The Last Monday of Summer

The light was eerie this morning, filtered through a mist that seemed lighter yet more substantial than usual. As Jinx and I patrolled the high ridges and scanned for deer, it was as silent as a shepherd’s crook. The moon was hidden by clouds, but I could sense its power and presence behind the vapor veil, and was reminded that the full moon will be upon us tonight.

A corridor of high tulip poplars lines our driveway, and a hoot owl was perched somewhere in them this morning in the darkness. He called his mournful Morse code into the new morning — whoo, whoo, whoo-whooooooo — and I thought of the powerful wings and the killing talons and beak, of the fierce eyes and the Indian legends, and I thought of the Indians who once hunted and fished and lived and warred in these mountains, and my lungs were grateful for the clean, damp air I pulled into them. I was alive, and I was walking with my spotted sidekick, and I existed in this moment of crystalline time. There is nothing like a morning, and why is it that I am so easily distracted from this eternal fact?

***

My friend H informs me that there is some tentative good news in the situation for which I asked for prayer last night. Praised be Christ, and may He continue to assist this situation. If you are inclined to pray, please pray. If you are inclined to openness to the ancient Catholic faith, please remember that the saints are more alive than we are, and asking them to pray for us and our loved ones and friends is more sensible and sane than asking a flawed human being of your acquaintance to pray for us.

***

Laura Wood posted something disturbing the other day, but it is something that needs wide dissemination. No church is talking about this sort of thing. Certainly no national leader is talking about it. And yes, I’m looking at you, General Mark Milley, you oyster-eyed, John Goodman-looking, self-hating, virtue-signaling weasel.

***

I forgot to mention that Jinx and I saw the International Space Station the other morning. It was a glowing silver bar, traveling smooth and fast from west to east. We stood in the star-shadowed gravel and watched it, and I said to Jinx, “Can you imagine being up there, laddie? Can you imagine flying that fast, being that high up, seeing what they’re seeing?”

I will never lose the awe of outer space I had when I was a boy. And when’s the last time you heard someone use that term, “outer space?” The language is changing, as are all things around us, and not for the good.

Speaking of space travel, I heard that a civilian space team did some sort of flight recently and that they raised fifty million dollars for the St. Jude Children’s Hospital in Memphis. And the current White House occupants haven’t even mentioned it.

***

Yesterday while Mrs. Orr was taking a quick nap, I sat on the back porch with Jinx and did some reading and some praying from the Divine Office. A hard downpour boiled out of the northeast and soaked us for about, oh, five minutes before stopping and ushering the sun back in. While this was going on, I looked up and noticed a spider who had draped a web behind the wandering Jew plant hanging from the porch. The rain battered the web terribly, and the spider hung on with eight kinds of bravery, and finally the deluge lifted. The little creature ventured out from the overhang of the roof and promptly set about starting over. What implacable courage these little ones have. How many of us could shrug and rebuild after watching an entire day’s work destroyed by the forces that come out of nowhere?

***

I saw an advertisement from a company offering “Halloween Advent Calendars.” One of those times when rage, sorrow, shock, disgust, and contempt rolled through me simultaneously. I’ve never been one of those Christians who thinks October 31st is the devil’s night, and I have long believed that a lot that goes on inside the churches is a thousand times worse than kids dressing up for trick or treat, but this one really stunned me. Halloween advent? Advent of what, pray tell? Christian Advent calendars help families anticipate and celebrate the Advent of Christ the Lord…His regal incarnation among His waiting people in a humble stable. Halloween advent? To anticipate what? The serpent’s successful temptation of our first mother? The sins and crimes that led to our Savior’s defamation, torture, and murder? Shame on these bastards. May their profits choke them.

***

I learned that one of the elderly monks at Our Lady of Gethsemani monastery died recently. Their numbers are being winnowed down inexorably, and there are so very few virtuous young men willing to become hidden and forgotten so that they can labor and read and lift their hands to heaven seven times a day to pray for us. Please remember the remaining monks in Bardstown, Kentucky when you pray. I know they are missing their brother who was with them for so many cycles of the church calendar.

***

Jinx has a habit of yawning very loudly when he wants attention. His yawns sound like he’s saying “HYYY-rum.” Mrs. Orr and I have long wished we’d delayed in naming him, because we think he would have been a perfect Hank. And now we think he would have been a splendid Hiram.

***

And now the wheel has turned and the season has spun and it will be autumn in less than forty-eight hours. “The fall of the year,” the old-timers say. The natural sweet melancholy is accented by the fact that I have not seen a hummingbird in almost three days. They almost certainly have left our farm and headed down to the foreign lands south of here. Did they look back? Is there any room for wistfulness in a hummingbird’s tiny heart? Will any of them return safely in the springtime?

I will leave the feeders out and replenish them until the frost comes. It may well be that some weary late traveler will look for a place to stop and refresh himself on his long journey. If he finds nourishment in these small acres, it just may be that he will return here next year, remembering it as a place of peace and assistance. God grant it might be so.

~ S. K. Orr