The Fire Tribe

Abraham,
At the WNC Nature Center they have river otters that swim by glass windows, bubbles trailing off their bodies like quicksilver drops. They are the highlight of a sullen display of animals in pens. Golden eagles are huge and amazing, but look drab and despondent in wire towers. How sad, to lose the sky.

You loved the otters and the dreadlocked sheep at the petting zoo. I loved walking with you and your Mom, hidden away from the cell phone and a tough day at work.

Pa-

Abraham,
You are such an outdoor boy. Every evening, just before bed, we take you out for a walk around the yard. No matter how riled up you may be, and Lord knows I specialize in riling you up, as soon as we start walking, you settle down. You love Barbara's small pond and watch the fountain with great intent. You pat the maple trees leaves and pull petals off the roses. We take a walking tour of textures and you like the stones of the fireplace and tree bark. Sometimes we hang out in the hammock. Last night we found a turkey feather that you swung like a sword. Tonight we brought the recycling down to the curb, a lovely long trip. We found rabbit fur in the grass and wondered if maybe someday we'll see a fox or coyote slinking through the yard.

This is something we wanted for you: air and light and space around, evenings that glow with light and life. We are all more alive; I can see it in our eyes.

Pa-

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Abraham,
It was a month ago that we landed here and a week ago that we moved into this house. Even now, we aren't entirely settled in, but there aren't as many boxes as before. We'll hang pictures soon and plan a house-warming. This morning there was a turkey in the backyard and this evening a bluebird got into the Volvo. He is a fierce little fellow, tirelessly defending his territory from his reflection in car mirrors and windows. This is our sweet home.

Everything moves more slowly in the South. Everything but you. You eat real food now and are very independent about using spoons. Brown rice cereal is your favorite so far. It has the texture of good paper mache and cakes on your face, your truck bibs, your hands and your parents in equal measure. Pulverized sweet potatoes are a lovely color, but don't impress you much. Tomorrow, banana, or maybe avocado. Your Mom is growing you strong and healthy. I think you are ambidextrous because you get great distance hurling spoons whichever hand you use. You never took to the bottle, or even sippy cups, but you are getting adept at drinking from a glass.

You sit up on your own now, if only for a little while, before slowly tipping over. You roll over in both directions and wake yourself up every night, practicing rolling in your sleep.

Welcome home,
pa-

Sadly, due to overwhelming comment spam, readers of songlines won't be able to post comments on the blog. If I can figure out a way to avoid getting 78 phony comments about on-line gambling, I will re-open comments.
m-

Abe,
You have several toys now that you enjoy chewing on. Most crinkle and squeak and are vibrant colors, including your favorite fabric bug we named Beverly. But nothing has rocked your world quite like the plastic orange beetlebug toy that your Aunt Betty has. It winds up and races around, pausing occasionally to flip over and change directions. The first time it bolted across the counter, buzzing and flipping, you literally vibrated in my arms. Today we played with it on the floor and you were intent on catching it, a tricky thing considering how fast it moves and how new your arms and hands still are. When you finally succeeded in wrapping your thick fingers around it, you immediately popped it in your mouth.

Today we visited with Reid and Cathy and drove endless loops in Asheville neighborhoods looking for a new place to call home. The twisting, turning side streets lulled you to sleep. You are the calm center of our chaotic world right now and I'm grateful for that. The afternoon family naps are a sweet reminder that home is where we are together.

Pa-

Abraham,
Thursday was a difficult day. Your Mom and I turned the house inside out, as we made ready for a late night departure. You knew things were awry and missed your routines and bedtime. At ten we left for the airport, already exhausted, the journey not yet begun.

Too many bags, and yet not even half of the stuff we would need. I toured the new job site today and even in my long johns I was frozen. When I checked the Asheville weather last week it was 77 and sunny. Today it was 35 and rainy and snowy with bouts of hail. I wouldn't trade it for fluorescent lights, but I would have liked five more layers.

Long lines in the Portland airport, but you seemed to be sensing the adventure. You just looked around and took it all in, curious about the glowy signs advertising golf and business.

You didn't cry once, or even seem bothered by the strange air and movement of flying. I admire you, your calmness, your curiosity, your sweet wonder.

Chicago's O'Hare airport, 5:00 a.m.

You slept soundly on both legs of the flight, pressed close to your mother's breast. You have legions of fans amongst the flight attendants of United Airlines.

We arrived to Charlotte in the morning and spent most of the day in bed. It was warm and sunny and dinner at the mall's food court seemed like a luxury to me.

Charlotte, one very long day later.

We are now tucked away in the attic apartment of a good friend in Asheville. It's a cozy place, littered with the contents of our bags and Betty's plants and quilts. It feels good to be here. I cannot spend enough time in bed, though there are too many things to do.

You are in your element here. You have been dog-kissed and tasted home-made apple sauce. You've watched college hoops on TV and have ridden on real rocking chairs.

I would say welcome home, but it becomes clearer and clearer to me everyday, that wherever we are together as a family, we are home. So I guess I can say it after all, welcome home.

You sleep now, on the other side of a make-do flannel wall. I will join you soon. We will all be home in a mountain of comforters and blankets.

Pa-

It was one year ago yesterday, on your Mom's birthday, that we started this story together. I have not been as diligent as I would have liked; there are too many stories that slide by. But I am a firm believer that living life is more important than reporting on it. Your songlines will always be sung, whether they reach these pages or not.

Here you are, in two pictures taken roughly a year apart. The first is a portrait in sound, the first image to grace songlines. The second was taken late in the evening of your Mom's birthday party this past Saturday.

I am a grateful witness to your life.

pa-