As of this writing, the number of “visits” to this little’pile has reached 12,176. Thanks to everyone who has come by, you from all parts of the planet, you from a hundred different countries.
I’ve gone up and down Music Street many thousands of times. Here are two little investigations from a walk to The Store (Alley’s) to get The Mail.
Passing the Maley’s, their big bamboo grove is now torn and ragged along road’s edge. A recent snow laid hundreds of stalks into the traveled way. In order to clear the road, the Town highway department chopped off the stems off and shoved them into an open spot nearby.
It’s always worth a moment to step into this field of grass.
First you look up.
Then you look in. Someone had been there before me. Someone with small feet. Their footprints wove in arcs and loops throughout the bamboo. That little someone was small enough to not be impeded by the closeness of the stems. Compared to them, my passage was inelegant.
Further in, an industrial shape lurks like a turtle.
The machine, once a snipper of stems and saver of seeds, stays inside the grove. It cuts no more, and saves only what falls upon it.
We leave the grove.
Farther along, across from the Block/Athearn property line, at the corner of Gertrude Turner’s old field, brush grows. Honeysuckle has gotten established from underneath, and now covers the brush. Honeysuckle does not grow as quickly as southern kudzu, but it is persistent. Over, under, around, and through, the vine weaves a twisted tangle .
Inside, under snow and leaf, even in daylight, even on a windy day, it is still and dark.
A hole in the snow frames leaves and twisted stems.
A frozen leading stem waits warmer weather.
Snowy patches make reverse silhouettes against the dark interior.