NOVEMBER 7, 2020 – I woke just before the sun, slipped outside, and walked along the shoreline of Björnholm. Weather was splendid—perfect for posting trail signs in the “tree garden.”
Biden’s ahead by the thinnest of margins. Will he prevail? That won’t end the drama. Consider Trump’s tirade Wednesday night—one so departed from truth, several media outlets covering the event cut their sound feeds. Next to Trump, Nixon sounded like a gentleman when he insisted, “I’m not a crook.”
Beth is glued to news and Facebook. This saves me the need to do the same. Her updates keep me informed.
For much of the day I worked on posting the tree garden signs. They mark trails I’ve cut and also the sections of south-facing slopes where I planted hundreds of white pine. For weeks I’d imagined how my stenciled signs would look in the “garden.” Now reality matches vision.
My project has three objectives. First: to cultivate a preserve of white pine—the original, dominant species in this part of the world. Second: to create a refuge amidst upheaval—time in this magic kingdom of natural beauty does wonders for the soul. Third: to name trails/sections after people (and the all-important collie, our beloved Björn of Björnholm!) associated with this place—thus preserving for future generations a living reminder of the family’s “tall timbers.”
After installing my signs, I resumed my hunt for “volunteer” seedlings hidden throughout the garden when all the woodland undergrowth is full with foliage. Soon those “volunteers” will be hidden again—by snow. Now while they’re exposed, I want to stake them; clear competing brush away.
While far into the garden, I received several biz calls. I talked as if these were old times when I’d pick carpet lint from a wingtip, not tree bark from a work boot. Each call devolved into anxious talk about the election. With just cause, everyone’s worried about what will come next.
I also received a text from a Trumpster-friend. “Friend”?! Make that “acquaintance.” It contained the F-bomb. I was about to respond but didn’t.
After dark and dinner, Beth and I played Scrabble. She’s won too many times recently. Beforehand I went online and searched “strategies.” One: use foreign terms that’ve worked their way into English. Miraculously, late in the game I was behind by only a dozen votes . . . I mean points. I had a go-ahead chance using voir as in voir dire—the legal term for jury selection. (This occurred to me thanks to Beth’s previous speculation about criminal prosecution of Trump once he leaves office.) Beth questioned voir. I said, “Fine. Gonna challenge?” She didn’t. I edged past her with 97% of the tiles on the board. She then checked voir in the official Scrabble dictionary and cried (ironically—given its meaning in French), “I don’t see it here! . . . Fraud!”
Eventually, she simmered down and allowed me the victor’s spoils (according to our own rulebook): the “right” to clean up the game board.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
