The
Oregon sky made a small, round canopy over the snow-capped mountains.
The puffy clouds, each of a different value, layered the sky and
emphasized the heaviness of the atmosphere that afternoon. The flowing
rivers, the cascading water-falls, the torrents that bathe the meadows,
and the ice-covered lakes combine with the animal creation to make up that wild, untamed geography that is Oregon.
*
The woman stood by the kitchen window and viewed this vast wilderness with her mind's eye. Hiking over trails through the summer forests, the woman thought of the wild flowers and berries that she had picked during adventures with her husband. Winter, spring, summer and fall, this was Oregon and if there was poverty it was not in its rich scenery and natural resources.
*
Suddenly overcome with extreme exhaustion, the woman carried her heavy body from the kitchen to the next room. The room was practically empty except for an over stuffed chair where the woman now sank. The walls and linoleum were yellowed from age and neglect. A naked light bulb hung from the high ceiling. It was an eerie light that filled this room. The cold glare gave the impression of traveling out toward some undetermined destination, but was actually entrapped by the surrounding walls. If there was poverty in Oregon, it could be found in this room.
*
In reality the woman was young, although her hair was streaked with grey and there was a look in her eye of a fire gone out, of a certain resignation which made her appear older than her years. She thanked heaven that her other child was asleep. She felt the still lump of a baby beneath her heartbeat. She looked toward the window; all was December fog and snow had begun to drift down in gentle, white flakes. She closed her eyes and wished that she could hibernate.
*
The young man was beautiful. His clear skin was like a child's skin. His yellow hair thick and unruly. His pale blue eyes were child-like. He had been working in an orchard all morning, but the snow had driven him out. He did love the orchard and during every one of it's seasons, he would work. This particular season he was pruning, which he had been doing since late October and would continue until February, when the sap would begin to run. After this, he wold cultivate and spray. And when the little fruits would form so delicately on the branches, he would thin them out so that the fruit could grow big and be spacious for picking. Then the summer would come and it would be the time to irrigate.
*
The season of pruning he liked because it was quiet work and he got extra time off, like today, on account of the weather. Many days he worked in the orchard alone, which he loved. He liked to irrigate for the same reasons. After starting the water flow he could lay back under a tree and read and sleep and wait for the water to nourish the thirsty trees. This was a quiet man who loved the rich earth and all of it's return. As he drove home the snow lay momentarily on the windshield and formed a white crust at the edges.
*
It is true that the man was poor. He loved the orchard, but the orchard gave back little money for it's care. The man did not see himself as poor, although he knew he had no money. No, the man thought himself rich. He had his life, which he had nearly lost in a senseless war, but, he did not want to think of that now. The snow helped cool his memory. He was home. In a land that his grandparents had helped settle nearly one hundred years ago. He had a wife and a child and another child was on the way.
*
On this day he had been paid the meager amount that fed and sheltered his family with a bit more than usual. This he planned to give his wife, so that she could add to the little things she was sewing for their baby. Every little garment she made by hand, folded carefully and placed in the bottom most drawer of her dresser.
*
Yes, he imagined this scene as he drove his old truck along the road. The streets were slick. He felt freezing cold as he pulled up in front of the old white house. Up to the knees, his jeans were covered with thick mud. His wife would scrape the mud clear, before washing them. This he took for granted, along with 4 a.m. breakfasts. Life in the orchard began early and a man became hungry too soon. She would pack him a huge lunch box full of good things to eat, to his liking. These things he accepted from her without much thought as to what her life was day by day. But neither could she imagine his.
*
He parked the truck, opened the door and slid out into an even colder environment. He would be happy to rid himself of his wet clothes. He would have his wife draw him a hot bath.
*
With this pleasant thought in mind he opened the gate, walked up the walk and entered the warm, if barren, living room. It was dark, but the adjoining room was white from the glare of a bare light. In the corner of the room sat his wife, asleep, heavy with child.
*
She slowly opened her eyes and looked silently at her young husband and tried to give a smile but felt the flat expression appearing over her face. He seemed quite happy and energetic. This made her feel more like the hibernating bear that she imagined.
*
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the handful of bills that he had been paid just that afternoon. "There's extra for the baby," he said.
*
She looked into his pale blue eyes. She could not say what she had been told early that morning. She could not say, "Our baby is dead."
The woman stood by the kitchen window and viewed this vast wilderness with her mind's eye. Hiking over trails through the summer forests, the woman thought of the wild flowers and berries that she had picked during adventures with her husband. Winter, spring, summer and fall, this was Oregon and if there was poverty it was not in its rich scenery and natural resources.
*
Suddenly overcome with extreme exhaustion, the woman carried her heavy body from the kitchen to the next room. The room was practically empty except for an over stuffed chair where the woman now sank. The walls and linoleum were yellowed from age and neglect. A naked light bulb hung from the high ceiling. It was an eerie light that filled this room. The cold glare gave the impression of traveling out toward some undetermined destination, but was actually entrapped by the surrounding walls. If there was poverty in Oregon, it could be found in this room.
*
In reality the woman was young, although her hair was streaked with grey and there was a look in her eye of a fire gone out, of a certain resignation which made her appear older than her years. She thanked heaven that her other child was asleep. She felt the still lump of a baby beneath her heartbeat. She looked toward the window; all was December fog and snow had begun to drift down in gentle, white flakes. She closed her eyes and wished that she could hibernate.
*
The young man was beautiful. His clear skin was like a child's skin. His yellow hair thick and unruly. His pale blue eyes were child-like. He had been working in an orchard all morning, but the snow had driven him out. He did love the orchard and during every one of it's seasons, he would work. This particular season he was pruning, which he had been doing since late October and would continue until February, when the sap would begin to run. After this, he wold cultivate and spray. And when the little fruits would form so delicately on the branches, he would thin them out so that the fruit could grow big and be spacious for picking. Then the summer would come and it would be the time to irrigate.
*
The season of pruning he liked because it was quiet work and he got extra time off, like today, on account of the weather. Many days he worked in the orchard alone, which he loved. He liked to irrigate for the same reasons. After starting the water flow he could lay back under a tree and read and sleep and wait for the water to nourish the thirsty trees. This was a quiet man who loved the rich earth and all of it's return. As he drove home the snow lay momentarily on the windshield and formed a white crust at the edges.
*
It is true that the man was poor. He loved the orchard, but the orchard gave back little money for it's care. The man did not see himself as poor, although he knew he had no money. No, the man thought himself rich. He had his life, which he had nearly lost in a senseless war, but, he did not want to think of that now. The snow helped cool his memory. He was home. In a land that his grandparents had helped settle nearly one hundred years ago. He had a wife and a child and another child was on the way.
*
On this day he had been paid the meager amount that fed and sheltered his family with a bit more than usual. This he planned to give his wife, so that she could add to the little things she was sewing for their baby. Every little garment she made by hand, folded carefully and placed in the bottom most drawer of her dresser.
*
Yes, he imagined this scene as he drove his old truck along the road. The streets were slick. He felt freezing cold as he pulled up in front of the old white house. Up to the knees, his jeans were covered with thick mud. His wife would scrape the mud clear, before washing them. This he took for granted, along with 4 a.m. breakfasts. Life in the orchard began early and a man became hungry too soon. She would pack him a huge lunch box full of good things to eat, to his liking. These things he accepted from her without much thought as to what her life was day by day. But neither could she imagine his.
*
He parked the truck, opened the door and slid out into an even colder environment. He would be happy to rid himself of his wet clothes. He would have his wife draw him a hot bath.
*
With this pleasant thought in mind he opened the gate, walked up the walk and entered the warm, if barren, living room. It was dark, but the adjoining room was white from the glare of a bare light. In the corner of the room sat his wife, asleep, heavy with child.
*
She slowly opened her eyes and looked silently at her young husband and tried to give a smile but felt the flat expression appearing over her face. He seemed quite happy and energetic. This made her feel more like the hibernating bear that she imagined.
*
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the handful of bills that he had been paid just that afternoon. "There's extra for the baby," he said.
*
She looked into his pale blue eyes. She could not say what she had been told early that morning. She could not say, "Our baby is dead."
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