Fresh water on the island appears to be plentiful. Sure, there is ample rain and snow, but--to my understanding--there are also spring-fed lakes which drain into what becomes the Rutabaga River. (More on the Rutabaga River in the future, I'm sure.) One of the most popular spots featuring fresh water on the whole island of Soybean Island is Lake Bellobrutto.
Charming!
The concept of fresh water is, perhaps, arguable here as contaminants abound in the tilled fields all over the island. But what's a little fertilizer and pesticide and hormones and genetically modified organic materials in your drinking water? In your recreational use water? In your shower heads and toilets? Nothing, of course . . .
I'm sorry. Lake Bellobrutto:
Stunning!
Lake Bellobrutto, as mentioned, is a popular destination for the locals, especially the denizens of Soybean Island City (SIC). In the summer--especially, particularly, almost exclusively--they come to sit or fish or canoe or swim or sit. Personally, the attraction of the place escapes me.
Nonetheless, I did come out to walk the path around its shores. The lake is not a large lake and, to many standards, would not even qualify as a lake. But here, on Soybean Island, where a creek is a river, and a town is a city and willful ignorance is success, Lake Bellobrutto is a lake indeed! So I strolled its banks on a near-pleasant day.
Scenic!
I did see evidence of the river as I ambled:
What a pretty bridge--almost Japanese in its simplicity and delicacy!
The Rutabaga River maybe fills this lake, as I do not believe it is a spring-fed one. The river itself dies out in Soybean Island City, just east of downtown, where it is sucked below surface to provide the water of which the islanders survive on--drinking, bathing, dishwashing, lawn watering. You also see quite a bit of fresh water--soft water--used for irrigation for the soybeans, corn and rutabagas.
As in my walk in the Woods, I saw more evidence of the clearing of unwanted vegetation, of trees that might spoil the view of these visually-restorative waters:
What views!
For being an island, you don't see much evidence of seafood--fruits de mer, poissons de l'ocean--in the stores or, to the best of my limited knowledge, in the restaurants. I do not know why this is. Then again, I have never seen the local ocean or coast, let alone any ports or bays or fishing fleets. It is likely that any catch is immediately packaged up and sent out to other nations for great profit. It is likely that this great profit goes directly into the pockets of the elite of The Elite, or, even more likely, to The Apparatus. There is, however, one freshwater fish available:
Yummy!
But I did enjoy my walk and enjoyed viewing the small yet comforting surface water. Though, as always on Soybean Island, there were moments of disturbing discoveries:
The above, to my untrained eye, looks like some ancient torture device. One that, again to my untrained eye, looks like it is still quite capable of lopping off human appendages.
And here is the prerequisite tower belonging to the ever-watchful eye of you know who.
But the day should not be spoiled with prospects of death and surveillance. No. There's so much more to life on this ile de l'exil . . . Look!
Such artisans!
I did make one true discovery, on a pathless path just off from the lake. Here I took note of some strange markings . . . Graffiti is not unheard of on the island, though it is rather rare. It usually does not last long and, almost always--(really, always always, I should say)--it is not of any significance. But for some reason I thought that maybe--just maybe--this stuff had an ulterior meaning than just the local simulated-hoodlums expressing their sophomoric need to put their sign upon structure or nature or themselves (not unlike a dog needing to put its signature upon a post).
Are these signs of protest or dissent? If so, I would be amazed. Pleased. Gobsmacked!
Of course, no doubt it is nothing but my yearning imagination. Yet, could there be some form of opposition to the powers-that-be on Soybean Island? I have not heard of such a thing--well, I have heard the mythos of such a thing, always couched in terms of humor and foolishment and impossibility--but one can always hold out some type of hope . . . Though the overthrow of The Apparatus--a dream, I know--would bring about who knows what in replacement. Yet, would I join such a struggle? . . . I don't know, to be honest. Really all I want is to get off this devil's island. All I long for is escape, not necessarily justice.
I want to be a free man. An individual man.
I want to never walk the shores of Lake Bellobrutto again.
And therefore, however, moreover, furthermore, in conclusion and anyway--until next time, if there is a next time:
Goodbye from Soybean Island,
#1957
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