Their Ritual

The Ritual

One might think it serendipitous their meeting so long ago, fortuitous maybe. Who would have guessed, it could have gone so differently.

They came to a place weeks apart and found a quiet country road wending between sloping hills and languid river, half way down from mountain to sea, an out of the way drive save for those who were looking, and they were. Of the two homes nestled in the small valley the first was bought in April and the second in May. All the hills were green , trees green again and the river green from spring rains.

First came the clean up. Years of neglect from aging ex-owners was found to be best done by cooperation between the two couples. An old barn to be torn down, old fences, old water pumps replaced to pump from the river. Old septic tanks to be replaced. Years worth of work and cooperation. The old fences were never replaced.

Another job to do was the stand of pine between the two houses. Many trees dead from crowing needed to come down. Husbands felling and splitting and wives stacking gathered enough firewood to last several rainy seasons. Each year hence, the ritual became a planned exercise each spring cutting enough to stay ahead of the need by two years. Each felling season was celebrated with a ritual steak dinner.

And on it went. When plums and pears were harvested from one home, pies and goodies were baked. When apples and blackberry from the other, cobblers sauces and apples juices picked, pressed and preserved. Each with ritual tastings.

Trips to town were always met with ‘’can we get you anything’’ and the weekly trip for pizza night was always a squabble over pineapple or no pineapple.

Full moons and holidays were shared, as ritual of course because it was the thing to do. Year afrer year the fireworks became less and less as they became more and more expensive and less and less children and grand children came to visit.

But the best ritual was special. It happened only once every four years. A fall ritual and one never shared by anyone else. In October, late in the evening, the couples would meet for a fire ritual between the two homes in a special spot where trees had been cleared and no fence had ever been replaced. Hot dogs were put on sticks and potato salad packed by one house and corn on the cob from the other graced the old wooden table made from deconstructed fencing with four thick tree rounds for stools.. Dinner was had, mixed with some fine herb grown for decades and one bottle of Southern Comfort to help keep the encroaching cold away.

At the appointed hour, just before the polls were closed in town, each couple would remove their heavy coats to display their political affiliations, one couple red, the other blue. Time was given then to filling out their ballots and when all were done, five minutes were allotted for growling and hissing at one another after which the giggling began when all four ballots were tossed into the fire, prompting several more minutes of good night hugs and ‘’see you tomorrows’’.

a reply to: BingoMcGoof

SF Really good writing! Enjoyed this!

a reply to: BingoMcGoof

S&F

Reminds me of the old days, proms, homecomings, and quadrennial cancel-out dances.

When Losers Decide

"Sally, can I ask you how you're voting?"

"I'm sorry Bill, I'm already canceling with Jim."

"Robin, are you canceling yet?"

"You should have asked me sooner Bill."

"Damn it! Odd man out again! It's all on me then."

a reply to: JJproductions

Thank you JJ. You urged me a while back but I needed some time for something to pop into my head.

a reply to: FullHeathen

Thanks Heathen. That story is not true however it is based on a real relationship. Our best friends and only neighbors and ourselves. There is no ''ritual'' but years ago recognized that our votes cancelled each other and in all eents our friendship mattered more.

a reply to: BingoMcGoof

My reply was fiction too. I never went to dances, never even tried.

But I do remember the concept of "cancelling out". I skipped a couple of elections in the '80s.

a reply to: FullHeathen I

I never skipped an election, not because the entire notion of each vote counts was even believable to me but more that it was a statement to myself of where I stood on the national paradigms. In 1980, among other third party votes, I voted for Barry Commoner and his '''Citizens Party'', a party with a one world platform, that word being ''Bull#''.

Nor did I go to dances. Somehow, though the top half of my body got the music, that never got transmitted to my lower half beyond feeling like the scarecrow freshly off his perch in the Wizard of Oz.

a reply to: BingoMcGoof

I am so happy you are creating!

a reply to: BingoMcGoof

You are a certified storyteller, and I very much enjoyed yours! That conversational constant is a real gift. I hope you keep writing and writing and writing. You are a writer. Writers write. I am a writer. I write. I don't always post, but I will soon.

a reply to: argentus

I can’t wait for more of your writing!

a reply to: argentus

Thank you argentus. I"m glad your found your way here...