Based in Sydney, Australia, Foundry is a blog by Rebecca Thao. Her posts explore modern architecture through photos and quotes by influential architects, engineers, and artists.
It was a good album, with a title track that stuck in my mind. Gentle piano, soft guitar, down tempo, not-quite-downbeat.
And the lyrics — forlorn, struggling against the vicissitudes of life, spotting moments of beauty between responsibility and burden.
But beyond all of that, I remember thinking — what a great title.
What an evocative phrase.
And, I wondered, what the hell is he talking about?
I’ve never seen heat lightning — I wonder what it’s like? Does it really rumble?
So I added it to our ‘One Day List’.
As in, one day, when we go on our dream trip, I’d love to see heat lightning. It must be quite impressive and what a very southern experience.
One day.
Seems like it’s never going to happen, but if we keep working hard and trying for it we’ll give ourselves a good chance.
It’s damned tough now, but one day…
* * *
Vicksburg is a town in Mississippi, at the meeting of the Mississippi and Yazoo Rivers.
My wife and I found ourselves there in 2016, during our dream trip through the US south.
We’d had plans to push on to Natchez for the night, but were tired of the car and keen to explore what looked like a lovely, albeit quiet, town.
After settling in, resting and getting back into town, it was time for dinner.
We walked the town, looking for somewhere to eat in that enjoyably indecisive way you can when you’re on holiday in a foreign city and you have nowhere to be.
There’s a ‘highrise’ building in the centre of town — must be ten stories high. We found a menu on the wall downstairs, thought it looked good and up we went.
To discover a restaurant that was buzzing, packed with locals and with views across the entire river plain.
You could see for miles.
Part of the dining area and all of the kitchen was under the roof line, but the bulk of the space was given over to a rooftop terrace.
There were benches around the edge, with stools populated by patrons looking justifiably pleased with themselves.
The sun was setting in the distance, painting everything that golden orange that makes for a special scene. We managed to get a table, near the outside with a clear view over the river and deep into the plains.
As the sun set, we ordered some drinks and some of the tastier, closer-to-real-food than we’d seen so far into the trip.
There we were, talking, chatting about what we’d seen, what we would see, what we’d enjoyed, what we hadn’t enjoyed, what we wish we’d done more of, what people back home were doing, why life wasn’t always like this.
But, mainly, the utter bewilderment of finding ourselves actually here.
* * *
We’d dreamt about this trip for years.
Through times of real difficulty, we’d talked about it.
Our family knew about it, our friends knew about our driving passion for this trip — and our frustrations over the years from not doing it.
We’d plan, have a setback, put it on pause, reset, re-plan, another setback, or something else not come through.
Start again.
Which is why we sat up on that terrace and talked about how we’d saved up, and planned, and adjusted, and arranged and finally taken the risk.
How we’d counted down the days, and speculated about what we’d see, and how it would go, and what we’d do.
How we’d seen other people travel, and coveted the experience.
How we’d tucked away savings, squirreled away money, and bit-by-bit built up our One Day fund.
And, finally, how we’d built up our One Day List- the series of things we’ll do ‘one day’ on ‘the trip’.
This was a conversation we’d had many times before, but to have it there and in that situation was amazing.
It was a special night, on a special trip, at a special time.
The dinner was memorable but the night was unforgettable.
* * *
Night fell.
The strips of lights strung through the rafters and the umbrellas and around the railings lit up
It was warm — it’s the south, I suppose it’s always warm — and it was t-shirt weather.
We stopped talking for a while, just sitting in a comfortable silence, both off in our thoughts.
I looked over the railing, watching a boat idle down the river and seeing the trees blow in the breeze.
When I saw a flash, off in the distance.
I looked but there were no clouds so it can’t have been lightning.
Oh, there it goes again. I wonder what that is.
I asked the waiter when he came over with my next beer — what is that flashing over there?
“Oh, that? Probably just heat lightning, happens sometimes this time of year.”
“Heat lightning?”
“That’s right, just heat lightning. If you go to the rail, you’ll be able to see it a lot clearer.”
Off he went.
Eager to see more, I found a clear spot at the railing and stared at the darkening horizon.
There it went again, and I may have imagined it, but I’m sure you could hear it rumbling in the distance.
I’d forgotten about the song by this stage, it’d been years since I last played it.
And it took me a while to connect the dots.
But when I did!
The joy and satisfaction that came from experiencing that small, locally routine, lightning storm washed away all of that historical frustration, anticipation and anxiety.
The meaning of that moment made the gratification delayed that much sweeter.
That was a special moment in my life, the culmination of a dream and the peak of a bumpy road.
And every time I hear this song now, I’m taken back to the rooftop terrace of some restaurant in another country, on a warm evening and in a golden light.
