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The weather is mostly sunny. There is a possibility of showers in the morning, followed by thunderstorms and showers in the afternoon. peaks in the lower nineties. Winds from the southwest are about 5 mph. 90% chance of rain.Saturday night: partly cloudy with a chance of showers and a modest chance of thunderstorms after midnight, with a chance of thunderstorms in the evening. lower 70s at its lowest. 90% chance of rain.
A Quick Look at Today:
Wickline Park, 315 South 7th Street, will host the Saturday Flagler Beach Farmers Market from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. today. More than 30 local vendors will be selling prepared meals, fruit, veggies, handcrafted goods, and local artwork. Flagler Strong, a non-profit, hosts the market.
From 11 a.m. to noon, there will be a Pride Month dance party rally on the Palm Coast Parkway I-95 Overpass bridge. Flagler 50501 is in charge of organizing the event. Following the protest, 50501 holds its June gathering at Brass Tap. Click here for additional marches in nearby counties.
Every second and fourth Saturday from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., the Beachfront Grille, located at 2444 South Oceanshore Boulevard, Flagler Beach, hosts the Peps Art Walk. Enter the enchanted atmosphere of distinctive handcrafted artisans selling their wares in one place. All types of makers, crafters, and artists can be found here. Honey, baked products, wooden surfboards, painted surfboards, jewelry, silverware, apparel, foot fashions, birdbaths, soaps, candles, air fresheners, and home décor, to name just a few! Every month on the final Saturday, Peps Art Walk takes place. Since its inception in May 2022, a grassroots market has gradually expanded to include more than 30 sellers and a large number of devoted customers. There is free parking, food and drink available on the premises, and a raffle to benefit a nearby charity.Meadows Whispering Ranch. Great music, positive energy, kid-friendly, and dog-friendly. Come show your support for the artists in our hometown!
The Grace Community Food Pantry is open today from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. via drive-thru at 245 Education Way, Bunnell. Pastor Charles Silano and Grace Community Food Pantry, a Flagler County disaster relief organization, are in charge of organizing the food pantry. Feeding Northeast Florida assists local families, children, and active and retired military personnel who are struggling to put food on the table, as well as elders. Collaborating with nearby supermarkets, producers, and farms, we salvage premium food that would otherwise go to waste and turn it into meals for the underprivileged. A large portion of the food pantry’s operations and storage space are provided by the Flagler County School District. Give 386-586-2653 a call to volunteer, give, or offer assistance.
Byblos: On the chilly, whitish dawn on his last day, Jack Beechum, who is 92 years old, passes away. No longer able to completely decipher the accelerants upending his environment, he is able to stand at the edge of the porch of the type of hotel that in 1952 was not yet known as an assisted living facility. The majority of Port William is recollection, and his mind finds more familiar refuge there. He recalls the day 64 years ago when he celebrated himself by purchasing two black, mealy-nosed mare mules, marking the unbridled beginning of his confidence. He was aware that he would settle the mortgage on the property that had belonged to his father and turn it into his only source of love and marriage. However, the results would be as devastating to his human connections as they were elevating this Savonarola of the land. His church in the sky was the country. He had been betrayed and would continue to be betrayed by walls, roofs, and the people they did not always protect. He always preferred being outside. That’s why, long before the sun warmed him, he didn’t mind the chill of September dawn on his hotel porch. Jack’s melancholy recollection of the day he witnessed his two brothers, Hamilton and Mathew, ride off and never return from the Civil War, is the next chapter of The Memory of Old Jack (1974), one of Wendell Berry’s eight novels (and 57 stories) in the Port William series, which he started writing in 1955, right as William Faulkner was praising Yoknapatawpha County with his Fable. They would not tolerate their being told what to do by strangers from another place. Port William was located in Kentucky, which was Confederate territory. It’s still possible that neither Jack nor Berry can recall why they went. The property was small, even in their grandfather’s day; there had never been more than one or two slave families, and the family had no stake in any of the organizations that its two sons vowed to protect. Berry’s sometimes problematic mis-calibration (and in this case dismissal) of America’s deepest scar is sliced like a transom by the line, “There had never been more than a family or two of slaves.” Despite this, Berry has written about it with admirable tenacity and insights that at times rival C. Vann Woodward’s Strange Career or Jim Crow. However, that must have been the mindset of Hamilton’s and Mathew’s generation: what’s wrong with owning a handful of slave families? Jack is rather young. When his brothers left on a September morning in 1862, Jack was 4 years old. He remembers the September morning on the hotel porch, but he’s not even sure if he remembers their departure as he witnessed it or as he was informed. Berry is paying homage to the shoals of memory with this. A large portion of what we recall is actually interpretation rather than memory, typically at second, third, or fourth hand. As in history that is supposed to be true. In the anachronistic mind of a child, the knowledge of their deaths and the vision of their departure have fused, so that it appears to him in his vision that he watches them leave with the obvious knowledge that they will not return. Old Jack’s narrator states that this is more than just the knowledge of retrospect. And they didn’t. Berry s prose in these pages is a dry sob of vespers as he describes a grief Jack is disallowed to see in his mother, fermenting a grief he will feel all his life as his mother the following spring herself dies, leaving the house infected with a sense of loss and diminishment. So by the time he s 6 Jack s character was set, turning away from the house, from the losses and failures and confinements of his history, to the land, the woods and fields of the old farm, in which he already sensed an endlessly abounding and unfolding promise. The second chapter is only halfway done. Though Berry writes so naturally that the descent is hardly noticeable (you have to be an asshole to notice it), his prose, like Jack’s memory, is unable to capture the impact of those opening pages in this calendric book of twelve chapters, with the exception of when Berry gets so mawkish as to parody himself: She was ambitious with a fierce ideological purity. She possessed the meticulous orderliness of her home and her routine. Or this description of Jack making love to his wife Ruth, which I thought was both Nabokovian and a contender for the Literary Review’s Bad Sex in Fiction Award, which unfortunately only started in 1993 and ended in 2020. Previous winners of the award have included Tom Wolfe (for his bare-notch-above-perv Charlotte Simmons) and John Updike (for lifetime achievement, of course). Berry, here we go: Her flesh shrank beneath his palm. He could feel it, her flesh drawing away beneath his hand. He was overpowering to her. His body bent above her in the dark was like a forest at night, full of vast spaces and shadows and the distant outcries of creatures whose names she did not know. He was a strange country and a loneliness to her. And she was doubly lonely because he feared nothing; so deeply did he belong to the place he had brought her to that even its solitude was not lonely to him.
P.T.
Now, this:
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The town s ever-vigilant curiosity, which saw in the dark, found them out. And he did not care. The talk went around under cover of righteousness. Need was the cause of it. The little groups that the talk stirred in the stores and the kitchens and the street were like people lighting torches at a fire. It was as if Jack and Rose, like other lovers before and after them, had been elected to stir from the ashes of pretense and fear the light of a vital flame. While it condemned them the town needed them and praised them in the darkness of its heart. The town talked and looked askance, and waited eagerly for more news out of that dark and fragrant garden from which it felt itself in exile. And so this coupling went into the town s mind, to belong to its history and its hope, even against its will. Even as the knowledge of it fades, it remains, an inflection of the heart, troubling and consoling the night watches of lonely husbands and wives like a phrase from a forgotten song. Jack knew all that, and he did not care. He knew that Ruth knew, or would sooner or later know, and he did not care. He would not let himself care. He knew that he might come to care, that he might, later, have to care. But he would not care yet. For the flame that the town desired and envied and secretly praised he had now turned openly toward. He knew that Rose had restored his life, that she had reached with her honest, eager hands and touched and revived that energy, that wild joy in him, that Ruth had all but destroyed with her fastidiousness and her shame.
From Wendell Berry sThe Memory of Old Jack(1974).
The Cartoon and Live Briefing Archive.
