Chapter 2 of my book: enjoy: Paynesville is your typical American small town and no different from hundreds of similar cities across the nation, with its small city park and historical courthouse located in the center of downtown. All of the streets, with the exception of Main Street, consist of only one lane. The public library is small, but the librarians still try their best to stock some of the books that appear on the bestsellers’ list. We are located in Central Illinois where the land, while scenic, is mostly flat. By taking a short drive outside the city limits on a two-lane, curvilinear highway, you can see some of the horse farms and during most months of the year row after row of vegetable crops. The farmers, and we have plenty of them, think the geography is perfect for growing their crops of soybeans, corn and grain. The weather is a bit milder than in Northern Illinois. Don’t ask, because it is true that we have our share of blizzards and droughts, but at least they’re the exception and not the rule. My house is located on Prairie Circle, which isn’t a circle at all, but is within walking distance to the college, weather permitting, which it isn’t today. For a couple of years after completing my Ph.D. and before moving here, I lived once again with my parents, Meghan and Marshall, on their small farm consisting of thirty-eight acres and located about six miles outside of town. They were glad I was back at home where I had lived from the time I was born until moving away for my post-graduate studies. Even though most of my family and friends always call me Tom, my mother prefers David. I was named after her grandfather, who helped raised her and who she adored. She has told me how she insisted that everyone call me David when I was born, but the name Tom was chosen by the rest of the family. After being overridden by family members, she began using both my first and middle names more often than not, and she still does when she calls me or stops by the house which is a frequent occurrence. I’m sure you know exactly how mothers can be. My father has broad shoulders and stands just over six feet tall. In fact, he’s about an inch taller than I am. Even though his hair has turned completely white, in his younger days his hair was such a dark brown many people thought it was black. My hair is a similar shade of dark brown, but I’ve been told that in bright sunlight it has a hint of red highlights that I guess I inherited from my mother. After living on the farm for so many years, Father looks the part by dressing like a typical farmer, but his chosen profession was actually accounting before he decided to retire about a year ago. My parents don’t actually farm the land. Rather, they’ve chosen to sublet individual portions of it. For as long as I can remember, three local farmers have leased ten acres each where they grow a variety of vegetables for their own personal use. Whatever they don’t eat or can for the winter months, they sell at the local Farmer’s Market near downtown every Saturday morning during the spring and summer months. Mother with her green eyes, light complexion and auburn hair, now with a touch of gray, is small and dainty, but she has never been accused of looking frail. She didn’t ever really work outside the home, preferring instead to be a full-time, stay-at-home mom. After I had started elementary school, she did help out in Father’s accounting office occasionally during the heavy tax season in the late-winter and early-spring months. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so, needless to say, my parents doted on me. When my parents first bought the farm, they had hopes of raising a large family, but for whatever reason that didn’t happen. I have many fond memories of growing up there. My earliest memory of the farm was when I was a young child and splashing around in a tiny, blue swimming pool in the backyard. The pool couldn’t have been any larger than six feet in diameter, but to me it was huge and the best swimming pool ever known to man, or child. Another favorite memory was when Father taught me how to ride my first bike. I can still remember the very day when he removed the training wheels, and I rode up and down the extended, concrete driveway all by myself. I don’t know who was more proud that day, Father or me. When I was still in elementary school, I graduated to a larger bike, and even though I knew it was forbidden, I frequently rode through the rows of vegetable crops, and I was lucky that my antics were never discovered by my parents or the farmers who lease the land. Right after purchasing the farm, Mother and Father planted dozens of oak, cedar and fruit trees near our property line out back and behind our red barn which has the typical white trim like what you might see when looking at pictures of a barn in a child’s storybook, and the barn is surrounded by a matching, white plank fence. In back of the house and close to the patio, Mother grows her flowers, among which are her prized red, white and pink roses. I can remember when I was about ten years old and they added several pink and white dogwood trees which compliment Mother’s roses in the springtime when their leaves look like miniature flowers. Since we had such a large backyard with an enormous, in-ground pool, my parents frequently had barbeques in the summers for all of our extended family members. These were some of the best of times when all my aunts, uncles and cousins would be visiting the farm, and more often than not some of my best friends would be there as well. In my teenage years when we still kept a couple of horses in the barn, all of us kids took turns riding, not that any of us were the awe-inspiring cowboys as we all thought we were at the time. Smiling at all the memories, I realize that I have never considered settling anywhere else except here in Paynesville. Once a small-town boy, always a small-town boy, I suppose. When it was time to purchase my own home, Mother helped me find my house here in town. The house is a red-brick ranch style with a wide, white porch on the front and one side, if you can imagine that. Being a bit old-fashioned, it never crossed Mother’s mind that I would consider purchasing any house that didn’t have a large porch, which is what drew her attention to this house in the first place. I guess she was imagining herself sitting there on a swing as she watched over her grandchildren playing in the yard. The fact that I have yet to make her a grandmother is something she doesn’t let me forget. I assume she is doing her best to forgive me for not having children of my own since she happily did all of the decorating both inside and outside my house, including picking out almost all of the furniture and selecting the dishes, silverware and pots and pans for the kitchen, and, of course, landscaping my lawn. When we were shopping for the furniture, I did insist on choosing my bedroom set for the master bedroom and the recliner for the den. I think the only purchase I made on my own was the massive entertainment center that’s now sitting in the family room. With Father handling most of the financial and closing details for the house, between the two of them moving here into my first house was accomplished over a single weekend. The first night I spent here, it felt like home and as if I had lived here for years. My musings are suddenly interrupted as I hear my automatic coffee maker begin its job of brewing my morning cup of Joe. I shake the cobwebs from my mind and start thinking about my schedule for the day. First, before any of my classes begin I have a couple of appointments scheduled in my office. If my students fail to show up, which they may or may not make it to my office after all, on the shelves behind my desk there is a sundry collection of nuclear engineering journals, books and magazines which I can peruse. All of my reading material would be boring to anyone not into nuclear physics, but often I can find an interesting article in one of the magazines that will capture the class’s attention since some of the students give me the impression that my early morning lectures are not always successful in that regard. As the coffee machine quiets down, it crosses my mind how grateful I am for this little bit of convenience since it’s hard to start the day without a cup of my favorite brew. While drinking my coffee and eating a bagel (yes, men do like bagels, too), I change the dial on the radio to a local station to catch my morning dose of the local news which is pretty much the same day after day. A shooting in a neighboring city is the top story, along with a couple of car accidents interfering with the morning, rush-hour traffic and, inevitably, the occasional escaped cow or two from a farm outside the city limits. Glancing at the clock on the wall tells me it’s time to get moving if I don’t want to be late, which is never a good thing when you’re trying your best to teach responsibility, punctuality, and accountability to college students. Switching off the radio, I decide since it is a bit cool and slightly foggy this morning, I will drive to the campus rather than walk. I can catch the rest of the morning news on the car radio. After drinking the last drop of coffee, I rinse my cup in the sink and put it in the dishwasher before heading to the master bath to treat myself to a long, hot shower which is the best part of my morning. When I step out of the shower, I finally feel awake, refreshed and ready to take on the day. I wrap a towel around my waist as I step in front of the mirror to shave and comb my hair. The night before, I laid my clothes for today, a characteristic college professor uniform of casual slacks, a turtleneck and tweed jacket. After getting dressed, I reach into the closet for my favorite pair of slip-on loafers, sans socks, before walking into the den to grab my briefcase. Looking around the den and living room one last time to make sure I’ve not forgotten anything, I grab my keys before I head toward the kitchen door that opens into the garage. Even though I drive the typical SUV it seems everyone has these days, I’d prefer a smaller, hybrid car that uses less gas and makes less of an environmental footprint. But living in a college town with its ever-present college parties, at least it’s safer than your average, smaller and more economical vehicles. Besides, it was a gift from my parents just two years ago after I got tenure at the college, and it would break their hearts if I didn’t drive it for at least another year or two. I really love my SUV and while it does provide a more comfortable ride than a mid-size or compact car ever could or would, I strive on trying to live a green lifestyle. In the long run, I end up feeling a bit guilty about driving such a large vehicle. Starting the car and as I back out of the garage, the first thing I do is to switch on the radio, but my thoughts turn once again to the solar flare that may strike earth at any time. Because of the vast distance between the earth and the sun, it takes nearly a day for any solar flare to have an effect on life here on earth. Another name for an EMP is a Carrington-class coronal mass ejection, which is referred to by nuclear physicists as a CME. It was named after Richard Carrington who in 1859 was the first solar astronomer to observe a massive solar flare shortly before it had struck the earth’s magnetosphere. The 1859 event, which was well documented by Mr. Carrington and his colleagues, was powerful enough to disrupt telegraph services. It was told that the telegraph operators were shocked while sitting at their desks sending and receiving various telegraph messages, and there were reported sightings of sparks that were seen flying from the telegraph poles. In fact, the massive amount of heat generated by the EMP melted some telegraph lines across both North America and Europe. It created so much light in the Rocky Mountains, in the mistaken belief that it was morning gold miners arose from their sleep to prepare their breakfast. Looking out the windshield I think, but am not sure, that I see lightning in the distant sky, but it appears last too long and is a little bit too bright to be a lightning strike. In any case, I don’t see any sign of rain clouds. Hmm. It seems a little strange for any past weather occurrence that I can remember ever seeing before this morning.
Posted on: Wed, 06 Nov 2013 21:27:45 +0000
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