Friday night football games are an autumn reverie
It has been a good week out here for wildlife. Last night two barred owls had a conversation in the woods behind the house, and on most days two different groups of critters gathered in a field out front, seven wild turkeys and seven deer. The owls are the most fun because they are heard and not seen, as musical a gift as is possible emanating from the tall trees, four soothing hoots per measure, always a two-measure phrase. And the turkeys are the most interesting, sometimes lining up side by side, strutting up toward the road, as if they were a search party or, better yet, a marching band.
Three times this week I slowed my vehicle on the two-lane leading nearest here, first for a slow-rising American bald eagle feeding on a dead raccoon, then for a magnificent white-tailed stag crossing the highway, followed later by a large feral cat. I love cats, but I’m not sure how I feel about them in the wild. My cat Luna is about as wild as a cat need be.
She is actually quite talented. These days her favorite toy is a small, tan, cloth mouse, one that is a bit too real-looking. I toss the mouse, Luna retrieves it and drops it at my feet, over and over again, and I don’t look forward to the day she drops a real mouse at my feet, however I’m sure that day will come. Luna also likes to hide her toys, pushing them under a stove in the kitchen. I unearthed about twenty toys during the last stove sweep.
I mentioned marching bands; on a recent Friday night, I joined the world of people, attending a high school football game in a nearby town. On the way I drove past what continues to be something I don’t understand, Halloween-themed yards, though my favorite display was not about the season: it was a Taylor Swift for President 2024 flag, proudly waving in the football night breeze. The way things are going in Washington, Ms. Swift might not be a bad option. I’ll leave it at that.
The game itself wasn’t all that interesting. Thousands of games just like it were being played out at the same time, all over the country, so there was nothing unique about it unless your child or grandchild was somehow involved. Maybe the cute cheerleader with the minty breath, who also plays trombone in the marching band, is your grandchild, or perhaps the handsome running back with the great smile, on the visiting team, is your son. Then the game takes on meaning, not so much the winning or losing; after all, one team wins and one team doesn’t.
On this night an extraordinary harvest moon rose above the ball field to the east, shining an orange light on one of our rites of autumn and, while the stadium sound system was cranking out much-too-loud hip hop, I was paying homage to the moon, quietly singing a Neil Young tune. You know the one.
On this night, for at least a little while, we didn’t much care about presidential campaigns, what was happening in Washington, in the Middle East, or anywhere else for that matter, because the American-ness of what was in front of us was breathtaking. As Willy Loman’s wife fully understood, we all too often overlook what at first appears to be mundane, unimportant, or uninspiring, but we would be wrong. To such events, attention must be paid. Friday night football games are an autumn reverie, all pumpkin-spiced and apple-scented, homemade homecomings for all. I’m glad I went.
Kurt Ullrich lives in rural Jackson County. His book "The Iowa State Fair" is available from the University of Iowa Press.
This article originally appeared on Des Moines Register: Iowa Friday night football games are an autumn reverie
