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My daughter, Janice, writes an article for the local paper. The piece is called, "Talking About Our Town." She didn't come up with the title, but inherited it from the previous writer, a stay at home mother who ran an impromptu antique shop from her garage. Janice is out of town this week, a friend's wedding in Nevada. So I am writing the piece for her, covering the monthly town board meeting.
I settled into one of the steel folding chairs at the back of the room. The town just put new carpet in the building and the room smelled plastic. I didn't notice the man sitting behind me, an older man with a potbelly that hung over his waist, until he cleared his throat. He wore a striped polo shirt tucked into his jeans and a pair of red suspenders. His hair was white, licked into a smooth left side part. "New to town?" he asked.
"Well, no. I have lived hear about five years."
He shrugged then made his lips into a circle. "Oh," he looked at the ceiling. "Well, I've never seen you."
"Well, I've never seen you." I introduced myself. His name was Bob, but even after a cold handshake he still seemed funny. Like he was unconvinced with and of me. "My daughter writes for our town's newspaper. That is why I am hear. I am covering the meeting for her article." I held my notebook and pen.
"Don't read the paper, myself, but I guess if you're new..." Bob's voice trailed off as the side door opened. It was the mayor. Five minutes late.
The conspiracy theory around town was that the mayor showed up to meetings late because he was getting sick of it. And being the mayor of our town must be hard because with only 1,700 people you know everyone. It's one big family. And it's a lot easier to be candid, honest, and angry with your family.
"Let's get this started," said Mayor Valenti taking his seat flanked by Bonnie K., the town clerk. He banged a gavel on the folding table in front of him. "I call this meeting to order." Looking down at his agenda Mayor Valenti said, "Lets talk about our town."
The first few minutes were just pomp and protocol. Approving last meeting's minutes. Reports from various public service commissioners like the police chief, fire chief, and zoning officer. The fire chief, a hefty guy named Jay who looks like he could carry two twenty-foot ladders over each shoulder, gave my first source of material.
"And to conclude, something funny this week. The fire department got a call to Badger Run road to rescue a cat stuck in a tree." He then smiled and someone chuckled from the front row of seats.
Actual cat stuck in a tree! I wrote in the notebook, quickly jotting down the details. A grey tiger tabby named Aurora. Belonging to Jackie McGlot the local aerobics instructor. A poplar tree.
With the reports done, Mayor Valenti opened the floor to public comments. Bob behind me grunted and turned to an older, overweight lady sitting next to him. "Here we go," he whispered to her.
A hand came up from the front row. A knotted hand, smeared with paint and grease. A working hand.
The mayor knew that hand. "The board recognizes Mr. Tom Kell of 137 Invite Lane," he said. The polishing his glasses with the bottom of his t-shirt, Mayor Valenti said, "What have you got for us this month, Tom."
Mr. Kell got up and pulled a bushel of apples from underneath his chair. He passed them down the first line of chairs. "Please, everyone take an apple!" He smiled brightly, revealing yellowed teeth shining among all his farmer's scruffiness. I then realized him as the man people referred to as the local homesteader. Janice had written about him.
"I hope everyone enjoys these apples because they are behind," Tom struggled with opening the flap of a Photopix envelope. "Behind, behind, behind a new endeavor I offer for all the children of our town!" He wrung out the pictures and then flipped through them. "Here I got some pictures, but they are mixed up with some of a hike I just took to the falls."
The apple basket came my way. I grabbed one and held it to the light. "Oooo, yeah that's a good one," said Tom. I then realize he was speaking to me.
'Oh, yeah?" I brought the apple down and cleaned it on my shirt sleeve.
"Yes, sir. A Cox Orange apple. See how the skin looks so mottled and alternates between burgundy and auburn. Reminds me an old leather bound book. And it tastes so complex. Nutty and citrusy, never foamy!"
Never heard of Cox Orange apple, but I was excited. Taking the first bite, I realized Tom wasn't lying, but I could only nod my approval. Someone else spoke up.
"Hey! What kind of apple did I get!" It was a woman's voice.
"Excuse me," interjected Valenti. "Please say your name for the recorder" He motioned to the digital recorded by Bonnie K.
"Oh, sorry," said the woman. "Katie Peterson of 176 Oldfield Road and I just want to know what my apple is." She turned to the whole audience. "No offense," she said smiling.
"Another good one!" Tom scrambled over to her side and held her hands which still clutched the fruit to the light. "An Akane! A Japanese hybrid with cherry pie colored skin and a heavenly pure white flesh. Very bright and sweet. Sunny flavor!"
Over the crunch of apples Valenti asked what the point behind all of this. The town board members nodded in agreement.
"Well, I planted all these apple varieties in my front yard, and created the first ever walking tour of apple diversity for the area! We live in the second largest apple producing state in the country and we know nothing but effervescent Granny Smiths and Red Deliciouses!" Tom stuck out his tongue and faked a gag after saying those words. I scribbled down everything, especially the apple varieties which I hoped to rattle off to Meredith later tonight. She had grown up in Washington state and might help me with the research. "You can see all the trees in those pictures," Tom said stabbing his finger toward the tables up front.
The lady behind me stood up and puffed out her thoughts. She didn't extend any courtesy to the recorder. "Well that is why I am here! I don't want to see these apple trees every morning when I wake up. They are deformed or something, all low to the ground and gnarled. And the flowers attract bees and my grandson is allergic to bees!"
Another voice, young and shrill, came out from the side of the room. "Well maybe if you had a job you wouldn't have to see them all day!"
Then a rumbling din began. The crunch of fruit, throaty laughter of some, annoyed grunts of others, and Valenti slamming his gavel. I made my own noise, scribbling down what was happening in our town.
I do love me some apples. Back home, the only apples we had were imports from Washington state. Red Delicious apples and Granny Smiths are anything but good. Horrible, messy things that taste like you bit into a fleshy Alka-Seltzer tablet. While I grew up I hated apples, because back home there were no such thing as good apples. But, now, in New York State, apples are everywhere and they KICK ASS! Of course, you can tell that I am a bit of an apple snob and when I taste apples, I bring out all the language usually reserved for wine, beer and coffee. Even when I worked as a barista, I could have never said something like that description of Cox Orange (They also have a wonderful graininess, like a pear, but not as overwhelming.). If you live anywhere in apple country then I suggest you look at any local U-pick farm and take advantage of the season. I will be the guy scaring kids out from underneath trees at Little Tree Orchards in Newfield.
"My apples, kids! BACK OFF! Don't test me! Don't talk to me, criminal! Or I'll cut you...a piece of this apple!"
Awww......even I can be nice to the kids.
Oh, yeah. What did you think of this little slice-of-life piece?
PEACE!
Our Town's Apples
My daughter, Janice, writes an article for the local paper. The piece is called, "Talking About Our Town." She didn't come up with the title, but inherited it from the previous writer, a stay at home mother who ran an impromptu antique shop from her garage. Janice is out of town this week, a friend's wedding in Nevada. So I am writing the piece for her, covering the monthly town board meeting.
I settled into one of the steel folding chairs at the back of the room. The town just put new carpet in the building and the room smelled plastic. I didn't notice the man sitting behind me, an older man with a potbelly that hung over his waist, until he cleared his throat. He wore a striped polo shirt tucked into his jeans and a pair of red suspenders. His hair was white, licked into a smooth left side part. "New to town?" he asked.
"Well, no. I have lived hear about five years."
He shrugged then made his lips into a circle. "Oh," he looked at the ceiling. "Well, I've never seen you."
"Well, I've never seen you." I introduced myself. His name was Bob, but even after a cold handshake he still seemed funny. Like he was unconvinced with and of me. "My daughter writes for our town's newspaper. That is why I am hear. I am covering the meeting for her article." I held my notebook and pen.
"Don't read the paper, myself, but I guess if you're new..." Bob's voice trailed off as the side door opened. It was the mayor. Five minutes late.
The conspiracy theory around town was that the mayor showed up to meetings late because he was getting sick of it. And being the mayor of our town must be hard because with only 1,700 people you know everyone. It's one big family. And it's a lot easier to be candid, honest, and angry with your family.
"Let's get this started," said Mayor Valenti taking his seat flanked by Bonnie K., the town clerk. He banged a gavel on the folding table in front of him. "I call this meeting to order." Looking down at his agenda Mayor Valenti said, "Lets talk about our town."
The first few minutes were just pomp and protocol. Approving last meeting's minutes. Reports from various public service commissioners like the police chief, fire chief, and zoning officer. The fire chief, a hefty guy named Jay who looks like he could carry two twenty-foot ladders over each shoulder, gave my first source of material.
"And to conclude, something funny this week. The fire department got a call to Badger Run road to rescue a cat stuck in a tree." He then smiled and someone chuckled from the front row of seats.
Actual cat stuck in a tree! I wrote in the notebook, quickly jotting down the details. A grey tiger tabby named Aurora. Belonging to Jackie McGlot the local aerobics instructor. A poplar tree.
With the reports done, Mayor Valenti opened the floor to public comments. Bob behind me grunted and turned to an older, overweight lady sitting next to him. "Here we go," he whispered to her.
A hand came up from the front row. A knotted hand, smeared with paint and grease. A working hand.
The mayor knew that hand. "The board recognizes Mr. Tom Kell of 137 Invite Lane," he said. The polishing his glasses with the bottom of his t-shirt, Mayor Valenti said, "What have you got for us this month, Tom."
Mr. Kell got up and pulled a bushel of apples from underneath his chair. He passed them down the first line of chairs. "Please, everyone take an apple!" He smiled brightly, revealing yellowed teeth shining among all his farmer's scruffiness. I then realized him as the man people referred to as the local homesteader. Janice had written about him.
"I hope everyone enjoys these apples because they are behind," Tom struggled with opening the flap of a Photopix envelope. "Behind, behind, behind a new endeavor I offer for all the children of our town!" He wrung out the pictures and then flipped through them. "Here I got some pictures, but they are mixed up with some of a hike I just took to the falls."
The apple basket came my way. I grabbed one and held it to the light. "Oooo, yeah that's a good one," said Tom. I then realize he was speaking to me.
'Oh, yeah?" I brought the apple down and cleaned it on my shirt sleeve.
"Yes, sir. A Cox Orange apple. See how the skin looks so mottled and alternates between burgundy and auburn. Reminds me an old leather bound book. And it tastes so complex. Nutty and citrusy, never foamy!"
Never heard of Cox Orange apple, but I was excited. Taking the first bite, I realized Tom wasn't lying, but I could only nod my approval. Someone else spoke up.
"Hey! What kind of apple did I get!" It was a woman's voice.
"Excuse me," interjected Valenti. "Please say your name for the recorder" He motioned to the digital recorded by Bonnie K.
"Oh, sorry," said the woman. "Katie Peterson of 176 Oldfield Road and I just want to know what my apple is." She turned to the whole audience. "No offense," she said smiling.
"Another good one!" Tom scrambled over to her side and held her hands which still clutched the fruit to the light. "An Akane! A Japanese hybrid with cherry pie colored skin and a heavenly pure white flesh. Very bright and sweet. Sunny flavor!"
Over the crunch of apples Valenti asked what the point behind all of this. The town board members nodded in agreement.
"Well, I planted all these apple varieties in my front yard, and created the first ever walking tour of apple diversity for the area! We live in the second largest apple producing state in the country and we know nothing but effervescent Granny Smiths and Red Deliciouses!" Tom stuck out his tongue and faked a gag after saying those words. I scribbled down everything, especially the apple varieties which I hoped to rattle off to Meredith later tonight. She had grown up in Washington state and might help me with the research. "You can see all the trees in those pictures," Tom said stabbing his finger toward the tables up front.
The lady behind me stood up and puffed out her thoughts. She didn't extend any courtesy to the recorder. "Well that is why I am here! I don't want to see these apple trees every morning when I wake up. They are deformed or something, all low to the ground and gnarled. And the flowers attract bees and my grandson is allergic to bees!"
Another voice, young and shrill, came out from the side of the room. "Well maybe if you had a job you wouldn't have to see them all day!"
Then a rumbling din began. The crunch of fruit, throaty laughter of some, annoyed grunts of others, and Valenti slamming his gavel. I made my own noise, scribbling down what was happening in our town.
__________________________________________________
I do love me some apples. Back home, the only apples we had were imports from Washington state. Red Delicious apples and Granny Smiths are anything but good. Horrible, messy things that taste like you bit into a fleshy Alka-Seltzer tablet. While I grew up I hated apples, because back home there were no such thing as good apples. But, now, in New York State, apples are everywhere and they KICK ASS! Of course, you can tell that I am a bit of an apple snob and when I taste apples, I bring out all the language usually reserved for wine, beer and coffee. Even when I worked as a barista, I could have never said something like that description of Cox Orange (They also have a wonderful graininess, like a pear, but not as overwhelming.). If you live anywhere in apple country then I suggest you look at any local U-pick farm and take advantage of the season. I will be the guy scaring kids out from underneath trees at Little Tree Orchards in Newfield.
"My apples, kids! BACK OFF! Don't test me! Don't talk to me, criminal! Or I'll cut you...a piece of this apple!"
Awww......even I can be nice to the kids.
Oh, yeah. What did you think of this little slice-of-life piece?
PEACE!
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