14 February 2010

Valentines and a Muzzle of Bees

I really hate Valentines day. The idea of professing one's love for another person on a single day out of the entire year through gifts and other monetary displays of affections sickens me. I guess that's why I'm still single. Never the less, the romantic side of me is still forced to think more about love on this day than any other thanks to 14 February's commercialization. Usually when I think about love it's in the form of favorite "love songs" of mine and what they mean to me. One of my all time favorites is Muzzle of Bees by Wilco. I'm not going to go into what the song means to me because it's hard for me to put it into words. I'll let you figure out what it means to you.

Muzzle of Bees
by Wilco

There's a random painted highway
And a muzzle of bees
My sleeves have come unstitched
From climbing your tree

And dogs laugh, some say they're barking
I don't think they're mean
Some people get so frightened
Of the fences in between

And the sun gets passed from tree to tree
Silently, and back to me
With the breeze blown through
Pushed up against the sea
Finally back to me

I'm assuming you got my message
On your machine
I'm assuming you love me
And you know what that means

Sun gets passed, sea to sea
Silently, and back to me
With the breeze blown through
Pushed up above the leaves

With the breeze blown through
My head upon your knee
Half of it's you, half is me
Half of it's you, half is me

03 February 2010

Captain Hickory - A Short Story of a Ski Down Memory Lane

In defiance of the incessant bitching from DC and Metro area residents in regards to the recent snow storms that have graced our presences, I set off into the local woods with my skis adorned with climbing skins to relax for a bit. There's a trail all to familiar with my childhood in my neighborhood I set off for. It starts on Harriman St across from Shesue street. The trail meanders along a chain-link fence line riddled with vines and small pine saplings. This fence line soon turns into a tree line where the property contained within ends. The trail follows the treeline at the edge of a 2 acre field favored by herds of local deer. Following the field as it dog legs around the backside of a hill dominated by a few houses, I come to a large pond partially circumnavigated by the trail. The trail itself disappears into the woods for about a half a kilometer till you reach a stream about 3 meters across.

During the summers when I was a lot younger, I used this path to reach the home of one of my best friends, Jeff Burke. Taking the 45 minutes to walk to the beginning of this trail and complete it (the trail conveniently contoured the base of a large hill the top of which was the Cul-De-Sac where Jeff's pipe stem originated) was a lot easier than pestering my parents to pinball through our neighborhood, onto Walker Rd, then onto Minburn St only to work all the way to the back of Jeff's neighborhood. When I first discovered this trail at 8 years old, it took the better half of an afternoon to muster up the courage to jump over the stream in order to complete my expedition into this newly found land. After that, Jeff and I took upon many projects to remedy the stream crossing...some seemingly gargantuan feats of engineering. We laid logs, built bridges, rope swings, etc. I look back now and think how proud my dad would have been calling the Army Corps of Engineers trying to get me a job based on my determination to cross Captain Hickory Creek. The longest lasting solution to our fording problem was a simple bride made out of a bunch of 2x4's we found lying around the woods. To this day, that bridge still hangs on, weathered by feet both young and old of those who enjoy exploring the backwoods of Great Falls.

I made it to this bridge only to relive the memory of building up the courage to cross the untamed Captain Hickory. I wondered, "How well will climbing skins grip snow on wet wood?" as I stood precariously at the banks of the Cap' 6 feet above the water. The bridge leaned to one side as a result of erosion of the clay supporting it. I scowled in discontent as I muttered, "Fuck it..." and started to make my way across the bridge. I stopped to think about the fact that I'm skinning across a bridge: a thought that made me giggle and stare at the water below. Between the canopy of the trees surrounding me and the overcast sky, the water was dark and the Captain's creek bed barren. During the summer, crayfish live a pretty-carefree life this far up the Difficult Run and Captain Hickory Creek drainage with their only predators being Raccoons and similar sized animals who usually do not brave the steep banks and deep water. During the annual droughts of late July and August when the water level drops to a few inches, it's free game for all of the wild inhabitants of Great Falls as they flock to the nearest creek, run, or tributary. I continue across the bridge only to slip my ski off the side at the last few feet of the bridge (thankfully onto solid ground). I continue my way along the creek towards the Cul-De-Sac of Minburn St. Gliding along Captain Hickory reminds me of the book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard and her love of the Appalachian creek that bears the books title, it's wildlife, and the land around it all of which which ran through her back yard. As the creek doglegged about, I started to glance up with hopes to get a look at Jeff's parents house. I continue until Captain Hickory turns into a drainage which eventually ends on the norther side of Georgetown Pike. I turned around to head back to my truck reliving memories of scrambling up the muddy hill to the Cul-De-Sac, jumping my bike (and failing) across the Captain, and GI Joe battles in the water. Canadian Geese and Lesser Scaup gossip in the pond as I leave the tree line. I follow my skin tracks back to my truck, put my skis back in my rack, trade my boots for sandals, and drive back home. Jeff now lives in Winchester, VA and everyone else I can think of with whom I've enjoyed the Cap' live elsewhere. All of them, however, were with me as I took a stroll (or a ski I guess) down memory lane for a couple hours. This weekend's forecast is predicting up to 45 cm of snow. Bring it on.