Labor Day '85
Margaret M. and I
Set off for the New Paltz Arts and Crafts Fair
Which is on a field a few miles outside town
Walking in from my car
Through a gravel and weed parking lot
Margaret tells me that she's been to this site before
Once on a double date
The other fellow lost his keys
And they searched the grounds and parking area for them
The keys finally turned up on the ground
Where the next car had been parked
A dark orange butterfly flutters by
Margaret remarks on the irony of the beautiful butterfly
In the seedy setting of the parking lot
I rejoin with the Buscaglia pooper‑scooper‑and‑rose story
Wherein because Leo cleaned up after his dog
He got to see a beautiful rose that otherwise he would have missed
Blooming in the yard
We decide to survey the 250 booths systematically
By weaving our way through the several tents
Each exhibit is interesting
Some drawing one or the other of us in for a closer look
I tell Margaret that there may well be
A special vortex or two
That will absorb me considerably
And from which she may have to retrieve me
Near the end of our survey
We still haven't been awed enough by anything
To stay at a stall for any length of time
When we come upon a set of wood scenes,
That is, scenes made from various kinds of woods,
Of all sizes, featuring a few common motifs,
The two most common themes being sailing and hot‑air ballooning
We both liked these exquisitely executed works of art quite a lot
Looking at the artist's name on one of the pieces, "R. Johnson,"
I mentioned to Margaret that there was an artist named Robert Johnson
In my home town in New Jersey
Now noticing a small white identification tag on a nearby piece
It turns out to mention Robert Johnson
From James Street in Lakewood, New Jersey
(Our family millwork business is on James Street, too)
It's him!
Not only that
As we walk around to the other side
Of the display that we had been at
There's Bob in person, grayer than I remembered him
I'd met him almost 25 years earlier
When he'd been putting some custom touches on our new home
In fact, he made the back‑lit translucent panel
With the outer‑space‑mooded scene
Which was right in front of me at my desk in my den
Where I worked from ages twelve through twenty‑three
Bob and I chat for a few minutes
During which a lady asks him if he does switch plates
He says no
What an off‑the‑wall kind of thing
To expect an artist to do, isn't it?
Then I remember that one of the other things
That Bob did in our house
Was to camouflage the light switch plates
Where there were "old brick" walls
I want to get Margaret one of Bob's pieces
But she insists that she is unworthy of such a gift
I buy a couple of his larger wood works for myself
And we bid him farewell
We go back into town
And stop to get a bite to eat
As we get out of the car
I discover that I have misplaced my comb
We look all over the car
But it is nowhere to be found
I really like this comb --
It's bright blue with swirly white in it
So it bothers me to lose it
It also bothers me to lose things in general
I figure that I must have dropped it back at the fair
Possibly in the parking lot
I half‑jokingly tell Margaret that
I'm going to go back later to look for it
After we eat and I drop Margaret at home
I decide that I'll take a roundabout, scenic route home, via Ellenville
And since I'll be going by where the fairgrounds are
Maybe I'll just stop there briefly and look for my comb
As I'm approaching the fair
I realize that it's a quarter to six
And that the fair closes for good at six P.M.
I can actually dip back into the displays
If only for a few minutes, if I so desire
So I postpone combing for my comb
To go back to the tent with Bob Johnson's exhibit
Will he be all packed already?
He's still there, his display intact
I purchase two small pieces
A sailing scene and a ballooning scene
Each piece to be a gift for a friend
One in particular a surprise for Margaret
Bob again gives me a discount
Some guy backs his pickup into a nearby tentpole
And we go over to straighten him and the pole out
Again I say so long to Bob
This time I delay before driving away
I have a feeling that
If I'm going to find my comb
It will be along one edge of the parking area
Which we had parked next to
As I get there, I pick a point
And start going south along the edge
Scanning the ground for a bright blue object
The further I go the less confident I feel about seeing it
I turn around in a last sweep and head back the way I came
I stop near where I had started going south ‑‑
Should I continue on north or give up and go home?
A dark orange butterfly flutters near me on the ground
"Show me the way, butterfly," I say
It takes off and heads north, flitting close to the ground
One carlength that way sits a bright blue comb
