|What does it all mean?
||[Jun. 1st, 2007|08:38 am]
So, when we first moved in, we had the oddest thing happening. I'd come outside and there would be a plastic fork stuck into the dirt, somewhere along the curb. Sometimes one, sometimes a couple. Sometimes a spoon. Sometimes days would go by with nothing....then, bam, there would be another fork. |
And I was new to the neighborhood -- so, while people who know me would understand how amusing I found it -- but clearly the fork planter couldn't have really known. Did he/she think it would freak me out? (The three dead birds I found in the basement, one after another, each day for three days...THAT was freaky.) And waking up one morning to find the front picture window completely covered in bugs, THAT treaded the line between ominous and way cool.
(Since then, the Box Elder Bugs and I have reached a detente: I slaughter them by the thousands each spring, smushing them and their eggcases into oblivion, and they maintain vaguely annoying, but not window-covering, population levels.)
But back to the forks. Every once in a while...it would be a dollhead. Again, freaky to other people, cool to me. Sometimes, while reclaiming a garden area, I would dig up a few doll heads, which made me wonder if this wasn't part of some tradition in the past -- was the fork planter keeping up a tradition that became one-sided once the previous residents moved out? Was he/she sad that no one was planting forks and heads in his/her yard? Were dollheads the point? And the forks merely a cheaper enticement to play?
But I didn't know where the forkplanter lived, so I couldn't return the favor. And eventually....sigh....it stopped. Which made me a little sad, but it was a relief to not have to bend over and pull them out...or spew thousands of plastic fork shards with the lawnmower.
Yesterday I found a chinese fortune cookie paper tucked artfully amongst the flowers in my planter bucket at the end of the walk: You believe in the goodness of mankind.
What am I to think now? Someone who understands my sense of fun, but not my basic misanthropy? Or are they being ironic?
Or did the wind blow a scrap piece of paper that randomly landed in my yard?
The fork's not coming back...
...it ran away with the spoon!
2007-06-01 03:48 pm (UTC)
The Real Story
for thousands of years this land was the home of the simple Pawtoemack. They wre a tribe of the Iriquois nation who practiced a hunter-gatherer life in harmony with the land. In fact they were so much in harmony with the land that they would hum along with it. To make sure that they were humming properly a holy man/ shaman of the tribe would fashion tuning forks out of deerhide and antler. They would place them ibn the graves of tribe members who died. The humming would draw bow elder beetlrs who would quickly convert the bodies to soil. They called the fertile ground that resulted humas.
In the late 1730 Europeans were able to encourage the pawtoemack to relinquish this land by killing them. Some settlements strung up. Most prominant among these was Kensinton.( from an Algonquen word meaning,"Ken's in town...the modern spelling is the result of poor translation."). But what the Europeans did know was that the whole area was an ancient Indian Burial ground...well, the real estate agent knew, but they just moved the markers, they didn't move the graves.
Those who now live on the land are warned to move away by the placement of ritualized tuning forks on the soil near their house. If they ignore this, then plagues of box elder beetles give a final warning. if this is also ignored, then their doom is sealed with the arrival of a horrific pirate bearing fortune cookies. Death soon follows.
And that's why it's called scarey Perry.
If you are on the toilet and you here a demonic voice say "Get Out"...then I'd start to worry....:-)
Okay, the bugs, well, that was creepy but the bugs on the window...arrghghgh Hmmm methinks you wrote this post to keep me away from your house :-) Someone, anyone, HOLD ME!!!!