12/13/23: Highway 88 on North Fork of the New River, Creston, North Carolina—driving home after visiting an old friend I’d not seen since summer 2016 in Oregon.
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I’ve known Jefferson Boyer since the late 70s when he was finishing his cultural anthropology thesis on agrarianism in Chapel Hill. My girlfriend was his colleague; he was the only married graduate student in that cohort.
He’s now retired from UNC-Boone (Appalachian State), and I now live 10 miles south in Todd NC. We are widowers, and we are happily remarried. I last saw him in Eugene, Oregon when he came to say goodbye to Sandra Morgen, my wife, his old friend. In the photograph above his wife Helen Blevins is retrieving a 1973 photograph of the grad students they were, he and Sandi and the rest.
Jeff grew up in Oregon; I grew up in North Carolina. Now we are neighbors in the same Blue Ridge county—not far from Tennessee, not far from Virginia. He sings tenor in St. Luke’s Episcopal in Boone; I sing tenor in St. Mary’s Episcopal in West Jefferson. We’re planning to meet up again soon, during the 12 days of Christmas maybe, this time with Linn and Helen. All four of us had earlier lives and loves, mistakes and miracles. There’s more to talk about.
This reunion was a sunny day after the first snow; it’s snowing again as I write, and the trucks are clearing Highway 194 before sunrise. How many reunions remain?
The New River flows north to Virginia, the old and perpetually renewed Jesus sign stands between it and the rocky hillside on a long curve. You don’t have to agree with it to know you need to take care, watch out for your neighbors, cherish the moments we have. Be safe on the solstice and eve of 2024. Your loved ones are waiting.
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