John Henry - Part Two

John Henry

Part Two

            Somewhere, in the micro moment between my parking my truck in the “driveway”...(that was actually STILL a ‘farm yard’)... of  the “CAMP” and my START of walking to the side door of this...  “CAMP” ...that was ‘obviously’ an ‘old’ and the... ‘original’ ‘farm’ ‘here’... I saved myself from the false mental stand that this “CAMP” was just the way it ‘always was’.  I ‘gut felt’ that I was at an... old farm... that was in the last moments of ‘its about to die’ second life.

            The first life was its Victorian – Civil War era as a ‘Maine farm’ ‘on the lake’.  The second life is ...after this family ‘got ah hold of it’.  THAT was NOT LONG after its first era... probably by the Centennial.  Yes; that long ago... ‘on the lake’... a ‘summer place’ “CAMP” it became... fully old Maine farm furnished too... including ‘hay mow to cellar’ equipage ‘untouched’.   AFTER the family’s occupation began the whole romantic and spiritual eloquence of the farm, the site, the land and the lake... gradually... yet increasing in speed and scale... with each new generation’s ‘taking over’... ‘declined’ and was now ‘about to DIE’.

            This I ‘gut felt’ as I walked up to the side door, was greeted, admitted and “Please sit down”.

            Said the oldest (?) sister who had told me at the coastal mansion that she is “the executor”.  I didn’t sit down and she only set her tote bag down next to a chair and... stopped herself from sitting down in that chair because I did not move.

            And said I didn’t need to sit and just needed to do a ‘walk through’ “quickly” like at the coastal mansion and then would... be... gone.

            “Oh.  Fine.”

            I did the walk through.  Quickly.  It was stunning.  MY favorite part of the stunning was that here... beneath all... was STILL a very, very, very undisturbed ‘old Maine farm’ contents ‘untouched’.  NOTHING ‘great’ mind one for ‘antiques’ but FULL of ‘old Maine farm’ antiques... ‘untouched’.  For example, several generations... of the family’s occupancy... had failed to ever even once ‘go down in the cellar’... ever.  Or ‘up in the barn’.  Ever.  OR... in the attic... in the shed...  or ‘UP’ in the shed.  Or... ANY WHERE except in the most immediate summer usage areas of the “CAMP” house, the front of the barn, the porch, the... not much else since they’d ‘had a well drilled’ and ‘stopped using the old well(s)’ ‘in the yard’.  Etc.  Yes; etc... for it was a comprehensive separation of old Maine farm state... from these summer people’s “CAMP” estate.  It was down to the hatchet resting on the splitting block in the wood shed being ‘not touched’.  “These people” “never do ANYTHING here” I ...stated mentally to myself.  The actual qualifier was that this metal affirmation applied only to the ANTIQUES ‘my favorite part’.  FROM THERE OUT... the bomb had exploded after being “developed” (their word) over time.

            The bomb and its explosion was that THIS GENERATION, with the approval, help and supervision of the previous generation... who began to ‘do that’ under the approval, help and supervision of the generation before... “DEVELOPED” (again; THEIR WORD) “THE PROPERTY”. As I approached the side door I had already ...driven through the rubble of the bomb explosion titled ‘development’.  The ‘old Maine farm’ ‘on the lake’ stood forlorn among very closely fitted small lots on the lake shore that had... very large, expensive and modern ‘vacation homes’ “ON THEM”.  These ‘front’ ‘shore’ lots had behind them FOUR tiers (a roadway maze) of ‘house lots’ WITH large, expensive and modern ‘vacation homes’ built on them... “back from the shore”.  All of the original farm land had been... “developed” by the family... during the past three generations... “successfully”.

            There was some development remorse.  NOT that kind of remorse.  THIS KIND:  Once the first sold shore front lots began having third owner buyers purchase them and tear down the existing vacation home to build the biggest fattest ugliest tackiest and ‘on the cheap’ NEW “CAMP”... the family had remorse that THEY did not “GET” “that much” (money) for those original “best lots”.  Especially galling was that “NOW” the few remaining ‘crummy’ “back lots” the family had recently and “FINALLY” sold... sold for considerably more than the “shore frontage had originally been sold for”.  AS I WALKED up to the side door of the ‘old Maine farm’ ‘on the lake’ THIS  ...structure... was in the ...in total agreement on this... crosshairs... of ‘being sold’ “FOR A LOT”...for this ‘lot’ ...including the understood “excluding” of the farm house that “who ever buys it will tear it down” “IS” “The SITE is the BEST on THE LAKE”.

            So I affirmed... without solicitation... my ‘gut felt’ as I ‘walked through’.  HEARING the stop & start and opinionated saga interfered with my ability to appreciate and BE LOST IN A PRIVATE DREAM WORLD as I peeked through time inside and outside this... ‘old Maine farm’ “ESTATE PROPERTY” (currently for sale) ‘carte blanc’. (?).

            I separated from these “them”; the heirs, on “OUR” walk through.  I separated commercially, politically, figuratively, financially, fundamentally and FLAWLESSLY.  Their crude burp and fart attitude to what I was doing... and doing there... enhanced my box-turtle-hides-in-shell FLIGHT.  Slow and steady I... ‘hate you’.  I said nothing.  I took long, long, long romantic gazes at all monumental overlook turnout vistas of ‘undisturbed old Maine farm’ contents; the cellar, the barn floor by floor and then a whole ‘looking down’.  Each shed.  The outhouse.  The wells.  The old millstone.  The stone wall behind the milk room.  The clothes line.   “There”, “there” and “THERE” I found, saw, felt and peeked at... and, and, and... ALL OF IT; the whispered truth of this state of estate.  Exploding to smithereens.

            “IT” (the “CAMP”) “WAS ROBBED TWICE”.  Once twenty years ago.  And again ten years ago (?).  “THEY TOOK” seemed to be the new stuffs; tools, two canoes, a row boat, motor boat engine, fishing tackle and ...not much else ‘they said’.  “THE TRACTOR EVERYONE WANTS TO BUY” referred to a post World War Two purchased and forever very, very, very lightly used mid size farm tractor that... never had a fingerprint on it or “dirty oil” “EVER”.  They “are going to sell it”.  The proceeds to be divided by the estate heirs ‘at settlement’.  THAT estate settlement procedure becomes important so take note of it.  Meanwhile I couldn’t care less because I was SOOOOO wrapped up in “EVEN THE RUGS ARE UNTOUCHED” kind of LOST in this antiques everywhere just the way and where they should be ...inter-galaxy mind space trip.  “The robbers weren’t professionals” I heard myself say.

            “That’s what the Sheriff said too”. the executor said.  She was old enough to “remember”.