine smiles, and I them. Water under the bridge. Life goes on. What is that line? The one about being angry at someone and thinking that will change them is like taking poison to kill a rat? We talk about the weather, our families, baseball, and bears, not ballots.
Paul and I did briefly discuss leash laws and picking up dog poo. Other towns require it, he said, it’s not that hard. We agreed that most dog owners do the right thing. Just like most people wipe the sink in the bathroom on the plane, hold the door open at the post office, and leave the handicap parking spot for someone who needs it. Of course, one lapse in doggy doo manners can ruin your day, especially if you step in it while wearing boots with complicated treads.
But we were in good moods that night, and the young trio of out of towners helped. They were thrilled to be in Haines, sang our praises: the people, the mountains, the wild weather– even after flying all the way from Newark to LA, LA to Seattle and Seattle to Juneau and then learning it was too windy to land, and flying 1,000 miles back to Seattle. They finally made it to Haines a few hours before this party, but by all appearances were very grateful to be here. Which makes them honorary Alaskans. We all have stories like this and love one-upping each other with them.
The two women played the cello and accordion, swayed and sang in harmony, and the fellow on guitar had a leading man quality, in a kind, understated way that would make a mom proud. While he played and sang he also tapped a drum pedal with the heel of his boot, on what looked like a suitcase with a drum head on it. There was also a jingley bell-thing that sounded like a tambourine strapped to the ankle of the other boot.
A homemade suitcase drum?
“Looks like a Samsonite,” fisherman Stormin’ Norman said. He should know, he has sheds full of potentially useful items other people have discarded.
The baby in her mother’s arms was as delighted with the show as I was. My neighbor who was run over by a bear managed a smile too, while keeping a safe distance, so no one accidentally bumped the healing ribs and bruises hidden under her thick sweater.
I don’t know if that is the same bear that ripped up our bear-proof trash can, broke into the dumpster in town or ransacked the music teacher’s truck.
Chip put up the Christmas lights on the garage and plugged them in. I guess he hopes that if the bear comes back, they’ll think it’s December and mosey off for a long winter’s nap.
The same storm that turned the jets around in Juneau, blasted us with gusts to 60 mph and rain so heavy there’s a new pond in front of the house. I figured the volunteer sunflower down by Carr’s Cove, the one rooted in the driftwood, would be gone. But this morning here it is— a bit worse for the wear, but still holding tight and still smiling. What a wonderful world this is, offering up such improbable delights as a suitcase drum and a sunflower– in the same week!
