Cameron Martin Cochran


Out here on an 1820s family farm in the waves left by the glaciers the front porch creaks as does the straight-back rocking chair and knees of those who use it. The mason jars are full in the fruit cellar which is a cyclone shelter. This very one once saved their lives. The folks they knew would keep on gambling and drinking, changing them, were there squeezed in with the rest who scrimped for half a sack of grain for labor round the store and its environs. The kids were sounding tinny spiking their howls off of the low stone walls. Ears popped and bled. The cyclone seemed to pass right over them. The jars had to be prevented from forces spoiling what folks needed for the winter. Emerging all said thank you for the extra kindling. Piles of necessaries were collected and rebuilt. The varying designs meant they could be permeated. If some folks laid down, at least Brutalism had to too.

CMC was a farmer with a wife and kids at something like age 23. Recorded at the great State Bird Records.