Phil and I are sitting in front of a crackling fire. Zarya the dog, is spread out on a drop cloth draped over a long, deep couch. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out onto thin pines and bare trees astride Keusel Lake, a log home and the illusion of forest on the other side. The sky is overcast. Raindrops cling to the patio furniture on a deck designed to accommodate a big family or a dozen friends.
This is not our house. This is not even the house that we originally rented. The house that we rented had a more worn-in look and feel, more human dander, and a narrower deck.
This is a house of good fortune, a direct result of my having contracted Covid three weeks ago when infection rates were supposed to have been extremely low. I had just begun to venture out. I think I made it as far as KwikTrip.
Our first night here, in an episode of "The Last Kingdom", a prescient child was blindfolded and tasked with selecting someone in the crowd. She cut a meandering path through the crowd and eventually slipped her hand into a young man's hand. That man then walked over to a fumarole the size of a manhole--we knew that it was a volcanic vent because it emitted steam. Without visible hesitation, he took one step and disappeared into the fumarole without a sound.
He was the chosen sacrifice. His bad luck was brought about intentionally to open the door for good fortune for the group.
I thought it was interesting, how that theme resonated with how we came to be here in this house. I was reminded of how Covid got us this vacation rental upgrade, seeing that theme reiterated in a ritualized human sacrifice.
The idea of good fortune requiring a counterweight of ill fortune--and vice versa--seems to go way back.
In the Bible, God had Abraham prepare to sacrifice his son, Isaac. A messenger from God stops Abraham from completing the grim task, saying, "Now I know you fear God." And then Abraham unbinds his son, sees a ram, and slays the ram as a substitute sacrifice (instead of Isaac).
I am no theologist, nor have I made a study of this particular passage; it just sprang to mind in the context of discussing human sacrifice.
Even though the messenger tells Abraham that he is satisfied to know that Abraham fears God (and to fear God is to believe in the power of God), still Abraham slays the ram anyway, as a sacrifice.
Why slay the ram? God is satisfied that Abraham has proven his belief in God. And surely, the ram is not as valuable a sacrifice as Isaac. The ram was not selected by God, as Isaac had been. The ram just happened to be passing by.
Perhaps the fact that the ram had the great bad luck to pass by at just that minute made it an adequate sacrifice--not because the ram was intrinsically valuable (relative to Isaac), but because it was a ram with truly great bad luck. (Whereas, when you think about it, Isaac was really very lucky.)
Maybe Abraham slaughtered the ram because of some mathematical law of the universe that requires a balance of good luck for bad.
Maybe Abraham slaughtered the ram not for God, but to balance out Isaac's great good luck with the ram's truly awful luck.
Maybe the sacrifice of the ram was not for God, but a simple act of balancing the scales.
Anyway, that's not what this post is about. This post is about houses.
As soon as you put a drop cloth and a dog on a couch, that house is yours--while you're in it. The more so if it's raining. The more so if you build a fire. The more so if you have a few dishes in the sink.
But when we prepare to leave, we will have to fold up the drop-cloth, sweep up the ashes, clean and put away the dishes. We will have to initiate a process of erasing all traces of our presence, a process that will be completed by the person who comes to clean the house up after us.
We will go home to our house.
I am deeply attached to our house, our barn, our 4.5 acres of pines, deciduous trees, lawn, and pasture.
Don't get me started on the details of habitat, the comings and goings of migratory birds, the raccoon and her kits, the cranes, the cardinals, the storied history of four equines who have found love, safety, heaven, and hell here, on this patch of earth.
You may not remember this from an earlier post, but for several years, my luck with the horses had been so bad that the veterinarian had suggested I rub sage in their stalls. Moreover, a friend from the dog park advised me that a lot of suicides happen in old barns, which could reasonably set up a lot of bad juju. I had come very close to hiring a...Oh, what do you call those people who have a sixth sense and have various remedies for this type of situation...? Anyway, despite all evidence in this post to the contrary, I was reluctant to go in that direction. Instead, I've relied on data mining among horse-keepers and researched the veterinary literature, leaving no stone unturned.
I have made a study of aging horses' guts and teeth, of pony feet and pony metabolism. I have heaped a hundred pounds onto the scale on the side of prevention. For the first time ever, all of the horses got through last winter unscathed.
Nonetheless, it is a great comfort to that this happened: One night this late winter, I slid back the door to the barn, switched on the hay-lights, and what did I see? Was the pony's face oddly misshapen?
As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw a bird, as distinguished from the pony's head, come into focus (most likely a red-tailed hawk). It was perched on the top oak board, one of two heavy horizontals that formed a primitive gate to keep the horses on their side of the barn.
The hawk and pony were only inches apart, as if they had been enjoying a visit.
The fact that the horses were not troubled by my appearance seemed to confuse the bird as to his own attitude toward me. For a moment, the bird and I seemed frozen in place, regarding one another.
Then the hawk stooped, preparing to take flight.
I bent my knees, bowed my head, and the hawk flew over me, out the door into the night.
I reported this event to Sam, an aspiring Wiccan. Sam said, when a hawk crosses your path it means you are protected.
It meant that my barn and horses were finally safe.
To verify this hopeful news, I further researched online the meaning of such an encounter with a hawk.
And yes, the consensus among the ...Oh, what is the word for spiritual beliefs tied tied to nature and the spirit world and North American tribal / aboriginal religions / Druidic-pagan / Wiccan cosmologies...?
That.
There is consensus there that such an encounter with a hawk has totemic significance.
If I should ever build a totem (I really should), I would put a red-tailed hawk at the top.
I guess this post was not about houses. Maybe it's about finding safe havens.
This is a good-luck house.
