Blog-azic

2020 nuff said.

An earth tone drive through Ohio rain. Direction: southeast, into old hills. I thought about the Native Plant Rescue as we sped through the Nelsonville bypass. I peered into high oak hollows. In each or some of those crinkles of earth is maidenhair fern and other plant treasures, things that evoke mystery and speak of age. The maidenhair. It evokes another memory. I remember an old visit to Cantwell Cliffs: the maidenhair in the valley, scrambling over timber and ferns, revelations of a lost sister, really getting to know someone, barbecue for dinner.  We were bound for - I think I am bound to - Athens, sleeping in the wide, alluvial plain of the Hocking, and bustling up above that fertile ground on brick paved, pock marked streets. Up the hills it creeps. Children in rotting houses slummed out over the hills that are close enough to the past that they still remember woods. I am one of those children. This time, I come with my own child. Earlier in the trip, safe and co