The birthday picnic on Governors Island got a little too much like Picnic at Hanging Rock when various members of the party went missing in the irresistible folds of the old Fort's trenches. An apple tree growing inside the ramparts proved the biggest draw, but even the tallest girl among them couldn't reach a worm-free apple in the trees lower branches although the tree's crown remained thickly loaded.
All this hunger for apples in spite of everything we loaded into the shopping cart for a day of Indian Summer nomadism. Perhaps we should have brought two 6 foot long sandwiches like that other party we saw on the speedy ferry that gets you to the island in less than 10 minutes.
We came across a Black Walnut tree and began picking up the fresh green nuts under it, but at some point the young ones realized they didn't like the smell of them. I hypothesize that the nuts' casings repel insects as well as they repel children. We had stuffed a bag full of them in our enthusiasm, and much later I found my daughter emptying it out under a different tree, so now some might take the Maple she stood under for a Walnut if they don't look up. Perhaps we'll have to go back sometime and redress the ground under other trees, since Governor's Island has become an absurdist playground, more or less, a seeming limbo between the pragmatic islands surrounding it and who knows what.
2 comments:
"since Governor's Island has become an absurdist playground, more or less, a seeming limbo between the pragmatic islands surrounding it and who knows what"
Girlfriend, sometimes you think too much?
ruff,
Kenmeer
phropor: moulting stage in a gloworm's life when it briefly incandesces ten times brighter before burrowing underground to transform and emerge aerial and brilliant.
Ok, I'll talk to my neurons, tell them they have to stop burning things. Ruff!
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