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I apologize for the lately sporadic nature of my posts.after my reticence to install a gas line, a faulty stove nearly laid ruin the Caddingham Estate at Arkansington last week.although normally atwitter when so validated, oversight of the many repairs leaves me exhausted and little able to make good on the promises I made months ago to attend myriad social engagements nor even post daily accounts of my adventures.
as ever, I spend the 4th of July in the South; a region which, less than a century after the Declaration of Independence, nearly brought the nation asunder.some say the irony is palpable. others argue that I doubly celebrate the spirit of America by detonating explosives somewhere so wrought with independence that it sacrificed its resources, institutions and values in an attempt to achieve such.I fail to appreciate either the irony or the confluence because I barely recognize the United States of America as a sovereign nation and little desire to examine the nuances of its petulance...nor that of its constituent parts.
to me, Arkansington provides a place to launch fireworks purchased in the even more lawless state of Misboury; Nebraskashire permits only the most pedestrian pyrotechnics.
the wondrous symbiosis of nature and industry, unique to the American experience.
same. on a slightly larger scale.
either surpasses the mechanical achievements of the French.
although we own sizable tracts of land on all three habitable continents, the Caddinghams rarely take legal action to protect our property. agreements between gentlemen are swiftly and obeisantly accorded; handshakes and promises from families of good standing are altogether preferable to settlements and litigation.
however, potentially precedent-setting circumstances involving trees, easement and eminent domain require trial.
stone fence set forth by the Saxons, Visigoths or some other such ancient peoples.
Shannon Meadow. a beautiful, if fractious, feature of our property.
"...the country folks, if you asked them, would swear on their Bible that he walks. there are those who speak to having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even within this house--idle tales, you'll say, and so say I. yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em, looking out of his chamber window, on every rainy night since his death..."
I am away south on holiday. my accommodations feature no modern amenities; I suppose their absence is precisely the point of a trip to The Natural State. thus I may truly, in the words of our foreign domestics, "cargar las pilas".
I shall return in a week.
when not enlisting fire brigades and battling "claims adjusters", I spent time in Pea Ridge, Arkansington. it was the site of a battle during that disastrous conflict between the states.
a musical group performed at the town's summertime jamboree. several members boast no meager talent. they sang of fire and brimstone as well as salvation and the rapture.
and although the town square at Pea Ridge is no Twelve Oaks,
the Wilkes family never provides such novel diversions at their picnics.
