While driving recently with friends through Marin county we stopped in the little town of Point Reyes Station to walk around and find lunch to take with us to the beach. I became entranced by a rough knotty board, painted dark gray and nailed to the side of a building on the main street. It was a bulletin board, or was once. All that was left on it were small weathered corners of posters past, a profusion of rusty staples, and a couple of odd little drawings of faces or pieces of faces, painted onto thick rough-edged paper. It appeared that the board had been repainted, brushing right over a few posters.
This got me thinking about staples again. Staples in the context of history. What treasures have these staples held? What have they seen? What little piece of history, in the shape of a poster, has covered this small shard of steel, and that one? In my hometown of Woodstock, New York, there are telephone poles along the main drag rich with staples. According to wikipedia, “wood [utility] poles decay and have a life of approximately 25-50 years, depending on climate and soil conditions.”
I like to think the staples that held the posters advertising Paul Butterfield or Orleans; Johnny Average and Nicole, or Maria Muldour; or the post-Robertson Band playing at the Joyous Lake are still there, little tokens held close by the wood, part of a shiny and now rusty past.
1 year ago