Labor Day weekend is nigh, and even in a semi-retired state, I look forward to these three-day weekends, especially if the weather is still warm. Actually temps have been pretty high these last few days, which means that sitting on the deck well into the evening is comfortable, once the mosquitoes have calmed down.
Think I’ll take a stretch off just because. Back to posting on September 13.
The other day while out on the deck before sunset, listening to the loud cicadas, I made up a 19th-century religious movement, in outline. As one does. A farmer in early 19th-century Ohio proclaimed that the late summer cicadas are actually trying to communicate with mankind, but that the last people who could understand them were the ancient Israelites (using the Hebrew term for “locust”). Some Israelites were able to interpret their song as revelations from the Lord, which formed the basis for the lost Book of Locusts. After the destruction of the First Temple, the locusts spoke no more.
Who is suddenly able to understand the cicadas in the (19th century) present? The farmer, of course (Robert, let’s call him). He listens closely, and it turns out the Lord is laying down some new rules ahead of the Second Coming, via cicada song. Including how to organize a new church with Bob as its head, and an exact time for the Second Coming, like the Seven-Day Adventists. Bob gathers a few hundred followers. One of their main rituals is the “Summer Listening,” as they gather outside in the late afternoon and Bob, in a trance, interprets. Some of his grown sons soon have the ability too. Locust Listeners, their neighbors derisively call them, but soon they themselves are using the term.
The day for the Second Coming comes and goes, and Bob has a new revelation for his disappointed flock: they should be listening to crickets as well, to complement cicadas. That will reduce the chance of misunderstanding, as clearly happened with the date of the Second Coming. Groups of Listeners start staying up all night to listen to crickets, but others are dismayed, sparking a schism.
I could go on, naturally – how a few dozen Church of Listeners congregations still exist in the Midwest (and California, of course), how one of the great entomologists of the early 20th century grew up as a Listener, how a descendant of Bob erected a historic landmark in Ohio – a bronze cicada – in 1979…
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On the historic square in Woodstock last Saturday, something intriguing. This setup graced a shop window, though I took the image once I’d entered the building.
We’d found a model train store: M.D. Trains.
Those kinds of shops are few and far between, but not impossible to find. M.D. Trains was empty when we entered, except for an older man I took to be the proprietor and a younger fellow I took for an employee, both sitting near the front, chatting.
“You want to buy everything, don’t you?” the older gentleman said to us. Later I heard him say it to other people entering the shop. “Everything” meant a lot of stuff in a glorious clutter.
“If only,” I answered. I didn’t really mean it, since I’m not in the market for a room full of model train cars, tracks, accessories, model trucks, books, magazines and ephemera. Still, I enjoyed looking around the store.
There’s more than just merchandise. Square in the middle of the store is an intricate model train layout, much more elaborate than the one in the window.
But I did buy a small toy engine for $5. You can’t go in a place like that and not support it.
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I’m glad to report that Blue Lotus, a Buddhist temple housed in a former Congregationalist church, is still active in Woodstock.
In fact, I believe they’ve added some depictions of the Buddha lately.
One of these days, Blue Lotus is going to be open when I happen by. I’d like to see how the temple interprets the space.
