This past Thursday I drove to Thompson’s Mills to see if it would still speak to me. I hadn’t visited since late spring, and wasn’t sure how—or if—the old building would welcome me as it always had, in its secretive but friendly way. To compound things, she’s going through some difficult physical changes at the moment (why do we say she when speaking of old boats and buildings?). The basement is closed for extensive repairs (flood damage, and the pull of gravity on historical bones), and the machinery can’t be run until a rotted beam supporting a drive mechanism is replaced. The ankle bone is connected to the shin bone, et cetera.
But I shouldn’t have worried.
“The whole universe is based on rhythms. Everything
happens in circles, in spirals.” —John Hartford