Why, then...

...what do I have with Chestnut Hill. Well - familiar affairs.

My mother’s franc father went by the name of Nussbaum, that means
chestnut tree. He spent his whole life with doings about the village
where he lived, also greater works when a dam was built in the wider
region (near Aachen, the old franc capital most west in northern
rhenanian Germany). He had six children and died two months before
my birth from Tetanus which he had contracted while working in a
cow stead. A little injury, and he was done for. I didn’t hear much
of that until far in my adult age. In the later times of my wanderings
through Europe and Germany it often so happened that when I had
found a pleasant place in nature where I would want to stay for a
while, I also found one or several chestnut trees about. My grandmother
who bore this name was to become my godmother and it seems that
my relation to physical chestnut trees is that of a human to a godparent
spirit, a thing that may be similarly known with certain indian habits.
Also, in later times when I rested near my home place, I found a
location where to stay, a notable Löss hill on the edge of the Rhine
valley northwest of Cologne, right near the villages of my childhood
and youth. The sight is very fine there, one can nearly see until the
Eifel mountains near Aachen, to the Rhine metropoles of Cologne
and Düsseldorf. Opposite on the other side of the valley a mountain
range is well visible, not high but markedly. The soil of the hill is of
most exquisite Löss that is mixed with marl so that it crunches under
the foot when it’s not so dry as to form marvelously heavy dust,
nearly white, pale. At the Rhine valley side of the hill a chestnut tree
stands, about fifty years old. I found it when I took residence there
and spent much of my days holding and watching a fire
from abundant old wood.
Just recently I came to check about Immanuel Kant the prussian
philosopher of enlightenment. I found that not only has he been an
astronomer but also he whilesomely teached building techniques
of fortresses. However else, this man became the archspirit of prussian
doings in the large, as concerned with moral obligation and reason.
In the wake of the changes Napoleon had brought about, the Prussians
got hold of Rhenania. Prussian thrust in ostentatiously taking party
at the side of deadly insulted Austria brought about the First World War.
What this war was to be is well known, it was a first instance of
engaging mighty America in European and wider affairs. Later in the
war staff decided to build a strategic railroad parallel to the Rhine valley
through our lands, intended to carry support to the front and transport
lignite which is dug up in considerable dimensions nearby to the
cities in the Rhine valley and further. The railway dam was built straight
through our lands, it runs at even level with the fields near my youth
village and cuts through the hill, to form a hollow at the southern end of it
before running on as a rather high dam over the brook that surrounds the
hillside there. When the war was lost the railroad was not yet finished
and its completion was interdicted in the Versailles Treaty. In the 20ies
some bridges were yet built because the landscape had already been
altered but no railway ever existed there. The state uses the land
to plant poplars, and since, short beeches, oaks and lime; beyond
that one has made the place into a riding path and walkabout for people
with dogs and so on. In the 90ies I lived at this dam in a bridge right
beside my youth village, and there I was shown how the spirit of
Immanuel Kant and his like had really instrumented a thing here.
One may see the dam as a kind of fortification. I had very much,
pretty silent times by the fire under the bridge with long nights and
during these meditative times I came to observe that the bow of the
bridge was very finely weighed out with the movements of celestial
lights, especially the moon. At times when that circled low through
the heavens it very finely contoured the edge of the bridge bow,
and when I was very very silent I could even follow its movement
with the open eye, therefore also feel the effect of the centrifugal
force from the rotation of the earth, which in our zones lightens
every particle of matter, also whole bodies, by about 1 / 40 of its
weight, with direction to the celestial equator. This observation
enthusiasmed me, and, as I said: it is just recently that I found
about this fact that Kant with his astronomical background
occasionally teached the building of fortifications. That both came
together at this bridge. Other elements corroborated this picture:
the typical prussian animals were visible: dogs, horses, a very genial
rat that gave me company, also a woman lived nearby who came
from Berlin and had a dog and horses herself. For the french party
a cat appeared that had born six kittens in the wild and when they
were able to move somewhat coherently she brought them to me
and set off without returning; also there was a very spirited night
bird, perhaps a hawk that talked very intensely to me and did really
nice and interesting audio dramas with decided sounds of its very
sharp claws in the foliage at earth. The bridge seemed to be the
border arch in several animal affairs; animals liked to come there
and have things cleared like little turf quarrels they fought out
before me.
The bridge lies about one mile north of the hill, directly besides
the village and especially the mill, which is now an assortment
of silos. After three years of holding fire there I moved to the hill
because things at the bridge had become a bit too crowded.
Over the following time I erected several tents, one after the
other, and lived between the hollow and the chestnut tree. The sky
here also is very peculiar, wide to all horizons and full of clowd
pictures at times, visions all the day. A family of roe lived nearby
who don’t fret before man; they consequently showed me how they
live und sometimes visited me at my tent. We surely had some
fine kind of interaction. Besides that, from the times at the bridge
already, I cared for the cow wherever I found some. Times for
these became bad, however; one farmer after the other abandoned
the job and sold his herd to the slaughterer. This place near the
chestnut tree has its distinctive features. First of all: the animals
like the place and they like to be genial. Several laws seem to be
valid there, one of which is: one suffices, that means when a new
species appears at the place there is always a decent place for
just one exemplary of it, for certain, but for more, nothing is sure.
Another law seems to be the theme of uncomparable companions.
So once a very large and a rather small dog appeared there,
promenading alone, then the very genial goshawk and a small
hawk one time showed me a little artistic figure together in which
the goshawk serenely flew some curves between the poplar trees
and the hawk flew with him, accompaniying him, straightly flying
in perfect correspondence directly and precisely three hands over
the other’s tail. And they blinked to me while doing it! Another time
yet I wondered whether the owl chases the bat. Only three days
later I was standing at the edge of the hollow and the field on the
high of the hill, and silently the owl passed, the bat flying coolly
at his left side, wing tip at wing tip.
The chestnut tree is forked in height of the thigh into two strong
branches. That seems to be a verse on the landform there. The
hill, about a half mile in diameter, pure heap of löss down to the
foundations, is curvy so and so at all sides. The brook comes from
the south through a near village, literally runs into the hill at a point
where the distance to the Rhine valley is just a third of a mile -
there the brook bends sharply to the left and surrounds the hill foot
on the south and west side. The hill’s surface on the Rhine side
swings in two parallel grooves down into the valley. These two
grooves unite farther down and form thus a fork, which fact is
obviously reproduced in the fork shape of the tree. The land forms
a kind of cushion between the grooves, and out of this cushion the
tree draws this certain special smoothness and sweetness that is
to be tasted from its fruit. When I took residence there I soon detected
a serious flaw: the dam cut is drawn thus through the hill that it cuts
through both these grooves. The grooves are discreet waterlines.
In the original state water trickled from the high side of the hill
through them and perhaps came out visibly farther down, where
the fork of the grooves unites. However, now the dam cut is there,
the water that would normally seep down unseen, breaks down
into the open at the upper side of the cut, especially at the more
southward, greater groove whose cut-off upper part forms a pan
in which the water gathers. This business was a severe sacrilege.
The animals too, roe and hare, sometimes commented on this.
Which leaves us to remark that Immanuel Kant has best to be
understood out of his time when people started to gather in
permanence and therefore had to learn how to behave properly
in questions like when to take leave from duty in order to decently
have a leak. This also is depicted in this construction. It could
apparently not be avoided - but sanctioned, like in the Versailles
Treaty.
Upside on the hill top they now place tree plantations which are
very hotly accepted by the roe who like places to hide and rest.
Beyond, all the hillside is used agriculturally. On the crest between
the valley side of the brook and the southern slope of the greater
groove a small plantation of fir grows where the roe familiy used
to stay. There is sharp hunt but they gladly seem to know the
calendar - whenever shooting appears in the near, they will have
certainly been absent for at least a day.
Animals mark the east-downward slope into the Rhine valley.
First I found a dropping of the fox who lives not far from here
and seems to like the place. Then I found one piece from the roe.
I picked it up and kept it, to be used in a certain transaction:
At the lowest point of my home village, directly besides the brook,
a historic site is to be found. A pit hole is dug out there in the
dimensions of a moat that in former times, so so from the 6th
to 14th century, circled a small watercastle with four towers.
The people from this castle seem to have been known well enough
in the Empire. The castle has long since gone and a four-sided farm
house stands in the moat, surrounded by an old and sweet meadow
well known by all grazing animals in the land. There is perceptably
a special force with this place: once in an evening when a strong
southwest wind was blowing, I was out in the fields over the brook.
The atmosphere in the brook valley is very subtle, at ideal times
there tend to be tiny clouds in the way of some vents where the
slightly humid air from the brook blows up over the fields around.
In this windy evening now I saw a whole row of such tiny clowds
hover high like poplar tops over the southern edge of the moat.
And the best is: the really strong wind did not blow them away,
they did not move such a bit. I concentrated on watching this play
of nature, but really, they remained like riveted.
In former times the farm in the moat had been a normal place with
cow and hen and dog and swine, but one day the cowstead burned
off and so only the dog and hen and swine remained, then swine
and dog, at last only a tribe of hogs. That was not quite ideal.
Three years then I had good play with troups of beautiful and
spirited heifers, timewise the young from the herd over there that
got skipped because of plague fears. Beautiful people, I can tell.
Cow can be very charming. These heifer groups apparently
laid siege to the hog heaven of the farm quarter. I had much to do
with them and I could follow the goings on. The cow kids once
even engaged me as a go-between to the hogs. When I had found
that roe dropping, a fine, dense cylinder of matter, I thought it
could help in this. Also, I knew some more - I went to a Kiosque
somewhere and bought a pulp novel with the title “The lost soul”.
With this and the roe dropping I went to the Pigstead in the farm.
I showed to a sweet friendly pig that was near what this issue was -
it behaved a little strangely, ducking away like morally fearful under
its ears. But the essence of the gesture seemed clearly understood.
I stuffed the volume at the side of the muck the swine lived in and
added the piece of roe dung. That would have to make it.
Beyond that, the heifers played their little manoeuvres arond the
house and some meditated the unseen swine in the stable.
And right: things changed with the owners, the son would not
like to raise hog anymore so the stead was cleared out of them,
but since then also the meadow outside is in no use anymore,
the siege has ended, the cow can only stay away.
As for the roe, they like to do similar magic: one day I came along
the dam to the smaller groove, I mounted there on the valley side
and found a roe standing right ahead of me at the border of the field.
Roe can spurt off like that when found in the wrong moment but they
do not the least fear man that they know for good. So this sweet
animal just stayed where it was, twelve steps ahead; before it there
was a puddle in the margin of the field planted with sugar beet.
And now the animal did a bit of its magic: it dipped its nose very
slightly onto the puddle, then, before a long neck, it made little
throwing movements with its nose like dealing singular drops to
singular plants before it. I watched. It dipped its nose once more
and repeated the gesture. O.k., I saw, all was fine - I turned
around and went, not wanting to disturb such spirits.

The greatest community of chestnut trees, I read, is to be found at a
side of the Tianshan Mountains in westernmost China and beyond.
It is knowm that chestnuts disperse from their leaves a sort of
poison that inhibits most other plants to grow under the tree.
At my hill this can clearly be seen. The tree grows on a strip of land
about three steps broad between the edge of the dam ditch and
the outlaying field. This strip is densely grown with stinging nettle.
Three years I also spent clearing this place from rampaging hollies
and blackberry bush. Under the tree that towers half over the strip,
half over the field, one can easily see the poison work; also in the
field under the tree nothing grows. For some while I had an
agreement with a little animal I have never seen. Wenn all the nuts
were fallen from the tree, the animal would appear and eat all the
nuts on the strip, but it wouldn’t touch those in the field. Thus,
we about parted the treasure by half and both came off gladly.
I tried to transplant a

Oh yeah now I see I was all in an error - of cause my people, my
spirit and all are WALNUT. It goes on like this: I dug out a little
chestnut plant at a famous chestnut alley having been planted
by Napoleon or for Napoleon, at least in that time, I transplanted
it to the strip on the border of the acre but shucks, it just would
not grow. Year after year goes and it remains as tiny as a hand and
a half. The stinging nettle held themselves before this little plant
but once they should have grown over it it will be done for. Also,
the majestic alley near a fine castle nearby where I took it from
has been cut down, as I hear.

Teehee. What can I say now - perhaps this: Phillyfuture the name
of this here blogomatic could well be seen with reference to the
title of Philadelphia as groundstone of american historical existence.
I should suppose a switch with which to return at the beginning
of all this and see everything that has happened since as in the
future of that place in time. And everything that still is going to happen
is also placed in that frame of reference. Is that how Philadelphians
feel about the future, any future?

I find it very appealing that the state of Pennsylvania has “Virtues”
as a state parole. That, I think, is the word missing in all the great
declarations that founded the US. Fine that at least one state at all
should not forget it. My sympathies to you, therefore.

Besides all that, there ARE Chestnut trees at the hill but not on top
but at the brook where it has passed through a tunnel under the dam
where that comes out of the hollow. Anyway...

And fate - New England is an atlantic zone. One time I could see
how the great wind demon of the Atlantic keeps balance. A great
storm had been in the eastern US and after that they showed a
picture of a very huge, strong tree in Hope, Arkansas that hat been
kicked over by the wind. Normally, when something has happened over
there it takes about a week until the spoils, of Hurricanes for instance,
can be felt here with us. Also, our little Highland over the Rhine valley
can experience considerable winds - therefore the mill, and I myself
have seen how a wind that missed the mill broke over a poplar tree
some yards further. But here this Hope storm was an extra one.
When its response hit home with us I wasn’t there but returning
I found the wind had broken my delicious Lalique tree, a normally
rather elastic being that was my joy because I could sit inside its
span, the sphere of its ornamentally curled twigs around me, seeing
the eastern Sky thus decoratively fragmented. I have had my joy,
mad fury had to take it away...

My, the world will have to do without it, like it shall have to do
without me someday. Greetings to all philosophers, I think this
stuff will but have to do now. Ciao folks.