"Now we're gonna sing this one as loud as we can," Aaron said, "let's shout it out so they can hear us at Outpost."
A group was camped at Outpost. Across the backwaters, on an island behind an island, hidden from sight, its loamy dirt shaded by dense trees. Though none of us knew what it looked like then, because none of us had been to Outpost. It was rarely mentioned. Why bring it up? There was nothing there. Not anymore. When I asked the next day, they told me it was out on the island, except some years when the water covered it up; that there was a trail to get there, except some years when the water covered it up. What they didn't tell me was how long it had been there, who built it and why, what it was for, whether any structures or ruins remained, why people stopped going, why people wanted to go now. Actually they didn't need to tell me that last one. I knew. People wanted to go so they would know what it looked like. People wanted to go because no one went anymore. People wanted to go because it wasn't on the island we could see, it was on the island behind that island.
"Shout it out loud," Aaron said, "so they can hear us at Outpost."
• Gone Walkabout
• Music as Drama
• Crossroads II
• 10 Best of 2014
• January: Wyoming and the Open
• February: New Mexico and the Holes
• Coming Up
• Notes on The Accounts
• Crossroad Blues