swamp crawl revisited; or, the right tools for every job
so two of us left last weekend on a drive to the great dismal swamp. field research! this time last year I was trying to talk people into the swamp walk series. we live in the once rural south, I told them all, and near a swamp. we grew up around here. it's been years since I went into it. I've never crossed it. we should see these things. outside is like. . .a hook. well, said the most of them, I don't know about that. and one: "it just seems like something WE SHOULDN'T DO." slow to rise. so despite sequencing and diagrams it didn't happen last year. and once the spring thaw came it was too late. mocassins and bigass snappers, you know. you could lose a foot to those fuckers even in chest waders. plus the fact all the hawsers and briers are 5-7 times as thick then. so rule that one out, wait, bide yr time. patience is always something you make up as you go along. now, though, we're not too far from autumn, and not too far from the first hard frost, and that's all we need. plus the fact at least one other person has seen the light on this now. he's joined up with the brotherhood of good things, too. took his vows just yesterday.
so we went to the great dismal swamp. I dragged out the chest waders to take along in case we should decide to go in. those waders hadn't been used in years; my dad used 'em last. I found to my mild consternation and greater delight that he had stashed a gigantic carving knife in that box, a real bullshit stopper of a blade. fantastic. when a man goes into the swamp, a bullshit stopper is a good idea. yeah, that's right.
we drove through Suffolk. who knew it was such a happening little upstart of a town, trying to start itself a jazz scene? I told it, I'll come back in a few weeks. see what you've learned. this time we went to the pub, the baron's pub. ate, drank sweet tea and then brown ale, then left for the swamps.
a lot drier than expected, honestly. a lot of it, think of it(!), drained, years ago, back even only a little ways after the war, apparently. there was a dismaltown at one point -- but gone now. the people wanted to make the swamp into fields, plow land and homesteading land. they started to drain it, then thought, maybe this isn't such a good thing we're doing. now, they're trying to put it back, in a few isolated areas at a time to see which way works best. eventually, the plan as near as I can tell from vague literature is to re-swamp the whole area. now, though, the swamp is in isolated areas, though the land still looks the same: big ferns, swamp growth, but no water to speak of. we walked the old road, the dirt track that lead to dismal town long ago. we ate the wild dill that grows there. we watched wild turkey totter through the underbrush.
once the first frost hits, though, we're going into the chickahominy swamps. in stages. over the winter, if the first two have gone well, we'll do a third. even only the two of us if that's all that will belly up. at least we will have seen these things.
so we went to the great dismal swamp. I dragged out the chest waders to take along in case we should decide to go in. those waders hadn't been used in years; my dad used 'em last. I found to my mild consternation and greater delight that he had stashed a gigantic carving knife in that box, a real bullshit stopper of a blade. fantastic. when a man goes into the swamp, a bullshit stopper is a good idea. yeah, that's right.
we drove through Suffolk. who knew it was such a happening little upstart of a town, trying to start itself a jazz scene? I told it, I'll come back in a few weeks. see what you've learned. this time we went to the pub, the baron's pub. ate, drank sweet tea and then brown ale, then left for the swamps.
a lot drier than expected, honestly. a lot of it, think of it(!), drained, years ago, back even only a little ways after the war, apparently. there was a dismaltown at one point -- but gone now. the people wanted to make the swamp into fields, plow land and homesteading land. they started to drain it, then thought, maybe this isn't such a good thing we're doing. now, they're trying to put it back, in a few isolated areas at a time to see which way works best. eventually, the plan as near as I can tell from vague literature is to re-swamp the whole area. now, though, the swamp is in isolated areas, though the land still looks the same: big ferns, swamp growth, but no water to speak of. we walked the old road, the dirt track that lead to dismal town long ago. we ate the wild dill that grows there. we watched wild turkey totter through the underbrush.
once the first frost hits, though, we're going into the chickahominy swamps. in stages. over the winter, if the first two have gone well, we'll do a third. even only the two of us if that's all that will belly up. at least we will have seen these things.