Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Indian Field Redux

These plain unpainted buildings are gathered in a circle broken by spaces barely wide enough to admit the vehicle. While this is only meeting space and not ground hallowed by burial, there is a ghostly hush within. Moving ever so slowly just above stalling one could feel the grass below the wheels as it might feel to the feet. That subdued engine rumble which percolates from the exhausts resonates within these empty cabins as it creeps slowly past each one.

We half expected Clint Eastwood to step out into the circle and squint us to a halt before fanning six quick ones into the grille. The creepiness index is high within this compound. The entire place was quite empty, but you couldn't feel safe until each cabin had been searched, but then you would forget where you started and have to keep looking. The neurosis of " checking " grows wild on the grounds. It gave us pause. We forgot all about Clint and began looking for signs of Jim Jones.

Every surface is drab and dull so that the campers are not distracted from the message at hand. The only shining objects were that Windveil Blue car and the rump polished bench seats in the meeting hall ( see the Nov. 27 entry ) in the center of the circle.

Indian Field is a camp meeting site. Camp meetings are an old fashioned retreat for families where concentrated studies in faith are conducted. Rustication helps focus on the issues at hand and reminds one of simpler times. It would seem that such dedication to study could not be carried out at the Sanctuary on Kiawah Island. Of course, only Clint Eastwood could afford to attend that exclusive camp meeting.


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