Out My Backdoor

You'll hear me say

it takes three days

out my back door

to the middle of the wild,

And so I did,
as he cleared my way to his grinding wheel.

Out My Backdoor

Bob Komives

::

You'll find that among your new neighbors
we borrow and lend in a neighborly way.
No payment offered and none accepted,
yet, you might say,
one is always expected.
The price to borrow one thing
is to remember to ask for two.
We lend a tool freely
where we can send along our wisdom.
Your question may be short or long,
as fits the subject,
but the answer should never be so short
as to end before you turn to leave.
Thus, our advice will often run full limit—
just twice what the fetching and lending need take.
After my first winter, and half a summer,
this custom had already served me well.
Being the youngest and the newest,
I lacked tools and had need for everyday advice.

::

A few houses over,
the pruning saw hung near his head
as I walked through the workshop door.
“How long does it take
“to get into the back country from here?”
He said nothing
until he had lowered the saw and put it into my hand.

Well, if you want to hear how I figure it,

(I paused near the door to listen.)

it takes me no more than an hour and a half; 

only the canyon sits in my way.

::

Across the alley,
she walked with me to her shed
to fetch the garden fork.
“How long does it take
“to get into the back country from here?”
She may have wished I had asked about her tomatoes.
We inspected them going and halfway back.

'depends on how you see it.

But I suppose I'd say, it takes me three hours 

out my back door and into the wilderness—

to close the door, 

drive up the canyon,

put on my pack,

and trek a few miles up the trail.

She reconfirmed as I latched the gate.

Yes, I guess it's three hours that join this place, 

my chosen life,

with my mountain escape of choice.

::

I needed only to go next door
to sharpen my mower blade.
“How long does it take
“to get into the back country from here?”
He had just begun to change the spark plugs
in his pickup on the far side of the garage.

You'll hear me say it takes three days 

out my back door to the middle of the wild,

And so I did,
as he cleared my way to his grinding wheel.
With several minutes of grinding ahead of me
he could afford to confuse me in the beginning.
Of course, I hinted that among his neighbors
an hour and a half, or perhaps three hours,
were thought to be enough.

Those are honest folks,

but, you might say,

I speak in the sense of senses.

Now, my sense of smell and my sense of taste,

they could agree with those lower estimates.

One breath of mountain air 

inhaled deeply through my nose

places me right back in the wilderness.

There, any food, lightly carried,

tastes as good as I care to expect.

But, ear, eye, and touch do not fit in so quickly.

I hear beauty; 

I see it; 

I touch it—

even before I exhale that first mountain breath.

Yet those senses flit about,

not always knowing new from old,

nor together from apart.

They  keep referring back here to this life—

enjoying so much the difference 

that you might say,

they miss out on much of the difference.

Then, some moment 

(expected but briefly unexpected)

around a trail bend on my third day out,

I make it all the way back 

to the middle of the wild—

all of me,

five senses,

together in one place.

While he got lost in thought
I finished up my grinding
and put the clutter back where it had lain.
Then I sent back a nod of understanding
as I took away his final words.

Now, before you reject my estimate,

let me tell you, it is not all bad.

On that last day,

I put on my pack 

and walk down out of the back country,

leaving that back door wide open.

Then I drive on down the canyon 

knowing that for at least three more days 

parts of me will stay up there

in the middle of the wild.

::

So, welcome to our neighborhood.
That yard sure has needed care.
Ah, there's that damned long-handled spade!
I'm sorry for the delay.
'haven't used it since last fall.
You can see it is still quite sharp.
It will always be here when you need it.
And, before you leave,
since you asked my advice,
I'd say you should take that hoe of yours next door.
It could use a little sharpening
to tame those weeds in the alley.
I see him there in his garage tuning up his van.
He came back down just yesterday.
Go on over,
but take care in what you ask.
He may still lack a few of his senses.

Fort Collins (c) 1994 :: Our My Backdoor:: ,9413