Some Dusty Woods:
Being back at the Creek House for the past 6 months has certainly illustrated some of the benefits of the loft condo living. When you leave, you lock the door walk away and forget about it, no sump pumps, down trees, plugged driveway culverts, nothing like that.
But we are back, living in "Some Old Dusty Woods”. Which happens to be one of my favorite Greg Brown songs. (Lyrics posted below)
Last night I was on a step stool killing dozens of some kind of beetle on the living room ceiling. Obviously one of the window screens has a crack, or maybe one of the doors. This past week I have been waging war on carpenter ants, carpenter bees and wasps.
And my little woodlot has been invaded by a spreading force of invasive plants: Japanese knot weed, two types of honey suckle, multiflora rose, English ivy, periwinkle and several others.
I have enjoyed engaging in the war but I know that ultimately all of my actions and efforts are transitory which helps to remind me not to take this too seriously. It is in effect recreation. These things are not essential to my survival but engaging in these endeavors are indeed part of the human condition.
Entropy is a crazy thing. After being not living here for four and a half years the amount of small repair and replacement is staggering. And the large projects I left behind seem even bigger.
It is really overwhelming what to do in any sort of order, so I just do whatever happens to strike me as important or what seems essential to do in order to do the next thing.
So there is tractor work, planting bed restoration, rock wall landscaping, pavers work, lots of chainsaw and fire wood and tree work and the creation and management of storage and order.
And then there is music and outdoor pursuits.
Excuse me but I’ve got to go play guitar for a bit.
Dusty Woods
Greg Brown Slant 6 Mind
(a vision of Robert Johnson)
He's riding in the back of a wagon and his city choes are dragging
and the sweat is pouring down his back
One eye west and one eye south
Two words fall out his mouth
He jumps down, waves, walks across the railroad track
He's in some dusty woods outside of town
Got a piece of paper folded in four, a stub pencil from the hardware store,
and a guitar that looks like it's been used
The birds shut down their song
He can't stay too long
There's something up ahead he's just got to do
He licks the pencil, looks around, writes a few words down,
and pulls a moan from his guitar
A hound dog answers low and he stands up real slow
He's got a ways to go, he don't know how far
He's in some dusty woods outside of town.