She had to tame herself for us—she usually runs the trail through "my jungle." We call it the Maze. Ana remembers when she was first taken on the trails and did not grasp the beauty: Her native, tropical Dominican Republic seemed so much brighter and more lush. But now she appreciates the Northeast's more subtle palate. "This is my jungle."
|Hannah & family depart on the Block Island ferry.|
Meanwhile, lots is going on elsewhere.
Hannah bows her put-down-your-phone-bitch class tomorrow with support from rapper prince ea. You can still join for $35. Yes, she appreciates the irony of a person with Internet business hosting this. . . She recently appeared on an ABC interview and in the Providence Journal about Wear Your Music.
Speaking of social media, Hannah's brother the Defense Lawyer Adam Gasner talks about social media and evidence on TV.
Photographer friend Keri Pickett debuts her new website.
Photgrapher friend Todd Hochberg gets CNN kudos as the eminence grise of bereavement photos.
Also: The Times discovers the Ozarks. Love this map about the best book set in every state, except that I have read few of them.
There are more, but that's it for today. Wind is howling outside.
|Phragmites: invasive but so beautiful in the autumn light|
|Lawn King Glen Hall surveys theirs and mine.|
Glen Hall came over to help me out. He mows most of the lawns on Block Island—and will be doing mine next year, now that Dada has opted out. I met Glen's sister Georgia at Vassar years ago. It was the first time I ever heard of Block Island, and the family has been here since forever. There are seven siblings, and all have G names—GayAnn, Gloria, Gail, Gregory, Geoff.
Glen confessed that an aunt Liz was responsible for introducing Japanese knotweed to the island and that hereabouts it is known as "Lizzy's bush." Edie once admitted to me that her sister introduced Rosa multiflora. I would like to murder both of them, but it is too late now.
As for my yard, which is more of a sculpture than a lawn and relies heavily on these invasives for privacy, Glen professed himself ready to go.
"It's not like my neighbors' suburban style," I warned.
"People now like it that way," he said.
"Well I like it rough."
|Leili throws stuff in the back of the truck. T minus 18 and counting|
Well, I couldn't, since he had his phone turned off. Also his alarm, apparently.
When I showed up to take them to the ferry this ayem, the door was locked and there were no stirrings. I knocked. I hollered. Nothing. I honked the horn. I called both phones.
Suddenly, Leili was coming outside to throw a bowl of salad in the bushes, muttering about her alarm. Ballard was emptying out ice and turning off the refrigerator and the gas. Both were stuffing suitcases.
The whole thing gave me agita. This is SO not how I close up. My closing is staged for weeks. This, then that. The soap and candles discarded so as not to entice mice. Diatomaceous (sp?) earth for the silverfish. The outdoor furniture in. The pathways clear for the plumber who drains the pipes. Etc.
But everyone does it differently. My cousin Roberta scrubs and cleans everything. I don't. Barrett packs up all the linens in bags. I don't. So my ways probably make everyone crazy as well.
But you can totally see who is who when it comes down to
|Broad in daylight|
When worlds collide. Only in Block Island
|The culling begins|