Please RSVP by March 27 to email@example.com if you plan on attending. Need to get a head-count for the food so we have enough. —-Robert
The days have grown longer. Grackles, finches, redwings and grosbeaks, returning North, gorge themselves at the feeders. The wind can still cut through to your long-johns. A storm, rolling over the ridge, can still lay down a foot-thick blanket of white and crust it with ice in an afternoon. Ah, but the Sun is working to make His warmth known. The ground’s frost thaws and, where the new grass doesn’t grow or the trees don’t shade the floor with leaves, we experience the first true sign of Spring:
We come out of the cabin, let go all that madness from short days and dark nights and too little space for two, too many souls (“Get the damn cat off the ceiling fan! Boy, I told you to roll that dog away from the fire; she’s smoldering again!”). Hell, we don’t care if the truck sinks up to its doors. Somebody will come along with a come-along and either pull us out or pull themselves in.
So what if forty head of cattle walked out in the field and were never seen again.
We could still hear the mooing in the moonlight.
It’s mud season, dammit!! Open the doors and breathe the Zephyrs. The Adirondacks, Berkshires, Greens, forgotten Taconics and the easterly Whites all bore witness and surely know: God was here in the Northland in mankind-under-development season when Adam first took form.
Come celebrate the Spring Equinox, mud, flowing sap, mud, end of cabin fever, mud, red osier, mud, robins drunk on frozen crabapples, more mud—well, you get the picture. Put on your muckers or kick off your shoes. Bring your drums and any other musical instruments you feel moved to bring. Bring stories and poems, old songs your Grandpa crooned and new songs your heart birthed. Breathe was the first rhythm; so we start in ritual silence and let the rhythm and the madness break free. MARCH 30, 2019 at Spirit Hollow, 12-4PM (munchable items provided). COME BEAT IT WITH A DIONYSIAN STICK!!!