All the Work's a Stage

by Teresa Lyons
Bulletin Staff Writer
The ponds, the woods, the fields and the cabin patiently wait on a quiet Saturday, an audience anticipating an unrehearsed performance.
The camera pans. It zooms. No. Just a squirrel scaling a tree. The camera pans again, catching this time on a bright orange salamander making its way from nowhere to somewhere. The birds chirp. Several more pans, zooms. A dragonfly flits. A toad leaps with a clumsy gait. The audience snoozes in the warm summer light. The peace is broken occasionally by mechanical sounds - a backhoe, a truck, a neighbor's generator. The sky darkens as the rain cloud positions itself for its classic role. Finally, the orchestra that has been tuning up strikes the first notes - the creak of cars, the static of walkie-talkies, the alien-toned echo of dually barking dogs, the clap of thunder. Rain enters, looking ominous. A station wagon and a sporty car pause, observing the backhoe's handiwork, then tootle down to the field, the cabin, the pond to disgorge their occupants into the cool drizzle. Heads duck, bodies shiver, hands reach for stashed bags and extra clothing. Sweatshirts insulate, a lawnmower takes its place on stage, equipment shuffles, tools dance. The audience applauds as the aura of the human actors dries the air. The vanquished raincloud exits. Arms are bared again. Another Midsummerfest Work Weekend has begun.
The Uncle points, conducts, directs. His first act will be creation: a many-springed black mat. The group utters a grunt in unison, the final spring in place. Accomplishment! A thirst for more creation electrifies the air. The nameless man with the shovel digs, planting holey plastic poles across the road. Mud nearly prevails, but drainage pipes do their job. Daisy Young Daisy and Gladys Booberry spot a snake slithering about the rocks near the deck. "A snake? Kill it!" exclaims the man from his gooshy vantage. Will his name be "The Fat Broad"? Hmmm... The trees murmur approval. But only the Uncle can bestow names. The two women sweep and seek the proper gadgets for their task. Scrape, scrape, scrape. To these woods, a familiar annual tune. The wind ruffles the pond in time with the flakes of paint being dislodged. This may, the audience is told in an aside, be a final symphony with these particular instruments. Deck stain is the new fashion taking over the man-assembled props of this stage. New players arrive, a bearded nameless one and the clever man called Hollywood. Eager to add to the symphony - scrape, scrape.
The tune softens. Scrub, scrub, brush, brush. It fades, drowned by other, more mechanical sounds. A weed-whacker attacks the tall grass, the wildflowers, bending them, ultimately taming them. The lawnmower honks, sputters, roars. More grass flies. Clippers and whackers clear paths to find lost latrines. The symphony and the machine that drowns it move downstage, focusing the next movement around the Cabin. The Cabin Deck, the Lower Meadow. The two nameless men and Hollywood mend away - screen doors to keep the actors safe from their tinier, winged admirers.
A new man takes the stage - Soup. The actors switch roles, a graceful dance. Soup whacks, the bearded one mows, the woman with the floral name continues to provide the rhythm - sand, sand, scrub, scrub. The Cabin Deck glistens, the grass submits to the blades. One mechanical sound dies, another begins. A generator rumbles, powering a pump to hose the scrubbed deck. Plastic and rubber dominate a corner of the stage. A car starts, giving life to the whir and whine of air pumps. Gladys putters, undirected. She finds her place among the whir and whine, an inner tube patch kit in hand.
An unexpected arrival, another bearded one, the Uncle's sire. Three dogs in tow. A pleasant distraction for the hardworking performers. The black dog bolts, unused to the audience. Stagefright. The humans cajole and the dog returns, but huddles inconspiciously, awaiting another chance to flee.
The curtain of darkness falls and the audience rewards the humans with a quiet applause of a star-filled night. The odors of a campfire mingle with the crisp air. Cheese and crackers prevent a hungry riot. More creation is discussed - a storage bench to unclutter the cabin. Plans are drawn but supplies are lacking.
Hamburgers, kielbasa, chicken wings and meatless slabs bask over the hot coals. A conversation about macrobiotics ensues. Corn and fruit enjoy attention, even from the dogs. The cobs can be fetched flying into the woods. These dogs are not vegetarion. They sniff but are not fooled - their interest is the butter.
The trampoline, that first creation, bows with the combined weight of the campers. The stars twinkle, inviting an astronomer's lesson. A meteorite streaks the sky. A firefly taunts the group with its closer light. Later, the chill drives the people indoors. Propane lights, some guitar music, more dog-chasing, and finally Trivial Pursuit, one tired camper complaining with several snores in the middle of the game. The people disperse to their sleeping bags, the nameless one without the beard retiring to the comfort of the trampoline and a blanket. Strange bed. The bearded Uncle's sire stakes a claim on the grass, awaiting the return of the black dog, escaped again.
Sunday begins before the Uncle is ready for it. The actors enjoy their time undirected but are probably hungry. One pair takes advantage of the diversity of the stage and hikes a hill. The Uncle rises and creates again. Blueberry pancakes, thin and hot off the griddle. Warm maple syrup. Real butter. Thick coffee. Juices. Other fruit pales next to the warm disks, but adds to the overall flavor. Stomachs plump, grumbles become hums of satisfaction. Back to work!
The day's performance is but a short variation on Saturday's. The nameless man hauls and strains, freeing the broken dock from the pond's muck. The company hums the next bar. Brush, brush, stain, stain. The dock on the upper pond glows, the hue of the cabin deck deepens, a new richness comes through on the balcony. An occassional exclamation as stain drips, splats from above to the hapless kneelers below. The whir and whine of pumps prevail as tubes and toys gain air. The work is short but somehow the audience keeps the performers on stage, making them hams by providing the sensational reward of a gorgeous day. The sire finds the black dog, to the amazement of audience and actors alike.
Lunch. Lazing. TUBING!
Four people pile with inflated floatables into cars after slathering sunscreen. The cold water has been tested by an earlier expedition. The summer sun stays suspended high in the sky to watch. The day's final scene pans out again, a stretch of river, water high from the season's rain, coursing through Royalton, Vermont. The giggles and squeals of the participants can be heard over the rushing water as the camera pans out even further and fades to black. The audience eagerly awaits the next performance, August 6th through 9th!
Thanks to all of the actors (in order of appearance):
Ian Dowell the Uncle
Matt Dunphy
the nameless man (The Fat Broad?)
Kelly Marold Daisy Young Daisy
Teresa Lyons Gladys Booberry
Rich Guenette the bearded nameless one
Mike Guenette Hollywood
Chris Campbell Soup
Chris Dowell
the Uncle's sire (guest appearance)
and the dogs their usual selves