That story about my dad and grapefruit
This maybe a prose poem, but I am skeptical about the label.
Anyway, here's a slice of life piece, which I am also skeptical of.
When you look too closely at the earth, like at a rock or a hillside, it is easy to forget your place in things globally. That is why I spent most of my childhood looking at rocks, and hillsides. A lot of people tell me I was lucky to have these things to look at because where most kids live, there aren’t any hillsides and the rocks they have there aren’t big enough to even sit on.
I can remember the first time I saw a suburb. It was like someone painted over the landscape in finely divided squares of grass green, concrete grey, and station-wagon baby blue, and then flattened it out to remove the wrinkles in the canvas which distorted the perfect squares slightly. Every street was the same length. Every house was the same height. It was easy to get lost because every street sign bore some quaint word like “sunnyslope” or “clearview” even though the land in every direction was as flat as a billboard and covered in pavement. I’m told the power never goes out in the suburb. Every street is lit brightly and the baseball diamond stays lit with batteries of 500-watt floodlights so that the hoodlums and the dogs can play until midnight.
My dad was a park ranger. We lived together in a trailer out in the wilderness where rocks and hillsides were in abundance. Every morning, he’d pour himself a glass of grapefruit juice and suck it down, puckering his lips at the stabbing sour. Then he’d glance at his watch, pick up his Stetson hat, and shoo me out of the way as he left. I loved the smell of the leather of his boots, the grain of the weave on his hat, and the gleaming brown and orange seal that ornamented his shoulder, all of which advertised that he was the man who would protect the hillsides and the rocks big enough to sit on.
Grapefruit is indigenous to Barbados, a small island in the Caribbean. It has been transported and planted in the rich soils of most tropical and subtropical zones on earth. It is planted in orchards so that irrigation and soil quality is concentrated and not wasteful. It does not interfere drastically with most of the indigenous plant populations in which it is grown. It can be transported or stored for over a week without refrigeration due to its acidity and thick skin. Texas has produced several useful hybrids of the fruit, including its famous Ruby Red, which is sweeter and milder than other grapefruit. Its flesh is also a brilliant and warm pink color like a rose.
Suburb grass varieties are indigenous to Eurasia, a large content in the eastern hemisphere. It has been transported and planted without any regard to soil quality or the availability of water. It is hard to maintain, does not provide a sustainable food source for any animal, and has destroyed several Native American grass varieties that were adapted to the west’s arid climate.
The seal of the State of California’s park service is a hard yellow-gold field with a brown silhouette of the California golden grizzly bear on it. I know this because my father tells the story of the last golden grizzly at his campfire program. “This is the story of the last California Golden grizzly,” he would say. His Stetson hat cast long shadows in the lantern-light, he’d lean his elbow on his western saddle, and flip open his notebook of tales of the old west. “The mother grizzly was taking chances,” he would begin, “spring was late that year and to provide for her 2 cubs, she was foraging farther from her den than usual.” The lantern-light would gleam on that seal of the State of California’s park service with its extinct animal in silhouette.
-FW
Anyway, here's a slice of life piece, which I am also skeptical of.
When you look too closely at the earth, like at a rock or a hillside, it is easy to forget your place in things globally. That is why I spent most of my childhood looking at rocks, and hillsides. A lot of people tell me I was lucky to have these things to look at because where most kids live, there aren’t any hillsides and the rocks they have there aren’t big enough to even sit on.
I can remember the first time I saw a suburb. It was like someone painted over the landscape in finely divided squares of grass green, concrete grey, and station-wagon baby blue, and then flattened it out to remove the wrinkles in the canvas which distorted the perfect squares slightly. Every street was the same length. Every house was the same height. It was easy to get lost because every street sign bore some quaint word like “sunnyslope” or “clearview” even though the land in every direction was as flat as a billboard and covered in pavement. I’m told the power never goes out in the suburb. Every street is lit brightly and the baseball diamond stays lit with batteries of 500-watt floodlights so that the hoodlums and the dogs can play until midnight.
My dad was a park ranger. We lived together in a trailer out in the wilderness where rocks and hillsides were in abundance. Every morning, he’d pour himself a glass of grapefruit juice and suck it down, puckering his lips at the stabbing sour. Then he’d glance at his watch, pick up his Stetson hat, and shoo me out of the way as he left. I loved the smell of the leather of his boots, the grain of the weave on his hat, and the gleaming brown and orange seal that ornamented his shoulder, all of which advertised that he was the man who would protect the hillsides and the rocks big enough to sit on.
Grapefruit is indigenous to Barbados, a small island in the Caribbean. It has been transported and planted in the rich soils of most tropical and subtropical zones on earth. It is planted in orchards so that irrigation and soil quality is concentrated and not wasteful. It does not interfere drastically with most of the indigenous plant populations in which it is grown. It can be transported or stored for over a week without refrigeration due to its acidity and thick skin. Texas has produced several useful hybrids of the fruit, including its famous Ruby Red, which is sweeter and milder than other grapefruit. Its flesh is also a brilliant and warm pink color like a rose.
Suburb grass varieties are indigenous to Eurasia, a large content in the eastern hemisphere. It has been transported and planted without any regard to soil quality or the availability of water. It is hard to maintain, does not provide a sustainable food source for any animal, and has destroyed several Native American grass varieties that were adapted to the west’s arid climate.
The seal of the State of California’s park service is a hard yellow-gold field with a brown silhouette of the California golden grizzly bear on it. I know this because my father tells the story of the last golden grizzly at his campfire program. “This is the story of the last California Golden grizzly,” he would say. His Stetson hat cast long shadows in the lantern-light, he’d lean his elbow on his western saddle, and flip open his notebook of tales of the old west. “The mother grizzly was taking chances,” he would begin, “spring was late that year and to provide for her 2 cubs, she was foraging farther from her den than usual.” The lantern-light would gleam on that seal of the State of California’s park service with its extinct animal in silhouette.
-FW