August 14 and 15, 2021: Memories of mountains and moonshine

August 14 and 15, 2021: Memories of mountains and moonshine. The mist comes down in a strange way as soon as you make that curve next to the nursery. I have noticed this every time I drive on the mountain road that connects the towns of Boone and Blowing Rock. In the Appalachian. Yes, that is a real place and for one full day I was in the real, in the place, in the mountains. It was Saturday, so had to do a quick greeting with the band of bondhus from school, as I excused myself to a sit-down lunch at the familiar restaurant at corner of King and Right. A kind of calm brought on by reassuring signs at the shops stating that all the staff are vaccinated. So we are safe in these mountains, where the air is fragrant with the display of flowers along main street the aroma of meat grilling on the fire – the quintessential burger – the one that works really well with the crispy onion rings and the home cut fried potatoes. That sense of safety is assured by the promise of vaccination and the safety is shattered by unmasked people who honorably state that they are vaccinated. The assurance seems mercurial at times. While we walked around one college campus, another one about 200 miles from where we were, was going through am impending crisis. The teachers were expressing anxiety with the plans of the University and were getting ready to sign a petition of sorts. Nervousness about not being to teach without place (many negatives because stating in the positive, “teach online,” is becoming taboo). Even as the energy of the people starting the “best years of their life,” made the air vibrant, I was mildly apprehensive. I just hope that the memories they have come to purchase are indeed worth paying for.  College is about memories after all. If anyone were to ask me to remember college, I have memories tucked away in my head and few scrap books with my drawings and poetry. But in the head I have things that I can spend my life with, because some of those memories reappear and I reconnect with a distant life. The smile of a bondhu from then reflected in the smile of a different bondhu now. Memories that connect not by the kitsch of college life sold in the “college souvenir” stores that encircle any campus but by things we still do that we brought forth from those days. Even last month, many moons from the college days, I was told “why do you always sit on the floor?” and the real answer is that is a habit I graduated with after five years. On this misty day, as the house on Cane overlooked the mountains, I started to count those habits. Some have been allowed to go on while others have been crushed by the pressures of conformity. I rely on the habits that stayed, that has allowed me to cope in so many different circumstances. I recall the smile on a bondhu ’s face tasting moonshine for the first time. The mountains around me and the jar of moonshine sitting in the kitchen of a bondhu all come together in one sweep when taking the turn by the nursery. The mountains hide the danger that lies on the other side. The post-pandemic. What mountain is ahead of us? Will there be a truck escape ramp, I wondered as I barreled down the steep incline of the departure from the mountains. The rains came lashing and a mist descended on the darkening hills and I remembered, “Mountains rising in my soul/Higher than the dreams I've known.”