"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

08 January 2013

A Windmill Upon the Horizon

The trouble started somewhere between reading a book about the African bushmeat crisis and National Geographic a few years back. Ain't that always the way? It was from those places I first heard the term World Heritage.

This little bit of Byzantium, along the upper western edge of our Sahel, is designated as a National Landmark District. One of the first in the state, in fact. We're up there with a national park as far as titles go, though I often find labels to be oh so limiting. After doing a little looking into the whole World Heritage thing, I began to wonder if that wouldn't be another neat metaphoric feather in the metaphoric cap.

A couple of years before I ended up on the board of my local historical society, the president, my two doors down neighbor, and I were drinking lemonade and reading the bible-and by that I mean going through a few bottles of wine and starting into some blueberry vodka before our livers screamed out for mercy-and I mentioned my idea. I even listed off a few places as to be used as examples. We resolved to look into it further, but noting really came of it. So it goes.

Fast forward to a few weeks back...

This little seed of an idea regarding World Heritage would fester and grow around some of my thoughts in the manner of southern kudzu. Something filed away in the back of that maggot's nest I call my mind, but still always there. Although, in some ways, the very idea seemed like a bit of a fool's errand-my own bit of windmill titling, perhaps-I began giving it some more serious consideration.

I was at the narrow gage railroad's holiday party when I ran into one of the preservationists of my acquaintance. Being raised with manners, I did help her back up. It was then I mentioned after the holidays were done and over I wanted an audience with her. My reason; I wanted to see what could be done to make this slice of Byzantium into a World Heritage Site.

Just like that, no turning back...

The holidays are done and over and I have a date with a preservationist. I troll the spider's web of cyber for information, getting my facts in line, hoping this isn't just a fool's errand that I'll get a condescending pat on the head for before being sent upon my way. As with a few instances of me saying fuck it and going at it headlong, there's a part of me wondering just exactly what the fuck I've gotten myself into this time.

A grand adventure or a colossal failure? Something to do or a waste of time? In a few days, the cosmic coin will be flipped and fortune's wheel will have been spun. It is then I'll have my answer.



  1. Oh the ironies in decision making.

    1. That's a polite way of putting it ;).

  2. Thanks for commenting on my blog R. I've just read your post and blushed (out loud) at the contrast between cleaning chicken poop and determining a World Heritage site. I think what you're doing is marvelous. It's inspiring AND marvelous. Why the hell else are we born into this world if not to be able to make a mark? You've sure as hell given me a kick in the trousers. Best of luck from Perth Australia!!

  3. Do it, Robbie.

    “Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, "It might have been.” - Kurt Vonnegut

    So it goes. ;)

    1. Thanx for the encouragement...and catching the reference ;).

  4. I somehow suspect that, should you put your mind to it, the mountains themselves might move out of your way. Your tenacity is remarkable, my friend. Tally-ho!