I'm alone on the barn now. Scooter and Rick are helping Mr. Johnson thin out some trees on back acres. They will saw and stack some wood to dry for next winter. This is the first time I've been alone here since we arrived. I think about the city shelter, where I sat under the skylight for a little sunlight. How blessed the difference ! I try to listen for the barn's response to us and the changes that have happened here. All I sense is a feeling of something that can expand, contract, change shape and quality with great resilience. It's like images in a dream alter in impact and reception without any external visible change. I can almost hear the wood breathing , singing, weeping, and laughing with us through all these seasons of the soul. It's a hovering presence - responsive - accepting.
We're ready for weekend crafts sale. The men have been hauling stuff in, and we women have been arranging for display. It all really makes for a colorful array. We have quilts, afghans, cider, homemade syrup, belt racks, hat trees, trays, small tables, potholders, samplers, bedspreads, cannisters made from tree boles and polished to a sheen - too many things to remember and list. This evening after shoppers have dwindled we will have our potluck and old-fashioned song fest. Even local people say it's been a long time since such things went on around here. Older ones recall it as children, and some younger ones remember Grandma's stories. Rick and I found an old round wood table with legs shattered beyond repair. Mr. Johnson gave us a can of bright yellow day-glo paint, left over from painting some posts by the drive so they could be seen in headlights. We painted a big smiling sun to put over the barn door. The Johnsons thought it a great idea, and suggested we make a sign for the craft sale to put roadside reading -CRAFT SALE - LOOK FOR THE SMILING SUN. We told them about the old man. To us - it's a memorial to him. It almost glows in the dark !