My hometown is Bessemer MI.
I’ve never lived there, but my maternal
family roots go back 120 years in the place, it was there that as a child I
first saw the Northern Lights from the back window of my Uncle John’s house and
the Gogebic Range is where I’ve felt most at home. So I claim it with no less
authority than were I born there and dare anyone to say I can’t.
Along the way I’ll tell you the story of Bessemer, which is complex.
But not today. On the weekend of October 1st the sun shone bright
upon the Range and Pumpkin Fest went off with nary a hitch…though the
helicopter guy never showed so the helicopter rides didn’t either.
I suppose Pumpkin Fest is Bessemer’s celebration of both harvest and Halloween, the latter held a
month early. That’d be because Monday’s forecast calls for 45°. Folk will be
wearing gloves, which means you can’t lick your fingers and that makes it tough
to enjoy your snow cones, which
(apparently) go all the way back to the Roman stinkin’ Empire.
I read it on the
Internet so it must be true.
Among the delights at Pumpkin Fest was a horseshoe tournament held down by
the VFW, an antique tractor pull and
a pie social. Abelman’s Department Store,
where they’ve been selling quality goods since 1887 with attendant service
you’ll never find at the Wal-Mart, held a sale. A pumpkin seed spitting contest
was met and won. And of course there was food. Taken together, the sort of day many are familiar with only from old
movies, if at all. The sort of day our corporate media delivery machine would treat
as quaint while obliquely snickering at the rubes. Cynicism being the order of our day, as it helps keep the rubes in
line.
When I arrived downtown, ventriloquist Dave Parker and Skippy already held
a crowd of costumed children rapt. I first thought to show you pictures of
these kid’s faces because they’re a treasure, but the Internet is no small town
newspaper and I’ve no business plastering kid’s faces across it so Mr. Dave and
Skippy will have to do:
I went over to the pie social at City Hall. Admission was cash on the
barrelhead if you intended to eat pie, free to merely socialize. The table of
pie stretched 40 feet or more, the auditorium was packed and the place bristled
with anticipation. I was just in time to capture this:
I must be allergic to pie because my eyes misted over, so I went back
out into the sun to clear them. In the grand American tradition, two members of
the local Tea Party had a table set out on the street, taking their personal
politics to the public square. Business was scant, beaten to Hell by snow cones.
Though popular movements on both extremes of our political spectrum
currently dominate the news, that table served as reminder that our retail
politics have shifted from the street to the Internet and social media, where
we gnash the dry kernels of our myriad grievances 24/7. We need never face our
neighbor in disagreement, need never consider dissenting opinion. That means too
many of us now try to remake our community in our own proprietary image, taking
little account of our neighbors.
We ought treat this newfound digital liberty with better care, as each
of us sitting alone venting our miseries into the ether means we’re free to neglect
what it means to be a neighbor. And regardless
of intention, in such isolation we end up working against our community’s greater
health.
No
matter what you choose to believe, that’s no way to teach those children on
that stage how to be either a good neighbor or
a good citizen.
Anyway, some days are just to celebrate who we are and at least at
Pumpkin Fest, most folk paid politics and its attendant grievance no mind. The autumn
sun was brilliant. Kids laughed and skipped and sang. Adults proudly embraced
their community, while Dave Parker with his goofy songs and invariably creepy
sidekick Skippy held children of all ages in happy thrall.
Though I never did learn why the helicopter guy didn’t show, and me having
set ten bucks aside for to purchase a bird’s eye view.
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