Dogbane. Dogbuddy.
Saturday, Benji and I walked out to the OWASA pumping station where I picked a bundle of dogbane before the first frost was able to touch it: tall crimson stalks that I lashed together and slung over my shoulder, like a quiver of arrows. USGS map, Carrboro quadrant, 1993 --- the path we walked. We walked behind the pumphouse, back, along the creek, into a sort-of breathtaking alluvial forest. I take off Benji's leash back there and he leaps through the tall grass, over the fallen trees and old fences, splashes into water puddles, and dives into privet thickets. As we go along, I count the landmarks: an excellent old paw paw stand, two deer blinds, the old river birch that seem to be planted in a row, a lone deer hoof (the rest of it's got to be around here somewhere). We walk on and on, following the creek until we get to a spot where it bends sharply northeast. Here the water level is noticeably raised (or else the land is lowered). I watch my step to avoid water f