Rust in peace

Is this trash? Does it mar the landscape?

After having each served a nine month stint as a cover for the Peace Fire during the six years from 2002 till 2008 these ten galvanized, circular lids now lay with their backs to the ground for a final sleep until their slow dissolve back into the earth.

Rust — a reddish iron oxide formed by the reaction of iron and oxygen in the presence of water or air moisture and helped along at Windgrove by a sprinkle of sea salt.

Lovely patina. Rather “rustic”.

The fire pit that these lids both protected from rain and wind as well slowing down the combustion rate of the burning logs now sits empty. However, there is something in the remnant fiery afterglow of today’s dormant lids that never fails to rekindle in my mind the many months of daily tending to the Peace Fire and nurturing it along with some 60 tons of firewood.

Instruction from Bly

…….I consider
The Smirnoff bottle on the coffee table; a fly
Lands on it. And then it all happens: the life
Of that bottle flashes before me. Little by little.
Or quickly, it is used up; empty, as clear as it was
Full, it journeys to the dump: it rests upon the mounds of
Beautiful excess where what we are —
Sunflowers, grass, sand —
Is joined to what we make —
Cans, tires and it itself in every form of bottle.
I put on my s.s. coveralls, a saffron robe, knowing I have found
What I was sent to find. The sky speaks to me; the sound
Of the cars on Highway 2 is a song. Soon I will see the pumps.
Those curved rectangles shaped like the U.S. and smell the gas.
Our incense. O country, O moon, O stars,
O american rhyme is yours is mine is ours.

(author unknown)

Notwithstanding the reference to America, I like the notion that the world is one interconnected, chaotic, jumble of material objects. What’s the difference between a vodka bottle and a fly? A rusting lid or decaying log? Does location make a difference? Is one object inherently more beautiful/ugly than the other?

A tree discards a leaf or two. Is this litter? A human discards a can or two. Is this litter? Considering that the origin of “litter” comes from “bed”, the tree is literally littering.

Not that I’m in favour of trashing the landscape, but trash found in the landscape just might offer us an insight into what “ephemeral” might mean in a “natural” setting. My Shakespeare Bench certainly did.

More than anything, though, the rusting lids offer us a chance to reflect upon our own ultimate return to dust.