The Golden Whisker Fields of Winter

This is a photo of one of the farm fields behind our house. It is at the corner of Stonerow and Red Pine, not far from a butcher shop that doesn't exist anymore. Whenever I go for my walks, I always take a few minutes to stop and look at this field. I often photograph it. Sometimes there is corn in the field, but not anymore. It was harvested late in the season, and now all that's left is a field of golden stubble.

The stubble reminds me of a man's beard. More specifically, it reminds me of my FATHER's beard. He worked as a brakeman on the railroad, in the train yards in Enola, on the other side of the river from Harrisburg. He shaved regularly early in the day, but by late in the day, he always sported a beard stubble.

His work schedule was Wednesday through Sunday, and he had off Mondays and Tuesdays. He left for work around 2:30 in the afternoon and didn't get home until very late at night, all whiskery, smelling of creosote and cold steel from jumping on trains.

My mother would always wait up to greet him at the door with kisses and hugs, and he'd whisker her (rub his whiskers all over her face) and she'd laugh. Sometimes on occasion, he'd whisker us kids too, if the situation called for it.

So I was thinking about whiskers, but I was also listening to my tunes box and wondering what the heck it was that I was hearing. For I had the Doors on the tunes box, and they were singing Light My Fire, but I was hearing goats in the background.

Yes, goats! And I don't mean just goats, but goat sounds included at regular and appropriate places, with musical intention. I have two Doors albums, one being just The Doors (1967), and the other being The Best of the Doors (1970). I'm not sure which version I heard.

Of course, when I got home, I had to google it. And I got a bunch of random nonsense back, so I have learned almost nothing (except for comments on a couple of dirty remarks that Jim Morrison - unsurprisingly - says in a few different songs, which didn't help me at all with deciphering the whole goat puzzle). I also told my husband, who laughed long and loud at me. But he did ask, helpfully, "Did you smell any goatish odors?"

Now, on a separate but equal train arriving from Chicago, somebody over on Mahala Street recently (Jan. 10) had a goat stolen. I read about it on Stormstown Neighbors AND on Nextdoor Neighbor. The goat is black, with no horns, wearing a purple collar with pumpkins on it. The goat is friendly and sweet, great with kids. The family is bereft; they want their goat back.

So of course, thoughts ran through my head as to whether the goat I was hearing was a real one, or just something on my music track. My husband says the former, I say the latter. Anybody want to chime in? The goat matter is still open for debate!

These and other riddles may or may not be solved here, but to wrap things up, goats or no goats, here we are with a farm field in winter, contemplating the great mysteries of life. And thinking quite happily about my father's whiskers and how this field brings back the rememberings.

My soundtrack song is for my parents: the Mamas and the Papas, with Dedicated to the One(s) I Love. (Also, you can find several versions of the Doors Light My Fire on YouTube; anybody who wants to weigh in on the goat issue, please do!)

P.S. Oh, the Internet is so self-referential! Now when I go out and google "goat sounds in light my fire," the very first result that turns up is my own blip-posting! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!! Soon EVERYone will be talking about it!