New World - Aug 11 2022

 

New World

Aug 11 2022

In the old part of town

where I live

there are alleys out back

running behind the yards.

Some are manicured,

grass cut by neighbours

junk carted off.

Others have overgrown,

with tall weeds, tangled underbrush,

downed branches

stubborn burrs.

I walk the dogs here,

a refuge

from the bustle and heat,

the grey grid

of city streets.

Where, under the greenery

vintage manhole covers

appear scattered about.

They were clearly built to last

although their age is starting to show,

burnished

with the rich patina of weather and wear

only the passage of time bestows,

while the handsome lettering

embossed in the metal

is getting harder to make out.

But not quite.

1913

is still quite legible;

the middle of a world war

and 5 years before

the Spanish Flu.

When this isolated place

at the top of L. Superior

was not connected by road,

and the railway

had only recently come through.

When it was lumberjacks and miners,

day labourers

with strong backs

and resourceful wives.

When it was determined farmers

with unreasonable hope,

scratching out a life

in frigid springs

on stony soil.

When it was settlers from overseas

speaking a Babel of tongues,

and homes built by hand

on raw land

carved from the forest.

When there were feet of snow,

and plows were pulled by horses

on rough dirt roads.

When the harbour froze

with no one getting in or out;

winter,

a time for self-sufficiency

and hunkering down.

But the city fathers were ambitious,

surveying lots

electrifying grids

laying sturdy sewers.

That still exist

in active service

under well-paved streets.

In an era of obsolescence

when everything is plastic

and nothing's made to last

I find this reassuring.

And in a New World

obsessed by the future

and with only a recent past

1913 seems ancient.

The equivalent

of a European cathedral

the Chinese wall.

And just as enduring, its seems

is my mature neighbourhood

of character houses

and over-arching trees.

Who knew

a remote town

as new as this

would feel so settled.

And then the alleys,

where birds nest

skunks lurk

and deer occasionally flee,

bewildered by traffic

panicked by dogs;

a bit of wilderness

that stubbornly persists

nestled in the heart of town.

OK, OK, I realize a sewer is no cathedral. And, unlike the Great Wall, cannot be seen from space.

However, sewers probably did more good than either of them! After all, no one longs for another Inquisition. And in China, the wall couldn't keep the invaders out.