Plambeck’s Cane Run


Although it’s one of the tall perennial true grasses native to tropical regions of south Asia, I often dreamed of Cane and of growing up as a small lad in Louisville Kentucky. While cane was grown extensively in Mississippi and Louisiana as I was coming up, I really didn’t see much of it. I lived north of there, safe from the travails of the lower Mississippi delta and the ravages of chiropractic politics in Louisville Kentucky.


In fall, I still awaken mid-night, the ground shaking beneath my feet as the harvesters rumble down the seemingly endless rows of towering plants.  I stumble, small and disjointedly through the smoke darkened fields as I flee the onslaught of the unrelenting harvester.  The acrid smell of burning leaves haunts me to this day, as it was the first time I ever envisioned the onslaught of pit vipers as they descended on me from the safety of their boroughs.


Cane Run appears every night in my dreams; the snakes, the vermin, the putrid smell, the sweet taste of another harvest and the success of escape;  until tomorrow’s eve, when Cane Run begins anew.