Looking forward to Marking Their Trail exhibition at Confidence Firehouse Gallery later this month, I wanted to scout out aspen groves for Basque arborglyphs – and besides, I’ve been needing high-country air.
Constellation
Was I bamboozled, or have I not found
the right aspen grove? I’ve driven
Mormon Emigrant Trail, over Carson Pass
all the way down Hope Valley.
I turned around, retraced, rethought my quest.
It’s not bloodlust, but more than simple curiosity.
Basque’s not in my blood, but in memory,
my history, personal guilt. 50 years ago,
Basque sheepherder I interviewed in a vacant
city lot where his band of sheep grazed,
guarded by his two small dogs. Rush hour traffic.
Questions & answers halting – Spanish
a 2nd language for both of us.
I promised to send him my story. I didn’t:
it haunts me. Decades later I learned
about the tree carvings in our Sierra, my old
ranger/searching grounds. Of course
I checked the bibliographies, scholarly papers
on arborglyphs. Now at last I stop, park
my car at a turnoff. Aspen grove. I start walking
among trees white-skinned with dark scars
of limbs broken under weight of snow; scars
where metal scratched figures or letters
scattered as stars, their carvers’ lights burned
out years ago, their healing bark shining.
~ Taylor Graham
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