novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- their very own in the late sixties, seventies and eighties my grandfather had a kiwi farm. he also raised horses the first two decades, and i still have the snapshots my mother took of her favourite foals. my grandmother is in many of the pictures, always off to the side, in a brown plaid flannel day jacket, scowling under a giant mass of teased and sprayed hair. it was there i learned about comfortable chairs, water irrigation systems, how to drive a tractor, and how to properly behead a rattlesnake. i drove out to wheeler canyon today, puttering slowly along the meandering road, looking for familiar farmhouses, ditches, metal gates, dirt paths and corrals. the dirt road to the farms in back was roped off, just as it always was. i parked the car by the end of the asphalt and listened to crickets singing. everything was so green and dusty and the sun settled itself into the bottom of the sky, turning the clouds different tints of reds and oranges, all held up against clear clear blue. it made me want to never leave. move into a farm house, buy a giant dusty truck, and listen to yo la tengo while my dog chases the chickens. complete with a porch, of course. have you ever wanted instant displacement? replacement, i should say. he told me whenever i move someplace new i'll drive around listening to garrison keilor until things start to feel familiar. it is in people that i feel the most comforted. a certain voice, those eyes, the way his shoulders would slope down to meet me. my grandfather's mighty hands. 5:46 pm - 01.24.03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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