Uploaded on Oct 23, 2007 by julito1978
Muy Buen Video, Te Amamos John.
The stench of carbide filled everything between my nostrils and the closing in of the afternoon hinting backwash of a sky devoid of a sunset once again. The carbide plant had been closed for many years. Some other company bought it out and many men lost their jobs as a result. What used to be a bustling rural area of North East Iowa was reduced to abandoned farms and folks hanging on hoping for renewal somehow. It would come in a smaller form and later than was able to make a difference. Still, there are some who have managed to hold on to a sliver of what their parents can remember.
The porch of the slant sided pea green stained farm house contained not a stitch of existence save the wall sized Catahoula bull dog hunched squarely in the middle of the entryway to the front door on the first step. The chain gracing his neck resembling one I had used only a few days before to pull a log free from a raviene on the farm when I had miscalculated the fall of an old rotting ash. I could have used his muscle that day. A sign, hand painted on a piece of cardboard, stated, "Yeah, Beware of Dog" with a smiley face in the upper right hand corner. It had the appearance of having been painted by a child and lovingly left behind to protect their friend while away at school or as if a teddy bear had been given to the Salvation Army with a note asking that Teddy be well loved as he was in his last home. I drove by slowly taking the scene in with a bit of amusement. Rover never moved a muscle except to notice the sixteen or more wild turkeys in the empty field next to the house their red and blue wattles standing out as if burnished against the now graying evening calm.
It is not only the lives which are bare now a days. Winter has taken a toll on the land also. Each old man Oak wears his suit of sad skin with indifference to the coming Spring. It has been, perhaps more this year than in past years, evident on the land how we have felt at our core. The lines on the faces of the people you see who try to pay for their heating fuel will be found in the patterned bark and leafless tendrils of hope's branches.They catch the clouds asking them for shelter as they pass low in the mornings. By this time of day most are too tired to still be looking up yet, if they were they could witness the crows wishing themselves into ravens in answer to those prayers. They are not, unlike myself, letting loose of such shared remembrances of the rose pallor upon my cheeks at Dawn held from peeking at your sleeping mask, my fingers blue and pursed at your window sill. We all have our wishes and our dreams. Yet, the hawks face South as I pull away off the ice packed gravel road onto the pavement of the city streets, knowing the blanket of cold hellish night is on it's way down the state towards their hunting haunt.
The smell of carbide has returned to the countryside. The big dogs still rule the porch. I still hope one day we will see people return to a way of life which puts a hand out first and points a finger not at all.
© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved
Peace my friend and One Love