Page 20 - ContrastFall1987-1988

Shenandoah

This summer has been hot on the peninsula. I spend most of
my nights along the banks of the James River wondering if there is
anyplace more beautiful on earth. I took this job as a laborer on old
man Potter's farm because I needed a change from the car washes and
gas stations I've worked at since college. If I had known that baling
hay was such shit I probably could have managed to stay in Philly.

Working up north is different though. The looks on people's
faces here in Virginia are looks you don't see in Philadelphia. They
seem to almost have an inner calm about them here. As if they all
know a secret that only comes from the land.

The nights are the best. Lying in the grass and drinking beer on
the banks of the James you can make definite conclusions about
Virginia; that the air is thick and humid, sticks to your skin and
becomes a part of you; that the sky is clear and full of stars and if you
smoke enough to keep the mosquitoes away it can be really fine.

I remember working one summer as a garbage man in
Philadelphia, when I was still in college, and everyone went on
strike. I packed my ruck sack and headed down the Appalachian
Trail into Virginia. I left behind the dirt of a Philadelphia sanitiation
strike to live in the dirt of a Shenandoah forest.

I remember one day on the trail west of Staunton, near
Humpback Rocks, it was really hot. The heaviness of the pack was
digging into my shoulders so I took a break on a mountain slope.
Sitting on a moss covered rock and smoking a cigarette, I looked
down into the green-grey haze of the Shenandoah Valley, I played a
game with myself by trying to distinguish the man-made structures
through the mist. It was easier than I thought, as I recall.