RUDIMENTS, pt.1,317
(the emperor of nothing at all, pt. NINETEEN)
Yes, I guess I like Fall, or 'Autumn'
for the proper. When I was younger,
that was always a loaded question,
seemingly too easy to just say 'Fall'
and get all romantic about it - the,
colors, the cooler weather, people
hunkering down, and all the rest of
that usual American gibberish that
then drags everyone into the spirit
of 'Thanksgiving.' Then, later, I
changed it to Spring, but I hated
the hot weather so much - and
Spring always led into it, that I
just switched to Winter. People
would say, 'Winter? Are you nuts?'
But I'd gotten into it with all those
Wintry scenes of those Flemish,
Dutch, and Belgian painters -
Bosch, Breughel, and the rest. I
loved all that outdoors, snow and
white, Wintry scenery in many of
the paintings. Fairly stupid idea, yes,
but that's me. Where I live now, it's
a lot like that - bodies of water,
miles of trees, snow-flats, drifts,
winds, and people all wrapped up
and intense.
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Any entryway along Peggy Runway,
(the road), can get a person right
into that mood and scenery - heights,
the distant and far below river, the
jagged rocks, old, shifting huts and
houses, things half dis-assembled,
or rocking and jaggedy along their
abandoned edges. (Snow is pretty
cool.) I bet you thought I was
going to stop at 'pretty.'
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The people around these parts, Jack
Stove included, keep a lot of things
to themselves - oh sure, they wave
and greet often enough. Even those
in passing trucks and vehicles always
wave or nod - some sort of recognition
seems almost obligatory. But that's
about as far as it goes, unless you're an
actual 'friend' or family or otherwise
known. The most I ever see, anyway,
are logging trucks. They pile those
things high with fresh-cut trees, and
besides the wave, I always wonder
where in the heck they're getting all
those trees from. I can never see it,
but somewhere there must be one hell
of a clear-cut or culling going on. I
was talking to a guy once, about that,
and he said (typical mercenary) "There's
lots of money in selling trees for timber.
I've done it - the guy comes through,
picks your hardwoods, marks them for
cutting, and pays you. I got six thousand
dollars once, and another time just under
that, for cuts out of my acres - 70 here
and another 100 plus in New York State.
All it takes is maybe 10 or 12 years to
get saleable hardwood timber."
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Ten years? That sure doesn't sound right
to me. More like 70. I've always disliked
tree-cutters, of whatever sort. They're
usually all full of shit and then they go
about proclaiming themselves - instead
of butchers - as 'arborists with some key
to knowledge about the nurturing and
trimming of trees. It always turns out,
instead, that they're usually just some
grubby illegal smuggled in here to work
cheaply and hack away at trees, from a
land that wouldn't know a tree if they had
one. Let alone a cactus. I had someone
tell me just yesterday about some Mexican
tree-trimmer guy who made some sort
of horrible mistake, got whacked with a
tree limb or something, and it thrust a
piece of branch into his ear! He went
home, pounding in pain, and he
attempted suicide. That was three
weeks ago, and I'm told now he's back
at his work and happy enough.
Weird World, for sure.
-
A good, old, proud, straight and
standable tree, man, the way they grow
and claim their spot, they should never
be touched. There ought'a be a law, the
way they now have laws about every
other stupid-ass thing in the world. I
read one just this morning - The 'Purple
Paint Law' here in Pennsylvania. People
who don't want hunters traipsing along
their property can now, instead of simple
'No Hunting' or 'No Trespassing' signs
stuck on trees, can pain a 3ft. vertical
purple patch in trees to signify the
same think all along their property
lines. Now THAT'S one dumb-ass
law! Housewives used to just wear
red when they went out to hang the
laundry. Now? No one much hangs
laundry anymore anyway ('cept my
wife) and they pass a protective
property law like that so Jane or
Lucy don't get shot.
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It's enough to rile me, and I don't rile
easily (HA! Yeah! We bet you don't!).
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