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10 | (continued) Dan had brought on the Crank’s ire because Dan’s business required him to keep a tractor-trailer on his property, and in constructing a turn-around as an extension of his driveway, he had filled in a couple of hundred square feet of the Crank’s land, in a marshy corner that they never used. Recall that Crank & Brother owned (leased) over 25 acres, and that an acre comprises 43,560 square feet. Dan was was a committed man; he not only had a house, car and highway rig to pay for, he also had a wife and at least two children that I remember. So he was at times preoccupied, one might say. But on the weekends, I saw him often, never loafing, of course, but enjoying his property by constantly working at keeping it in a condition he could be proud of. The place was full of surprises, some pleasant, some not. I found it amazing, but at the far south end of his lot, he had actually built a pond with a small island in it, on which a pair of Canada geese had built their nest. But the whole place gave him trouble galore. The water-supply to the pond wasn’t dependable, and the whole thing was drying up. He couldn’t keep Boss’s dogs off his land, and apart from leaving their dung wherever they felt the urge, they would occasionally attack whatever creatures they found there, wild or domesticated, just for something to run down and kill, although both of them were overfed, like most city dogs. Worse yet, the fox den I mentioned earlier was still active, and Dan kept chickens as well as, I seem to recall, domestic geese. I remember very clearly that he had a magnificent White Leghorn rooster, which I identified for him, since he had no idea what type it was. It happened to be the only type I could recognize immediately. He himself was full of surprises too; one day without my asking, but knowing I was doomed to get kicked out of the woods sooner or later, he offered to let me sleep in his tent-trailer, which was parked, unused, in the middle of his huge, grassy but well-shaded back yard, without a shred of concealment near it. I had no idea what kind of time-span he had in mind, but I lifted the flap of the tent and peeked in anyway. The interior was dusty and inhabited by even more bugs than my own tent; I could not see myself being comfortable in such a space, and gracefully declined—with some regret, I must say, since he had an above-ground swimming pool, full to overflowing with well-water, barely fifty feet away. Yet with all of his possessions, there was not a trace of pretense about him, his very gracious wife or his daughters. They were just plain decent people, happily middle-class, living in a very pleasant, if unusual, place. I don’t know if they envied me, in my rustic retreat, but I certainly envied them— all but the tractor-trailer and the Crank.
I made no effort to disguise the pleasure I took in his company, and he always had a smile for me, though we never had the time to get into any discussions of genuine depth—which is a shame. I was invited to a snack in his kitchen on only one occasion—an accident of timing, not an indication of aloofness—and was astonished to find that the whole room was decorated with an amazing collection of quaint rural knick-knacks, the hokey sort one finds only in quaint, rural knick-knack stores, seldom in country homes. The idea of a family living in farm country, yet going out of their way to gather all those things together, just for fun, struck me as remarkable. The ironic humor of the collection might not have been obvious to everyone who stepped through the door, but those who saw it as I did must have found it hilarious. It was a perfect atmosphere for such a family, because it presented them as they really were: well-off, open-hearted, good-humored, pleased with life as they lived it, unpretentious, unmistakably non-urban, all of which would put even the most guarded visitor immediately at ease. Being in their company remains one of the most comforting memories of that time, but deeply saddening as well, since in my own life I’ve never come within a light-year of such contentment as theirs, and it seems far too late for that now. |
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Dan was a man difficult to read; there were many things in his life that must have made him angry, but he very seldom expressed anger in any form in my presence. I was, I suppose, just a neutral soul, reasonably affable, non-threatening, and he enjoyed the fact that I really didn’t care where he was from, or what he did with his property. He was a big man, an inch or two taller than I, and this gave him a certain edge of self-confidence; he was also a moderately successful man, financially—more so, I suspect, than he had originally expected to become—and he acted accordingly. Indecision was not a frequent part of his behavior.|
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