Don’t get Above Your Raisin’ Boy
I guess I’m just like most of you when it comes to the past. Hartley said the past is a foreign country. But our memories are always of sunny days, smiling faces…..all the girls were young and perfect, none of us boys were bald or fat. The grass was so much greener with birds serenading the morning dew.
But I daresn’t forget we lived among farmers. Just because the field behind me wasn’t sown, doesn’t mean we weren’t surrounded by open space. The price you pay for all that green is springtime smell of ‘country perfume’–manure.
Whether walking home from elementary school or driving home from high school with windows down, a sure sign of spring was poo in the air. Starting at the end of our block, I’d guess there were 10 square miles of farms circling us.
Damn, man, shut those windows!
For around two weeks, everyone hurried inside, A soft spring breeze that whispered of romantic summer was awash in putrid odors. Teachers closed the windows. My old man got those air conditioners in the windows early. That also meant psycho neighbor got out manure for his plants; he delighted in being a dick to everyone.
A few people had allergies and they didn’t venture out on some days.
Guys in college talked about the signs of spring where they lived; I always mentioned the smell of shit in the air, all around. How the hell can those birds sing so sweetly when you’re literally in ‘a world of shit’?
The farms weren’t sold off til I was out of the house in the 80’s.
Only one song fits this, so listen to Dave Alvin talk about his friend, the late Chris Gaffney: