Hundred-Mile Home

Susan Petrie

Description

We live in a future-facing world, consumed by a sense of urgency. Responsibilities press upon us and, inevitably, the stories of where we live scatter down unnamed streets and recede into the past. Hundred-Mile Home is an intimate portrait—a story map—of Albany, Troy, and the Hudson River that slows time and challenges us to reconsider what we choose to remember and what we choose to forget about the places we call home.

Inspired by the story of New York's capital region, Susan Petrie uses poetry, prose, photos, and drawings to uncover a place of intense natural beauty, legendary people, and remarkable events. She follows the course of its fabled Hudson River from Troy to Olana and back again, turning down dirt roads, wandering into forgotten terrains, and discovering layers of natural and human history that have become invisible.

As a work of art, Hundred-Mile Home moves between past and present. It revives a sense of wonder for what we speed past on our way to somewhere else, and reanimates the forgotten history and often-overlooked natural beauty of the mid-Hudson region. As a work of landscape and memory, it celebrates a place that—despite its instrumental role in the opening of America—has yet to take hold in the national imagination.

Sujets

• Regional
• Poetry
• Region

Informations

• Publié par: State University of New York Press
• Date de parution: 01 mars 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781438482996
• Langue: English

Extrait

Hundred-Mile Home
Hundred-Mile Home
A Story Map of Albany, Troy, the Hudson River
Susan Petrie
Foreword by
Mark Wunderlich
Cover photo of the Hudson River by Susan Petrie. Design by Lisa N. Comstock
Photos and sketches by Susan Petrie
Page 45 , fragment of painting, “Curiosity of the Magua” by Len Tantilllo. Used with permission.
Page 52 , ink drawing by Ana Novaes (Insta: Itg.art)
Previously published poems:
“to 5W” terrain.org (2019)
“Early Evening on 4th Street,” “A History of Disappearance,” “Lock,” and “Grain,” Bloodroot Literary Journal (2017)
Published by State University of New York Press, Albany
© 2021 Susan Petrie
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission. No part of this book may be stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
Excelsior Editions is an imprint of State University of New York Press
For information, contact State University of New York Press, Albany, NY
www.sunypress.edu
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Name: Petrie, Susan, author.
Title: Hundred-mile home: a story map of Albany, Troy, the Hudson River / Susan Petrie.
Description: Albany : State University of New York Press, [2021].
Identifiers: ISBN 9781438483009 (pbk. : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781438482996 (ebook)
Further information is available at the Library of Congress.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
“Poetry is less a genre than it is a way of being and seeing.”
C. D. Wright

“Once a landscape goes undescribed and therefore unregarded it becomes more vulnerable.”
Barry Lopez

“Expose yourself to places no one goes.”
W. G. Sebald

“For the Apache imagination, geography and history are consubstantial. Placeless events are inconceivable.”
Keith Basso
Foreword
Seventeen years ago, I moved into a haunted house. It was a modest stone structure built nearly 300 years earlier in Greene County, New York, on the western side of the Hudson River and close to a narrow watercourse called Corlaer’s Creek. The creek, with its steep drop-off that ends at the river, has its source somewhere above the unincorporated hamlet of Hamburg and marks the border between the townships of Catskill and Athens.
The house, I would learn, was built by a Dutch family on the occasion of the marriage of a daughter. Like many historic structures scattered about the mid-Hudson region, it had fallen into ruin: pipes had frozen and burst; a hole in the roof let in rain and weather; squirrels, raccoons, bats, and snakes (!!) had moved in; the yard was a thicket of trash, brush, weed trees, and poison ivy.
Anyone who saw the house told me not to buy it. But, newly arrived from Cape Cod with little knowledge of the area and well-meaning notions of restoration and renewal, I bought it anyway. I had felt something toward the house—a connection suggestive of a rich but opaque history.
As I began the long process of renovation and restoration, this work revealed an enduring vernacular genius held by the house’s builders and previous occupants. The house was surprisingly plumb, the stained-glass windows built some time in the 1950’s were both extravagant and cheerful, the angles and rooms well-proportioned.
This house, set in the lee of a hill, has been a kind of set for an historical drama whose full text is lost. As ownership has shifted over the course of generations, moving back and forth between restoration and neglect, I see myself as part of its history. I know too that my hold is temporary and that it will outlive me—if houses do in fact “live”—as it had outlived all of its previous occupants. That knowledge, though, has not prevented me from the daunting work of recovery.
The work of affectionate recovery bestowed upon the structures we call home may also be extended to a landscape, a region, a place, as illustrated by Susan Petrie in Hundred-Mile Home: A Story Map of Albany, Troy, the Hudson River. She felt a similar connection suggestive of a rich but opaque history which she has given her time and labor to uncover and clear away. As homeowners, we succumbed to a very human need to explore and discover, to imagine and decipher codes inherent in craftsmanship, to find and piece together a story in what remains, to build and rebuild connection.

In Hundred-Mile Home , Petrie has chosen to slow down and linger in these forgotten places, to conduct a kind of poetic archeology of place, an uncovering and reimagining of the filament that still connects Albany, Troy, and a section of the Hudson River through the geography and typography, architecture, and people who have lived and died in this once-important region. While her book records a lived experience, it is also a sort of ghost story, a lyric sequence that awakens the reader to a hidden history in which both living and dead are rediscovered and allowed a chance to speak.
For years now, Petrie has driven the back roads of the mid-and upper-Hudson, walked and hiked its streets and trails, photographed its collapsing barns and burned mills, drawn out the poetry of graffiti and forgotten signs. She is an explorer with an elegiac sensibility, and as she moves through the pessimism of post-industrial, post agricultural landscapes and rubble, she locates and pieces together the remnants of what was once a more hopeful past. In the act of piecing together, Petrie finds a deep connection to place where others may have seen very little.
It is important to note that Hundred-Mile Home is not a nostalgic book. As much as Petrie seems to argue on behalf of a thoughtful preservation of architecture and landscape, she explores the places of neglect and ruin with an eye for unexpected poignancy. Sometimes it is the ruination and decrepitude that draws her in for a closer look, other times it is the unspoken power of what is revealed at low tide.
Petrie is also an accomplished photographer, and the images interspersed throughout this book take a variety of forms—sometimes befogged and romantic, sometimes as documents of decay—though my favorites capture attempts to memorialize and instruct. Her inclusion of tilting blue historical markers show how, when devoid of context, even these attempts at permanence can become mysterious and disconnected from the story they hoped to memorialize. Like these blue plaques, Petrie’s poems and lyrical fragments are signposts on a landscape whose inhabitants participated in an early idea of America, but that have—for myriad reasons—gone quiet.

Not long after I started to renovate and restore my house, I began to meet the neighbors whose curiosity compelled them to drive into my yard to have a proper snoop. On three occasions, strangers told me that my house was haunted, suggesting that, as an outsider, the history of this house and this place was not something that I could own or perhaps even understand. I was seen as an interloper whose presence indicated yet another wave of regional opportunism. What neither of us knew was that I have my own Hudson Valley ghosts—a fifth great grandfather from a colonial Dutch family who drowned in the Schoharie Creek one freezing winter night on his way home from Albany when his sledge was thrown off a collapsing bridge. Buried in Glen, New York, under a stone that tells the story of his tragic death, this blood history was unknown to me until very recently. My own dead are buried here too, though for the seventeen years I have lived in the region, I had no idea of the connection.
I hope you will find in Hundred-Mile Home a necessary and lyrical invitation to connect, to remember, and to welcome the spirit of home back into view.
Mark Wunderlich
Introduction
In the spring of 1689, Bashō surrendered to a compulsion and set out on foot to explore the interior landscape of Japan. Over the course of many miles he recorded his encounters with sages and townspeople, and made subtle observations on mountains bathed in moonlight, delicate flowers and birds, temples, and historic ruins, many mossed over and forgotten. When he returned, he gathered his contemplations into a prose-poem diary, Narrow Road to the Great North, which was published posthumously. Narrow Road not only recorded his thoughts but served as a record to “re-story” places and events no longer appreciated or understood.
In 2015, Robert Macfarlane’s Landmarks was published. Similarly, Macfarlane, a U.K.-based writer, took to his landscape and library and gathered up a massive glossary of terrain, to give us back the words to describe the visual bounty offered by woods and waters, mountains and trees, holloways and underlands. In one of my favorite chapters, “Bastard Countryside,” he discusses how it took years to learn to write about his home, a place he describes as the jittery ground between city and country, “the edgelands.” Victor Hugo called these places “bastard countryside,” while others used names like “soft estate,” “messy limbo,” “guerilla ecology,” and “transit zone.” These are the places between city and country where history, nature—along with the stuff no one seems to care about anymore—gets pushed. Wetlands and waterfalls, crows and gulls, boxcars and b