Record Growth

The conversation turned to kudzu. In Missip, on abandoned farms, it was rampant. The goats loved it. Introduced as cattle fodder because of very high protein, but it quickly grew up out of their reach. I'd drop trees that were covered with it and the goats would eat themselves silly. On the long driveway in to our place it was trying to cross the road (why did the kudzu cross the road?) and I could monitor growth, well over a foot a day. You could watch it grow, and those damned sweet gum trees, one of which, in front of the printshop, grew 16 feet in a year, poplar here, and sassafras give them a run. Young pines in Missip too, they were thick in some of the gullies. I was fond of bending them, saplings, to a specific angle (young trees, 4 inches) with a rope tied to a stake. Lasso the top (great fun) and pull them down, stand back with my pattern template and get a given batch the same, then use them for a bowed roof on a shed or barn, two years and I had 6 inch rafters. Built the pirogue on Cape Cod so I could scoot in on the tides, in a couple of inches of water, to some hidden and completely inaccessible places, transplanted blue mussels and oysters, did very well, harvesting mussels the next year and oysters the third. The spat are so small, a rock a foot square, couple of inches thick, would carry ten thousand. Which reminds me of that shallow fiord, wrong word, tidal inlet, on the Vineyard, McNamara's summer house, where I found an oyster bed that had not been harvested in 20 years. A bushel of singles in 15 minutes. Most people have never had all the oysters they thought they could eat, we made several people sick, too much of a good thing is possible. Thinking about my daughters and western Colorado, I've now been away longer than I was there. I was so sure I would die there, finish out my time. How things are constellated. Joking over cupcakes, saying good-bye to James, the volunteer, the best ever, the conversation drifts to relationships, and I realize the fact that I live alone sets me apart. Everyone wants to be in a relationship, even as they bitch about the mate, can't imagine not being in one. So I'm carrying that thought around, for the rest of the day, turning it this way and that. The way home, a few groceries, one frozen bag-o-shrimp but no one at the lake so I stop, walk over to the spillway. The beauty of this particular spot, and there's a picnic table there, is that you can't hear anything else unless it's very loud. It's a sound stage. Falling Water. It's a completely artificial construct, a man-made lake and a spillway, but it sounds just right. Like the Army Corp created a really good instrument. God bless them every one. I occasionally blow on a blade of grass and it makes a nice sound, mostly I fail at that too. I don't do reeds. You lick them or something worse, hold them on your tongue, I need another dictionary, I can make room, put the phone over there. When I achieve the ridge my work is done, I'm home, my work is done, I no longer compromise the most wayward thought, I specialize in wayward thoughts. Recursive. Listen to the mocking bird. Fucking Whippoorwill, jesus, man, they're killing me. Who could sleep with that din? I tried to run over three crows eating a squirrel but they flew, they're very good at what they do. Crow breast on toast, with gravy, ain't bad. What they thought they meant.

Tom

Listen, what you think I said
is probably right, concerned
salamanders or some other
reptile but what I really meant
was don't trust me.

I have to warn you, I'll lie. I'll say anything, I make things up. What you thought I meant. I make up mopping patterns. I'm not a threat, merely another crazy, bare that in mind.. I wouldn't trust me.

T.