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2003-11-12

memories of sawdust

walking down the street, i passed a construction site and it smelled of sawdust

and i was transported back to childhood. 8 years old and spending time at my father's lumber yard.

jumping into large soft piles of sawdust, dusty wood smell in my nose

my version of playing at the lumberyard didn't involve toys or other children

it involved laying down on the conveyor belt kind of thing and pretending to be a log headed for split-in-two

the belt wasn't a belt at all, it was a long conveyor of smooth cylindrical bars of metal that moved with whatever was placed on them.

so i'd kick off and slide down to the end and end on a heap on the floor laughing

i was the only kid, and my father and his friends who worked there were all bearded and tall , with long hair and leather caps and plaid shirts and thermoses of coffee and seemed like big strong hippie men who worked with their hands. and they were, but they were also young and under 30 and in transitions every one of them.

by the time i left vermont the time of fathers as heroes was over and the lumber yard was sold. when i went back a year ago, you couldn't even see the residue of it in the overgrown grass and trees. it was like it was never there.

i remember my father dropping me off outside my 2 story 4 room red schoolhouse on his way to the lumber yard. i was zipped into a blue snow suit htat i had to lay down to get in and out of.

I played with other children, then they left and i played alone. slowly i got cold and i sat on the steps of school crying. the people across the street saw the poor smurfy creature in puffy suit and invited her in.

they handed me a cup of cocoa and i dropped it because i'd gotten just cold enough that heat hurt my fingers.

my mother yelled at him that night. for being 28 and forgetting his daughter to play football in the snow , apple red cheeks, with a group of bearded man boys who worked with their hands

sawdust memories


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