Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go
Aug. 26th, 2020 09:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraHow long ago is “long ago?” Fifty years, 70 years, 100 years? A thousand years?
Of course, “long ago” is relative. In the cosmic sense, a billion years is hardly a bat of the eyelashes, and the sun is practically a newborn.
In the geological sense, “long ago” refers to fossils. There aren’t very many of those here in the quaint and scenic Hudson Valley because of all that drifting, mashing, uplifting and submersion: The Ramapo Mountains were once as high as Mount Everest, but 200 million years has a leveling effect.
In this part of the world, too, “long ago” is complicated by the fact that the humans who lived here the longest had no illusions about the permanence of any structures they might build.
I’ve settled on 100 years for my definition of “long ago” as I tromp around on the National Counting Project’s errands.
In the middle of a Section 8 housing complex—erected most likely some time in the mid 60s—I came across this old farmstead, camouflaged by hideous green siding; a newish, utilitarian roof and a cellblock listing, but still recognizable, thanks to its irregularly shaped windows:
The super lives there. He has a lot to answer for on account of huge portions of the Section 8 housing complex are being used as a dump, which I suspect is strictly illegal not to mention a genuine public health hazard since the Section 8 housing complex is crawling with kids:
In a trailer park off Violet Avenue (so named because long ago, greenhouses lining this obscure little road supplied all of America’s vast and insatiable lust for African violets), I discovered an old barn:
I have to be surreptitious when I take photographs. The National Counting Project would not approve of my prowling!
###
Yesterday was very hot, and people were not particularly polite.
In the afternoon, I had three addresses that turned out to be trailheads on the Winnakee Nature Preserve. I had to hike in. Mailboxes were standing right there in the middle of nowhere. Very bizarre!
There was one house maybe 50 yards outside the nature preserve that was truly the most awful place I have ever seen. I think maybe Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers and Jason are all roommates there. The house was up this long and crumbling flight of cement steps that were covered in at least a year’s worth of dead and decaying leaves and branches, and the front door was positively festooned in black mold.
Nobody could possibly live here, I thought, but gave the door a sharp rap because I am such a conscientious National Counting Project contractor.
I was busily filling out my Notice of Visit—for a good time, call the National Counting Project!—when I heard a loud creak, and the door slowly began to drift open.
It was a man! With long, stringy grey hair that went down past his shoulders and completely naked except for a pair of very garish pink panties.
But that wasn’t the weirdest thing.
No, the weirdest thing was that with the door open, I could hear the radio, and it was tuned to a station that was playing 80s hits:
Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo
Wake me up before you go-go
“Umm—you don’t have time to complete a National Counting Project survey, right?” I asked. “Here! Take this!”
And fled.
###
When I checked a map later, I found that the Winnakee Nature Preserve is actually on the other side of the dense woods that encircle the house I presently live in. You’d have to drive five miles to get there, but if you cut through the woods, you’d only walk two miles.
I generally like hiking, but these particular woods have never held the slightest enchantment for me. They are dark. And spooky. And trail-less.
Apparently, they were once owned by a Colonel Archibald Rogers. A close friend of Sara Delano Roosevelt!
It was from Rogers that FDR learned about forestry and other manly pursuits, says the only history of the place I have been able to unearth.
Ho-kay!
Of course, “long ago” is relative. In the cosmic sense, a billion years is hardly a bat of the eyelashes, and the sun is practically a newborn.
In the geological sense, “long ago” refers to fossils. There aren’t very many of those here in the quaint and scenic Hudson Valley because of all that drifting, mashing, uplifting and submersion: The Ramapo Mountains were once as high as Mount Everest, but 200 million years has a leveling effect.
In this part of the world, too, “long ago” is complicated by the fact that the humans who lived here the longest had no illusions about the permanence of any structures they might build.
I’ve settled on 100 years for my definition of “long ago” as I tromp around on the National Counting Project’s errands.
In the middle of a Section 8 housing complex—erected most likely some time in the mid 60s—I came across this old farmstead, camouflaged by hideous green siding; a newish, utilitarian roof and a cellblock listing, but still recognizable, thanks to its irregularly shaped windows:
The super lives there. He has a lot to answer for on account of huge portions of the Section 8 housing complex are being used as a dump, which I suspect is strictly illegal not to mention a genuine public health hazard since the Section 8 housing complex is crawling with kids:
In a trailer park off Violet Avenue (so named because long ago, greenhouses lining this obscure little road supplied all of America’s vast and insatiable lust for African violets), I discovered an old barn:
I have to be surreptitious when I take photographs. The National Counting Project would not approve of my prowling!
###
Yesterday was very hot, and people were not particularly polite.
In the afternoon, I had three addresses that turned out to be trailheads on the Winnakee Nature Preserve. I had to hike in. Mailboxes were standing right there in the middle of nowhere. Very bizarre!
There was one house maybe 50 yards outside the nature preserve that was truly the most awful place I have ever seen. I think maybe Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers and Jason are all roommates there. The house was up this long and crumbling flight of cement steps that were covered in at least a year’s worth of dead and decaying leaves and branches, and the front door was positively festooned in black mold.
Nobody could possibly live here, I thought, but gave the door a sharp rap because I am such a conscientious National Counting Project contractor.
I was busily filling out my Notice of Visit—for a good time, call the National Counting Project!—when I heard a loud creak, and the door slowly began to drift open.
It was a man! With long, stringy grey hair that went down past his shoulders and completely naked except for a pair of very garish pink panties.
But that wasn’t the weirdest thing.
No, the weirdest thing was that with the door open, I could hear the radio, and it was tuned to a station that was playing 80s hits:
Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo
Wake me up before you go-go
“Umm—you don’t have time to complete a National Counting Project survey, right?” I asked. “Here! Take this!”
And fled.
###
When I checked a map later, I found that the Winnakee Nature Preserve is actually on the other side of the dense woods that encircle the house I presently live in. You’d have to drive five miles to get there, but if you cut through the woods, you’d only walk two miles.
I generally like hiking, but these particular woods have never held the slightest enchantment for me. They are dark. And spooky. And trail-less.
Apparently, they were once owned by a Colonel Archibald Rogers. A close friend of Sara Delano Roosevelt!
It was from Rogers that FDR learned about forestry and other manly pursuits, says the only history of the place I have been able to unearth.
Ho-kay!
no subject
Date: 2020-08-26 05:31 pm (UTC)And also, you might say there aren't many fossils in the Quaint and Scenic Hudson Valley, however:
https://www.cnn.com/2019/12/20/us/fossil-trees-new-york-worlds-oldest-trnd-scn/index.html
no subject
Date: 2020-08-28 12:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-08-26 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-08-28 12:07 pm (UTC)The Pink Panter
Date: 2020-08-27 05:59 am (UTC)Re: The Pink Panter
Date: 2020-08-28 12:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-08-27 11:05 pm (UTC)... Apparently you *did* wake that guy up before you went-went, so the song was a fulfilled prophecy.
Love the Little Free Food Pantry. [ETA: Oops--the food pantry is the next entry. I was scrolling backwards and was going to read first then leave comments on both but... well here we are.]
no subject
Date: 2020-08-28 12:04 pm (UTC)However, I have delved rather deeply into the history of this area, so I do know that Hyde Park, New York was once the center of America's African violet industry. And that African violets were quite the rage in the years leading up to WWII. 😀
no subject
Date: 2020-08-28 12:40 pm (UTC)