Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.


Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").


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Like my brownhouse:
   the quarry on the Esopus
Thursday, July 31 2008
After another morning covered with wet powdered bluestone and cursing at my wet saw, Gretchen picked up David (of Penny and David) from the Kingston bus station and I eventually returned him (and his aluminum barbecue unit, which we'd borrowed) to his boxy house in greater Marbletown. On the way, we stopped at a place on the Esopus just upstream from fording place called "the quarry."

The quarry.

It might be a massive water-filled hole from centuries of cobblestone quarrying, or it might mostly be a natural oxbow. (Because the drainage of its valley is still resolving itself in the aftermath of the last glaciation, Esopus Creek varies enormously in width.) In any case, it looks like a beautiful smallish lake, with constant water flowing in and out of it. I don't know if this lake actually is the Esopus, but judging from the volume of water flowing into it, it looks like it's most of it. I'd never heard about the quarry before, but it looks like it has better potential as a swimming hole than the Secret Spot, and it's closer as well. David has heard that the owner of the property is fine with people going there so long as they clean up after themselves, which, in practice, means nothing at all. Gretchen says that the quarry is a big redneck hangout and is frequently full of trash left by thoughtless teenagers (and the moronic, selfish adults they often grow into).

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