There are selves daringly left out for view to be walked over in series. Lessons in the primacy of biology in Canadian culture are learned young. With great effort, they are built up into narratives, sometimes frame by frame.
Yet there is also peppermint, all in a tangle.
And traffic, whew.
Roads are not just linear, that’s the thing. The image below shows a road, too, although all folded into a three-dimensional defensive and protective body:
DNA: Blow-up View
Or at least the end of a road. Please think about it before raising children at the end of the road. Any road. That’s an end. The kids need to get off the road. They need space.
Even if weed-whacked. They can, like, blend in a bit. Below is one of the Canadian families of which the Canadian government is so proud, with its stress that the continued ability of the Canadian Middle Class to purchase goods [??] created in American/Chinese partnerships will ensure the survival of Canada for generations to come.
Meanwhile, unnoticed by children learning the lessons of this path, the weeds have replaced the grassland metres away and are building a new world in none of the textbooks.
We are going to need children who can guide us through it. If we start today, we will have competent guides in twenty years, guides who can make of this salsify more than an image.
Or of this skeleton weed more than a noxious invader.
And of a people a country. It does not, however, start like this:
That is a series of architectural and design mistakes. You don’t build a people out of concrete, petroleum and scraps of cardboard torn frustratingly out of a cardboard packing box when people realize that the end of the road really is the end of the road and they have nowhere else to go, except inside, and to close the door behind them and wait for visitors. Yet, with a few weeds…
… the visitors will come. For there to be words to include them in the human social community, we rely on our children, and they rely on us for the skills to break the cycle of being an invasive species.