{"id":337,"date":"2019-04-02T11:38:48","date_gmt":"2019-04-02T16:38:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/donnadufresne.com\/~donnadu1\/?p=337"},"modified":"2019-04-02T11:38:55","modified_gmt":"2019-04-02T16:38:55","slug":"crash","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/donnadufresne.com\/~donnadu1\/crash\/","title":{"rendered":"CRASH"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

            It\nwas too much to ask, this tantalizing trauma on familiar ground.  It was an unusual event, people spiraling to\ntheir death at 250 miles an hour.  I had\nto know what the earth looked like.  What\nhad changed?  Was it crushed?  Were trees twisted, and bent to the ground?\nOr, was there a great hole that opened up and swallowed the plane and then\nreturned to normal?  I imagined the\ntwisted skeleton of metal, enveloped by the forest vines already twisted through\nthe windshield like a lost pyramid in the jungle.  <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            It\nwas surprisingly easy to find.  Right\nwhere I thought it would be, from having seen a map in the paper.  I was surprised the dot on the map was where\nI imagined it to be in real life, although the description was wrong.  It was neither in a swamp or a gully.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            I\nfollowed the trail toward the Dennis property. \nThe woods were peculiarly silent and densely green.  Surely the cloud cover had distorted the\nlighting.  The ferns were still majestic,\nand this favorite habitat of mature forest and undergrowth was still an emerald\npool at the tired end of summer.  I swam easily\nthrough the density of green on the wide trail which is part logging road and\npart colonial highway, an early toll road.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            When\nI reached the big junction where one old trail goes to the right toward route\n44 and the other goes to the left toward the Dennis house, there was a peculiar\nsmell in the air.  It was only\nbrief.  Perhaps the wind brought the\nscent of a dead animal.  My nose is very\nsensitive.  I use my sense of smell to\nnavigate the world.  In my little country\nhouse, I mask the scent of tiny dead things with spice cookies and potpourri, herbs\nand incense.  I especially like the clean\nscent of myrrh.  But in the woods subtle\nsmells jump at me, like a rotting mushroom, or a dead mouse on the forest\nfloor.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            This\nsmell however briefly it passed my nostrils, left a tingling in my spine. I\nbecame aware of a pit opening in my stomach. The smell faded quickly, and with\nit the pit in my stomach.  I went on,\ntaking the trail to the left, and walking slower.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A\ncouple of hundred yards up the trail, I saw a white fiberglass rudder.  It was the tip of the tail of the plane.  A couple of hundred feet further, I could see\nwhere a truck or tractor had driven through the woods recently. The ferns were crushed,\nand saplings cut.  Only a few hundred\nfeet into the woods I could see the remains of the crash.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            I\nlooked at the trees.  Only one tree was\ndisturbed as the plane hit it and knocked it into a 45-degree angle.  It was scraped and bruised, the inner bark\nexposed and raw.  There were only one or\ntwo limbs knocked off surrounding trees. \nThe area was littered with debris. \nThere were torn wet maps and tiny twisted pieces of metal.  I found cracked glass covered instruments\nfrom the disintegrated panel.  There were\nshreds of floor carpeting and vinyl seat covers.  It seemed that anything larger than a book\nhad either been carried away or had crumpled into millions of pieces from the\nimpact of the crash.  I opened the torn\nvinyl log book.  It was a maintenance\njournal and schematic of the plane.  I\ntook a stick and poked in the main pile of debris that had been lightly covered\nwith soil.  Everything was soggy from the\nrain in the last few weeks.  Beneath the\nleaves were twisted metal pieces of aluminum, painted olive green and, so\nmisshapen, it was impossible to tell what parts they had been.  They were inter-mingled with shredded white\nfiberglass.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            I\nfound a curtain which must have separated the cock-pit from the passenger seats,\nor perhaps a window curtain to shield the pilot from the sun.  Digging further, I unearthed a pair of men\u2019s\nunderpants which were buried in the pile. \nI let out a nervous laugh, wondering if there were any body parts\nattached.  It was a nervous cover-up, that\nlaugh, not a taking lightly of the death I was mining from the soil.  I put together the event in vivid pictures in\nmy mind.  The plane twisting and turning\nand crashing.  The bodies torn and\ncrushed…the blood.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            It\nsmelled of death.  Not unlike the stench\nof slaughtering chickens, when blood gets in the soil, a cocktail of death in\nthe air, blood in the soil, and the mildew of rain- soaked debris.  I remembered the stench for a long time\nafterward.  It was patterned in my brain.  Little neurotransmitters continued to carve\nthe vivid message in my nostrils even while I picked at my dinner and told my\nhusband about the expedition.  I feared\nit would follow me in my dreams for days, perhaps years, that smell of blood,\ndeath and tragedy in the soil of the woods I knew so well.  <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            I\nbrought one little treasure with me.  It\nwas the bill of sale for the plane.  It\nwas a piper, sold to Frank Silva, the pilot who plunged into the earth in\nRagged Hill Woods.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            On\nthe way out, another wave of the odor hit me. Stronger, this was the scent of body\nparts strewn in the woods.  I noticed\nsome more plane parts.  It looked as\nthough it had exploded into millions of pieces which were showered throughout\nthe woods.  My mind was busy conjecturing\nhow it happened, and why.  I wondered\nwhat forces were involved in a decision for four souls to leave the planet all\nat once. How were they intertwined in Karmic law, and what special tasks in\ntheir spiritual lives were left unfinished? How many other lives would be\naffected by their untimely death?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            It\u2019s\nbeen more than thirty years since that crash. Yet the scene is still vivid in\nmy mind. I did not know the people who died, but I knew that place in the woods\nso well, I thought I felt the Earth quiver the night the plane plunged to the\nground. I can still smell the sweetness of the hay-scented ferns, and the aroma\nof death, an odd woodland cocktail which has never left my memory. This is what\nhappens when you understand the sense of a place. Every tree, the rocks in the\nstone wall, and the worn paths whisper the song of those who have passed\nthrough an invisible veil into history. Only the grass, the ferns, the trees\nand the I will remember the crash.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

            It was too much to ask, this tantalizing trauma on familiar ground.  It was an unusual event, people spiraling to their death at 250 miles an hour.  I had to know what the earth looked like.  What had changed?  Was it crushed?  Were trees twisted, and bent to the ground? Or, was there a … <\/p>\n

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