Close up of busted gauges on top of weathered antique silage cutter; glass broken, hands of gauges no longer corresponding to any units of measurement. The cutter was operated by my grandfather and is regarded as a kind of monument to his way of living with the land. It fascinated me on this occasion because its gauges so readily symbolize environmental anachronisms (daffodils in January, roses in November) which are sometimes hard to indicate to the absent.