“We may think we know Vermont, but we don’t. So don’t be fooled by your well traveled byways. After dropping off a couple guitars with a local luthier, I allowed myself a slight deviation from my usual route home. The Delorme Gazetteer guiding me was way more than flawed, and maybe I should be glad, because it threw me back on my instincts, no surprise. I won’t tell you just how many “Dead End” or “No Outlet” signs I encountered today. This tells the story of the fate of many a connecting road, that used to keep our towns tied together. We might all take a week off, to get to know what is no longer functional in our world, and then ponder the change, and our part in it. No better place to contemplate this, than a cemetery, that has neither the funds, nor the manpower, evidently, to stay well groomed. However, nothing has moved. All the spirits who’ve inhabited and contributed to a place, over the generations, remain alive, and intact. The love, still pulsates. Modern upgrades, clearly evident here in Baltimore, are certainly an indication of care & intent, from those left behind. The rampant growth of succession vegetation be damned. I admire any honest effort, and never confer too much weight to the accomplishment of consistent mowing. It’s as good as the person bringing his, or her, machine on site. Regardless, I continue to wander cemeteries, to sit on their stones, or under their trees that have been left alone to grow massive, and stately. I figure the departed, left in peace beneath weeds, may appreciate their obscurity. Who knows? It’s a personal thing. To each, his (or her) own. Let’s not project. It was not a road I’d planned to be on, anyway. My map was crap, and I doubt any GPS would have improved upon it. Perhaps what I really feel, is deep regret towards the living. I had only meant to make a reverse cemetery of sorts, where the living could be truly alive. Sometimes no matter how hard we push, something pulling with equal force, keeps backing away from us. If I could explain this, I would. But I’m thankful the world is full of way stations, filled with flowers, and fresh produce, and treats, to moderate this other trend. The beautiful people one can graze against, or tarry with, in gardens, in breweries, in creative workshops or by the fire, are worth every penny, and then some. In fact, they are the alive ones, more alive by the minute, as they clamber to prove to us, they are not going down: not today, not tomorrow, not until it’s their perfect time, to head up the mountain, to reach the next plateau.”
