Things Abandoned
A major concept of the postcard board game HETTIE'S REVENGE is gaining things and then losing them. Today, I'd like to talk about the remnants of things left behind.
Have you ever stumbled upon something abandoned? Was it a large structure, or a small artifact? Could you infer its origins by looking it over, or was its provenance a mystery?
There's a long abandoned coal mining town high in the mountains of the eastern United States. But if you drove down its rough dirt main street through the thick forest, you would never know a single soul had lived here. That's because when the townspeople packed up for good, they took every last photograph, every last wooden board, every last railroad spike. Nature has long since reclaimed this ground, covering every last trace of the people who once thrived here. Everything, that is, except a few tombstones.
The old cemetery still lies deep in the woods, overgrown with nature. It is only accessible on foot. I have walked this place many times, and it always feels eerie. Some grave markers are barely legible after more than a century of erosion. Just a few carved stones. All that's left of generations of human civilization.
(the abandoned cemetery)
When faced with only certain pieces of the past, I often extrapolate to hypothesize a conclusion about the eventual fate of today's world. Should the grand experiment of humanity happen to fail, what will future explorers find left of it? Where will the pieces of us be in, let's say, a million years from now? What will mankind's headstones look like?
Past this cemetery, much further deep in the wilderness, is a waterfall. A worn path leads the way, but its trailhead is hidden. Isolated from the world, it roars like a freight train down a 70-foot drop. I had heard the legend of these falls, and one day I was finally able to discover the beautiful monster.
(the waterfall in the woods)
Did the villagers who roamed this mountain ever come to this waterfall to enjoy its majesty? I am most certain of it. Most definitely certain. What is it about phenomena like this that so stirs the heart? Why does its grandeur and power makes us feel so alive? These are questions I do not ask when standing under a waterfall. I'm too much in the present moment to think conceptually, if at all. Most I can do is listen to the roar, and soak in the intoxicating emotions that only come from experiences like that.
My friend owns some property on a few acres of woods. Running through the back of his land, buried among the brush, is an old stone wall. It contains no mortar; these stones were simply stacked by hand. Today, it serves no purpose sitting in the woods. Why did people build this here? What was its original use or intention? To demarcate property? To contain livestock? To fight a war? Perhaps more importantly: Who built this? And when?
Finally, we come to the great American poet Robert Frost. In his Pulitzer Prize winning book NEW HAMPSHIRE, he illustrates a Census Taker coming upon a homestead to find it deserted. The enumerator wonders of the inhabitants, and laments the house's permanent neglect.
(THE CENSUS TAKER by Robert Frost)
I worked for two Censuses. We set forth roaming about large cities, small towns, and rural areas. There is something interesting about meticulously canvassing a sizable region, probing every last nook and cranny for signs of human habitation. Sometimes you see a new construction, and you must add it to your list. Sometimes your list contains a home where one is no longer standing upright, and you must delete it. I've seen more than my fair share of abandoned homes. I've seen the insides of buildings like this. I've seen all the remnants. Sometimes they seem like they were once nice places to live, but now they have fallen into such structural decay that it's dangerous to enter them. Some slump like drunkards, collapsing into their own disrepair.
Looking at these woeful dwellings, one can't help but wonder how they came to be deserted. I always have two contrasting thoughts when pondering the life of a dying house. The first is where I imagine a once happy family suddenly forced to free from a physical, emotional, or psychological calamity. This daydream is downright painful, and I wish this notion wasn't so strong in my head when I see houses like that. The second is much more fun to think about. I wonder, "In the entire history of the house, what was the SINGLE greatest moment?" Yes, maybe now it's falling down and forgotten, but it had to have good times in the past. What was the best day? Was it the day the first tenants moved in, full of hope for a bright future? Was it a busy Christmas morning filled with the laughter and excitement of a large extended family celebration? Or was it a quiet Sunday, as a young couple made a fire and relaxed over coffee?
(collapsing house in KY)
This kind of concept tends to be heavily maudlin, so I try to look at the bright side if I can. Tom Waits has a song called HOUSE WHERE NOBODY LIVES. If you haven't heard it, do yourself a favor. In it, he describes an abandoned house in the neighborhood. It is a very sad song. But there is an upside at the end. His lyrics tell it much better than I can, but essentially he ends up saying it's not the house that's important - it's love.
What do you think about when you find something abandoned? My hope is that whatever goes away in your life, you always keep some love in your heart.
That's all for now. Have a pleasant day, and take care.
