Tuesday, February 16, 2010
SWAN RIVER, THE TOWN
Swan River could not have been a very swift river since there was no incline to hurry it along. When I was little, I read my father's Booth Tarkington books ("Seventeen," "Penrod and Sam") which were really more about the midwest, but also had that small town feel. A place of no extremes, a place where one could creep into the bushes to make a little hiding place, a safe place where people shared standards and ways of doing things.
I suppose that protected gardens must be European in origin, that love of borders with tall spires of delphinium or foxglove and then "beds" of certain plants. Strawberries? I can't tell.
Neighborhood infrastructure of sidewalks and picket fences, so familiar and yet unique. It looks to me as though that fence might be solid on the bottom to keep out rabbits. Small pickets, close together, a little reminiscent of Ukraine fences of sticks woven together. If those parking strip trees were this size in the summer of 1919, they will have matured and possibly by now, depending on the kind of trees they were. I'm interested in the stones parked in the corners of the walk and the little wagon in the distance, but don't have any theories about them. Do you?