Adeiu

In the dead of early morning, I walked through the new massive Drake Farms. It’s already a spectacle of modernity. Enthusiasts of liminal photography should visit this place early in the morning and before its completion. It’s an unfinished world devoid of people. It is Langoliers in reverse. Time scrolls forward, adding and adding until everything becomes squares and rectangles. 

Drake Farms is going to be a billion dollar place spanning 165 acres, thousands of homes, and untold businesses contained in well over a million square feet. I wonder what Noah Drake would make of it. The plan is to preserve his original grove of black walnut trees. I’ve reminded a couple of people that the area is indeed losing something difficult to define with all of this construction. But I also point out that Noah Drake himself was an avid proponent of growth and development. His footprint is everywhere if you know where to look. When the Pendegraft building went up, I loved its rustic look as I walked or drove by it multiple times a day. In the back of my mind, I knew that it was intended to be the anchor of a massive incursion into the wilderness.

I looped back on to West Drake. It’s one of the last secret places where you can stand and be equidistant from lights. About halfway between Gregg and 112, it is stunning in the dark. It provides a rare vantage point to watch the entire sky. The U of A Agri facility provides a barrier to the South. Drake Farms will eradicate the dark beauty of the night soon enough.

Two vehicles rocketed past, both of them easily going 80 mph. Although it’s rare, they are at risk of colliding with one of the infrequent deer who run along the cyclone fence of the Agri facility. Two years ago in November, the hair on the back of my neck stood up as a huge deer sprinted toward me from behind and raced past. Had I not been startled, I could have touched it. It finally found a spot on the north side from which to leap across and into the wilderness. The wilderness that will soon be concrete and conduit. 

The night/early morning was breathtakingly still. Each bird call and each twig snapping carried far beyond its normal reach.

I didn’t want to leave the long lonely stretch. I saw three meteors as I stood or walked back and forth along the length of Drake. 

Returning, I stopped at the huge X and took a picture of the hill and of the beautiful luminous moon that’s two days away from being full. Even the contrails from high altitude planes are gorgeous as they streak and spread, remaining behind for minutes after the plane streaks away. They’re ice crystals trapped in the upper atmosphere. That’s where contrails got their name: condensation trails. 

I knew I had to walk this route again soon. Like so many other places, encroachment incrementally eradicates its deep and dark natural beauty. The walk I took this morning was a goodbye. 

Those who think I’m too maudlin won’t appreciate that I was a little upset. The night world exposes and amplifies each loss of dirt and trees.

Lights, once placed, never cede control back to nature. 

Escondite Day

It’s Esondite Day. (Escondite is a Spanish word for ‘hiding place.’)

A couple of times in the fall, I collect pounds of acorns, choosing them carefully from the ground and climbing trees to shake the limbs like Cool Hand Luke. If anyone driving down the hill on Appleby wondered why the tree was shaking, now they know. 

This time, I also have a bag of dried corn for these darn squirrels. 

And of course, the perfect place to place them. 

If you didn’t know, this time of year is prime hoarding and burying time for our local squirrels. They absolutely love getting green ones so that they can bury them and let them ferment and ripen. It saves the squirrels time and energy. Granted, you’re going to have to shake the tree like hell or climb one to get the really good green ones that won’t fall for a while.

I would not have guessed that it would be 80° on October 23rd, or that actual mosquitoes would nip at me as I loaded the tree and the fence line with treats.

Exit

Thomas smashed the gray urn against the mantle, shattering it in dozens of pieces. He wasn’t prepared for the massive dust cloud that eddied and spread. 

“F*** him.” He didn’t raise his voice. Anger suffered long enough becomes calm.

His mom didn’t react. She didn’t jerk, or even let her eyes widen. After thirty-two years with the object of her son’s anger, she understood. Her husband had no idea how many times she calculated the odds of getting caught if she ended him. Two weeks ago, she decided that waiting for him to do her in didn’t work for her any longer.

“Thomas, leave the mess. I’ll make us a cup of coffee with a dash of whiskey. We can curse about him as we drink it.”

Thomas followed his mom into the kitchen as she made them both a cup of coffee. Each of them were mired in their own thoughts as they picked up their cups and exited the house through the back door. 

“What are you going to do now?” Thomas sat on one of the three stumps that served as seats. He stared at the fire pit between them.

“Well, I don’t know, but it can be whatever the hell I want to for once.” 

Thomas burst out laughing. After a couple of seconds, his mom joined him.

His mom took a sip of her coffee and smiled. “I guess I can vacuum up the mess. I could leave the vacuum bag on the mantle when I’m done.”

“I’m sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it up when we go back inside.”

“You know, I just realized it’s the last time either one of us will have to clean up after him.”

Thomas laughed again. Standing up, he pulled the little bottle out of his pocket and poured the liquid into the flickering fire.

“We don’t need this anymore.”

“Never again,” his mom reverently whispered. 

Thomas dropped the empty bottle into the flames. 

Both of them watched the bottle blacken and then crack as the heat enveloped it. 

Sometimes fire is the only exit. 

X

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Growing Rocks

For reasons inscrutable, the downstairs neighbors have had this little plastic bowl with a rock in it at the bottom of the stairs for weeks.

The only option was to leave a bit of helpful, if not confusing, advice.
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Treasure Chair

As I stood next to the trail debating where to leave my trinkets and nuts for the crows and other birds, a crew of collectors came through. It was a motley group. An older man went into the brush and pulled out a really nice desk chair. 

“You can’t take the chair, Sarge,” the man who I presume to be in charge told the older man. 

“Uh, I would suggest that you sit in the chair and have him push you,” I said. I added, “The chair doesn’t belong to anybody, if that’s your concern.”

Someone must have changed his mind because Sarge put his collection bag on the chair and made his way down the trail, more than happy with his discarded treasure.

The Man And The Crow

He preferred to amble like he was a roaming laggard with purpose. He inherited the phrase from a friend long dead, with whom he shared an affinity for Bukowski. On that day, onlookers would have described him as oblivious, or perhaps careless. Unlike other cotidian days, he had no interest in the mundane goings-on around him. His singular focus rested on the slightest possibility that the crow would seek him out once again. Nestled inside a blue tissue in his pocket was a gold button he’d bought at a bohemian flea market. Next to it was a prepared packet of nuts and dried bits of fruit. 

Despite the sidewalk’s occasional deficiencies, the man mostly kept his head tilted up. He’d learned that accident and providence were equally inscrutable and unforeseeable. He listened for distant echoes that might betray the approach of the crovid he sought. 

The man had all but surrendered hope when a distant call reached his ears. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, unconcerned whether another pedestrian considered him an obstacle. He waited. Not restlessly or annoyingly, like most modern people. He was immobile and unflinching, breathing deeply and evaluating the approaching sound as if his ears were governed by Doppler. 

The crow swooped low, as if it intended to touch the ground. Turning gracefully, it landed and perched atop a wooden fence in need of repair. It pecked at the gray wood beneath it, raised its head, and looked at the man. 

At that moment, a bicyclist approached. “To your left,” he shouted, as if the danger of hitting someone was greater than the risk of seeing the ridiculously tight shorts he wore. 

“You’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk.” The bicyclist turned his head as he sped past. 

“I am not merely standing. I am experiencing.” The man didn’t turn his head as he addressed the cyclist. 

Like most denizens of the area, the cyclist had no idea what the man meant. His vocabulary was stuffed and stocked with practical words, absent metaphors. He shook his head and pedaled faster.  

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out both tissue and packet. Unfolding the tissue, he retrieved the button from its confines and walked across the grass to the fence. He knew better than to seek conversation with the crow directly. Reaching up, he carefully placed the gold button on the rectangular top of one of the posts that allegedly held up the fence. After unrolling it, he upended the packet and poured the nuts and fruit onto the wood next to the button. 

Walking backward without looking behind him, the man stopped when his feet found the sidewalk again. He nodded toward the bird. 

The bird hunched almost imperceptibly, flew effortlessly across, and landed on the boards nearest the post.

“Kraa! Kraa!”

The man smiled as the crow raspily acknowledged the gifts. Its gravelly call was the equivalent of italics and enthusiasm. Pecking studiously, the bird efficiently consumed several nuts and bits of fruit. It turned and stretched its wings like a phoenix. 

“Kraa!” 

The bird pirouetted and used its beak to clasp the button. Hunching again, it flew down toward the ground in the man’s direction, then shot upward above him. 

The man smiled, recognizing that the bird had chosen to dive as an acknowledgment. The gold button prohibited its call. 

Within seconds, the crow disappeared over the crest of the trees, almost as if the sunlight caressing it had rendered it invisible. 

For all who patiently wait for sublime, subdued moments, there is recompense. Perhaps not in the flashy way we are ingrained to seek. The man had learned to notice things, even when unwarranted. 

Before the man turned to traipse away, two argumentative starlings landed like teenagers trying a skateboard trick they had seen but never attempted. In seconds, they devoured the remaining bits. Because the sun graced the skies, the man observed the starlings’ spring iridescence. He wondered how much ultraviolet the birds could actually see. 

They flew off as if governed by misprogrammed GPS. Though they lacked the grace of his most recent friend, the crow, their inelegance had its own beauty. 

Sunlight and success propelled the man back home, as if his feet were supported by a layer of air. His mental to-do list grew by one when he realized he might need more buttons, along with fresh coffee. It was anyone’s guess which would bring more happiness.

Dumb

Because my neighbor Monica’s car was kaput, I had to take her and her young daughter Susan to the ER. Susan ate half a roll of quarters. She was more nervous than in pain. The ER doctor told Monica to monitor Susan. 

No change yet.

Sunday Slaps

It was a beautiful Sunday morning, even though no one had notified everyone that it wasn’t Saturday night anymore. It was about 60° at 2:00 a.m. Perfect walking weather. Sounds carry through the air almost infinitely. 

Because it was so early on a Sunday morning, I knew the crazies would be out. I barely cleared the trail crossing on Poplar before hearing the glorious early morning serenade of multiple women screaming and slapping each other. I’ll put a video as a comment. I took it from about a quarter of a mile away. The slapping sounds like fireworks. I turned on Chestnut because I misjudged the origin.

I wound my way through the Chestnut II apartments as the screaming intensified. 

“I’m not drunk, Dad. That b**** is gonna get smashed.” Multiple young women were walking in circles and either talking on their phones or screaming. I walked right through them like I was on a safari. The nexus of the tumult was a few feet away at a corner apartment, where other women were in various stages of demonstrating humankind’s lack of advancement. I felt sorry for the dad who had been awakened between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. by his daughter clearly demonstrating that she was in fact drunk.

As fierce as the screaming was, I knew it was all bluster. Before I made it back to the side street, I saw one of Fayetteville’s finest rolling into the area. I wish I could have stuck around to hear the police say “STFU and go to bed” multiple times. But there’s always one alcohol-fueled person who insists on getting bracelets to mark the occasion. Another police car soon followed. I’m guessing they were bored and wanted to watch a live-action version of Jerry Springer. 

There were enough angry women to fill the Razorback’s defensive line. I’m betting there was a man named Chad or Marquise somehow at the center of it all.  My half of the species is invariably at the crux of this kind of late night / early morning anger. 

The picture is one I took in near darkness. I stood on Miller Street, watching the driver try to figure out how to make a turn. There’s no question that whoever was in the car was using Jack Daniels as their GPS. 

A picture I took in almost total darkness, looking south toward the hill on Woolsey. It’s a very popular deer path at that hour of the morning.

When I came into the apartment, I forgot that I had totally sweet talked a cat into letting me pet it. When I got down on the ground it walked all over me and rubbed on my head. Güino knows. 🙂

Duh!

I passed through my old favorite go-to spot near Gordon Long park. I laughed, looking at the oil stain in front of the steep incline going across the water dam on Scull creek.

For those who didn’t see the picture, someone drove a U-Haul van from Drake Street across the serpentine new trail that connects to The Greenway by the park. They got stuck and teeter-tottered on the concrete drop off as they tried to use the trail as a highway. 

I hollered, “Watch out for U-Hauls” to a few people. 

If it can happen once, it can happen again. 

PS Scull Creek was named after a family rather than a skull. I tell everyone a completely different origin story if it comes up. It’s our job to make local history as argumentative as possible.