(re-post)
On Store Street, between Discovery and Chatham, west side, there's a piece of city wilderness, a spot where man once made his mark and which Nature has reclaimed.
Such unique wild places are becoming extinct and if ones are in the making they are yet too 'new' to be evident to my eye. Or not yet graced with enough 'neglect'.
Urban wildernesses are important. You can decide for yourself why, pertinent to your situation, this might be so. Here is what I saw.
A grey iron railing (hey, I didn't know gray was spelled with an 'a'. What does grey describe? Grey hair? Yep - my spell check does not redly underline this when coupled with hair. It does, however, red ripple redly!) - a gray iron railing 'fence' has been erected around the urban wilderness area, fairly recently to judge by the cement at the bases of the poles, with safety, I suppose, not serious restriction, in mind. Heck, even I in skirt and sandals and stiffish hip could climb over or under or through this 'fence'.
The ivy at one end is the thick, fleshy type that soon provides its own restriction in the self-interest of major growth. Sparrows peer out at me as I peer in at them. I envy them their access. It must be quite lovely in that bower.
There are two blue metal bike lock-ups by the side. I do not recall ever seeing bikes tethered here - in fact, it is just now that I notice the lock-ups at all.
Further along the 'fence' is a bush/tree, the ivy surrounding it, obscuring sight of the ground, the ivy likely the reason it is a bush/tree and not a full tree.
Now we come to the interesting part - a metal-sided building with only a foot or so of its wall visible above the ground which drops away to a hidden courtyard; do you see what I mean? The sloping, wavy, metal roof is gently sloped but high enough so that I cannot see over it. Someone with good shoes could skirt the 'fence' and scoot up the roof for a view over the top.
The once-red paint on the roof is mostly worn away and shares space with rust.
Attached to this on-its-haunches building - (two young men walk by on the sidewalk and one of them drums a tune with his hands along the top bar of the 'fence' on which I am leaning, startling me with the vibration) - 'haunches building is another building, flat-roofed, metal sided, the red paint not so weathered and worn.
Now - for the most interesting part. Between the sidewalk and these buildings, along a distance of perhaps twenty feet, spanning a space of about six feet, old, thick, foot wide planks have been laid. Many years ago to judge by their appearance. Near the ivy they are flush with one another, these boards, old dried moss where mortar might have once been. Further along, the planks begin to gap like the teeth in a broken zipper. Two pieces of a sort of plywood have been laid over top but these are wimpy covers. Red and black wires snake into one of the gaps, the ends hidden in ivy. Blackberry vines sprawl across this area and up the slope of the crouching building's metal roof and are showing a fine harvest of glossy berries.
I can see into the gaps, into the depths. It is maybe ten feet to the bottom. There is litter visible. But shadows and rock suggest rather than reveal.
That to me is the importance of this 'neglected' area: this draw to the imagination. To me now. To the child who fifty years ago would not have recorded quite so assiduously in words but (likely) climbed that sloped roof, ducked through the metal barred 'fence', peered into the depths, sought out a fellow adventurer or two to come and dare and deduce just what treasures awaited the dauntless below. Important to tug and twig the imagination of any child who now passes and pauses and peers.
Further on, the boards are together again. A grey gas - okay - gray gas meter advises "Call Before You Dig". Blackberries are joined by Queen Anne's lace and daisies and vipers bugloss.
At the rear of this area is a length of metal sheeting that has been well secured onto uprights and two lengths of barbed wire have been strung in the space below. Wow. Serious attempt to keep people out. Grafitti tags on the metal sheeting perhaps express wonder as well.
Nearly at the end of the 'fence' is a blackberry stem as thick as my wrist.
I peer between the spaces in a board fence at the end of the boardwalked area. Clear vision is prevented by some other vine, not blackberry, not ivy - a vine more geometric and spacious. Hmmm.
A board on the wall has been partially pulled away but I do not dare to tug it further. Besides - it is broad daylight. Besides - in the dark I would not be standing here. A black mailbox with a small decorative sign saying Artisan Iron has a large red and white sticker announcing - heck - proclaiming! - Protected by Price's Security. I waggle my fingers slightly in a greeting in case 'someone' is 'watching' and can 'see' me.
A blue door, raw-toothed around the bottom, has the number 1908 and a Victorian police blue and white plastic notice with the # 5925.
Oh - I just noticed that the boards here are a wall with a handle meant to slide across the blue door. I dare. I tug the handle. The door has not moved in years, I decide, possibly not decades and is not about to budge an inch now. Leonard Cohen comes to mind. Closing Time......
It is time to leave. I don't want to go. Some realization that this bit of undisturbed city wilderness will not be undisturbed much longer holds me. I give the loose board a tug and yes, it would come away if I tugged hard enough. But I do not. Mr. Price might be watching. And something has been satisfied by my poking about.
Posted on August 08, 2005 at 11:36 AM | Permalink
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