13,171. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,078

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,078

(oh jeepers, what I've learned)

Lots of shade and room under

those old spreading elms : But

those elms are all gone. When 

I first moved to Columbia

Crossroads, my dirt road was

lined with the hulks of about

10 dead, quite, old elm trees.

It was once, I'm sure, a majestic

and thoughtful sight, when they

were in full finery. I wondered

who perhaps, in the 1910's or

before (since surely they were 

80 years old), had planted them,

in such a fine row, on either

side of a slaggard dirt road, and

one which did little, really, but

lead to my old, leftover, house.

Up at the very top end, yes,

there was a cemetery, dating

back to the 1860's era, but

by 1971 it was mostly neglected

and overgrown. I'd never seen

a 'moribund' country cemetery

before, or never one to inspect 

and pick through, so I found

it fascinating : Imagining the

old, almost spooky, processions

of the funerary rituals  -  wagons,

horses, mourners, etc. All things

I'd never seen. Adding to that

was the fact  -  I only found out

later  -  the majority of the names

of the dead therein were family

names which had come through

the very house I lived in, as well

as the neighboring farm(s) and

folks I dealt with, Many familiar

and local names. The 'spooky'
factor therein was quite high;

especially as it was both neglected,

and ringed with a wrought iron,

squeaky-gate high fence, amidst
trees, darkness and, sometimes
intense moonlight.

-

Fifty years on, now, that cemetery

is no longer moribund at all. As I

go now, it has been 'unspookified,'

shall we say  -  expanded, widened,

and is now filled with modern slab

gravestones etched with sunlight

names of the men, then in their 

40's, early, and wives and others,

all now passed on. In a new
section, ll this, just adjacent to
the old. I knew those names well,

and smile or sigh as I read the

 persons marked.  The living have 

died; just like the old trees. I
stand in place, awed by life.

-

The American elm, in its heyday,

was the tree seen pictured in all

those old paintings and wistful

representations of old America.

Lining the streets and lanes of

many a small village, whether

New England or not, they bespoke

early America  -  tall, arching

bowers, plentiful shade; they

grew strong and steady, and

and lasted long. Until the 

disease we now refer to as

'Dutch Elm Disease,' had by

the middle 1950's taken nearly

all of them, and smote the rest.

It took 3 or 4 seasons, and the

grand trees slowly browned, 

and died. By the time I'd 

arrived to the location I've

mentioned, all I had were

two rows of dead trunks,

and occasional falling limbs.

Within two years, whatever

road department handled all

that had removed everything.

I still miss them, even the

dead ones.

-

In my time of life I've learned

any number of lessons. Paramount

among them is the one that says

to me that I should never trust

only myself. Paradoxically, it

seems to go against all I stand

for, but I've learned just as well

from it that, yes, I am most often

wrong, in error, about what I 

do or think, not often correct,

and really ought to listen

more, and heed others. And

it's true  -  I've made so many

errors in this life that it grows

pathetic, just the recounting.

All it does for me is generate 

a numbing fear, and often a

reluctance to go on. I don't

always know what to do, and

am often just frozen in place,

regretting all things. It's a

perilous impasse, and I hope 

I can get past it. Otherwise,

the horror. The horror. Like

a stand of once-grand trees,

I too, in some weird instant,

can be reduced to dead rubble,

limbs, assumptions, trunks,

branches, and ideas, falling

from me precipitously, dropping

only to harm others. Heaven,

please help.