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Sometimes all it takes is a tiny thought to get the brain doing the double-quick-step of pondering any given topic. Sometimes that beginning is jarred loose by seeing an ordinary object—like a chunk of rip rap limestone that was birthed yards deep in Wells County earth. It now sits free to sunbathe aside the slab of Angelkeep patio cement after being moved less than half a mile from the quarry.
Haven Kimmel is a Hoosier born author who freed herself from Indiana to her current home in North Carolina. Debatable progress. A sentence from a book (freed temporarily from the local library) written by Kimmel stated the protagonist’s amazement at nails trying to free themselves from the wood siding of an old abandoned hunter’s shed.
The words recalled to mind huge ribbed spikes pulling from Angelkeep patio overhead decking joists. They seem to want to be free to move under the floor that serves blessedly as shade for the patio enjoyment.
Unlike the quarry rock, they’ll be driven, hammered, back into their hole.
Freedom at Angelkeep is the general rule. Rusty decking spikes trapped in treated 2” by 12” deck lumber are among the rare exception. Unfortunately for them, they are eternally held in wood that heats up by summer sun to degrees untouchable by human skin, like lost sinners down under. That’s hot.
Again, my brain and eye nerve connections begin traveling in another direction, full speed, like the mile-long freight trains that pass regularly by Angelkeep.
A dead branch appearing to be about eight feet long hangs by a yet connected thread of tree fiber in the ash across Angelpond. It has hung freely—but not yet separate—from the main trunk since spring’s snow and ice released its rigid state. Now it swings to and fro “like a pendulum do.” Its movement mimics the freedom to swing in the least breeze just like the hanging finch feeder. Together they are free to swing and dance, in perfect time, with only Angelpond water separating them.
Dragonflies, the three season mascot of Angelkeep, come and go at will from their place only God knows the presence of. They are free to enjoy any space of this acre. Unlike other unconfined living creatures, they have the vertical advantage. They have release over land, water, and as much upward air space as they choose to use.
My brain parts can hardly fathom their bliss as they dart from one space to another across the pond, then down the middle, skimming the surface, then back again with altitude. They zip alone or in pairs and occasionally triplets like fighter jets practicing aerial maneuvers. Freedom for them is complete and how wonderfully do they demonstrate their joy.
A young fawn, finally freed now by mama doe’s “stay in the woods” directive, enjoys the open space between the forest area and Angelpond’s edge. Hind legs kick in the newly discovered space, void of undergrowth. So pleased is the yet spotted fawn in its release to open territory that it ignores the lesson mama is likely trying to teach. Corn is available in this space. It’s free. Ma doe is indulging, setting the example. The fawn just frolics back and forth between clumps of cattails looking like the moving targets at the shooting gallery trailer at the Street Fair.
Perhaps he’s just pretending to be a dragonfly—which could explain his wee vertical leaps.
For some silly reason, the tender part of my heart goes out to the nails trying to extract themselves yet. If they actually could pull themselves completely free and drop to the cement below, they’d likely remain there. It seems that everything that’s free to leave Angelkeep does not—or at least returns. We all seem to thrive inside this nonwalled, unfenced acre. Freedom is relative. Even to a pendulum ash branch hanging by a thread.
Mr. Daugherty is a Wells County resident who, along with his wife Gwen, enjoy their back yard and have named it “Angelkeep.”
by ALAN DAUGHERTY
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