This is the ditch outside my neighborhood where we used to catch crawdads, go dirt biking, and video our Blair Witch Project spoofs. Now it has these fountains that aerate the water and make it seem like seem like a property asset for a newly "lakeside" community.
This is the big couch in Care House that feels like the hearth of the home. It's been reupholstered twice and every fiber in it has a twin fiber made of memory. It is too loaded with meaning for me to keep or throw away, so as the last hoorah when Care House closes, I am going to turn this couch into a raft to float (or sink) in the ditch outside my neighborhood.
Aesthetically, the fountains seem like an attempt to attract people to a place that my neighborhood is not. It is called Williamsburg Settlement, and all the street names are suppose to evoke this motif: Christopher Wren, Bucktrout, Calvaryman. The houses are about 30-40 years old, the trees are mature, and it feels well settled into. The neighborhood has been emptying out for a few years now, everybody wants to move to even newer developments even further out. Beyond this ditch you can see the gigantic dinosaur bone ramp for SH99 that was just constructed to channel them. Doubleparked streets for swim meets are now just dotted with elderly couples walking at dusk.
Your drive to Care House takes you down the unrelenting copy & paste landscape of I-10. I enjoy the mischief of performing a deeply personal project in what feels like endless, increasingly anonymous suburban sprawl. In addition to frightening the neighbors' children, I like this little raft and the idea of inserting some myth back into these waters.