It’s amazing such good stories exist in our epochs along with all else. I love the conversations people have every time they get together (along with everything new that comes up.) Inevitably every visit to the land of laurel reed includes rhapsodic talk of the history of it. “Brant realized it was too much land for just his own people to settle 
and so invited european settlement and my friends at laurel reed poetry farm live in one of the first of the welcome houses for a european village on brant land.
Part of it of course is my own hearing. Each time I hear the stories I come away construing something slightly different, and imagining the rest. The way I’d envisioned the cellar as not alike its splendid reality.
Actual trees, timber, with horse hair plaster, and remarkable old stone. 
Oversion 
that’s where we throw coivert when he gets into the rum
Comment by nic coivert — October 26, 2011 @ 3:05 am
What kind of plaster is that again? It’s incredible rereading my own post which was trying to have every detail that was hard to remember present itself on a rythmic poetry pattern based on i think a nordic floaty line length pace of key knowledge timely coming in every 12 to 14 words, with at least two swings of grammar off the main punctuation, like a horse doing its laps and being viewed: https://oversion.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/babdun-cellar-horsehair-plaster.jpg horsehair, trees, and ?
Comment by oversion — October 27, 2011 @ 2:55 am