Weeknotes: June 16–20, 2025
Monday, June 16
"Those metal things you smash with a hammer to secure a loop of metal cable?"
"Ah, I know what you're talking about. Ferrules?"
"Yes! Pity the ferrule."
I'm at Ypsi Hardware where they translate pedestrian into practical. I leave with two small ferrules, costing $3.10. It's the summer of thrift. I want to spiff up the yard, but I'm trying to rely on stuff that's free, cheap, or already in my possession. Last Saturday was the College Heights neighborhood yard sale, the sequel to Normal Park's where I procured the two metal fish now swaying in my garden. Held back-to-back on the first two Saturdays of June, College Heights is usually as lively as its predecessor, though it seemed to me a little diminished this year.
On the ride there I found a $20 bill on campus and took it as a good omen. I spent $2 on a lemon muffin from a platter of homemade pastries on Roosevelt Street. Next, I bought a bird feeder I didn't need for $5, and immediately regretted it. I cruised down beautiful Cambridge Street, one of my favorite little neighborhoods in town, then west to Collegewood where, leaning against a tree with a "free" sign attached, was the hammer rail of a small upright piano. Jackpot.
Unlike last week's fish, this prize could not be transported under one arm or strapped to my bike rack. I hammered out several fevered messages to nearby friends with cars and Greg was my first responder.
Tonight's goal is to mount the piano hammers along the back fence behind my fish. With a pair of old tin snips I slowly maul the end of some steel cable that was once a zipline leash system I'd bought for Islay. She hated it and after only a year it was mercifully knocked down by a large branch during an ice storm. I stuff the frayed ends of cable through my two ferrules and smash them closed, creating a wire mount on the back of the hammer casing. With these three whimsical items — the two fish and the piano guts — I now have the beginnings of a sculpture garden.
Midweeknotes: June 10–11, 2025
The wooded sections on either side of the tracks between the end of Railroad Street and the bridge near Forest are the nearest bits of wild, untended land. There is a small homeless encampment down the adjacent riverbank and on the other side a storage facility and neighboring weed shop. Where I grew up in Brighton, I had acres of recreational state forest directly behind my house where I could hike, explore, and forage interesting sticks or logs. Here in town, I have the overgrown railroad tangle with its choking vines and trees of heaven. I walk with my bow saw and backpack, passing an abandoned suitcase, its contents scattered mournfully among the ballast — a shoe, a couple shirts, a large hot pink bra. The usual faded beer cans and food packaging litter the margins. Further along I locate a couple downed branches that fit my needs and carry them the few blocks to my backyard.