It has been an incredible two weeks since the election. We just heard that Alaska's felonious and the longest serving Republican Senator, Ted Stevens lost his bid for re-election to Mark Begich. Now even Alaska has a different hue. The Purple Haze of the new America-- not red, not blue anymore. Just America. With 58 seats in the Senate and two still up for grabs, the Democratic party is teetering on the brink of a filibusterer proof majority. No more obstructionist anti-majority legislation tying the hands of the party in power. The accusation that the Democrats have done nothing since resting the majority from the GOP in 2006 overlooks the fact that all of the progressive legislative initiatives were vetoed by Dubya. Now true change can begin in Washington DC. Change that came from the heartland, from main street USA, from rural and urban communities, from the east coast, west coast, third coast and deep in the desert southwest. Yes, change we can believe in and it is exciting to see how the country is embracing the Obamas. It is so refreshing to hear the soon to be leader of the free world speak with eloquence and vision. People whose criteria for voting for president was that they could have a beer with him is ridiculous. Not to say it wouldn't be a pleasure to have a beer with Mr. Obama-- but I want to be in awe of his brilliance, not placaded by his mediocrity. Sixty some days to go.
A time of great upheveal, of great uncertainty and of great opportunity. As the world embraces the new America, we look forward to our move to Carbondale and the next phase in our careers. I visited Carbondale last week with two goals in mind. First was to establish a relationship with a local banker in preparation for making an offer on the Victorian Legend. Second was to meet with the administration at SIU in preparation for moving my scientific enterprise to Carbondale. The only thing that won't change is what is most important-- my family and pets, all of us relishing the change that is just around the corner.
After I concluded my visit with the department I dialed the Garmin for Springer Ridge Road and made the first drive from the parking lot at Life Science III to the Victorian Legend-- 7.4 miles, just three turns. A straight shot south from campus to the very edge of the state and national forests. I parked my rented Ford in the driveway, skirted the house and buildings and took a walk on the property. 40 acres is huge. I headed straight east from the barn and stayed to the north of the pond and creek that bisect the property. The north pasture is rolling, generally downhill, and planted in hay that had been mowed this season. I walked all the way to the east edge of the property to the fence line and found a path to Club Road, which separates the property from the farm on the north. I walked down the road, which appeared not to have had any vehicular traffic in recent months. Down the road went, down hill with the creek and woods from the property on my right and the confluene of two creeks in the woods on my left. I followed the road for 15 minutes going deeper and deeper in to the woods, alert and cautious, not knowing what lay ahead. Soon I came to an opening and found a very old house. Judging from the weathered wood and style of building, the house looked to be 100 years old. No sign of habitation, and I wondered who owned this place and what its story might be. I found a camoflouged glove, no doubt dropped by a hunter, oddly near an old sign posted "no hunting." I followed the road back toward the property, climbing the steep lane through the tall trees, which looked to be a hundred feet tall. An old forest with limestone craigs covered in moss. Silence. Not a hint of the sound of man. The wind in the trees and the call of the birds, the trickle of the creek. It was a spiritual awakening as I was dumbstruck with the notion-- oh my goodness, this could soon be my property.
I have grown accustomed to living among people. The density of population in Oak Park took a lot of getting used to. Living within feet of our neighbors, hearing their conversation on a warm night when everyone's windows are open. Smelling their cigarette smoke as they stand on their porch smoking. Seeing through their windows in the morning's early light when the light from their bathroom illumnates them. A mutual resepect for privacy causes us to look away, ignore the sounds of their chatter, and try to ignore their smoke. As we walk to school in the morning and pass through the neighborhood, looking at the gardens and Cubs or Sox flags hanging from the houses, seeing the kids trooping down the street to join our parade to Lincoln school, I am aware of the not too distant sound of the El screaming by and the traffic on I290, Harlem and Roosevelt. The holy silence beckons. We sure are going to miss Trick-or-Treating in our neighborhood though.
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