pinelands
drive west through the night. sleep on rubber mat in bed of truck; head rests on paper sack of brass casings. woken after sunrise, passing through timber gate.
upon arrival our captors relax their stern attitudes if not their guard. they speak almost apologetically of our detention in terms of our own protection. as we are passing through their communal network of berry ranches, we are afforded a degree of safety; in return they feel that we are obliged to toil a bit on their lands or in their compounds. we are free to refuse, but of course we will be expelled from the ranch and subjected to the uncertain horrors of the pine barrens beyond the perimeter. the other 'guests' are not content with this arrangement, but not one of them requests to be released from service.
the situation is not ideal, considering we do not know what, if any, dangers truly await us in the pines, but i commit to make the best of my stay by observing the skills of these farmers, hoping to acquire some knowledge which may be put to use in my home in manhattanville, should i ever return to that teeming beast.
with most manhattanvillagers having been raised on the island, our combined knowledge of the techniques of farming is second hand - taken from stories and books and video. the tools available here, though tarnished and scarred, are refined implements with calculated efficiency, manufactured someplace else in the world where the shape had to be described and plotted on someone's desktop. manhattanville's tools are fashioned from guardrails and fan blades; the designer/craftsman having in mind the results of the tool's use before it is wrought. our tools may not be the cleanest or most precise, but the intimate knowledge of their manufacture and origin - the same hands cast and push the plow - engenders an effectiveness i see improbable to achieve with the tools at hand in this camp.
we manhattanvillagers know what it is to farm for the sake of feeding ourselves; there is a clear and direct connection from what we put into the soil and our own health. these pineys farm for trade; their livelihood still relies upon the land, but the connection to their own meals is clouded by commerce. having lived and farmed on the island for so long, we have lost the abstraction of 'living off the land' which had been built on this continent since the dawn of mercantilism.
moved into barracks for the day. 10 beds in shed. 2 wc. 6 windows punched in cinder block walls. can view small guardhouses(?) arranged around field.
two weeks on the farm - rather, on a network of farms - afforded me the opportunity to understand the infrastructure of the pineys' society. the buildings and outhouses of each ranch is unique. there is usually an ancient wooden single-family farmhouse which is used for preparation of meals and delicate work such as clothes or electronics mending. a wooden barn commonly serves as a garage for vehicles and workshop for tools. barracks are newer additions; they are mostly cinderblock shells with floors of wooden planks and roofs of timber and aluminum or tin; they house the pineys, the newcomers, and the transients.
the perimeter is a mix of wooden stockade, stone and concrete rubble, and electrified (sometimes) steel fencing. beyond the perimeter of the ranches are a series of demountable outposts carried into place and held several feet above the ground. the post is a fragmented shell of sheets of varied substance which have been coated with a hardened polymer or resin. they are held aloft by either jointed metal legs which have been driven into the ground or by cords of braided scraps of wire and nylon.
the occupant of the outpost, or fort, is encapsulated by they shell and then hoisted into place amongst the branches of trees. he or she is outfitted with contoured plates of manufacture similar to the hull of the fort; where the portholes or hatches would appear in the hull, the body of the occupant plugs the gap. by this method, the fort becomes a partially mobile unit. whilst currently strapped or pinned to the trees and earth, respectively, one can imagine these units moving through the forest or skies, if there was a method of manipulating the motion of the legs or introducing a system of pulleys and blocks into the synthetic vines.
volunteer for fort duty
on my final night at the ranch - he third ranch on which i stayed - i was awarded the opportunity to serve as a sentry. clad in an armour of multiple contoured scales, i clamber into the fort and am lifted into the dark green canopy above the southeastern highway. i do not occupy the fort as much as i embrace it from the inside. once i enter its folds, i find there is little room for movement between my flesh and the surfaces and gears of the box. each motion of my person affects the configuration of the fort, and reorients its position in the sky. rather than stand guard within the fort, the fort itself is the guard. i realize now that the ranchers are not using the outposts to watch for any threats from the pines; they have devised this machine to serve as a threat. my job in this fort is not to watch; it is to act.
as my actions are going to be interpreted as actions of my artificial husk, i am curious about what is the intended impression. with the mechanism - myself - behind this facade being hidden, i presume that the viewer is to believe that the fort � the shell � itself is responsible for the movement � that it is sentient. who or what is in the pines, and why would they - or it - be convinced that this bristling mass of white shields and steel bars and nylon straps is alive? the vague references to the woods made by the pineys builds and aura of secrecy that shrouds their own system. what have they done to make this fort an object of fear? did they adopt the guise of a machine or creature which already instilled such an emotion? what is the source of this white shell, and how much is mimicry?
i do not stir the defensive rancor of the pineys by sharing my thoughts about the design of this contraption; they are playing their cards close to their chests in what must be a double bluff with the pinelands outside the perimeter. in appreciation for the sincerity with which i worked - rare amongst the usual transients - and for the exchange of ideas regarding methods of tool and land optimization, the pineys equip me with a pair of gauntlets and a light metal staff for my journey through the southern marshes to the ports which will afford me passage to the southern districts across the bay.
obligations to berriers fulfilled. leave via southwest highway. advised to move off road and camp south side at night. given hand drawn map of marsh trails to king pond - port of arlingtonton ferry.
