(also written july 11th, posted july 15/16th)
there are hundreds of blueberries to be picked at my grandmother’s house; this task is a daunting one, because DC Sita & i will, ultimately, fail; there are simply far too many. still, at a later point in the day today (this post is also being written saturday, july 11th, but there is no internets on Ye Olde Farme House, so tomorrow will have to do), we finally throw ourselves at the blueberry bushes, pails in hand.
okay, we didn’t actually have pails; DC Sita had an old plastic container from something long forgotten, and i had a glass bowl, but the word “pails” feels so much more lyrical & befitting of the situation.
we ate many a blueberry, and are now hella antioxidated. that means i can flood my body with toxins again, because i’m practically immortal now.
earlier this morning, i ran down a few miles of Lancaster County road to my mother’s old high school, and spotted some raspberries. berries are everywhere, i tell you; everywhere.
i also spotted tons of poison ivy, which means that Evil abounds. i know i already used that joke in a recent post, except guess what, it’s not a joke. poison ivy is not a joke. it is a terrible, terrible crime against humanity. it deserves to be taken out back and shot, and buried in a mass grave (yeah i know mass graves aren’t funny, fuck you). urushiol oil, that which endows poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac with their Evil-incarnate Powers, should never have been invented by God. it serves absolutely no purpose, except possibly that whole CO2 into 02 conversion thing; and we could always just have more clover or grass or something to handle that.
country roads = lovely, though, and while running (which i heard i should not be doing, since it is bad for my health; but i’ve been including lots of Antioxidants in my diet of late, so perhaps that will counteract the noxious effects of the Running), my ipod stopped working, which somehow cleared my head enough to remember that i owe a filmmaking friend a first draft of a script by wednesday. so i spent most of the time thinking of shit that was brilliant, but promptly forgetting it before i was able to get back to write it down. so an awesome film was written and created during that hour, but will be lost, forever; my friend and i will have to settle for some sad replacement script, cobbled together from incomplete fuzzy & fragmented memories of what were once Perfect Lines.
fuck.
no, i think it might still work out; we’ll see. more on that project later.
oh, but moral is: i should have my ipod break down on me more often. but not often enough to piss me off or anything, just enough to give me the occasional writerly breakthrough.
more on the day: i played a few songs for my grandmother on my guitar, a confession that may just make me lose all street cred, but i don’t think i had much to begin with, so it’s okay. she seemed to be nodding off at one point, which i’m sure was her way of saying “this is great, keep going.”
at a certain point, after watching a ten-year-old Mennonite drive several tons of farming machinery down my grandmother’s lane, DC Sita, my grandmother, & i headed over to Kum Esse, a Pennsylvania Dutch diner (the name translates into “come eat”, i think), whose signature culinary style of soaking every dish in pools of oil attracts loyal & enthusiastic customers from miles around. the servers there are very nice, and one of the folks who worked there helpfully described the contents of a shoofly pie to DC Sita.
afterward, we headed over to Middlecreek, a bird sanctuary that is a seven-minute drive away. our drive from the diner to Middlecreek was closer to an hour, because apparently i am very capable of both neglecting to get directions before leaving the house, and of getting lost on a couple square miles of country roads. i had to finally break down and call my mother for directions; she very kindly obliged, and i was quite grateful. still, the unintended detour worked out well in some respects, as we were able to drive past the house my grandmother grew up in, which i had never seen before (529 Main Street, in Myerstown), and the garment factory she worked in (beginning age 12 or 14 or so? child labor laws hadn’t really gone into effect, at that point… ha ha HA), another building i had never seen before. it’s no longer operational, the factory, but the building is still there, and abandoned, and was rather gorgeous, the way old abandoned buildings with dubious histories often are. maybe i can swing by there tomorrow to take a photograph.
Middlecreek: birds. visitor center. viewing stations. taxidermied wild life. cool light-up displays which show you the migratory flight of various species of bird when you hit a button. i love that shit.
we brought my grandmother back home, and then headed out to the Amish store mentioned in the last post. the Amish, while not actually into electricty themselves, have somehow found enough ways around said objection to rationalize using electricity to run a fairly extensive commercial operation. but they’re definitely different from a non-Amish place; their ATM machine waives the fee. who does that? the Amish do. fucking awesome. high five, Amish integrity!
on the way back, we passed a huge event at the Harley Davison store. i do not want to be anywhere close to “cruise night”, as it’s called. don’t ask, but it’s happening tonight.
blueberries happened at some point; so did walking up the hill, past the one-room Amish school house, and visiting some horses, including a colt that was born a week ago (spindly legs & very nervous), another colt born a month ago, and a third one born last year (are these Pennsylvania horses busy or what?). the horses are owned by an Amish family (the Amish, apparently, own everything in Lancaster Country), and will eventually end up pulling Amish buggies. so their futures are secured.
after our second time visiting with the horse creatures, a thunderstorm approached, just as the fields starting lighting up with thousands of lightning bugs. and since then, the thunderstorms have been rolling through all night, increasing in intensity at various points, quieting down for a bit, and then starting up again. torrential rain is no exaggeration (unless i’m misunderstanding the correct use of the word “torrential”, which i could very well be doing. i have no internet right now, as i’m typing this, and no Dictionary Actual on hand, so i am vulnerable to all sorts of embarrassing errors).
and now, after watching another bout of rain, i will be drifting off, i think.
tomorrow: NYC: The Journey Concludes.