The Hunter’s Moon rises around 7:00 p.m.
In upstate, where we cling to simplicity, the Hunter’s Moon signals the Harvest.
Harvest here means chopping corn bleached by frost. At six in the morning before the sun rises, your fingers’ warmth sticks to the tractor’s steering wheel. Harvest means resealing the house with plastic. To keep the pipes from freezing, thirty bales of rotted hay rest against the house’s crumbling frame.
If the harvest nights are clear, adults stir.
If comfortable, they talk about past loves. Accidents and hope. They complain about jobs and get even with the boss. They search for life’s rhythms. Delighted by the rhyme, they explore the possibilities of change. Then they lounge, drunk upon words.
Within all the chatter, if clouds drift and block the moon, the shadows and sounds of wildlife emerge.
A Vietnam Vet turned gray, crosses his legs and grabs for a cigarette he has vowed not to smoke. He laughs at a conversation centered on deer. He offers, as he always does, his opinion. Imagine if the deer could shoot back!
The others bristle.
The Vet waves his hands in apology.
Winter threats kindle many passions. For some, there is frugality driven by school taxes, heating costs and holiday expense.
For others, Spring isn’t so far.
There is a boy nineteen and a girl eighteen, three-months pregnant. The boy still thrills in a once-in-a-lifetime-backstage-brush with a heavy metal rock star.
He keeps a spool of thread and a needle with him at all times.
Tonight, he pulls out the thread and needle and waves it at whomever will listen. Then he dowses the gender of his unborn child so that he can have some control over his life. The needle hanging from the thread spins clockwise, every time.
“It’s a boy!”
And we nod; we’ve heard it all before.
Olga “Regina” Doi-Kollegger is “Hafu” (Tokyo born, half-Japanese and Czech). She is a writer, painter, and sculptor with roots in upstate New York. She teaches and publishes Art Does It (www.artdoesit.com) from her farm on the Alabama coast.