Stony Ground





Stony Ground
Betsy McKenzie
January 10, 2006

In Kentucky, where I grew up,
Rocks emerge through the soil
Serenely, like horizontal elements
Of landscape design. In forests,
Limestone ledges glimmer
Palely through the heaps of
Fallen leaves. Ferns and
Columbines root in sylvan niches.

In Massachusetts, where I live now,
Glacier-borne till, carried from afar,
Then dropped here, casually, all manner of
Rocks, New England potatoes, bubbling up.
Year after year new little rocks
Invade the garden you cleared so carefully.
Huge outcrops shove energetically,
Purposefully, pushing through the
Black humus and roots.
Blocky, crystalline structures
Dark gray, formed in the
Volcanic, molten interior.
Now, blasted out, full of energy.

This is not a land that invites
Farming, tilling the land.
Small-scale gardening is
Challenge enough. How could those
Puritans imagine neatly quilted
English farmland where those
Fiercely vivid rocks come thrusting out?
They speak of a ground fizzing with
Energy, and its own secret life.
It wants no truck with old world virtue.