If you just checked out
"Suicide and Fireworks" then you know I have a penchant for
snapping shots of odd and unusual folks I happen across. They're
like trading cards or action figures. Collect them all, and you
could win either a year-long contract with the paparazzi or a jail
sentence. The truth is that the ultimate goal of
all these snapshots of my personal rogues is that one day I might form an
encyclopedia of me (or encyclopedia de moi if I'm feeling silly) that
details my takes on them. The infamous "Cedar Man" as
he's known to my mom and me is probably one of my favorites.
We first met him in 2002 when we
decided to visit Fort Harrod in Harrodsburg while visiting some
relatives. He got quite smarmy with my mom and we joked about it for
months. That's why I knew that when we decided to revisit the area
that I had to get a shot of him. Above is the fruit of my
labor. But the photo rarely does justice to what an in-person
encounter is like, so let me describe the day of the visit in more detail.
We arrived 45 minutes before the fort
was slated to close. It was deserted and my mom and I learned that
we were only the sixth and seventh people to visit the fort all day.
That's kind of sad considering the place has been in existence for over
200 years. We both arrived at the woodworking shop of the fort,
curious as to whether our "friend" would be there again.
Sure enough he was. Unfortunately, his spirits seemed a little dampened
compared to our last visit. I guess the record heat and an afternoon
of repeated aneurisms had worn him down.
That didn't stop him from getting
rather amorous around my mom though. He didn't seem to remember her
from our visit two years prior (I honestly didn't expect him too).
He still kept calling my mom "young lady" as he had the time
before though. He rambled on for some time, beginning with the
standard, obsequious banter (where are you from, what's your avocation,
etc.) before he started talking about himself. He told us he still
lived with his mom, a nice Norman Bates personality trait. He had a
passion for record albums, especially those of Elvis, yet he rarely
listened to them saying, "I just collect them because I like to have
something to look at." Of course, that statement would be true if you collected dead
opossums...
He's got a great, southern drawl
(similar to a stereotypical Confederate colonel or plantation owner, but
in the form of a recreationist). He also had a halting manner to his
talking, as if he was constantly out of breath. He went on about the fort
and the town, remarking that he'd lived in the town all his life. On
that note, he added that the most romantic spots in town were right at the
fort. "If you ask me, the window upstairs is one of the most
photogenic spots in the fort. But that large Osage orange tree down
in the courtyard is the most photogenic spot in all of Kentucky if you ask
me. Young man, I hope you got a picture of your young lady friend
here down by that tree because a shot like that would look just
heavenly."
He also went on about accents, stating
that my mom didn't sound like she was from Kentucky. "There was one
lady, a real pretty young thing like yourself ma'am, standing right where
your gentleman friend is now just yesterday. Sounded like she was
from Boston, but it turns out she was from Cincinnati. You get
everything out of Cincinnati, I tell you what. I'll tell you
something else. I'm gonna give the young lady, and only the
young lady, a little present."
He grabbed a block of cedar, locked it
into a vice and picked a draw knife up from the work bench. "Now you
have to clamp the wood real tight. You don't want it escaping on
you. Then you use this here draw knife and run it along the piece of
cedar. That's the quickest way of whittling down wood. Course
the knife needs to stay pretty sharp so it will cut real good."
He then awarded my mom with a cedar shaving and ordered her to smell
it. I stifled a laugh. Anytime a guy hands something to a girl
and demands that she smell it, it's funny. There are just too many
dirty inferences that can be made. In this particular situation, the
possibilities were endless.
"Don't that smell good?" he
asked. "I'd imagine it's what them redwood forests smell
like. I'd sure like to go to California to see those sometime.
Maybe we can all go together if you got a pretty little friend for
me." My mom laughed politely at the notion and we excused
ourselves at that point. Ah, the irony was delicious. The
dream vacation for a cedar worker is to go see the redwood forests.
Plus, I went on for the majority of the day in the Cedar Man's voice in
order to taunt my mom. "You know, you could come over and meet
my mom. Mom smells real good. Stuffed her with cedar I did.
Keeps her smelling fresh and it keeps the bugs away from her. Maybe
after dinner you could get into my crawlspace to save me the trouble later
of dragging you there after I kill you. There's lots of young ladies
in there. That's why I keep the draw knife sharp. That way,
when I clamp those young ladies' heads into my vice, I can whittle my way
to their brain through bone and all. I carve 'em up real good.
Usually I'll play my Elvis records nice and loud so it drowns out the
screams. Down want to be waking the neighbors. They're good
folks, just like everyone here in town is." Basically, I was
just rambling off a stream of consciousness in his drawl and the sillier
it got, the funnier it became.
To be honest, I don't hold any grudges
against the Cedar Man. He's probably a nice guy and doesn't realize
he's creeping the hell out of people. He found his way here because
he's a perfect example of a division of my photos. The folks who
make the trips. Like Rupert, the creepy hostel keeper (from "The
Desperate Handprints of Missing Children") or Joseph, the
suicidal elevator man (from "Suicide
and Fireworks"). They add so much more hilarity and personality
to any trip and serve as a ripe source of in-jokes among friends for
years. I hope he's there next time we go there. If for any
reason, to watch my mom get really uncomfortable again. Now
that's funny!
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