“The Pasture at the End of the Universe n the crane shot of this moment, from high above the walnut trees in a large backyard in rural Oregon, the camera would come in on a ninety-two-year-old hippie, with long, snowy hair neatly tied off in a perfect ponytail, lightly bobbing up and down on tiptoes all around a workbench—capering, really, like a geriatric satyr. Seated at that workbench is his student, me, sweating in a T-shirt and scrubbing what looks like a two-layer cake made of opaque glass.... “No, NO, NO!” he screams. “Straight up and down! Along the sides!” His voice is so attenuated with age it registers as an old woman’s. You might think he is in a true fit of pique, except that it’s impossible to miss the sly grin occasionally cracking through his chiseled face. Fit and svelte, with an elfin body, the old man has on Air Max Nikes with a nicely creased pair of khakis tucked into high white athletic socks. Despite the warm summer air, he wears a billowing North Face jacket.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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