Altimore City

The trail system here is amazing. They have nearly the same number of trails here as they do back home, but it’s as if they had been constructed at the request of some mad prime minister — president, I mean, the whole federal system is hard for me to keep track of. On an average Saturday afternoon, they’re almost all empty. Granted, there isn’t the same level of advertising back home. In fact I found Soldiers Delight really by accident — it was mentioned in this old trailbook I found at The Book Thing. Last weekend was a total washout, nothing to do but laundry, so I thought why not?

It was empty last Saturday. It was okay, I didn’t mind. I was getting sick of being stuck in my own head. I know I’m being miserable here, I can recognize that it’s just plain old planesickness, but I can’t turn it around in my head. Soldiers Delight is actually pretty beautiful. There are all these plaques that will explain what exactly is going on with the geology or whatever there, but the only thing you really need to know is that for just a little bit, if you look at things the right way, you can feel like you’re somewhere other than where you really are.

At least that’s what I got out of it.

After a while of walking the trail alone, I started doing the same thing I always do given enough time — I start imagining running into people I haven’t seen in forever. Norman especially. The last time I came home we had coffee or something and there was something I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t figure it out and anyway he was seeing somebody. With time dilation he is probably married now, and even without it he was happy. That was what he is best at. I imagined him coming down the trail, looking as astonished as I was. He wouldn’t wave at me, or even run up and hug me. He would just be surprised in that uniquely Norman way. And then — I don’t know, my imagination goes all fuzzy after that first moment. That’s really the point, just that first moment. In a lot of ways it is as good as it gets.

Finally as I made it to some scenic overlook and there was a couple there walking their dog, and the illusion popped like a little bubble, and honestly I was happy that it did.

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Tagged nature

I stood at the Center Street Light Rail platform the other day, enjoying the first hints of autumn weather as a cool breeze blew down Howard Street, and the sun was already showing signs of setting earlier. I normally occupy my time waiting for the train playing on my DS, which has proven itself to be a perfect train companion. In accordance with proper train etiquette, I always play with the volume off, and I don’t wear headphones because that would be too much hassle. As such, gaming in silence, I could easily hear the sounds of a Grackle sitting on the wire above me.

Grackles are noisy birds, and they always give me the impression they are really trying to tell you something. That something is probably “feed me,” but that’s a message nonetheless. This particular grackle was being even extra jabbery, so I couldn’t help but glance up to see what it was doing. It wasn’t doing anything in particular, it turns out. Just being a noisy bird. What lay beyond it, though, was far more exciting.

The trees that run along the sidewalk at the Center Street platform have never stood out much; this is probably because they appear to have been dead for quite some time. As such, I usually pay them no mind. Looking up at the grackle, however, I found myself looking at the dry, gray top branches of the tree on the opposite side of the platform. There, climbing up the central trunk, plain as day, was a Downy Woodpecker. I recognized it immediately, as growing up as I did in northern Baltimore county, along the edge of the woods, they were frequent visitors to the suet feeder in the backyard. This was the first time, however, I had ever seen one in so urban an area.

The woodpecker shuffled around the trunk a bit, took a few testing pecks different areas of the tree, and then finally took off to the east over the building tops. I only saw it for a few moments, but it really instilled me with a sense of hope; if this little woodpecker had found a way to survive in a place so trampled by humans, surely that was a good sign for nature in general?

The train came shortly after, and when I got off at my stop in Timonium, I quickly ran to the edge of the platform overlooking the drainage ditch and stooped down to look under the ledge where the sylphs had been residing since the incident of a few weeks ago. They were looking worse than ever, covered in grime and sleeping in what looked like half of an old car tire.

I told them my tale of what I had seen, and how I thought it might inspire them to give things another go. They hardly seemed to care, and one of them asked me if I had any matches.

Fuck them, I thought to myself; I know a sign of hope when I see one.

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Tagged birds, light rail, nature

As I’ve mentioned before, I take the train to work every day. Standing around the Timonium train platform every morning isn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world, but there’s one thing about it that always makes it pretty pleasant: the thick grove of trees growing around it. Just off the back of the platform runs a small stream, and surrounding that stream is a dense little patch of forest running along the entire stretch, creating a natural barrier between the platform and the parking lot behind it. The grove has several nice old trees of a pretty good size, and the stream, of course, has allowed a wide variety of undergrowth to sprout up along its edges. The grove is peaceful, the plants are pretty and interesting, and the wildlife in the area loves it.

Or, I guess I should say, it was all of those things. Coming home from work the other day, I got off the train to be met with a horrifying sight: the grove had been decimated. And I mean that in the appropriate use of the word - only about 10% of what was there previously remained. Workers in orange vests had felled most of the trees, and they had completely stripped all of the undergrowth out. Where once had been a rich tangle of green, there was no only a dirt-bare hillside leading down to a stream choking on the remains of the trees that had once sheltered it. Instead of a wall of verdant life, now I could see straight through into the ugly parking lot beyond.

I was utterly stunned. I could not comprehend why someone would even think of doing something like this.

Coming back the next morning, they had cleared out even more. Now only a handful of trees remained, and they looked woefully thin and alone. Even though they were left standing, they had all of their lower branches stripped away as well. It was then that it occured to me why this had probably been done; the State Fair was starting the next day, and the MTA was actively encouraging people to take the Light Rail right to the back gate. This was someone’s twisted idea of beautification, a way to make the platform “safer” for everyone by taking away anywhere a nasty boogyman could hide. Instead of using some of the many transit guards that seem to spend their days idly wandering the streets of the city, they instead opted to destroy a little haven of natural beauty.

I stood on the platform that morning looking down at the stream that was once so cheerful, but was now a painful reminder of what was. An ugly concrete drainage pipe that I had not even known was there was now exposed. The lovely blue berries that I had been trying to identify the week before were completely gone, with no trace remaining. The sylphs, who on most days laughed and sang their mysterious songs as they fluttered around the water now sat on the edge of the embankment looking like they had nothing left to live for. One of them was even smoking (don’t ask me how they got a cigarette). Another was quietly weeping, it’s faerie wings blotted brown with the dust that was being kicked up. The orange-vested workers paid them no mind as they continued their swath of urban improvement.

I wrote a letter to the MTA seeking answers, just wanting to hear whatever beaurocratic rationale led to this travesty. Their autoresponder told me it could be up to two weeks until someone gets back to me, but I have a feeling I’ll be waiting a lot longer than that.

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Tagged bastards, fey, nature, trains