Nancy: Every September a restlessness as real as a memory comes on; it's as though thousands of years of migrations left some marker in our cells.
the leaves are sealing themselves off from life.
September is secrets,
noon suns that lie,
night filling the lowgrounds with mist,
a tensing for journeys that were.
September is choices,
accepting small deaths on faith,
relinquishing known lands for new.
September is songs without singers,
follow the herds and the stars,
move to the harvest grounds,
sharpen the spears.
September is blunted,
by the walls,
by the fires,
our ancestors pass us unseen.
Alan: When I first moved here “from away,” I sometimes felt like a functionary of yore, sent out to a far corner of the empire and required to file dispatches on everything I saw.
The Assessor’s Report To The Governor
In this country, many men have bad backs.
Women often damage their hands and wrists in seasonal occupations.
The children work fast when they have to:
a distinct advantage.
Dwellings frequently stand incomplete:
perhaps only a roofed-over cellar to a family.
Some houses, in towns and from a prior era, are sumptuous.
Many have burned. There is much pride in ownership.
The chief dangers to the workforce are logging, fishing, clamming,
It is recommended, wherever possible, to promote regular industrial
Small-scale farming may reduce income needs:
difficult to record, this should not be encouraged.
In-migrants have reinforced the local population;
after many years, they become similarly inured to adversity.
Barter is rampant, a terrible evil.
A stubborn independence runs through all things.
Poor roads and distance from markets put a limit on commerce.
Travelers bring much-needed cash and are generally welcome.
In the event of war, the populace will have to relocate.
It would be unwise in the meantime to risk major investment.