SECTION SIX
Ruminate
I was thinking about the grass, and the poets call to ruminate.
Then I wondered what Laura would say.
That's what cows do, she might speculate.
After they came over for the next bale of hay.
ON THE ROAD, less
travelled.
Greenhammer appears to refer to a small,
independently run Blogspot site that mixes commentary on American history,
politics, culture, and occasionally speculative or conspiratorial
interpretations. The blog isn’t a mainstream academic history source, but it
does touch on themes related to U.S. history and civic identity. The most
relevant pieces connected to American history fall into a few clusters.
🇺🇸 How Greenhammer
connects to American history
The blog’s American‑history‑related posts tend to blend historical
reflection with political commentary, often framed around themes of national
identity, constitutional legacy, and civic renewal.
- US 250 (America’s 250th
anniversary) — A post from January 2025 frames the upcoming 250th anniversary of
the United States as a moment for civic reflection and reform. It
emphasizes the Constitution’s evolution, the idea of expanding freedom
over time, and a call for political unity and activism.
- Historical reinterpretation and
cultural narratives — Some posts critique what the author sees as omissions or
distortions in mainstream historical narratives, including discussions of
African history, migration, and speculative claims about ancient contact
with extraterrestrial beings. These are presented as challenges to
conventional historiography rather than academic analysis.
- Infrastructure, environment, and
American development — Another post reflects on interstate construction, wildlife
corridors, and the environmental consequences of U.S.
infrastructure—framed partly as a commentary on American progress and its
costs.
A good
listener and an anarchist for 50 years. Now I tell my story.
1 Framing your own narrative.
2 THE
GARDEN GREEN
3 From 1973 My musical career
4 MYSTORY OF METAL
5 II
26
6 WILDLIFE
VALUE OF OUR PLANTS
7
JOHNNY HUCKSTER
8 TUCSON
TO THOMPSONVILLE
9 ENVIRONMENTAL
LEGISLATION DESTROYED MY FIRST CAREER
10 TABOOS EXPOSED
11 BIOREGIONS
12
13
1 framing your own narrative
WRITING PROMPT
Framing my own narrative
This started as a 300
word writing prompt to practice writing, but it triggered memories from a
previous century.
I
am from flooded rivers at my fence and fallout from nuclear bomb tests. I am
from black and white TV and from a bigotry banned home.
I
am from the Great Elm and the Nathaniel Foote statue at the foot of the Town
Green. Fourth of July horses running up the steps and Thanksgiving smells at
Grandmas house.
I
am From Kitt Peak and Cat Mountain. Hiding from hailstones behind
a Saguaro and looking uphill at a herd
of Peccary's.
Peaches
in the desert and Peaches at Cape Cod. Peaches in Central Florida where they
never grew before. Dead squirrels and live snakes falling out of trees.
Confidentiality
agreements and bankrupt developers. Eucalyptus became Simpson Stopper.
I
am from hobos at the train station and hopping the train to get to Mickeys
Restaurant.
I
am from outhouses that became Condominiums. Skating under the
interstate highway during the coldest winters. Ice bombs on trains and
rocks in my eye and head. Running from the police and losing a bicycle in
the Connecticut River.
Tommy's
friend drowned at Mill Woods and ten years later we toasted him in the park
nearby. I am from vodka blackouts
and dragging gasoline station signs in the road and driving the wrong way
on highway 84 and picking up a confused hitchhiker. We turned around and drove
him to his exit.
I
am from ill-fitting poor people skates and rutted driveways. Film tricks with
8MM movies and monster movies shown in school. I am from (censored) and
drinking stolen priest wine.
Sunsets
in three corners and interrupted acid mowing. Illusions of prosperity and the
Independent Majority Party. Pagan Space, Yahoo Answers, Witchvox, Treebord and
Greenhammer.
Dogs
gone mad with diabetes and jumping through windows. Razor blade fights with
cats. I am from appreciating boy scouts only as an adult.
Driving
a bicycle drunk through downtown to get home, and cycling 60 miles to the
Connecticut Shore. Rain or shine 10 miles to the food co-op and ten miles back
with the goods. I am from Black Mountain, Beaver Brook and Cotton Hollow.
Bums at dawn and executives on break. Shiny city slicker elevators and
flatbeds.
I
am from the Marian Cult and French slang. Smoking in church and looking out the
cellar window as Bridey walked by and the snow piled in drifts. Manly florists
and feminine truck drivers.
Pulling
the magic down from the air and thrill bumps at the end of Close To the Edge.
Druids and Witches and unbridled cultural appropriation.
Chills in the graveyard
and a mason by trade, born 1666. Finding a bloody ancient dagger with my cousin
and leaving it there. Falling in unfinished houses and wheelies on an unbuilt
interstate. Gripping girders, hitting one over the fence.
I
am from running right through people and looking past others. Jumping off the
roof and climbing 60 feet up the Greer's Pine. Richie slapping frogs on
concrete and I was praying when the bad boys tried to drown a cat.
Planting
trees for uncertain futures and promoting shrubs and bird
gardens. Butterflies as food and Indigo Snakes in my arms. Dead snakes and
diapers at the mall.
I
am from Roger Maris and Fran Tarkenton. Concussions and crawling home. Rainbow
spokes and Jupiter with my dad. Jupiter much later from Holst. I am from Hail
to the Hammer and Tarkus. The Blue Beats and Cry for a Shadow. Elegy and
energy. Snow boarding with art class easels and fireworks with cigars.
My own brown scapula and blessed throats. A John Paul
confirmation and Uncle Joe jettisoning bigotry after church. Forceful
conversion was slapped upside the head and refusing to work during the blizzard
of ’78 was a blessed day. They needed a fourth for cards since it was certain
there was not going to be any school any time soon as the blizzard of 78
rampaged. I would have been stuck with three idiots for three days.
Jumped off the elementary school roof to run from Mrs. Walters. After
kicking about 20 balls off the roof. Played
in abandoned buildings. Walked across Middletown Avenue on the Rt 91 girders
and almost fell off laughing at how shocked people were. Threw chunky iceballs
on the train and got chased by the police.
Tried to cook blackberries on the railroad tracks and burnt all the dry grass
around the distribution center and ended up with the fire chief talking to my
parents. Crawled halfway across the Connecticut River catwalk and spit on the
Dolly Madison. When Bruce moved, I became the wheelie king.
Stole bowling shoes on the Bicentennial and got arrested for
4th degree larceny. Yesterday was dads
birthday, he would have been 92 and pretty feeble. Hope him and Mom are okay.
Heaven to him would be to join a good combo. Or maybe a gang of ukulele
players.
At 13, Pete introduced
me to Time Magazine which expanded my view out into the world. The rules of the
church were hysterically irrelevant. The real world was merely silly. How
were women second class citizens; they were the smart ones?
Weights, baseballs,
insecurities, forced and boring education; midget football, rainy Saturdays and
afternoon movies. Laughing at the boy scouts and their silly para-military
uniforms while we were throwing chestnuts at each other’s heads. Jumping on the
hay wagon for a gag and found ourselves going 30 MPH down Middletown Avenue …
too scared to jump off.
Riding our bicycles
behind the annual Paul Reveres ride or whatever it was on the fourth of July.
First time this boy saw a large animal other than a cow take a shit. Lifted its
tail and it’s a visual I can’t unsee 8- years later. We had no pets, and I
never saw nothing like that at the Bronx Zoo. The horse kept on down to Broad
St and the amazing thing was when the post rider and the horse climbed up the
steps of a house, went in, and had a beer. Wow! That was a pretty cool tradition.
Then over to the Historical Museum and corny as it may have seemed, the Fife
and Drum were kicking.
I don’t think I saw a
gun till I was out of school. We broke our necks every day in one way or
another, but Wethersfield was a damn safe city. I saw the conversion of
the farming community into a suburb. There was Ollie, smelling like shit all
the time, except when I went collecting on Friday night after he’d had his
weekly shower. He had about six cows and near the end, his barn began leaning
pretty bad.
When Bruce the wheelie
king became an adult, he lived in Freddys barn and we’d party our ass off.
Freddys parents were blind and nearly deaf and never knew we were going there
at 1:00 in the morning to bring Bruce a buzz and get loud.
The next year I lived
myself on the weekends in a barn. I agreed to clean out the barn so I could
live there on weekends. Steve the boy was too busy with his slut girlfriend to
hang out, though there was some authentic Polish breakfasts I got to partake in
with his mother. He would be hungover with four hours of sleep under his belt
and I’d be all perky from sleeping on hay and hiking down the railroad tracks
the day before. It was like a house from 1825 or something, one of the newer
historical houses. The barn I’m guessing was 75 years old at least.
Five years previous I
was recalling Ollie and his barn. Another indelible image is when Ollie paid me
one freezing Saturday afternoon and a globous frozen snot looking like a
stalactite, hung off his nose. He must have been 80 and someone finally got him
to quit. Maybe he worked off the books and had no social security. With his
barn leaning dangerously, he disappeared from the scene.
To the north on
Middletown Avenue, the Clarks had cows. They retired them a few years before
Ollie did and we played baseball in their field there. Me and the Middletown
Avenue gang played at the Green and mostly Adams field. The games in the Clarks
cow pasture included the girls. One of the best interactions of a group of
people. Never a fight, no boy girl tension because from us quiet guys, the
girls got total respect. Not much toxic masculinity in our direct neighborhood.
Maybe I was a nerd.
Super Geek George was one of the few other people who were making movies and
showing them at school. He was on the AV squad and was far more technical than
us but when he went to make a big movie project about the Battle of Tours, this
mini-neighborhood congealed. We used REAL horses and wouldn’t I love to see
that flick again. George Odell. Text me bro.
The Clarks had one cow
left because there would occasionally be a cow pie that had to be avoided
“second base..ewww,” and there were some old hard ones from previous months
still in the field we used as bases. There you go Xer’s. Ya got nothin’ on some
of us boomers if you read the previous 1635 words. No shit, cow pies for bases.
The area in the pictures above of the six-mile wide
Connecticut River was also a cow pasture and was owned by Red Schumann. He gave
up his cows before Ollie and The Clarks and cashed in on the building boom. Then
he built an incredible Colonial Replica that looked like it was built in 1785.
The picture shows how the field behind my house began as a grassland in 1955,
and by 1965, the field was a mass of large shrubs and small trees when I became
old enough to play in the woods. There was a Pear Tree I remember most of all.
Tough hard Pears that never seemed to ripen till one day in August. Then the
next day they fell on the ground to rot. They were Wild Pears and part of the
ancient lost American ethnobotany. Now Pears from subsidized mega farms are
all looking and tasting the same. The basis of my, “what have we lost” theme.
I hadn’t thought about the
field behind the house in a big way for a long time. Suddenly tonight I was 12
again and standing around looking at the various plants. Almost tears in my
eyes. What else was there: blackberries, Dogwoods and oh yeah 12 Yellow Jacket
stings. Learned to watch where I walked.
My working life. Ten
years old and we lived on our bicycles. It was 1964 and the Greatest Generation
thought nothing of throwing their garbage out the window. You literally saw
napkins and other shit thrown out of car windows as people drove by. In this accumulation,
however, there were 2 and 5 cent returnables. So off we’d go with our 42
cents to buy some soda and candy at Dougherty Drugs.
But I wanted more. I
wanted to accumulate assets. So when I was 11, I got a Hartford Times paper
route. The afternoon paper which I delivered for a year. Then after missing out
on playing football and baseball with the boys after school, I decided to get a
morning paper route and called the Hartford Courant (est. 1764 “older than the
nation, newer than the news”.)
#406 on the Wethersfield
Green was available and Gorski trained me for 3 days and I was on my way. Had a
small business at 12. When I was 16, I added #420 which was the route on my
street, Middletown Avenue.
With both, I had about
70 daily customers and over a hundred Sunday papers in total. I ended up with
Dads Caprice Station wagon in 1970 and this enabled me to go to Dunkin Donuts
after work after delivering 800 pounds of newspapers.
I graduated high school
and we moved shortly afterwards to Bloomfield. I respect my mom and dad, in
retrospect, for trusting my judgement the summer after graduation when I wanted
to get a motorcycle. I tried Community College and appreciated how much more
interesting it was. I often drove my Suzuki 250 for two hours before class to
explore the back roads and the October foliage before class. Every day.
Then I realized that a
career in bookkeeping and accounting wasn’t what I wanted to do with my adult
life. Rich Carling, our buddy, was killed riding his motorcycle and when it
came time to renew the insurance and do some repairs, I quit the motorcycle and
converted to a ten speed after putting 16,000 miles on My Suzuki named Wally.
I would routinely ride
from North Bloomfield to the Wethersfield Green on the ten speed. Taking the
shortest route possible, it was 15 miles in about and hour and a quarter
whereas it was 30 minutes and 25 miles by car.
There was 15 year old
sophomore Joe Valvo. who had a full beard and looked 25 so he bought us beer
during Senior year which was my first year with intoxicants. Then when we
graduated there was the perfect storm. The voting age was lowered to 18 in 1972
when I turned 18. Connecticut thought that the drinking age should be lowered
to 18 and that was passed. The Blue State realizing that if you go to war and
you vote and are out of school, why the hell not have a toddy now and then.
,
Alice Coopers “I’m 18”
was out in 1972 and really, we had had enough of school by the end of senior
year and we sang Schools Out as we fled the scene of the unspeakable
brainwashing and stultifying education.
Me and other
Wethersfielders would plow through the corn fields in the meadow (fuck their
monocultural F1 hybrids.) Wally The Suzuki had highway speed but a thick metal
shield under the motor for dirt bike purposes, and it had raised pipes for
sharp turns and mud bogging. I loved it and loved those times of unexpected
blessings. As October began, I did two hour loops in northern Connecticut first
and as the fall colors came on followed that with more southerly loops.
But then Ritch Carling
died on his motorcycle and I converted to the ten speed. Thank goodness I
gave up the motorcycle because as a reckless 18-year-old I would take my
classes at Manchester Community then get on the interstate to get back to
Bloomfield. I learned in November, that if I followed in the wake of tractor
trailers, it was much warmer. Not too smart.
Being a statistics freak
I noted that the lowest temperature I drove in was 14 degrees. Then.
1973 “How are you going
to get to school when it starts up again next semester in January?”
“I quit.”
My Uncle Gid had gotten
my dad a job when we moved to Bloomfield and dad got me a part time job at
Vincent School. Cold, snowy, it didn’t matter, I got there on the bicycle. There
was often icy snow. Then I applied for a full-time job that came up at the new
Bloomfield Middle School. I cleaned up the fifth-grade wing and was not
disillusioned I was a janitor while my friends went to Boston so they could get
the piece of paper that said they were smarter and more qualified as workers,
and therefore entitled to more money. I couldn’t be bothered. I didn’t
need anybody to tell me how to think.
Broke today
because I thought the system would have crashed by now and that's why I never
bought into it. Societal collapse was my retirement plan. I don’t regret it and
came to the conclusion that this myriad mix of experiences would never have
happened without being free of the capitalist system. I had to do it
The summer of ’73 and
school was out. The big cleanup for the janitors, but at least we could work
the daytime shift for a couple of months. Strip and re-wax the floors. I was
“the mouse” because I was the only one thin and agile enough to clean out under
the giant gym bleachers. Also, I was the one who climbed the 24 foot ladder to
clean all the asbestos dust off the top of the fluorescent lights in the large
Shop Class room.
I worked with skinny
white Larry who had his own part of the Middle School Complex. I was in the 500
wing and Bob Jones was in the 600 Wing. He would scratch his back on the door
frame like a Bear and I got to hear every joke from the previous 30 years.
Black Larry was in 700 and he had a handicapped daughter. He got mad at me one
day when I made a dumb comment about cripples. Mario was the boss and a total
guinea. He talked about his weiner like it was a cartoon character or something.
After work I went to
visit the other young man I worked with during the summer of ‘73. Forget his
name but he was a cool guy from New Jersey and it was a second-floor room. He
didn’t seem worried about the cannabis smell, “‘ol Mr Lynch don’t care as long
as you pay the rent.” In August, he told me that he had to get back to Jersey
and I got the notion that 75 bucks for rent was easily handled since I made 400
a month. The minimum wage was $2.35 at that time.
Conveniently, I got
switched to the second shift Junior High job which was right down the street from
Mr. Lynch’s house. Though I had gotten my new black Econoline Van that I named
Molly, I rode the bicycle since it was so close. When the cream puff day shift
job came up at a nearby elementary school like my dad had, I lost it to
Adinolfi. I technically had more time, I
was assured, and I still have the letter in my “scrapbook” which indicated he
had a family and needed the cushy job more than I did. For some reason.
Honestly, as I thought about it, I can’t remember the
sequence of which schools I was a janitor from 1973-1978. High School 75-76. I
met Lori with an I and used to get high with yellow eyed Dewitt. “You got?” I
think it was the Middle School that was last. This is why I’m writing shit
down. In case I’m stuck getting old and feeble, at least I’ll have something to
read.
At the Middle School I would put a card or something in the
door so I could get back in and would sneak over to Cliff’s house down the
street to get high. Neighbors across the way Norm and JoAnne were hip New
Yorkers and I met their friend Sherry in 1977, and after a 6 month stint back
with my parents I moved to East Granby with her and Cheryl and Eddie and Carl’s
sister.
We had an epic band with Paula the flute player and Bernie
on drums and Cliff on folk guitar, me on bass and an amazing vocalist who
sounded just like Lee Morse. We played a gig at Trinity College, but that band
broke up after the gig we practiced three months for and so Carl joined Bernie
and I and we became a bit more metal doing songs like Electric Funeral by Black
Sabbath. Bernie saved a recording of it.
So losing the plum job to Adinolfi nudged me into thinking
more seriously about the vacation in Tucson. Maybe there was opportunity there.
The union fracas with the town of Bloomfield was interesting but when new guys
got hired, they started at 132 dollars a week, and there I was still making
only 125 a week after like two years.
Just so much bullshit, I had enough. Connecticut’s economy
was clotted with hierarchy, nepotism and entrenched favoritism and I had had
enough of how crowded the state was.
Hold the phone. I just checked on what the minimum wage was
during those years. It was $2.65 in 78 and $2.90 in ’79. So off we went to
Tucson, the Three Musketeers. My first job was third shift at the Triple T
Truck stop on Interstate 10. Like a diner, I don’t have many memories of that
other than the Scorpion I found behind the paper box and mopping the floors and
observing some skeevy nightlife.
Look at me I’m at an old style diner on RT 10 in the middle
of the night! This is why you have to let it go sometimes and try something
new. Moving to the west side of Tucson brought something new every
day.
The truck stop reminded me of the diners on the Berlin
Turnpike back home, but more oriented to long distance truck travel.
Then I got hired on with Larry Sadowski doing third shift
janitorial work at Kings Tables and Village Pizza. He was a mean bastard to his
kids and wife but respected my effort, while keeping me productive and on my
toes. One day we had a bit of a philosophical talk and he said I was not on a
career path and asked what I really wanted to do. Tom and I did a lot of
gardening on our patch at Flying A on the west side of town and suddenly I
found myself recalling my dads influence with gardening via osmosis.
I’d like to do gardening I told him in 1980 and a month or
two later he got me the garden maintenance work at the Kings Table we were
working at. I learned about how Barrel Cactus’ grew towards the Sun and I had
to replant a bunch of them so they could be better seen out of the window of
the restaurant.
Larry lost the Village Pizza account and laid me off but
with that gardening experience on my resume, I parleyed a job with a landscape
company. Not sure if I qualified for unemployment at that point but the state
unemployment service had a most excellent way of listing jobs and soon I got on
with Casa Verde Landscaping. That was a great crew with Rick and some others
and John Bloom the blonde surfer dude boss from California. He found his
little niche of profit in Tucson. We all got high and also did the very best
accounts in town as it turned out.
Meanwhile Sherry got laid off and while looking for a job
we came across the caretaker positions at the Kingston Ranch. We applied, what
did we have to lose? Beating 125 other applicants we moved to a 40 acre ranch
and lived in a converted tack room which was quite luxurious. At Casa Verde my
gardening skills had served me well and I was promoted to my own gig at Park
Mall as the indoor and outdoor gardener. No more singing “Tube Steak Boogie”
with the boys as we went to the next job, but some work I could really sink my
teeth into. 520 sprinklers heads in an area so vast I had to use a bicycle to
get to the stations I turned on.
My only photo of Park Mall. Bodacious view.
So in 81-83 I had the Park Mall gig and the outdoor work at
the Kingston Ranch working about 50 hours a week in the desert sun and life
couldn’t be sweeter. The only thing between
us and the 8000 ft plus Catalina Mountains was Paul McCartneys house at the end
of Speedway. A 40 foot by 8 foot pool kept us cool in the summer. Then the Mall
job was underbid, and I was looking for work and got hired on by Jeff as an
electricians helper. When I say I talked to a lot of people in my life, I mean
to say we mingled with other contractors and ate lunch together as just one
example. At the mall I had talked to every employee at one point between the
indoor and outdoor work. The people who opened the stores.. Before anyone got
there at 6 am, I would hop the 5 foot Mall Wall and went into dumpsters of
nearby businesses for aluminum cans to sell.
Electrical work was interesting; running wire in a bunch of
different kind of buildings and I really got to understand how houses and
housing complexes are built. We even rewired a college dorm which I remember
well.
Alas, girlfriend and I became bored with Arizona, despite
having seen and experienced a whole new world in those six years, but still
yearned to be New Englanders again. I was once again the scout looking for a
place to live while living at Norm and Joannes. They had gone off for a month
somewhere and it was just me and Freddy the dog for three weeks, then the cats
came in on an airplane.
Looking for a New Englandy place to live I went to the
Boston area first. I got pulled over by a cop trying to find my way around a
tight little neighborhood in Boston in my search for a home to rent, and the
only way out was going the wrong way on a one-way street… and there’s a cop. I
talked my way out of it and went on for a quieter town between there and Salem.
Then I realized that maybe Vermont, New Hampshire and
Massachusetts were far from the people we knew, and Enfield Connecticut was
quite New Englandy in its own way with its old houses and farm stands. Six of
them between Hazardville and Somers the next town.At the end of April I had
been at Norms for two weeks. They spent a month or something in Cape Cod and I
was house sitting which, all in all, was a pretty cool transition to New
England. Taking care of Freddy, the dog and shepherding the arrival of Dickens
and Rocky, our cats.
I applied at Tarnow Nursery which was down the road about a
half a mile and got a job. Minimum wage had risen to $3.35 an hour and despite
a pretty good horticultural resume by this point, I started at $3.50. Owner
John was a well-known skinflint as I found out from his nieces Nancy and Susan
who had set up the nursery the previous fall and ran the place. He barely paid
them 4 an hour to run the place, and they were kin.
There’s that pattern emerging that most guys wanted to be
millionaires. The nursery owner probably became a millionaire eventually, on
the backs of 100, mostly dedicated young people of course. As did Tom Collins
in later years with lots of turnover and probably 1000 employees at Captain
Hirams. As did the owners of Rock City leaving 500 disgruntled employees in
their wake at least.
Joe from Springfield came along at Tarnow Nursery and he
was a young, but old looking, college grad and he became the boss and Susan and
Nancy went back to the main store to work, except weekends when Joe was off,
and they were the bosses. We spent a lot of time talking on the weekends and
there was quite a bunch of interesting kids that came through that summer. That
was a good crew.
At 32, I was the oldest at the jobsite and should have been
well on my way to a capitalist career and accumulating assets and investing for
retirement, but I wasn’t buying into this system. I had learned quite a bit
about plants the previous four years with the mall and caretaker job, and I
quickly learned about Connecticut’s favorite plants.
I thought I had quite a good sales approach and we were
taught to handle two customers and go between them while, you know, keeping the
elbows and ankles flying when Joe was there. I started by being a loader and
met many of the Enfield people who frequented the store who lauded the variety
of the plants. This was no vegetable stand with plants, it was a slick
professionalism that mostly people like, and Tarnows quickly became Enfields
favorite nursery.
The end of the summer came, and it was pumpkins and fall
decorations and selling the fall planting concept. The kids went back to
college and I became the main sales person (except when the college edumacated
Joe and that lazy guinea schlub from the Main store worked there). He
was lazy as fuck and immediately had an effect on productivity. By November
Michelle ran the Christmas shop and I was the everything else person. She was
sharp and knew how to please the little old ladies who came in buying the Christmas
fluff.
So my first winter since 1977-8 was set to arrive. We came
back to experience the seasons, right? Me and the old lady had moved to the
Thompsonville section of Enfield and it was like a slice of Boston, a dose of
“Southy” that had dropped down in the Connecticut River Valley. There was
Ragnos where they served the Italian food I had missed out in Arizona. A little
further away was the best Polish Deli I had ever hoid. Our daughter was born
and then baptized at the very old church (1887) down the street. A little
further a bit down the road, a Norman Rockwell Christmas emerged at Freshwater
Pond when the ice froze. There was talk of the giant mill being converted into
condos and there was Tiny’s Little criminal enterprise next door in a pool
hall, and a host of outrageous characters living in 8 rentals in two large
houses. Add loose soap opera here.
It was exciting and I realized at this point that I had
truly created my own path. My peers were buying houses and working in cubicles
but I decided to carve my own path. I was creating my own horticultural college
experience in a pull up your bootstraps way.
I bought some really choice little evergreens and had
planted them on the side of the house. Rocky and Dickens would run up the steps
to come in because the back steps were missing. I was planting in this grey
dust they called soil and people were digging it. “Looks good” local murderer
Wilmer Paradise told me.
My partner was working downtown and I went to the local
employment agency to find another job when I got laid off after Christmas. When
you make peanuts, the unemployment was very minimal and a couple weeks before
Valentines day I got a job with a wholesale Greenhouse.
Former Ball Seed Vice President Peter Stanley was one of
the most manic people I’d ever met. He had reconstructed two 440-foot
greenhouses and was striking out on his own with his patented concept called
Jet Plugs. Instead of the usual 75 cent plugs these were much smaller and only cost
about 35 cents if I recall, so that was 40 cents per plant profit. I learned
the long road from producer to purchaser. One day running between greenhouses I
caught the top of my head on a round eyehook. Shouldn’t have torn my head open
since it wasn’t sharp in any way but that was a trip to the emergency clinic
and 13 stitches. My nickname was Zipperhead for a while.
So there I was off to a new job in early February with the
temperature around 10 degrees. A dry wicked wind was blowing so it felt like it
was well below zero and I was reminded of one of the reasons I moved to
Arizona. It was COLD! Everything was frozen that first of February and the
loading dock area looked to be abandoned with 4’x4’ flattened boxes blowing
around and other litter was being blown around. I was looking for a job here?
It looked like a disaster area.
Peter was short on employees and this was his problem. So
he hired me on at $4.25 an hour which was 25% more than I was making at Tarnow
Nursery. An employee was walkie talkied to come and give me an orientation. She
was one of those fantasy Nordic women who cursed very fluently. We got on
pretty good, I was always monogamous, so there was never sexual tension with
the female co-workers.
,
In the world of capitalism, men are sheltered from the
minorities and they were the bosses of the women and this is why so much sexism
remains. At the Mall job in Tucson I had lunch on the regular with the three
prettiest women in the whole place. You treat a woman like a dude and they
respond in kind. Where dishing the T meets shooting the breeze. At the mall I
also talked with dozens of the employees from every demographic. I reject the
notion that I “don’t know how to communicate.” At Tarnow Nursery I met
practically everyone in town who came to check out the place. I had the gift of
gab when I was younger. At this point though, I’ve heard enough.
I don’t remember the flaxen haired Valkyries name but she
walked me to the first Greenhouse and it was a moment like no other. People
with glasses know how they fog up in changing conditions. Ten below zero with a
wicked wind chill and it was like Dorothy opening the door to the colors of Oz.
Tropical plants as far as the eye could see and a
temperature to match. Plants poised for the Valentines Day sales. Here was a
new experience to jump into, fer sure. Many tales I will relate later and just
one to keep the flow. Bosses such as Jim the asshole came along and Dwight from
out of state, was a hired gun and a spectacular dude. No college for him either
and he was older than me and was also into a wide variety of job experiences.
He and his friend from Pittsburgh completely refurbished the greenhouses.
When all was said and done, our little family moved to the
field office of Consolidated Cigar that Dwight and Marian had lived in. There
was always a boss over me and they all got fired or quit but I was a constant
for Stanley Greenhouses. Now I lived across the street in the cutest little
white house you ever saw.
Summer of 86 with my first biological child who was a fun
little baby and it was an exciting time. I believe the wife quit her job to be
a mommy since I was putting in 60 hours a week and making enough. A typical day
would have me at 7:00 walking over to begin venting around 15,000 sq. ft. of
greenhouse.
By then the Weather Channel had become the bomb, and I
would vent accordingly, depending on that days conditions. Rolling carts waited
on the very large loading dock and sometimes I took a smaller truck and loaded
from the greenhouse. Then I would drive and deliver for ten hours going to
Mattapan or Poughkeepsie or over Mt Adams. I’d come back and close the vents to
keep the greenhouses at 75 degrees, then walk home after a 13 hour day. But it
was interesting, you know. I set up plant displays at BJ’s Wholesale and
delivered to every Paperama from Mattapan to the Hudson in New York.
The bosses at Walmart all making sure no one talks to each
other. The Amazon warehouse manager not caring about workers injuries. The head
nurse that all the CNA’s hate. My philosophy is that I don’t like being bossed and I don’t like BEING the boss.
So here I was with caretaking experience, had a difficult
mall gardening job that included irrigation work, and then some electrical
work. A nursery job and greenhouse experience. I was training myself in
Horticulture and Botany. I got your bootstraps right here. So, by 1987 Peter Staanle6
ratcheted down his business because his mercurial bossmanship just wasn’t
making the money he expected, although of course he blamed the employees.
He even had me set up a retail shop the spring after Dwight
left and people recognized me from Tarnows and that was fun. Then there were
the BJ Wholesale sites where I set up the indoor displays and returned weekly
to replace plants in ‘86. I even drove to Syracuse a couple of times.
I reckon it was the summer of 87 and I decided I needed
indoor plant experience on my resume. The good thing about interior plantwork
was that it was a way to work through a New England winter. I spent nine months
at Plantations who gave some very professional training. I forgot how I left
that job.
Then there was the Plantscape job where I was the only
dude. When they went big on a pink and black theme with uniforms and stickers
and what all else. I found it amusing and they found a way to frame and fire me
since I was reluctant to play along.
In spring of ’88 I got a job with probably one of the best
crews ever. There was the boss, another Lori with an I, who was a dairy farmers
daughter. She had grown up with machines and tractors and got the notion to
start a landscaping business. Dwarf Evergreens were trending and the plant
selection was minty and the boss was calm and organized.
There was Bob the biker. A big bear of a guy with a big
beard that the boss described as more a Teddy Bear than a Grizzly. There was
Randy the Redneck and there were many interesting discussions altogether
between all of us. A big gun enthusiast and one of the first Preppers I ever
met. He had enough food for a year at least and even an underground gasoline
tank. Randy and his Super Swampers were such a caricature.
Armageddon happens and people are hungry, roaming the land
for food and shelter. We asked him what he would do if dozens of hungry people
and their children were walking up his driveway looking for assistance. His
answer was that he would “mow them down like zombies.” Then there was Mike Two
Hawks, who said he was derided as “only” a quarter blood Mohawk by his peers,
but seemed to be fully authentic.
I’d been studying
Indigenous culture for 15 years and he was very knowledgeable. I had a book
Ethnobotany of the Hopi I read cover to cover and knew a great deal about the
sacredness of corn. He taught me ceremony and quite a bit else, though he was
younger.
There were always side jobs such as Tony and “big boobs”
Barbara who often wore a sweatshirt that asked, where did you get those
tomatoes with two big tomatoes on the front. There was Dat Shenoy and his
family. He was a tech dude who quit the biz and wanted to be a landlord so he
would be buying houses and I would renovate the landscaping and help him clean
and paint the indoors. I’ve liked Painting ever since.
I don’t know what years those were with Dat and his lovely
family and where they fit in with all those other Connecticut jobs I had, but
it was certain that no one could cite my lack of hustle. A 50-hour week
was quite normal for me in the 80’s. I had packed in quite a bit of training in
horticulture and with Lori I had the classic experience of driving a 1949 Ford
tractor down the state road creating a traffic jam.
With my greenhouse experience I stayed on with the landscaper
when it got too cold to plant Junipers in the frozen ground. There was Joe
Gidvelas with his mafioso persona. He cursed all the time and was very gruff,
except when he was planting tissue culture jet plugs that he treated like
newborn babies.
In ’89 we got an offer to come to Florida to be managed by
my in-laws who felt a need to manipulate our life when we got there. My dad
drove my rusted pickup and I drove a Hertz rental truck like the ones Stanleys
had, and my dad drove my Datsun King Cab. Without cell phones and global
positioning satellites, we always had a place where we would meet if we got
separated. This was important going on the six lane I-295 around Washington DC.
We had angels guiding us or something.
I felt pretty confident and adaptable in a new state and
got a job within two weeks while wifey got depressed after not finding weed or
a job after two and a half months. Then she met my soon to be ex second wife
and they ran a group home for retarded people and we were finally acclimated.
I got a job at Atlantic View, a seven story condo with
ocean views. Well one day the boss was caught smoking crack on the fifth floor.
He got fired and my New Age bonded buddy Dave was suddenly boss. Turnover such
as it is in Arizona and Florida, Dave was funny and smart but definitely
suffered from IED. Intermittent explosive disorder. He ended up getting fired
too and there I was two months in Florida and I became the boss.
South American investors with alleged old school drug gang
connections, it was reputed they were laundering money. Fred Stresau had
done the landscape design and I learned he was a bestselling author. He wrote
“Florida, My Eden” which remained the landscape bible through the nineties for
many in Florida. He had died before the project was finished and I never met
him, but Fred Stresau Jr. visited the site, and was such a dick.
The project manager was also a dick. A developers hired gun, he fucked with
everybody but respected me for some reason. On December 24th, one
of the worst freezes in decades was predicted for all of Florida. It snowed on
Christmas Day in Titusville we found out and even though I had a difficult time
whipping the boys to be 100% productive during the regular hours this total
freeze presented us with a challenge.
There was nothing we could do to protect the 70 Coconut
Palms out by the street, but we had many plants in pots that weren’t going to
get planted and were bound to be frozen by this freeze. This was one of
those worker moments when the workers grabbed the initiative. Paul the pot
dealer and a seriously redneck dude from West Virginia and the guy that looked
like Jesus. A 6’4” Jesus. All great sincere men who respected each other and
they got the notion to build a greenhouse.
“Are you kidding” the developer said but we didn’t
need to buy a thing. They made a 15 by 10 foot greenhouse to house the more
rare, expensive material. I planted tree seeds I had ordered from
catalogs in 89 I had hoped to grow in Florida. I forgot how we heated it but
they built the entire thing from what was in the dumpsters. Plastic and wood,
it was a work of genius with this incredible cold front headed our way. Clamps
and nails from home, everything survived, and my seeds even germinated.
Mesquite Palo Verde Acacias from around the world, Poinciana, and others. What
didn’t fit in the greenhouse we placed next to it where it was warmer.
Our fifth guy, a young troublemaker but a good egg, didn’t have anything
to do at xmas, so he came in checked on the heater.
By February, I got tired of the fancy condo landscaping and
so I quit and got hired by Biogreen. He had an interesting pamphlet on his
methods that I still have. Feather and Blood Meal. Natural fertilizing
materials I’ll discuss later. Azalea Lane Apts with his much older but foxy
girlfriend. His scattershot methods became scatterbrained and it was the
Organic experience I needed to get back to my roots. I went into full research mode about Florida
plants though I ended up getting laid off by Biogreen.
On May 30 1990 I got hired on to Orchid Island and worked
there till June 2001. More horticultural things than I can encapsulate
happened, and these issues will blow up this story later.
By the spring of ’01 my ankles and arms were on the verge
of total spasm after five years of mowing greens and heavy landscaping with a
chain saw and my tractor and trailer. The knee problem had healed in large part
to Doctor Dave who lived in Orchid Island. But then one day after 5 years of
professional greens mowing, I was going to mow the practice putting green and
when I brought the gate down from the trailer my back went into total
breakdown. So much pain I had to sit on the ground and wait for help. My strong
back was ready to snap. I had had enough precision mowing for one lifetime.
I had been in discussion with Rick about my pending
departure at Orchid Island and he promised me 15 hours. So I was paid for like
six more weeks and after six weeks of physical therapy I quit. Take this job
and recycle it elsewhere. With my ten years I had just qualified for three
weeks vacation and was making almost 11 an hour which only long term help
earned. 22,600 a year. Kind of a lot for me and … why would I risk all this
wifey asked?
I already had Delval and three other side jobs and Ricks 15
hours and the Flower Girl started getting me work and I ended up making 22,600
in ’01 and ’02 and like to feel I didn’t miss a beat going to self-employment.
Support instead of doubts would have helped, but I persisted.
I picked up Crawfords at Orchid and Reynolds too and then
the funny dude who lived between them. Orchid customers like that I could talk
greens or fairways and the short holes on #8 and #15. I explained to them some
of the environmental issues I’d failed to get implemented in my discussions
with management.
I said that the invasive pest plant Brazilian Pepper needed
to be removed and native plants put in their place. I tried to promote these
mainstream environmental standards but couldn’t make a dent with the profit
machine.
Meanwhile the children are 19, 18, 16, 12, and 6 in 2002.
Three teens, Master Gardener volunteer and Tree Board Advisor, while planting
small plants for future growth in the yard. The ones from the rare fruit
council seemed to be doing great at that point.
Needless to say, maintaining a customer base for twenty
years leads to a lot of communicating. More so than working with the grumpy
nurse demographic, I’d guess.
I AM FROM Hartford Hospital and Pepe’s Lincoln and learning
how to go to school in miserable conditions and how there had to be something
better than wet galoshes for the foul weather. Taking naps in first grade and
peeing my pants in second grade. Staying in class through lunch that day and I
was driven home by the principal since mom had no license.
Another day that I got driven home was when I fell flat
into a big puddle at lunch break outside in our play area on the pavement.
Completely wet, but not embarrassed, they called my mother who was one of the
few people in town that didn’t drive. Colleen and Paula in fifth grade made me
realize love was in the air. Mr Domino was a male influence finally as my sixth
grade teacher. Dad seemed great, both parents were always busy but a boy needs various
positive male influences. Girls need mentors too, I am so sure.
Adult world stuff I remember, was the trouble Auntie had
with Uncle Eddie who beat her with a phone in one cruel incident and was
finally forced out. This was racist Joe’s son and my cousin Dennis’ dad.
Two cousins near my age, they showed me different things like abandoned
buildings and driving a go-kart on the sidewalk along route 3. With no brakes.
Thrills that parents would find unsafe today.
Favorite hiking places. Back yard Meadows. Bloomfield
tracks and Pennwood. Eagle Cloud Mountain. Somewhere southwest Of Tucson.
Coronado National Forest. Rt 5, Hazardville Freshwater Creek watershed.
Sebastian Greens and the Stormwater Park.
The Portuguese side always had good suppers and a bathroom
with all the fairies wallpapered with an aqua blue background. Another younger
cousin was retarded but he ended up working at Tony’s corner market. He died at
18 from complications with his brain problem that sounds like encephalitis. He
greatly benefitted with Governor Dempseys programs.
I like to say I don’t like being bossed and I don’t like
being the boss. So by the age of twenty I was done with mom controlling me and
she told me I was going to be a pall bearer for Daves funeral. Not really
feeling grief for my dead cousin or even knowing what a pall bearer was, so I
said no. Tired of being told what to do. Maybe if Tony asked me or something.
But, another mistake I made from immaturity.
Junior High was like 1966 and the spring and summer before
was filled with tales of horror. “Ninth graders, like, knock your books out of
your hand ‘n shit.” “You gotta be naked after gym”. Oh no, everyone was going
to know about my hairy legs that I had managed to keep hidden.
Somehow, I shaved them where they could be seen between
socks and thigh pads in midget football. That naked bullshit was downright
weird. Suddenly, a class full of boys were naked with each other, after being
taught modesty at home? Then what was REALLY creepy was high school where the
coachs office was like, 15 feet from the showers.
“So they can make sure no hanky panky is going on.” I’m
told. Another what the hell moment that only crystalizes into adult awareness.
Now I look at the Jerry Sandusky scandal and the abuse in the boy scouts class
action lawsuit and now I wonder if there is some sort of homo-erotic thing with
men. When Randazzo the neighbor saw a huge stump one day he goes
“bicep contest”. Everyone put their elbows on the stump and flexed and I’m like
WTH is this? Male bonding things always seemed kind of weird.
Luckily, I was bereft of any sort of toxic male influence
regarding guns and sex and being told killing things is OK. Like I said, Ritchie
with his beating frogs on cement was beyond my comprehension. He done kilt a
rabbit and chopped its foot off and showed me one Saturday. I was like what in
the fuck is this? This is why I assumed he was in jail as I got older. Or dead.
My psycho friend.
The disaster with Janis did yield some insights. The boys
were all about coercing the girls for sex she told me. You know the upstanding
citizens of Wethersfield High School like Mike B. She mentioned other names but
I forgot them. Then there was Ed Duggan the King of coercive assholes. I read
his comments on facebook and I’m like how do these women tolerate this misogyny
and even find him endearing?
Now he’s dead and people are like what an adorable guy, and
bought him, like, a park bench or something. A memorial plaque. More like a
royal plague.
There was 10th grade football and the Charleys’
and Jims of our 1-7 season in 1969 were being hyper jocks. Yet, theyy always
had lots of excuses for missing practice. One thing I distinctly remember is
that I didn’t miss a single practice. Smallest dude on the team at 5’6” 140, I
certainly took my lumps but did the running up and down the bleachers with a
uniform on …barely. One day the coach got the message that Charley and Jim
wouldn’t make it to practice and he said me. “You’re always here, aren’t you?”
I told him I hadn’t missed a practice. Then rode my Roddy one speed 4 miles
home.
So this is a pattern I like to think I created. Tough
everything out. I was blinded by Jimmy Pierces rock and the doctor said no
football or baseball for a year, so I sat out 9th grade Jayvee
football and when I could play baseball again it was with all the neighborhood
kids in Clarks cow field. I realized I’d never be a baseball player at that
point, the pitching was just too fast. Another form of bullying. One year of
senior league in 8th grade and I was 9 for 39 with a strikeout
in the world series. Got the participation trophy however. Still got the letter
from 10th grade football. Going to get a sweater I can stitch it on.
I could nail a runner at home from center field, but when a
14 year old pitcher is throwing 85 MPH from 40 feet away (66 feet in the major
leagues), it was downright scary. I couldn’t swing fast enough. I also learned
about branding when I found out the name of my team was Wethersfield Optical.
We were The Opticals? That was like Shaun playing soccer for Riverside Lawns.
“Go Lawns” I’d shout at the games. “Get psyched”.
Back to 2026, I see these male creatures with their “I just
broke a beer bottle and I’m going to kill you in a barfight” attitude,
and the dudes with their gym muscles and I am not getting it. They need a
constant reassurance of their manhood or something but now I realize it’s a
show. Everybody working on their brand, marketing their masculinity. Everyone
craving 
fame and greatness.
So to me it’s your actions that make you a man. While the
boys were talking tough with their pints in Beantown, I was riding my bicycle
through the poor part of Hartford to get to the Green quickly and then further
out in West Hartford on the way back, when I was tipsy from downing my six pack
of Pabst at the Green. A 30 mile round trip easily.
In my 30’s I doggedly created a two mile trail
that connected all the patches of forest that remained in Hazardville during
the 80’s. Looking back on all my efforts, I am so thankful to be still standing
all these years. Truly grateful I had the sturdy legs to do these things like
hiking and biking. Didn’t like that weird leg hair though, then disappointment
when I never developed beard hair.
Twenty years of teenagers and 30 years of (guiding
raising?) 5 children. 40 years a gardener and 50 years of work/ Fuckall I’m
worn out
Now at 72 comes a dilemma of not buying into the system.
Leaving 25 years of blood sweat and fears in a house that was never mine and
not even getting a pittance for my effort. I took our tax refund one year and
got a loan for the rest to buy the lot next door for $6400. What do we need it
for the wife asked? Only you need it she complained. And complained.
An investment, maybe, dear sweet wise queen of mine?
All these expectations about being a man, but I feel that,
at least to myself, I proved it. In 2026 all these boomer dudes seem to talk
about is how many people they bossed or how much property they accumulated.
Endlessly gossiping and bragging and bearing false witness against others.
Mowing people down like zombies with their verbal guns, I absolutely cannot
bear to hear another boomer life story
As an aside here, I know somebody who is particularly
annoying with the bragging about themselves and how they are loved wherever
they go he tells me (unlike me, it’s assumed I am a grumpy old fuck). Come to
find out they stroll down the boardwalk repeating their life stories to five
people a day. The same old schtick is wearying. People always virtue signaling
to me that they are either a better person or a good business person (unlike me
who doesn’t even return phone calls) or beat me at things that don’t make
me feel I want to be competitive at.
It's time to toughen up again and endure. September 12th 2020
and the cool weather is within reach. Five months of glorious weather and
perhaps my last year in business. November 12th and night time
temperatures are still 10 to 15 degrees above normal in the high 70’s. Florida
is finally getting old and I am shaking it up in 2021. I know I sound defensive
in my stories here, but that’s why I call this FRAMING MY OWN NARRATIVE. Other
people think they understand me.
I only tell stories once and I don’t remember who I told
what stories to, but just the same, no one knows more than 10% of me so
imma write this in case someone wants to.
I’m leaving myself open to anything, but I am telling
myself this is my last summer outdoors. Anything can happen but opportunity
only knocks when you’re out there doing it and immersing oneself in the world
and … well… networking. Looking like I will give up my three Orchid customers
on January 1st and that will be 30 years. There. Thirty years
going to Busy Bee and Moody Tire. I sense a change coming on but I need to
mingle with people again but I am so not into meeting people. I’ve literally
had enough of people. Conundrum or imbroglio?
But I probably still have a lot to learn about
relationships. Started with Joyce. On a paperboy trip a dude named Paul picked
up a “chick” at the park. A long story short, we double dated a couple times
but Paul and the girl they broke up, but I dated Joyce and I’d take the bus to
Windsor and go to the movies. Then there was a pressure about getting her a
ring and I was chastised on the phone by one of her friends. I didn’t have a
clue. One awkward kiss was a relationship? Nobody needs this.
We lived on our bicycles. Going to
places like under 91 near the dump. Best of all was the Meadows. Woods Corn
field and then the Connecticut river. Eventually we got to crossing on the
Rocky Hill Ferry and over to Cotton Hollow when I was 16 to 20. I often came
back even after I moved to Bloomfield.
Perfect, a peaceful running stream you could walk across. Lots of rocks to jump
from. As good as the Rockies without the mountain views of course.
In Bloomfield, Pennwood is very similar
to a knob in the Appalachians. I could ride my bike there. Then my motorcycle,
then my bike again and finally the black van. Young man with lots of energy.
Lots of sports and paper routes gave me some sturdy legs. No gym muscles here.
So I went for long hikes at Pennwood.
Going to Arizona and
living on a street called Flying A, I felt like I was in the middle of the
desert, another kind of wilderness.
I’ll put that picture of Mary Lou walking in view of Cat Mountain right here.
One day I was sitting on a rock doing a number and looking at all the views of
different mountain ranges and saw a cloud that looked like a classic eagle
shape and I had some sort of revelation that day.
We moved into town after a year and a half and lived there for a year and a
half. Not much hiking but some amazing walks with Mary Lou, Dickens and our new
cat Rocky.
Rocky was a stray we fed. Skinny with very long legs he went missing for a
couple days just after we decided to adopt him. It became five days and we
thought we had lost him. Went back to his owner or something.
Then there was the day we heard a muted mewing at the back door. It was him.
His fur was all matted and oily but he seemed abused and beaten or run over by
a car. If only animals could talk, he could have told us what a degrading
experience he had. His fur was scraped off if I remember correctly. He looked
like he got run over by a car.
So my cat buddies and I walked all over the neighborhood. Seriously really far,
we were truly a pack. I remember the cats darting from one concealed spot to
the next as we went further and further each time. Mary Lou would do what I
told her and we had hiked before and drove cross country. Dickens always had a
knack for running and hiding and Rocky was the boy from the streets. Truly one
of the greatest memories for my mind.
Then we got the job as caretakers
at a 40 acre ranch. One of 125 applicants but we seemed like the right fit. 250,000?
170,000? acres in the Coronado National Forest to explore and the next town was
called Gammon Gulch and is 43 miles away. Interesting were the dry stream beds
where the occasional roaring torrent went through. One favorite memory was when
me Sally and Sammy went through a mini valley. Forty-foot cliffs on
both sides and one day coyotes started yippin’ and yappin’ from up above. I
knew they would never attack an adult human and two large dogs so we continued
without fear.
Of course, there was my most exciting nature moment ever and that was when I
was alone one day, kind of lost and I looked up at a small hill and saw about
five Peccaries. I stood there and they stood there. This could be a problem.
They decided to keep on doing what they were doing and that was looking for
food. Insects roots fruits prickly pear.
On
another dayI came across a little oasis in the middle of the desert with some
really green soft grass. A magical place and I found some antlers there that
day and I still have them. Another exciting day I was in the Sahuaro Monument
east of where we lived. A real black cloud crept over the horizon. I was too
far out to run back to the house I figured I’d tough out whatever it was. Heavy
rain became hail and I crouched behind a Sahuaro.
Sometimes I only took Sammy out for a hike and left Sally back at the compound.
Sammy was tough as nails, Sally not so much. Sammy had a docked tail and an
awesome moment was when I saw Sammy rear up on his hind legs with three coyotes
challenging him. He really looked just like a Bear, a shaggy Black Bear. That
was cool.
Moving to Enfield Connecticut in 1984, I was 30 and was doing a lot of yoga and
running 3 miles. Along with working outdoors as a gardener, that was my health
regimen for a long time. I’ve been working outdoors for forty years. Minus the
year and a half with Plantations and Plantscapes, the indoor plant companies.
So in Thompsonville my big thing was jogging down route 5 and looking at
all the big houses. There was a tiny library there too and I belonged to a
workout club for a year called The Sporting House just off route 5.
Then moving to Hazardville brought me to one of my favorite ecosystems.
Freshwater brook, stream, river, who knows? Swamps and bogs and white Birch
pioneer stands and Pitch Pine. Very nice Hemlocks and an occasional Shagbark
Hickory.
Giant 100 foot Sycamores at the edge of farmers fields.
RIGHT HERE WOULD BE THE PLACE TO PUT MY STORY CALLED DESOTO
POND. THE STORY OF CREATING THAT TRAIL IN ENFIELD.
We start the writing prompt editing again
right here with the question ... do you have a favorite year you would go back
and live again without changing it?
Well I was writing about the music released
and 1973 and it seemed astounding. Then I started thinking about what I was
doing that year and I thought of another writing prompt
1973
Sleeping under a big tree at the
college on the corner near West Hartford and Hartford. Somewhere along the way
in '73 I switched from Wally the 250 Suzuki to a pair of ten speeds. I rode
them to the food co-op downtown and to Wethersfield to sink a six pack of Pabst
with the boys. What luck the drinking age was lowered to my age and it was
suddenly completely legal. Not on the motorcycle, but I did feel safe drinking
and riding a bicycle.
I was free to do
as I please the year after school ended. Joined book of the month club and
there were some great old book stores near the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford.
Research wise I became interested in corn and life of the Indian tribes in the
Connecticut River Valley. So I went downtown to the state library and started
searching for the culture of the native Americans and corn seemed to be the
key. Copy machines were becoming more common.
I joined the book
of the month club that year and moved into my own place and
the first that I had to pay rent for. I'll run down a list of my fave albums
from '73 and I swear, it's the shit. The stuff that will last forever. Lost on
a desert island … yeh that kind of year.
If I recall, I got Wally
in like, June of '72, ostensibly for Manchester Community College. I do
remember exactly how many miles I drove on all Wally with the raised pipes. I
went down every state road in Connecticut to see what there was to see.
Wally was a sturdy old
cuss, a '68 I think, and I put 16,000 more miles on him. Went to school and
drove down every road in Connecticut and Central Massachusetts looking at the
foliage that fall '72 and the next '73.
Quit school
after one semester, the bike went away in the cold, for less than three months
and I was still living at home. I had the dough so I spent a lot of time
reading and not working that winter.
As soon as it was warm
enough, I was back on the motorcycle. That shit was fun. Drove everywhere that
spring and went to the ten speed in July. Mary Lou and Suzie from Bristol were
girlfriends to visit. 13 months and 16,000 miles. I felt like I had a real
motorcycle experience. Thank you, Jesus for getting me over Avon Mountain so
many times, and not letting me get killed on those rainy nights.
I remember taking Anne Austin
home in a heavy rain when her car broke down at her college and she called me
to help. Drove that motorcycle in the rain and she returned the favor by
driving me to the Pink Floyd, "Dark side of the Moon" tour in March
1973.
So seriously what an
exhilarating year I had. Re-educating myself, travelling thoroughly in my
own bioregion, the *Connecticut River" Valley.
The east side of the river. I was a river rat from the west side. Wethersfield
and Bloomfield, then on the east side in Enfield Hazardville and Thompsonville.
Pink Floyd and the first
quadrophonic concert in March. Bill Bruford left Yes and he brought out the
best in King Crimson on the "Larks Tongue in Aspic" album later in
'73. Carl Palmer, John Bonham Ian Paice and Billy Cobham round out the best
five drummers in 1973
I rode my bicycle during
the summer of 1974. Drove it all the way to the beach and did some ten speeding
to the Wethersfield Green or up hills like at Pennwood Park. Near Avon Mountain
looking like the Appalachians.
It was like 60
miles from Bloomfield to Hamonasett Beach and 22 more miles up to Higganum
where a friend lived. 82 miles in one day. Physical challenge.
You know, so
bizarre, all these Indian names of everything but where did they go? My parents
favorite lake with a tough to pronounce Indian name. I'll look it up in a
minute, my computer is doing weird stuff with tabs.
My head was
going to explode from the programmed learning in the highly inadequate
educational system. Training the brain for the mundane, I can't count the
thousands of hours wasted on what passes for learning.
So I bought a
camera and began photography as a hobby after I graduated. The Enfield Falls
the Travelers Tower, the zombie three tier abandoned overpass in West
Hartford. I put hundreds of miles on my ten speed every month and got a few
pictures as a memory.
I
researched The Charter Oak at the state library near the Capitol building. Just
locked my bicycle out front and hewed away at the Dewey Decimal System.
The Book of
the Month Club had gone radical with all these occult books and I bought a
bunch of them. I got a Tarot Deck at a used book store, which were also
proliferating, and were comfortable hangouts. Of that Tarot deck, I only have
seven cards left. I slept with the deck near me for 15 years but by the end of
the eighties, I became an atheist again.
In 1973, I was
re-educating myself in a hurry with Drucker and Hofstadter and H G Wells'
History of the world where I learned about the Reindeer People. The indigenous
Europeans.
In
August I moved into Mr. Lynchs flop house. I rode my ten speed to work,
probably a mile and a half, but I remember one day I went to hop a curb like
you would with a solid one speed bike. Needless to say there was a bloody mess
all over my arm.
Revelation pasty
white guy and his Mercedes. One of my best moments was when I decided not to be
a bookkeeper and to not go back to college.
It must have been in
April or May of '73. The motorcycle wasn't any real kind of exercise so I drove
the ten speed back to Wethersfield to hang out. Maybe I was overnight at Steves
and with a Polish breakfast in my belly, I was riding back home. I often ended
up on Windsor Street and I think it was near a bridge, but not 84. Trumbull
Street maybe.
There were innumerable routes to get
to Blue Hills Avenue which I needed to use on Hampton Lane or Emerson Avenue.
Unless I was taking the longer route through West Hartford.
I remember it being like 9 in the
morning and I stopped the bike to get a sip of water. Standing on the sidewalk
I saw a car drive into a teeny parking area and I noted an extremely small
building. Less than 500 square feet and it was for like bookkeeping
services.
A young adult spends a lot of
time trying to figure out what the fuck kind of career a dude wants to pursue for
the Almighty Dollar.
So here's Ronald Rotunda stepping out
of his minty yellow Mercedes and it was like I was tripping, you know, those
moments when you are transcending time and space? It was an incredibly run down
part of a run-down city and this tiny island of prosperity seemed to hold no
joy.
He looked
like he was on the Bridge of Sighs at Attica, headed for execution. It all
seemed like slow motion; you know. My spirit guide needed me to stop thinking
about going into the business world. This scenario was like a wrecking ball to
my future.
I had $4000 in the bank
for my future. Higher education I decided against and thought of getting a used
Mercedes. As my revelation unfolded, I realized I was looking at myself 20
years from now. Did I want to be this person? A pasty white, under
exercised cipher drone for some company or another?
For days I pondered the
mystery. I was going to let a career choice flow. Do what I like and let the
Universe be my guide. Now I didn't really think like that, but I was going to
let it flow from there. It would be another five years before I decided on a
career in horticulture and proceeded with my career path self-education from
there out in 1980.
Sports was so important
to my youth. Greatly attracted to baseball and football. Baseball ended up
as difficult as the boys had growth spurts while my growth stopped at
5'6". I managed to get a letter in Football in tenth grade, that was
cool. The reward for doing difficult things in your youth is rewards in
memories later. Glad that's over kind of thing.
So there I was one
early morning in 11th grade at the Wethersfield Town Green. I've always loved
when the darkness of the night had given way to a very gray reality of
dawn. Sometimes I would take a book on my paper route and would sit at a
bench that was near the Nathanial Foote landmark. This was before the bus
shelter was put in.
I was reading a
book by Jim Kicx or something and it was a ground breaking book on Jogging.
Nope. Google shows me Kixx' book came out in '77 He's the dumbass that thought
he could run marathons with an enlarged heart and a father who died of one at
43.
I was probably
reading the Roby Davis book "jogging for fitness and weight control".
I was also reading Hittlemans guide to Yoga.
I remember
formulating the plan that day. Yoga, jogging and bicycling. Running would lead
to injuries I was reading. Long term. So jogging seemed like a more
natural choice. Walk the more scenic areas and run past unpleasant people. What
you abuse as a youth, you'll pay for it when you're 50. Rough sports like rugby
.... well....I didn’t need any more concussions.
I remember jogging
around the Green. I read that running on the street was more stressful on the
knees, so I always tried to stay on the grass or dirt. In retrospect I think my
attitude was to do what I wanted instead of needing people to share the
experience? I think its more about control and the human need for it. I abhor
control and I don't like to be bossed and i don't like being the boss.
The college edumacated
characters I've met usually lack the overall skills needed to get the job done.
Working for a greenhouse, the owner was the inventor of the Jet Plug and vice
president of Ball Seed and a college grad with a business degree. He was manic
and emotional and clueless with the employees. He hired Dwight who could repair
the trucks and then rebuild an old greenhouse and spot plant problems with the
best of them. He was a leader not a boss. Then he hired Vicky touting her
degree, but she knew too much of what wasn't needed and also had no people
skills. On another job I was the first person to take care of an elaborate ten
million dollar beach club. A year later the installer won an award for his
design and told me the only reason he won it in the first year was because I
got the plants to fill in quickly. Didn't need no boss to tell me what to do
but then after three years in receivership, the staff expanded and I got me a
freshly minted college grad as a boss. I could ignore him pretty much, but one
day a patch of grass got yellow and he took it upon himself to fertilize it. He
also got iron stains all over the place that I had to remove with Muriatic
Acid. Then there have been all the overpaid "landscape architects"
whose flawed designs were the bane of workers existence on many jobs. Then
there was Joe the college grad nursery boss. "It doesn't matter what you
say to a customer just say it authoritatively" I could go on and on with
examples but in conclusion, Donna you are a botanist, and you don't need a
piece of paper from the city hall making you one. This guy too Tony
Santoro. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVmSy5bsuMk I am so glad I wrote this.
2
THE GARDEN GREEN
THIS IS
MY RESUME
ACACIA KOA IS MY FAVORITE PLANT >>>
Bok Choy, Kale and Spinach seem to be the easiest for me to
grow. Brown Peppers and Purple Carrots not so much.
Honestly, I'm not a gardener or a landscaper. I consider
myself a habitat gardener, and will admit that I don't have a green thumb
overall. Soil health and wildlife values are what counts.
Broccoli Black
Thumb.
THE GREAT FLOOD OF 1955
Above are dramatic photos of the flood of 1955 when
the Connecticut River was six miles wide.
I
was One Years old and often had nightmares of this flood till I was a teen. My
dad's garden was at the edge of this flood plain in Wethersfield, Connecticut.
He had a compost pile and rarely bought fertilizer, the soil was so rich and
his compost abundant. There was even a grease pickup in those days.
Another
hundred-year flood and the Connecticut River was six miles wide at the peak in
the spring of 1955. In previous years, the edge of Red Schumans cow pasture was
where our families Victory Garden was. My parents canned an enormous amount of
food from this rich soil in the 60's.
In
our new home in Hazardville in the 80's, I spent a good deal of time breaking
ground and planting the seeds I had been obsessively buying. I put all the
grass clumps from digging out new areas, in a giant pile, and it was dirt by
the end of the summer.
HAZARRDVILLE
CONNECTICUT 1987
Summer of 88 and I had a second year of gardening
this site. Planted some corn seed that I grew in 87, and bought more varieties,
some rare shit for sure, and I was ready to do some science.
I
bought a book called the Ethnobotany of the Hopi which I could relate to,
having just spent six years gardening in the desert environs of Tucson
Arizona. But here I was, back in New England, growing Indian Sweet Corn
and many other heirloom vegetables, such as the Egyptian Walking
Onion. 
Colonialism bullied its way across the North American continent, and I
had a hankering to know more about the original inhabitants of Wethersfield now
that I was back in the area with some practical out of state experience.
My
search to uncover Native American traditions began ten years previous when I
rode my bicycle to the state library in Hartford after high school.
My friends went to
college, my parents moved to Bloomfield, and I was out to re-educate myself
properly. Deprogram my mind from the stultifying nonsense that dared to call
itself education. I didn't want to train to be a bookkeeper any longer.
I locked up my ten speed and walked in, marveling at how huge the place was.
Immense. I wanted to find out more about the history of Wethersfield
Connecticut, as a starting point, with the Great Wethersfield Elm (biggest Elm
east of the Rockies) and the meeting house of the Charter Oak incident being on
my paper route.
Turns out my
hometown was a repository of historical remnants that weren’t quite recognized
during my early years. Wethersfield soldiers during the Revolutionary War were
the elite soldiers who escorted generals and what not. Some history in this
town, well established by the Revolutionary War.
The Rise and Fall of the Wethersfield Red Onion - New
England Historical Society
I learned
about the indigenous Podunks, who lived from central to northern
Connecticut on the east side of the Connecticut River. They went to Boston and
invited the original settlers of Wethersfield to settle the west side of the river.
Later, I learned about the Nipmucks, who
also lived along the east side of the river from Springfield to the Quabbin
Reservoir area, inhabited territory north of the Podunk's. Both tribes
were trying to keep the Mohawks and Iroquois from infringing on their
land.
The Podunks and
Nipmucks were quiet woodland tribes, and these peaceful people were often
overwhelmed by hostile tribes, though, to their credit, the Iroquois
Confederacy of Peace is allegedly the inspiration for the American Constitution
and the Mohawks are pretty cool people.
I adopted the Native
American notion of a planting stick out there in the desert and beseeching the
Corn Mother for her blessings.
A couple summers in
Thompsonville, then off to Hazardville
Time to move
to a safer neighborhood before the baby started crawling and the little white
house in Hazardville was delightful. Then I dug into the soil.
Hazardville
looking east
1987. First of the year the ground was
probably frozen but when I was able to dig out my first garden area. There
was16 inches of the richest soil I had ever seen. Black gold. A virgin site.
A field office or Consolidated Cigar.
I also grew
perennials and they spread quickly and I split them and sold them the following
two springtimes at tag sales. Flowers such as Echinacea grew to their
maximum height at this site, and a corn variety grew 11 feet tall. A 60 foot
row of sunflowers lined the south side of the property.
But you know, people
are not really interested in plants, but I was, and I did what I wanted to
anyways because I was self-educating myself with botany, horticulture, habitat
building and hobbyist gardening. No one cared. I was the plant guy. You know. the
dude with no skills.
Mike Two Hawks
was someone who also did what he wanted. Steeped in Mohawk tradition, he
was an indigenous activist and caused quite a stir wherever he went.
I was able to share my thoughts with him and he seemed to think I was authentico,
with my planting stick and all, so he shared with me a few of his native
American rituals.
I was growing corn
ceremonially and my off road research kept returning to Native ways. The
ancient ways, traditional ways. The way we all were once upon a time. Red,
White and Black.
My people are the
Lusitanian people of Portugal and the Copper Culture and the Stone People and
the Cave Painters before that. Before xianity, indigenous Europeans were very
much like the native Americans in their habits, customs and cultural practices. You
weren’t the only people.
We talked about the Hopi when
I wore my t-shirt one day that said, "Save Big Mountain. End Apartheid in
America." That is about the Hopis being forcibly moved from their traditional
land. For ten thousand years they have been there, protecting the Four Corners,
repelling all invaders, even the Spanish who couldn't hustle their stout
defense. In the 80's, more attempts to remove them from their land were
fought back.
So we'd do a Tabacco ritual before the work
began for the day. The boss was cool and knew a bit of fun and bonding led to
motivated workers and we were motivated, efficient, and professional. Mike
was forever quoting John Trudell (2) John Trudell - Mining our Minds For The Machine -
YouTube
The corn I was
growing was different than the Silver Queen F1 and F2 hybrids at the farm
stands. Native American sweet corn is more nutrient dense than the candy corn
hybrids. I think the corn my dad grew was "Country Gentleman" which
was the last of the popular heirlooms before the ridiculous F1 and 2 hybrids
became popular and overwhelmed the market.
Native Sweet Corn is smaller and there was
only a two day window when they could be eaten before the kernels became rock
hard. For most people, they think its a waste of time to grow smaller, subtly
flavorful corn, that ripens too quick. But I was motivated to try this as my
science experiment.
I staggered the plantings three weeks apart in and harvested from August
to October. Black Aztec dominated that second year and people would go
"ewww why would you eat blue corn?" Blue is rot and fungus, right?.
Gorgonzola. Yuck
Then in the 90's,
the super markets were selling this new Blue Corn Tortilla.
Touche, mon
aci.
The 60 foot row of
Sunflowers and Echinacea and Bee Balm and what all else in the picture above,
was an attempt to build a English hedgerow. (see above) A wonderful memory was
counting at least 13 Yellow Finches in a feeding frenzy on the sunflowers one steamy
August morning. So, two years of explosive growth and a total immersion into
heirloom seeds and native perennials was a peak gardening time.
My little sweetie was going on two years old, and she had lots of
running energy. On Earth again, yah! Lots of room to run in any random
direction. Chasing Dickens the Calico who never got caught, my little toddler
would sleep good at night.
Then the cold weather, winter was coming. Somehow, I got into a lab for a
growing job in a greenhouse and saw some early examples of tissue culture with
plants and then worked in a greenhouse in January and February. Whereas micro
plugs were the rage in the early 80's, tissue culture came along in the late
80's with its trays of completely identical plants. Just happenstance that I
came upon these new technologies early in the game.
Early 1989 was all
about seeds for me personally. Traditional seeds. Vegetables, ground covers,
small trees and tree seeds. Just ... everything.
I wrote to a dude in Oklahoma who had
a company named "Corns". Carl Barnes is now deceased but became
famous for his "Glass Gem" variety of corn about a decade ago.
Gardeners know the anticipation of incoming seed catalogs
and I was psyched for the next growing season. So here I am 33 years ago
writing to this dude about what I was attempting to do with corn. I told
him I wanted to blend all the varieties together and then send free seed to
people in various countries, locations and elevations to revive traditional
growing and chemical free agriculture.
Carl sent me a letter in return, stating the seeds he sent
back were from Anasazi stock. 900 years old, he wrote. Carl Barnes Documentary Trailer - YouTube
He signed the
letter, "White Eagle," which is a name of great distinction and
honor. Some of my stated intentions were what he was already doing.
Looking at his video now, I realize he was a mid-century Luther Burbank, and
his letter is now in my scrapbook. His wall of Corn Seeds in the video
took my breath away when I first saw the video. I could comprehend the amazing
amount of work it took to have a wall like that. Seed is the history of the
people. You take that away and you are a world class asshole.
The "Glass
Gem" variety of Corn was trending hard ten years ago or so, and when I
read an article about it, I noticed the name Carl Barnes of Oklahoma. It was
HIM! Dude went viral.
He even got himself
a meme. He's the "at least it's an honest living guy."
Back to that cold
winter day, I mailed a check with my order. I wanted two packs of seeds and he
sent me back five. Not even sweet corn either. Flint corn, among others such as
Hopi Orange. I questioned the generous response but had enough confidence that
the mf knew what he was doing. But still, I'm thinking the Flint Corn is gonna
make my sweet corn hard to chew, and I was wrong.
Soon enough the
summer came along and I began marveling at what grew that year. It was
astonishing. "Lots of genetic diversity" he stated in the
letter. I had the genetic base already in place, to brace for the
explosion of botanic wonders he sent me. Saved seeds from the previous year and
new varieties made the perfect storm of genetic diversity. The photo of the
corn ear above from 2020, is the one that seems to have lasted the longest.
First and
foremost, I managed to get Teosinte and Maize on a single cob,
proving Corn evolved from Teosinte. Would this be heresy to those
that believe the Corn Mother gave the Native Peoples Corn by using magic? Did
he know that I might discover this? I told him I grew Teosinte at the edge of
my patch like the Tarahumara people have done for a long time.
Finally, what a year that was!
Cobs grew at the top of the plant and at the bottom. Ears were fat, ears were
thin. Three ears grew together. Triple goddess symbolism. Things that didn't
even look like corn grew on the stalks. Smut and other weird shit were
abundant. Modern corn has 22 rows or something like that jammed together and
sweet as candy corn, but I had 8. 12. Even 4 with flattened sides. (see below)
Despite my instinct that I was going to ruin my sweet corn crop with these
Flint seeds he sent me, I had planted them anyways. Trust is the essence of
anarchy. That year the taste improved, the size improved, and the window of
edibility increased with the early version of Glass Gem that I grew.
Evolutionarily speaking, anomalies such as
variegation and dwarfism occur in 1 in a thousand cases. Sometimes one in a
million, depending on the animal or plant.
Who noticed a Teosinte plant that had enlarged
kernels and saved those seeds to plant for another time? Teosinte seeds are
hard as heck and Dove, Turkey and Quail can eat them, but not the small
songbirds and not the humans. They could fracture human teeth.
Teosinte
and Maize on the same cob
It was an incredible piece of
land I was on and I created a permaculture structure in three years, harvesting
an abundance of beans and squash and corn ... and I forgot all what else. We
froze instead of canned. Pollinator friendly perennials and potted fruit
trees. June to September 25th, the abundance was a total blessing.
I could have lived in Hazardville Connecticut forever, but by the
27th of September, we had arrived in Florida, and it was 97 degrees.
Blistering, dry heat, but within a month, the temperature had moderated, and we
found ourselves on another relatively fertile piece of land. It was USDA Zone
9b, and in the last 30 years here, I have noted the change in climate. Now we
are just into zone 10. 10a.
THIS
IS MY RESUME
MY EARTH CAREER BEGAN IN
1980 IN TUCSON ARIZONA
1980 with LARRYS
JANITORIAL He wanted me to get on a career path and got me some
work outside the restaurant, moving six Barrel Cactus as my first job.
"Remember they lean into the Sun." When he laid me off, I parleyed
that minimal experience into a job with ...
1981 CASA
VERDE LANDSCAPE much to my surprise they had all the fancy accounts
in town. The new office buildings with lots of glass and fancy elevators.
All new machines with Casa Verde and an enthusiastic crew of potheads that knew
what they were doing. It was agreed I would focus on plants n shit, and
they would mow.
At the
very first job I was told to rake the sand in a certain pattern in a 100-foot
Zen Garden. Right in the middle was a 75-foot-tall Deodar Cedar. Probably the
most beautiful tree I've EVER seen before or since, and I groomed it up cutting
excessive branches and raking dead needles, so it looked nice and clean at the
bottom. Then made the rake lines so it looked like a Zen Garden. I looked
forward to this every week and have been in love with Deodar since.
There
are only four true Cedars in the world. When I went to Connecticut and worked
in the garden center, Cedrus Atlantica was getting very popular. Then
there's the Lebanon Cedar and one other Cedar I can't recall.
not the same tree. this Deodar
Cedar needs a prune on the right side
When he got the Park Mall account he told me,
"I got the perfect job for you." Amazing place with beautiful street
trees and a complex irrigation system with 528 heads. I learned irrigation and
endurance. There was a bunch of Pyracantha hedges in the parking lot I had to
keep precise. Every one of them had a different shape or style to it because
the cement curb islands were all different shapes. So I parlayed THAT
experience into an application for a work for rent job at
a 40-acre horse
ranch.
1981-84 We
lived in a converted tack room. There were six unfenced dogs guarding the
property and nothing between us and Gammons Gulch, 45 miles away as the crow
flies over the mountain. See original oil painting below.
As the Buzzard flies, gammons gulch to tucson miles - Search
(bing.com) This
was a work-for-rent full on caretaker situation. Some gardening good 'ol days.
Wearing overalls every day for 40 hours as indoor/outdoor plant guy at the
original mall in Tucson and a co-caretaker of the last house on Broadway.
Bordering the 9-acre Sahuaro East Monument, and a 170,000-acre section of
the Coronado National Forest.
Then the boss lost the
account at the mall by an unscrupulous head of maintenance, and I went to work
for ...
SCHOMBERT ELECTRIC
83/84 A great set of experiences I really needed. I'm not a fixup
guy, you know, not real handy with tools ever, but I was running miles of wire
through new condos and updating the wiring in a male dorm in the middle of a Tucson
summer with only fans to keep us cool. Average daily high temperature
104.
APRIL 1984
picture of loaded van here. Moved to Connecticut and worked for
TARNOW NURSERY 1984
-86
STANLEY GREENHOUSE
1985-1987
DAT SHENOY 1987-89
Entrepeneur, house flipper, I did painting, cleanup and landscaping as needed
for each house. The wife often made me Indian lunch wraps when I worked on
their yard.
PLANTATIONS 1986 interior
plants professional training
PLANTSCAPES 1987
interior plants in an old building with a really old elevator. They went
all female with a pink and black theme, and I was out of there.
SPIELMAN LANDSCAPING
88 TO 89 landscaped fancy homes in the hills. Redneck, Biker, Indian, and
our Farm Girl boss who loved tractors. Was probably the best crew I was ever
on.
moved to Florida
ATLANTIC VIEW 1989
BIOGREEN 1990
ORCHID ISLAND 1990 TO 2001
THE GARDEN GREEN 2001 TO 2021
Left to
its own devices, nature knows what to do. Humans however, have taken resource
extraction as a basis for wealth, with very few of them giving back. Everyone
wants to park in the shade, but no one wants to plant a tree. Capitalism is
like your Aunt emptying valuables from Grandmas house as me mere is dying in the
hospital.
I like
to use the example of the Astor family to illustrate how we've gone wrong. John
Jacob Astor made his money by having millions of animals killed. A master of
the Fur Trade, it's said he had a golden touch, but I can't stop the image of
the bones of skinned animals drying in the sun. Slaughtered.
Dynasties of wealth were made from the stripping of the ancient forests across
the world and killing billions of fur coats. Proper society is filled with
illegitimate wealth that has been derived from development and destruction and
understanding this ... is lesson one. Creating abundance is the only true
wealth.
Imagine some little 4-ounce bird has just flown 250 miles
hopping from one island to the next looking for food and shelter as it migrates
north. She goes to the cookie cutter house in the gated community and sees
oleanders, ixora, plumbago, philodendron, and other non-native plants. Off to
the next house....no food here either.
Finally, she flies into my yard, White Indigo Berry, Wild Coffee
(Psycotira nervosa), Tamarind, Elderberry, Sugar Cane, Fiddlewood, Maypop
(passion vine) Marlberry, Saw Palmetto, Snowberry and others. If not fruiting,
they are flowering which attracts the many pollinating insects birds love to
eat. Right now, in early November Fiddlewood is flowering and Marlberry and
Firebush and Wild Coffee have large, juicy berries waiting for migrating birds
to arrive.
New England Rainbow
The ear of corn above, at
the top of this article, reminds me of my best corn growing days. 1987. '88 and
'89. My gardening good old days. I had ten packs of Indian Sweet Corn seeds I
bought in February or so, and was going to mix them all together to make my own
variety as soon as the soil temperature was right. Mix all the breeds of
Indian Sweet Corn together, then acclimate them to my ecosphere and start
trading with others.
The big surprise was when the ground had thawed out and I
dug into the soil for the first time. "Are you kidding me?" I dug a
second hole and more all over the yard, shocked at what I found.
HARVEST 1987
We rented the house on
North Street in Hazardville Connecticut and there was 16 inches of black
topsoil in this free rental that had been used by Stanley Greenhouses primary
truck driver. Formerly a field office amidst a couple thousand acres of tabacco
and corn, apparently no one had ever planted anything there. The land only knew
poor people standing in line, waiting for their paycheck.
I'm sure the soil in the 200 acres of
corn planted nearby is nearly depleted of organic matter. Yet, it appeared to
be Connecticut River Valley alluvial soil at our new home, but the curious
thing was where we lived is not in any flood plains. In fact it was at the
crest of two watersheds.
I shoveled up a hunk of soil one day when my dad came
to visit and showed him. He looked at it and it was like "OMG! Time to
grow some vegetables, sonny boy".
It was a bit mysterious
how 16 inches of black, crumbly alluvial soil sat on a crest at the 183 foot
elevation of that area. Five miles away in the Connecticut River, the elevation
is 36 feet.
Over yonder going northwest, the local
area drains into bogs, then Freshwater Creek, then Freshwater Brook and
eventually Freshwater Pond in downtown Enfield. Out the other way, most of
North St. drains southeast to the Scantic River. So how did Connecticut River
alluvial flood plain soil get to this elevation, over 180 feet above sea level?
Could it be the blessings of the Corn Goddess?
Above are dramatic photos
of the flood of 1955.
I was One Years old and often had nightmares of this flood
till I was a teen. My dad's garden was at the edge of this flood plain in
Wethersfield, Connecticut. He had a compost pile and rarely bought fertilizer,
the soil was so rich and his compost abundant. There was even a grease pickup
in those days.
Another hundred-year flood and the Connecticut River was
six miles wide at the peak in the spring of 1955. In previous years, the edge
of Red Schumans cow pasture was where our families Victory Garden was. My
parents canned an enormous amount of food from this rich soil in the
60's.
In our new home in Hazardville in the 80's, I spent a good
deal of time breaking ground and planting the seeds I had been obsessively
buying. I put all the grass clumps from digging out new areas, in a giant pile,
and it was dirt by the end of the summer.
HAZARRDVILLE CONNECTICUT 1987
Summer of 88 and I had a
second full year of gardening this site. Planted some corn seed that I grew in
87, and bought more varieties, some rare shit for sure, and I was ready to do
some science.
I bought a book called the Ethnobotany of the Hopi
which I could relate to, having just spent six years gardening in the desert
environs of Tucson Arizona. But here I was, back in New England, growing
Indian Sweet Corn and many other heirloom vegetables, such as the
Egyptian Walking Onion.
Colonialism bullied its way across the
North American continent, and I had a hankering to know more about the original
inhabitants of Wethersfield now that I was back in the area with some practical
out of state experience.
My search to uncover Native American traditions
began ten years previous when I rode my bicycle to the state library in
Hartford after high school.
My friends went to college, my parents moved to Bloomfield,
and I was out to re-educate myself properly. Deprogram my mind from the
stultifying nonsense that dared to call itself education. I didn't want to
train to be a bookkeeper any longer.
I locked up my ten speed at the State
Library and walked in, marveling at how huge the place was. Immense. I wanted
to find out more about the history of Wethersfield Connecticut, as a starting
point, with the Great Wethersfield Elm (biggest Elm east of the Rockies) and
the meeting house of the Charter Oak incident being on my paper
route.
Wethersfield soldiers during the Revolutionary War were the
elite soldiers who escorted generals and what not. Some history in this town.
The Rise and Fall of the Wethersfield
Red Onion - New England Historical Society
I learned about the indigenous Podunks,
who lived from central to northern Connecticut on the east side of the
Connecticut River. They went to Boston and invited the original settlers of
Wethersfield to settle the west side of the river.
Later, I learned about the Nipmucks, who also lived along the east side of the
river from Springfield to the Quabbin Reservoir area, inhabited territory north
of the Podunk's. Both tribes were trying to keep the Mohawks and Iroquois
from infringing on their land.
The Podunks and Nipmucks were quiet woodland tribes, and
these peaceful people were often overwhelmed by hostile tribes, though, to
their credit, the Iroquois Confederacy of Peace is allegedly the inspiration
for the American Constitution and the Mohawks are pretty cool people.
I adopted the Native American notion of a planting stick
out there in the desert and also beseeching the Corn Mother for her
blessings.
A couple summers in Thompsonville, then off to
Hazardville after my firstborn arrived. Time to move to a safer
neighborhood and the little white house in Hazardville was delightful. Then I
dug into the soil.
Hazardville looking east
16 inches of the richest soil I had ever seen. Black
gold. I also grew perennials and they spread quickly and I split them and
sold them the following two springtimes at tag sales. Flowers such as
Echinacea grew to their maximum height at this site, and a corn variety grew 11
feet tall. A 60 foot row of sunflowers lined the south side of the
property.
But you know, people are not really interested in plants,
but I was, and I did what I wanted to anyways because I was self-educating
myself with botany, horticulture, habitat building and hobbyist gardening. No
one cared. I was the plant guy. You know. the dude with no skills.
Mike Two Hawks was someone who also did what he
wanted. Steeped in Mohawk tradition, he was an indigenous activist and
caused quite a stir wherever he went. I was able to share my
thoughts with him and he seemed to think I was authentico, with my planting
stick and all, so he shared with me a few of his native American rituals.
I was growing corn ceremonially and my off road research
kept returning to Native ways. The ancient ways, traditional ways. The way
we all were once upon a time. Red, White and Black.
My people are the Lusitanian people of Portugal and the
Copper Culture and the Stone People and the Cave Painters before that. Before
xianity, indigenous Europeans were very much like the native Americans in their
habits, customs and cultural practices.
We talked about the Hopi when I wore my t-shirt one day that
said, "Save Big Mountain. End Apartheid in America." That is about
the Hopis being forcibly moved from their traditional land. For ten thousand
years they have been there, protecting the Four Corners, repelling all
invaders, even the Spanish who couldn't hustle their stout defense. In
the 80's more attempts to remove them from their land were fought back.
So
we'd do a Tabacco ritual before the work began for the day. The boss was cool
and knew a bit of fun and bonding led to motivated workers and we were
motivated, efficient, and professional. Mike was forever quoting John
Trudell (2) John Trudell - Mining our Minds
For The Machine - YouTube
The corn I was growing was different than the Silver Queen
F1 and F2 hybrids at the farm stands. Native American sweet corn is more
nutrient dense than the candy corn hybrids. I think the corn my dad grew was
"Country Gentleman" which was the last of the popular heirlooms
before the ridiculous F1 and 2 hybrids became popular and overwhelmed the
market.
Native Sweet Corn is smaller and there was only a two day window when they
could be eaten before the kernels became rock hard. For most people, they think
its a waste of time to grow smaller, subtly flavorful corn, that ripens too
quick. But I was motivated to try this as my science experiment.
I staggered the plantings three
weeks apart in and harvested from August to October. Black Aztec dominated that
second year and people would go "ewww why would you eat blue corn?"
Blue is rot and fungus, right?. Gorgonzola.
Then in the 90's, the super markets were selling this new
Blue Corn Tortilla.
Touche, mon aci.
The 60 foot row of Sunflowers and Echinacea and Bee Balm
and what all else, was an attempt to build a English hedgerow. (see above) A
wonderful memory was counting at least 13 Yellow Finches in a feeding frenzy on
the sunflowers one steamy August morning. So, two years of explosive growth and
a total immersion into heirloom seeds and native perennials was a peak
gardening time.
My little sweetie was
going on two years old, and she had lots of running energy. On Earth again,
yah! Lots of room to run in any random direction. Chasing Dickens the Calico
who never got caught, my little toddler would sleep good at night.
Then the cold weather, winter
was coming. Somehow, I got into a lab for a growing job in a greenhouse and saw
some early examples of tissue culture with plants and then worked in a
greenhouse in January and February. Whereas micro plugs were the rage in the
early 80's, tissue culture came along in the late 80's with its trays of
completely identical plants. Just happenstance that I came upon these new
technologies early in the game.
Early 1989 was all about seeds for me personally.
Traditional seeds. Vegetables, ground covers, small trees and tree seeds. Just
... everything.
I wrote to a dude in Oklahoma who had a company named
"Corns". Carl Barnes is now deceased but became famous for his
"Glass Gem" variety of corn about a decade ago.
Gardeners know the anticipation of incoming seed catalogs
and I was psyched for the next growing season. So here I am 33 years ago
writing to this dude about what I was attempting to do with corn. I told
him I wanted to blend all the varieties together and then send free seed to
people in various countries, locations and elevations to revive traditional
growing and chemical free agriculture.
Carl sent me a letter in return, stating the seeds he
sent back were from Anasazi stock. 900 years old, he wrote. Carl Barnes Documentary Trailer
- YouTube
He signed the letter, "White Eagle," which is a
name of great distinction and honor. Some of my stated intentions were
what he was already doing. Looking at his video now, I realize he was a
mid-century Luther Burbank, and his letter is now in my scrapbook. His
wall of Corn Seeds in the video took my breath away when I first saw the video.
I could comprehend the amzaing amount of work it took to have a wall like that.
Seed is the history of the people. You take that away and you are a world
class asshole.
The "Glass Gem" variety of
Corn was trending hard ten years ago or so, and when I read an article about
it, I noticed the name Carl Barnes of Oklahoma. It was HIM! Dude went
viral.
He even has a meme. He's the "at
least it's an honest living guy."
Back to that cold winter day, I
mailed a check with my order. I wanted two packs of seeds and he sent me back
five. Not even sweet corn either. Flint corn, among others such as Hopi Orange.
I questioned the generous response but had enough confidence that the mf knew
what he was doing. But still, I'm thinking the Flint Corn is gonna make my
sweet corn hard to chew, and I was wrong.
Soon enough the summer came along and
I began marveling at what grew that year. It was astonishing. "Lots
of genetic diversity" he stated in the letter. I had the genetic
base already in place, to brace for the explosion of botanic wonders he sent
me. Saved seeds from the previous year and new varieties made the perfect storm
of genetic diversity. The photo of the corn ear above from 2020, is the one
that seems to have lasted the longest.
First and foremost, I managed
to get Teosinte and Maize on a single cob, proving Corn evolved from
Teosinte. Would this be heresy to those that believe the Corn Mother
gave the Native Peoples Corn by using magic? Did he know that I might discover
this? I told him I grew Teosinte at the edge of my patch like the Tarahumara
people have done for a long time.
Finally, what a year that was! Cobs grew at
the top of the plant and at the bottom. Ears were fat, ears were thin. Three
ears grew together. Triple goddess symbolism. Things that didn't even look like
corn grew on the stalks. Smut and other weird shit was abundant. Modern corn
has 22 rows or something like that jammed together and sweet as candy corn, but
I had 8. 12. Even 4 with flattened sides. (see below) Despite my instinct that
I was going to ruin my sweet corn crop with these Flint seeds he sent me, I had
planted them anyways. Trust is the essence of anarchy. That year the taste
improved, the size improved, and the window of edibility increased. Early
version of Glass Gem.
Evolutionarily speaking, anomalies such as
variegation and dwarfism occur in 1 in a thousand cases. Sometimes one in a
million, depending on the animal or plant.
Who noticed a Teosinte plant that had enlarged kernels and saved
those seeds to plant for another time? Teosinte seeds are hard as heck and
Dove, Turkey and Quail can eat them, but not the small songbirds and not the
humans. They could fracture human teeth.
Teosinte and Maize on the same cob
It was an incredible piece of land I was on
and I created a permaculture structure in three years, harvesting an abundance
of beans and squash and corn ... and I forgot all what else. We froze instead
of canned. Pollinator friendly perennials and potted fruit trees. June to
September 25th, the abundance was a total blessing.
I
could have lived in Hazardville Connecticut forever, but by the 27th of
September, we had arrived in Florida, and it was 97 degrees. Blistering, dry
heat, but within a month, the temperature had moderated, and we found ourselves
on another relatively fertile piece of land. It was USDA Zone 9b, and in the
last 30 years here, I have noted the change in climate. Now we are just into
zone 10. 10a.
MESQUITE
The previous spring in 1989, in
Connecticut, I went through the Master Gardener certification Program in
February and March, so I naturally turned to the Extension Service and Master
Gardener Program for my questions when I moved to a new state.
"Can I grow Mesquite in Florida?" I queried back in 1990. I was
in the office and there was an Extension employee and two elderly Master
Gardeners. They were briefly stumped. "Can I grow Mesquite trees in
Florida?"
"Of course not," was the derisive
reply. I could tell they weren't sure.
I had so many seeds and many of them were thriving in one-gallon pots. My
Mesquite seeds were now 6” saplings. I had seeds for Palo Verde, Acacia koa,
(photo at top of the page), Indian Rosewood (hardest wood in the world, well,
third hardest), Carob, Tamarind and many others which I soon planted.
Needless to say, by '93, the Mesquite were producing pods (cattle feed) and in
95 they were stout and throwing shade. This is the deeper green gardener ...
doubting the experts and succeeding despite them. Trying something anyways
despite the experts.
Having gotten Master Gardener certifications in
Connecticut in '89 and Florida in '91, I had learned quite a lot. Could I
simulate similar conditions? I planted my three little striplings in extremely hot,
sunny, quickly draining area. Being used to 10 inches of rain a year, the
Mesquite could not tolerate ANY water accumulation.
So they grew fast. When it rained heavy like it does in Florida, the soil
drained in a few hours. So it was ideal. Hottest sunniest part of the yard,
lots of moisture without the rot. Three years is easy to keep a zone 9 plant
alive, but could this desert plant survive the cyclical fungus diseases that
thrive in Florida? They were still growing fast after five years, and this
indicated that they made it.
In 2001 I
had quit the job I had for ten years and started my own business. The Garden
Green. Green from the git go, I was also one of a handful of registered Green
Party citizens and was interviewed by the local paper in 1995.
"Sometimes Gardening, always Green".
No college degree to wave around,
so it seems I have to establish my horticultural cred with some people here in
2022/5 and that's why my resume is at the top of this. I need to make some kind
of resume for future employment, and this is it. May need a bit of editing.
2025 update. Summer was murder. I need to find diff incomes. Selling seeds is
where I want to head.
When I moved to Florida, I found a job with the
landscaping crew at Atlantic View. Indian River County had banned
oceanside condos over three stories, so Atlantic View was just over the line in
St. Lucie County. Seven stories and three buildings. Developer delirium.
I got a job at Atlantic View in early October of
1989, a seven-story condo with ocean views. Well one day my landscape boss was
caught smoking crack on the fifth floor. He got fired and my New Age buddy,
Dave, was suddenly boss. Turnover such as it is in Arizona and Florida, Dave
was funny and smart but definitely suffered from IED. Intermittent Explosive
Disorder. He ended up getting fired too, so there I was, two months in Florida
and I was the landscaping boss.
South American investors
with alleged, old school drug gang connections, was the shadowy power behind
the throne of this development. It was reputed they were laundering money.
Then one day, they went to clear land on the dunes, and we were all told "if we called the
county, we'd be fired immediately." They began to strip the dunes
like a military invasion, then a helicopter flew over and hovered. The county
caught them.
Fred Stresau had done the landscape design and I
learned he was a bestselling author. He wrote “Florida, My Eden” which remained
the landscape bible through the nineties for many in Florida. He had died
before the project was finished and planted, and I never met him, but Fred
Stresau Jr. visited the site, and he was such a dick.
The project manager was also a dick. The developers
hired gun, he fucked with everybody, but respected me for some reason. On
December 24th, one of the worst freezes in decades was
predicted for all of Florida. It snowed on Christmas Day in Titusville, we
later found out. Even though I had a difficult time whipping the boys into
being 100% productive during regular hours, this emergency made us gel into a
real team. Through their initiative.
There was nothing we could
do to protect the 70 Coconut Palms out by the street from the predicted 22 to
24 degrees, but we had many plants in pots that were bound to be frozen by
this freeze. The site boss would write it off as a business loss, but the boys had a different idea. This was one
of those worker moments when the workers grabbed the initiative.
There was Paul the pot dealer and the seriously redneck
dude from West Virginia and the guy that looked like Jesus. A 6’4” Jesus. He
gave me some Alligator toes and I still have them. A pagan welcome to me in
Florida. All great, sincere men who respected each other and they got the
notion to build a greenhouse. Five hooligans with a focus.
“Are you kidding,” the developer said when I told
him their idea, We didn’t need to buy a thing. They made a 15 by 10 foot
greenhouse to protect the more rare and frost sensitive material. I
planted those tree seeds I had ordered from catalogs in 89 that I had hoped to
grow in Florida.
They built the entire thing from what was in the
dumpsters and what we could scrouge from home that night. Plastic and
wood, it was a work of genius with this incredible cold front headed our way.
Twenty degrees along the whole Treasure Coast as it turned out,
the coldest night in 40 years.
Everything survived, and my seeds even
germinated. What didn’t fit in the greenhouse we placed next to it where
it was warmer and covered them with sheets. Our fifth guy, a young
troublemaker, but a good egg, didn’t have anything to do on Christmas Day, so
he came in checked on the heater.
772-321-2542
TURNING YARDS INTO GARDENS
Twenty years as the Garden Green and now I'm looking to do
something else here in 2022. My back is wore the hell out, so now I want to use
my brain instead of my shovel. However, how do I tell these young
Permaculturalists about what I know? I try to avoid saying things like
"I was doing native plants, planting heirlooms and practicing permaculture
when you was still shittin' your britches."
My dad had a "victory garden" which was very productive.
Still, I just took it for granted and other than bringing the bounty in the
house, I really didn't notice. I DID notice no one else's dad did.
"Victory Garden?" I questioned. "The war's been over for 20
years." He knew what he was doing and this imprinted on my brain. We
had a cellar pantry that was huge. Green Beans, Peaches, home-made Tomato
Sauce and others. I had my paper route and had chores like taking out the
garbage and bringing in the milk and other things but never did any
gardening. My Mom loved Roses and my Dad loved Peonies and we had a
really nice Mountain Laurel near the door.
So in '73, I got my own apartment and planted my
first garden in the spring of '74. Heavy rain from a Tropical storm actually
destroyed my lettuce at the end of the summer and I gave vegetarianism a try. I
joined a pretty cool Food co-op and would bring home Peanuts, Potatoes and
Peppers. '75 and 76 were party years till I got arrested for running out
of Bowl-O-Rama with my bowling shoes. Fourth degree larceny and three
cancelled court appearances when the charge was finally dropped, and I entered
the "accelerated rehabilitation" program. Suddenly the harmless
hooligan days were done.
I got more serious with researching ecosystems and
botany. I subscribed to Mother Earth News and Harrowsmith, and other back to
the earth publications. In 1977 I discovered Seed Savers Exchange via
Michael Pilarski, a Permaculture Pioneer. Now that was some shit ... learning
about our genetic heritage of seeds and how important seeds and forests are and
what Permaculture is.
Gardens all the time from
here out. Garden in East Granby Connecticut. Then the move to Tucson
Arizona. Three Amigos out Ajo Way. Cat Mountain was in view, and Kitt Peak was
a short drive away.
We developed a system where
everything we planted could be watered with a hose. Just turn it on for a half
hour and it filled the ditches where the watermelons were. Rivulets were
diverted to the side to water radishes and all the other things we tried. The
soil was good, just add water.
We lived near the
Tucson-Sonora Desert Museum which is best stated on their web page.
"21 interpreted acres,
two miles of walking paths, 242 animal species, plants from 1200 taxa and one
of the worlds largest regional mineral collections."
Three New Englanders living the western life at 160 Swinging A. Little
Jenny next door often visited because we were fun and her parents knew we was
good people. Gardens, Music and Art. TS always had a painting going, and this
is his below.
The painter moved downtown and we moved mid-town in
1980. A tiny home on Adams St. with more good soil for gardening. I aspired to
be nothing more than a janitor for work and a gardener at home. One day my boss
Larry sat me down. Normally a garrulous old fart, he sat me down one night and
asked me what were my plans for the future.
"Chop wood and carry water" I shrugged?
"where do you
see yourself in ten years?" He seriously cared. At the time I had been
thinking that somehow it might be nice if I could translate my irresistible
urge to garden into some kind of occupation. So I told him. A week later he got
me some work outside at the restaurant we cleaned. Moving six Barrel Cactus
that were out near the street, closer to the windows, so customers could see
them. Always leaning towards the sun, now I find out they can be eaten. So I
planted them in the same leaning direction southwards and so they had me do
some pruning. Larry got me on my career path.
He lost the account, six Village Pizzas, and so I got a job
with Casa Verde Landscaping. I turned that minimal experience into an updated
resume.
They had the best accounts in town and when the
owner got the 78 store Park Mall account, I was sent there, since I seemed more
into taking care of plants than mowing. 520 sprinkler heads and me not having
ever even having seen an irrigation set up. 106 degrees and me turning on
a station, getting on my bicycle and checking it. The perimeter road had about
a 2000 feet of Juniper along it I was responsible for. Gently swaying as cars
drove past, Juniper was a good choice but 106 degrees in the middle of a mall
parking lot. Not and Dry.
THEN ... my gal and I got a job on a 40 acre horse
ranch in 1982. Can't hurt to try, we figured, applying for the positions, and
somehow we beat 125 other applicants. I had Citrus and Joshua Trees and much
more to take care of, such as pulling mistletoe out of trees. We had six
Australian Shepards who were not fenced or leashed because we were so far
outside of town. Though when the Peccaries were around, they had to be fed
within the walled compound.
One day some coyotes thought they'd go through the yard
in the daytime and I watched as Sammy (on the left) stood on his hind legs,
looking very much like a bear because he had no tail, and scared them off. One
of those great moments where I wished I had a camera.
On the other hand I did catch my cat Dickens standing
up once during our time there.
That caretaking gig lasted three years and I had a
fenced garden where I used sheet composting and other composting methods using
my books from Rodale to learn the organic way.
We had experienced so much in six years but we moved
back to New England because we missed it and I intended to learn more about my
craft. First at a nursery then a greenhouse back to the nursery and back to the
greenhouse. Then I gave indoor plant maintenance a try for a year and a half
keeping me employed during the winter.
Rolling my 30-gallon tank of water through parking lots
and into elevators with Plantations and Plantscapes. Rolling through IBM, Ernst
& Young, Deutsche Bank and many insurance companies, and I fielded hundreds
of questions from employees. I was big on giving plants away too.
Then a landscaping job in Ellington with our super crew
of farm girls, bikers, rednecks, Mohawks and me ... whatever I was. The working
class knows how to get along, we had fun.
1989 was a
great year. Everywhere I went my two-year-old was there too. Trips to the Dump
or the Trolley or the store or over to the woods Mike Two Hawks hung out. We
let her run ahead the first time we were there, and he told me later she found
all the power vortexes on the property. One place she didn’t go was she the
Master Gardener Course I took.
Carl Salsedo was a very entertaining teacher, and he
was the extension agent and he and his wife, who was the administrator of the
building, were always arguing. It was funny because they would laugh at
themselves after one of their silly arguments. To get your Master gardener
certification we had to do 50 hours of volunteer work. Mostly phone work at the
county office in four-hour chunks. We ended up moving to Florida in September
and so I went through the program in 1991 and 2001.
University research was now
showing the harm of chemicals, and instead of promoting their use, it was now
being discouraged and the 2001 program was dramatically upgraded.
As I explained earlier, I got to be landscape boss at
Atlantic View, then worked for Biogreen, which was an organic fertilizer
company. Then on May 30th, 1990, I got hired at Orchid Island, a gated
community.
I thought I had learned a lot in the 80's but the
nineties proved to be even more educational. In '94 I entered my A1A / Jungle
Trail native plant work with the Florida Native Plant Society FNPS and got a
Certificate of Distinction. Today you can still see the results. The west side
of A1A is still a biotic dead zone with the invasive Brazilian Pepper choking
out everything else. The east side where I worked, is all natives, even
today. 2000 feet by 40 feet and part of my job was burying the dead animals
that got hit by cars. I made the claim I created this habitat using only a
chain saw and Roundup. But that's a story for another day.
In '98, I somehow got first place in the residential
category with the FNPS. On his 2 acre oceanside, 10 million dollar home, Mr.
Avery saved all the native plants in a 150' x 40' part of his property by the
roadside. It was a wreck after construction of the home and I cleaned it up,
pulled the weeds and invasives, which allowed native seeds to live long and
prosper. Liz Gilleck got an award for her work designing the remainder of the
property using the hackneyed choices of that time. Same old stuff for beauty
and lines and all the stuff overpaid landscape architects do. Notorious for
putting Queen Palms next to pools, the clueless experts never saw the great
delight that Raccoons exhibited by this choice. On the steps the barely
digested fruit was deposited on the steps going into the pool.
The walkway to
be beach had to be just so. The environmental laws had caught up to the
developers at long last. At this point, I had made two thoughtful presentations
to two bosses. The mucky mucks at the top. Trying to get them to do mainstream
environment initiatives proved impossible. So anyways, I went to
the annual conference where I saw my slides enlarged to twenty feet and given
an award. First god damn place no less.
I was getting to know all the horticultural players in
the county and applied for an opening on the Sebastian Tree Board. I was told,
"you know what, you could be an adviser and not be subject to the Sunshine
Law." Turned out to be good advice because members could talk to me when
the meeting was done.
Walmart was expanding and we tried desperately to get
them to save the existing semi scrub habitat. The parking lot was going to be
at the same elevation as the Scrub Pine Forest. Parking spots in the
shade and downpours could be collecting in natural, quickly draining soil.
Today the sad looking Elms they planted twenty years ago are not even 15 feet
tall. They are so sad.
My first real assignment was filming all the cities
properties. Many were small for drainage, but some were really large. I
suggested that all they had to do at the 2.3 acre property on the corner of
George and Barber was take out the Brazilian Peppers and you would still have a
canopy of Oaks and native Palms. They did and added a playground area there. My
firstborn helped me with the filming and we went to the 5 acre site on Keen
Terrace and came up with the idea that it would be a cool place for dogs to run
free. I also had an open door agreement with the city manager to come in
anytime and I made the case for it. We imagined the whole place fenced in and
dogs could avoid each other but the one they made is pretty large. None of my
dogs seemed to like it though.
I was told by the Orchid Island people my ideas were
valid ...but...and... uh. They seemed more concerned their real estate parasite
friends, would all be millionaires. Or selling club memberships.
One year a big log had blown into the lake near #7 Tee.
When we went in for lunch there was always a couple birds and turtles resting
on it. A place to feel safe, you know. Where is a turtle supposed to go with
these biotically dead retention ponds? There was native Spartina everywhere but
that gets old.
In Sebastian
I could be part of the developing park system. There was 4000 people when I
moved there and 14 thousand about fifteen years later.
2001 came along and I started my own business. Oh ...
one more thing about Orchid Island. I was driving my tractor picking up brush
and I finally had had enough of these Brazilian Peppers so I went on private
property and ran my chain saw through five of the thickest trunks I could
find.
A couple days later the golf course boss came running
over. "John ... John did you cut those trees that are all dying now?"
"Which trees?"
"Over by nine fairway?"
"Why yes I did."
"Are you crazy. The property owner is in Kevins
office and hysterical that someone cut his Oak trees down."
"MMMM. I don't think I cut any Oaks. Maybe
accidently. Why don't you go over there and look for yourself. I'll talk to the
guy if you like." Well, long story short the property owner and I got
together and I explained about Florida plants and how the Brazilian Peppers
were subsuming millions of acres of native habitat. He knew all about what I
was talking about. I went on and on about birds and how they used that site for
feeding and nesting and it was being lost to this pest tree. Atlantic Flyway,
blah blah blah.
Turns out he was a Birder and I worked for him for over
five years. He gave me a signed copies of the book his mother wrote. A Little Bird Told Me So: Birds in
Mythology and History by Eleanor Stickney (1997-12-04): Amazon.com: Books
This resume needs to be edited and reduced, and I 'll
make 20 years of being the Garden Green creating native habitat, for another
day. I was into the work, not the money. My customers no longer spend money on
irrigation repairs or fertilizer applications. Some began taking care of their
own which I encouraged and that's what I want to do in 2022. Weekly visits had
gotten so restrictive in many ways. I was never able to really take a vacation.
I was happy in the Pine Forest next door.
I'm looking for monthly customers. People who give me
free rein to plant what I thought was right, and to keep what is doing well as
long as it's not invasive. I did one yard in 8 phases over 4 years. A minimum
of expenses since I start with small plants so there is less plastic waste with
uppotting. I tell people that whatever they may spend on my labor and new
plants, double that and that is probably how much a good, easy to take care of
yard, increases the total value of the property.
That 20 dollar unstaked tree is worth 200 in les than
ten years. Where else you gonna get that kind of return?
I can check the property monthly or when your away for
a season. I know how much water is needed when I visit. So my customers have
moved or died and I tried to rest my back so now I want to transition to
property stewardship. I need some work so let me know.
Current
plant inventory
n is NATIVE
ACALYPHA
ALOE
n AMERICAN ELM
AVACADO
n BAHAMIAN WILD COFFEE
BAMBOO black & yellow
n BAY TREE
BEAUTY BERRY
BEGONIA
BIG FLOWER AQUATICA
BIRD OF PARADISE
BLACK BAMBOO
BOBS DRACENA
BOUGANVILLA
n BUMELIA TENAX
n CABBAGE PALM
CANNA LILY
CARAMBOLA (STARFRUIT)
CARDBOARD PALM
CASSIA
n CASSIA
CAST IRON PLANT
CHINESE EVERGREEN (pink)
CONFEDERAT JASMINE
CROTON
n CYPRESS
DESERT ROSE
DRACENA
DRAGON FRUIT
EGGFRUIT
EXPERIMENTAL CITRUS
n FIDDLEWOOD
n FLORIDA PRIVET
FRANGIPANI
GARDENIA
GERTS FERN
GRAPES
HACKBERRY
HELICONIA
HIBISCUS (red hot)
HOMERS BROMELIAD
ICE CREAM BEAN
IVY'S ERYTHINA
n JAMAICA CAPER
LADY PALM
LEAD TREE
LIME
n MAGNOLIA
n MAHOGANY
MARIGOLDS
n MARLBERRY Ardisia escallonioides
MILLET NC roadside
n MORNING GLORY MERRIAM
DISSECTA
Nepthytis (red veins)Syngonium podophyllum
OAKS
ONIONS
PAPAYA
PASSION VINE
PEPPER
PINEAPPLE
PINTO BEANS
n POINSETTIA
POISONOUS EUPHORBIA
POND APPLE
n PORTERWEED
PORTULACA
n POST OAK
POWDER PUFF
QUEEN PALM Syagrus romanzoffiana
RED FLOWER
n RED MAPLE
ROSE
n ROUGE PLANT
SAPOTE
SAW PALMETTO
n SCORPION TAIL
n SEMINOLE PUMPKIN
SHAMPOO GINGER
n SMILAX
SNAKE PLANT (DWARF)
SOUTHERN TREE (purple flower)
SWAMP LILY
SWEET POTATO
TI PLANT
TOMATO
TRIANGLE PALM
WAX MYRTLE
WHITE INDIGOBERRY
WILD COFFEE
YLANG YLANG
YUCCA
ALL THIS ON LESS THAN 10,000 SQ FT. I have a Squirrel
problem now. 9 new houses and 9 lots cleared and since I have lots of food for
them, I now have about 8 squirrels living in the yard. Though I think the two
from Larrys lineage are trying to contact me.
Here are some of my Connecticut job
experiences.
Looking for a New Englandy place to live after living in
Tucson for six years, I went to the Boston area first. I got pulled over by a
cop trying to find my way around a tight little neighborhood in Boston in my
search for a home and the only way out was going the wrong way on a one-way
street… and there’s a cop. I talked my way out of it and went on for a quieter
town between there and Salem.
Then I realized that maybe Vermont, New Hampshire and
Massachusetts were far from the people we knew, and Enfield Connecticut was
quite New Englandy in its own way with its old houses and farm stands. At the
end of April, I had been at Norms for two weeks. They spent a month
or something in Cape Cod and I was house sitting which, all in all, was a
pretty cool transition to New England. Taking care of Freddy the dog and
shepherding the arrival of Dickens and Rocky, our cats.
I applied at Tarnow Nursery which was down the
road about a half a mile and got a job. Minimum wage had risen to $3.35 an hour
and despite a pretty good horticultural resume by this point, I started at
$3.50. Owner John was a well-known skinflint as I found out from his nieces
Nancy and Susan who had set up the nursery the previous fall and ran the place.
He barely paid them 4 an hour to run the place, and they were kin.
There’s that pattern emerging that most guys wanted to
be millionaires. The nursery owner probably became a millionaire eventually, on
the backs of 100, mostly dedicated young people of course. As did Tom Collins
in later years with lots of turnover and probably 1000 employees at Captain
Hirams in Sebastian Florida. As did the owners of Rock City leaving 500
disgruntled employees in their wake at least.
Joe from Springfield came along at
Tarnow Nursery, and he was a young, but old looking, college grad and
he became the boss and Susan and Nancy went back to the main store to work,
except weekends when Joe was off, and they were the bosses. We spent a lot of
time talking on the weekends and there was quite a bunch of interesting kids
that came through that summer. That was a good crew.
At 32, I was the oldest at the jobsite and should have
been well on my way to a capitalist career and accumulating assets and
investing for retirement, but I wasn’t buying into this system. I had learned
quite a bit about plants the previous four years with the mall and caretaker
job, and I quickly learned about Connecticut's favorite plants.
I thought I had quite a good sales approach and we were
taught to handle two customers and go between them while, you know, keeping the
elbows and ankles flying when Joe was there. I started by being a loader and
met many of the Enfield people who frequented the store who lauded the variety
of the plants. This was no vegetable stand with plants, it was a slick
professionalism that people like, and Tarnows quickly became Enfields favorite
nursery.
The end of the summer came, and it was pumpkins and
fall decorations and selling the fall planting concept. The kids went back
to college, and I became the main salesperson (except when
that lazy guinea schlub from the Main store worked there). He was lazy as fuck
and immediately had an effect on productivity. By November, Michelle ran the
Christmas shop, and I was the everything else person. She was sharp
and knew how to please the little old ladies buying Christmas fluff.
So, my first winter since 1977-8 was set to arrive. We
came back to experience the seasons, right? My partner and I had moved to the
Thompsonville section of Enfield, and it was like a slice of Boston, a dose of
“Southy” that had dropped down in the Connecticut River Valley.
There was Ragnos where they served the food I had
missed out in Arizona. A little further away was the best Polish Deli I had
ever hoid. Our daughter was born and then baptized at the ancient gothy church
down the street. A little further down the street, a Norman Rockwell Christmas
emerged at Freshwater Pond when the ice froze.
It was exciting and I realized at this point that I had
truly created my own path. My peers were buying houses and working
in cubicles, but I decided to carve my own path. I was creating my
own horticultural college experience in a pull up your bootstrap's way.
There was Tiny’s Little criminal enterprise next door
in a pool hall and a host of characters living in 8 rentals in two large
houses. Add loose soap opera here.
I bought some choice little evergreens and had planted
them on the side of the house. Rocky and Dickens would run up the steps to come
in because the back steps were missing. I was planting in this grey dust they
called soil and people were digging it. “Looks good” said local murderer Wilmer
Paradise.
My partner was working downtown, and I went to the
local employment agency to find another job when I got laid off after
Christmas. When you make peanuts, the unemployment was very minimal and a
couple weeks before Valentines day I got a job with a wholesale Greenhouse.
Former Ball Seed Vice President Peter Stanley was one
of the most manic people I’d ever met. He had reconstructed two 440 foot
greenhouses and was striking out on his own with his patented concept called
Jet Plugs. Instead of the usual 75 cent plugs these were much smaller and only
about 35 cents if I recall, so that was 40 cents a plant profit. I learned the
long road from producer to purchaser.
One day running between greenhouses I caught the top of
my head on a round eyehook. Shouldn’t have torn my head open since it wasn’t
sharp in any way, but that was a trip to the emergency clinic and 13 stitches.
My nickname was Zipperhead for a while.
So there I was off to a new job in early February with
the temperature around 10 degrees and a dry wicked wind was blowing so it felt
like it was well below zero and I was reminded of one of the reasons I moved to
Arizona. It was COLD! Everything was frozen and the loading dock area looked to
be abandoned with 4’x4’ flattened boxes blowing around and other litter was
being blown around. I was looking for a job here? It looked like a disaster
area.
Peter was short on employees and this was his problem.
So he hired me on at $4.25 an hour which was 25% more than I was making at
Tarnow Nursery. An employee was walkie talkied to come and give me an
orientation. She was one of those tall Nordic women who cursed very fluently.
We got on pretty good, I was always monogamous, so there was never sexual
tension with any female co-workers.
In the world of capitalism, men are sheltered
from the minorities and they were the bosses of the women and this is why so
much sexism remains. You treat a woman like a dude, and they respond in kind.
At the mall I also talked with dozens of the employees from every demographic.
I reject the notion that I “don’t know how to communicate”. At Tarnow Nursery I
met practically everyone in town who came to check out the place. I had the
gift of gab when I was younger. I spent the entirety of the 80's meeting people.
9 different jobs 9 different experiences.
I don’t remember the flaxen haired Valkyries name but
she walked me to the first Greenhouse and it was a moment like no other. People
with glasses know how they fog up in changing conditions. Ten below zero with a
wicked wind chill and it was like Dorothy opening the door to the colors of Oz.
Tropical plants as far as the eye could see and a
temperature to match. Plants poised for the Valentines Day sales. Here was a
new experience to jump into, fer sure. Many tales I will relate later and just
one to keep the flow. Bosses such as Jim the asshole came along and White
Knight Dwight from out of state was a hired gun and a spectacular dude. No
college for him either and he was older than me and had a wide variety of job
experiences. He and his friend from Pittsburgh completely refurbished the existing
greenhouses and brought another one into service.
When all was said and done, our little family moved to
the field office of Consolidated Cigar that Dwight and Marian had p
reviouslylived in. There was always a boss over me, and they all got fired or
quit and I was a constant for Stanley Greenhouses and now lived across the
street in the cutest little white house you ever saw.
Summer of 86 with my first biological child who was a
fun little baby and it was an exciting time. I believe the wife quit her job to
be a mommy since I was putting in 60 hours a week, and making enough. A typical
day would have me at 7:00 walking over to begin venting around 15,000 sq. ft.
of greenhouse.
By then the Weather Channel had become the bomb, and I
would vent accordingly, depending on that days conditions. Rolling carts waited
on the very large loading dock and sometimes I took a smaller truck and loaded
from the greenhouse. Then I would drive and deliver for ten hours going to
Mattapan or Poughkeepsie or over Mt Adams with a ton of wet plants. I’d come
back and close the vents to keep the greenhouses at 75 degrees, then walk home
after a 13-hour day. But it was interesting, you know. I set up plant displays
at BJ’s Wholesale and delivered to every Paperama in southern New England out
to the Hudson in New York.
Work hard and be rewarded was the message of my youth
but then I learned from a friend that I had to work smart. That made sense. But
did it mean conniving to scratch and claw my way above other employees? Yes, it
did. The secret to the American Dream, if you wanted financial security, is
that you needed to be the boss. To be able to manipulate people to work
harder than they should. Squeezing productivity from underpaid
employees was never a lure to me.
The boss at Walmart making sure no one talks to each
other. The warehouse manager not caring about workers injuries. The head nurse
that all the CNA’s hate. My philosophy is that I don’t like being
bossed and I don’t like BEING the boss.
So here I was with caretaking experience, a difficult
mall gardening job that included irrigation work, and then some electrical
work. A nursery job and greenhouse experience. I was training myself in
Horticulture. So, by 1987 Peter ratcheted down his business because his
mercurial bossmanship just wasn’t making the money he expected, although of
course he blamed the employees.
He even had me set up a retail shop the spring after
Dwight left and people recognized me from Tarnows. Then there were the BJ
Wholesale sites where I set up the indoor displays and returned weekly to
replace plants in ‘86. I even drove to Syracuse a couple of times.
I reckon it was the summer of 87 and I decided I needed
indoor plant experience on my resume. The good thing about interior plantwork
was that it was a way to work through a New England winter. I spent nine months
at Plantations who had some very professional training. I forgot how I left
that job.
Then there was the Plantscape job where I was the only
dude. When they went big on a pink and black theme with uniforms and stickers
and what all else, I found it amusing and they found a way to frame and fire
me.
In spring of ’88 I got a job with probably one of the
best crews ever. There was the boss, another Lori with an I, who was a dairy
farmers daughter. She had grown up with machines and tractors and got the
notion to start a landscaping business. Dwarf Evergreens were trending and the
plant selection was minty and the boss was calm and organized.
There was Bob the biker. A big bear of a guy with a big
beard that the boss described as more a Teddy Bear than a Grizzly. There was
Randy the Redneck and there were many interesting discussions altogether
between all of us. A big gun enthusiast and one of the first Preppers I ever
met. He had enough food for a year at least and even an underground gasoline
tank. Randy and his Super Swampers were such a caricature.
Armageddon happens and people are hungry roaming the
land for food and shelter We asked him what he would do if dozens of hungry
people and their children were walking up his driveway looking for assistance.
His answer was that he would “mow them down like zombies.” Then there was Mike
Two Hawks, who said he was derided as “only” a quarter blood Mohawk by his
peers, but who seemed to be fully authentic. He taught me ceremony and quite a
bit else though he was younger.
There was Dat Shenoy and his family. He was a
tech dude who quit the biz and wanted to be a landlord. He would be buying
houses and I would renovate the landscaping and help him clean and paint the
indoors. I’ve liked Painting ever since.
I don’t know what years those were with Dat and his
lovely family and where they fit in with all those other Connecticut jobs I
had, but it was certain that no one could cite my lack of hustle. A 50
hour week was quite normal for me in the 80’s. I had packed in quite a bit of
training in horticulture and with Lori I had the classic experience of driving
a 1949 Ford tractor down the state road creating a traffic jam.
With my previous greenhouse experience, I stayed on
with the landscaper when it got too cold to plant Junipers in the frozen
ground. There was Joe Gidvelas with his mafioso persona. He cursed all the time
and was very gruff, except when he was planting tissue culture jet plugs and he
treated those like newborn babies.
In ’89 we got an offer to come to Florida to be
manipulated by my in-laws. My dad drove my rusted Datsun King
Cab pickup, and I drove a Hertz rental truck like the ones I drove for
Stanley. Without cell phones and global positioning satellites, we always
had a place where we would meet if we got separated. This was important going
on the six lane I-295 around Washington DC.
Susan and Nancy
Probably more administrative skill than all the men in
the Tarnow organization. A song called “The Warrior” brought me back to that
time. And really it all just brings me back to when I started getting
into the groove with a career in horticulture, botany, hydrology, being in on
the beginning of tissue culture and all the rest.
My first notion is that the Green Industry is about the
least green of them all. All the pollution required to make plastic and then
there’s the toxic particles when it burns.
First there is the immense tracts of irrigation pipes
at Park Mall where I worked in ’81/2. 528 sprinkler heads in an area so vast I
had to use a bicycle to reach the further ends of it. Today they have an easy,
remote thingy that lets you to change to different irrigation zones
without having to go back to the time clock.
I started to point out the hypocrisy of using a lot of
mulch for environmental reasons when the plastic bags for one job created more
plastic garbage than ten families could make in a week! I really noticed it
after I moved to Connecticut and worked at Tarnow nursery as a loader. All day
long loading “green” products in thousands of plastic bags. Brian and I had to
wind down with some California bud and Motley Crues “Shout at the Devil"
after loading many tons of bags.
Stanley Greenhouse was a joke in the waste department. Thousands
of hanging baskets. Thousands of holiday plants. It was about the
profit. I went back to Tarnow for another interesting spring but
Stanley wanted me and I got another paltry raise to $4.75.
I went and did 18 months with two interior plant
companies in the third largest indoor plant market at the time, Hartford
Connecticut.
After I told Mike Two Hawks about my Indian sweet
corn project, we began talking how the natives here, The Podunks among others,
lived cleanly and simply on the east side of the Connecticut River.
I told him about the Charter Oak and how it was also
the ceremonial Oak. When the oak leaves were the size of mouse ears, it was
time to plant the corn. Later the “Fundamental Orders of 1639” were hidden in
the tree.
So I learned ceremony at the start of the work
day. It was the cusp of the dwarf evergreeen trend and we planted many
yards during the year and a half I worked there. The same crew; a redneck - a
biker -an Indian- a farm girl who loved tractors, -a foul mouthed fat guy and
me the heirloom organic dude.
Orchid Island; invasive plants A1A
and Jungle Trail and cutting the pepper at Stickneys.
I made TWO habitat reports and talked to two property
managers and if nothing else showed them up to be hypocrites. Headline
proclaiming how they gave $3726 to the Environmental Learning Center. A
greenwashing of the corporate sort. A showy gift of charity (probably some
costume fetish ball) but not able to comprehend how the 600 acre community
should be managed. No outdoor stewardship, it was about selling memberships and
empty million dollar lots. No fucks given for the sake of migrating
animals and enhancing nature. No one to notice the disapearing stands of native
plants on site.
I saw an opportunity for me to create a job with
habitat at this place but these richy rich clubs have their richy rich wanna be
millionaire employees (bag boys / shop girls / wait staff / department heads
/real estate parasites) all stabbing each other in the back as they kick and
claw their way to the top of the Torwest corporate organization.
Finally, I started
my own business The Garden Green. A humble, small company as there ever was.
2001 to 2021. Now I’m off to start something new.
Diversions. 2022.
DIVERSIONS 2023
DIVISIONS OF DIVERSIONS
THE GARDEN GREEN
FANCY PLANTS NURSERY
INTEGRATED PEST MANAGEMENT
broccoli black thumb
Roboto I’d like to talk about my Feedbag concept. And
Smoking wrench.
💚💞❤ 3 FROM 1973
non existent career ends
Today, I feel like
recalling and recording my "musical career"
I must have been 19 when I wrote this
and couldn't admit my chops were not good enough for steady playing in a metal
band. Just never quite fast enough either. This never discusses the
Fusion years with Frank Marzano or Gigolos Dream with Steve Merski or the Robot
City Years in the 80's with Bernie and Cliff. Haven't been in a band in
30 years though and I am going to put something together with the songs I like
to play.
Back to 73.
“My Musical Career …"
1973. The best year of all time for
music and I was ready to give up.
Today, I feel like recalling and
recording my "musical career". The reason is because this is the end
of it. I don't regret the fact of course. It enriched my life at many different
points.
I'll never play an instrument again,
unless tinkering around, or if one last project comes up such as playing with
Anne Austin in the studio. That will be the end of playing music as far
as I can see.
Music first entered my life when I was
around 8 years old. Of course there was music before that, but when I was 8
music had its first impact. Me and Richie got to be really good friends and he
and I were walking down his driveway when a song blasted out the small kitchen
window. The song was the one by that Australian guy in 1962 about tie me
kangaroo down. I thought that was the funniest thing I had ever heard.
"Tan me hide when I'm dead Fred.
Tan me hide when I'm dead." Richie asked what radio station we listened to
at home. It was WTIC and they were determinably Squaresville.
IN 1962 there was a rivalry between WDRC and WPOP as they converted to
pop rock formats. He told me to listen to WDRC and I did and I liked it.
What was popular then? The Shirelles,
The Orlons, The Martian Hop. The Twist was dying, surf music being born with
The Beach Boys popularity. Sugar Shack by Jimmy Gilmer was metal to me with my
8 year old ears. Dat bass. The Four Seasons had a big year in 1963 and they
spoke for a lot of us. Puppy Love by the Essex had come and gone as we tried to
define real love.
Then the Beatles got into everyone’s
life. What was my personal reaction to the Beatles? It was November and I want
to hold your hand was out and I had bought it without my parents’ permission or
they bought it at Kings or Topps or something. I like the Beatles in a less
frantic way than most people did with the much-discussed hysteria. Beatlemania.
I remember when I saw them on
television in February and was then awe-struck. They were just boppin' around
but I was awe-struck. Clearly there was an energy here to contend with.
I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND b/w I SAW HER
STANDING THERE WAS THE FIRST RECORD I EVER BOUGHT. We had a 4 string Tenor
Guitar. I tried playing along with “I want to hold your hand” and that was my
first instrument. Then came an unsuccessful attempt at the Bass violin. I
couldn't press down the big fat strings good enough. He was testing to see if I
had some musical talent because playing bass was always his second job.
Then my dad tried me with the
harmonica and maracas which were some other instruments he had. The
harmonica was fun because it always made noise and sometimes what sounded like
music. Never much for maracas and Southe Americano musica.
Throughout sixth grade, me and Rich
and Lavallee and some other people wanted to start a group. We figured we
could all take up an instrument and start a band. How hard could it be to play
the drums? We had fun thinking about how famous we could be. It was nice to
have imagination.
We made up names for the group. The
Fleetfoots since we was all good runners, an adaption of a band name known as
the Fleetwoods. Then on my 12th birthday I got a 40 dollar Kay guitar.
Every year I would learn a little from the Mel Bay books but I only learned to
read a few notes. That was it.
Finally when I was 16, I started again in earnest. MTAG was making movies
and we had finished "The Snorff" at that time. We filmed it at
Wakefields house since we needed The Snorff to jump out of an oven and run out
of the front door. Our parents would think we were too crazy, but Peter
Thorsells older friend had a house. I was interested in the amp they had
there. 20 bucks. Practically new! It cost 40. That nice sky blue that I also
chose for my bass amp. I remember distinctly that I learned my first chord (C)
in June.
It was the summer of 1970 and Maury and Ayers created a group and wanted Steve
Merski on bass. He had never played before, except piano. He was really bad,
but then there is Maury McCarhy who had his unique version of bad. They
recruited Rich Carling to be the drummer, and off they went. Steve always
told me not to learn chords but just play lead like Maury, all lead.
By that time I knew 25 chords or so near the end of the year. Then I started
going out with Anne Austin who was an influential person in my life. A fun
naughty girlfriend, she was good enough on some blues guitar. It was a musical
adventure playing songs out in the back yard, both of us plugged into a
completely inadequate amp. Gary Smith got us a drummer named Mark Privetera,
who died young at age 40.
Anne and I played with Drew Kendrick who had learned a few things but was in a
lower level like us. Sometimes we had Steve to play bass because he started
making sense of it. He had a lean rockers stance and this was important in
Maurys band.
The party was fairly big, Ralph Arenas 18th birthday at Marks house. Got some
pictures I should scan. We were beginners; we shouldn't have played a party. We
did alright, considering, and Bob Geiser helped us out with his professional
style of playing on a couple songs. I remember Marks mom loved the song Sunrise
, Sunset so we played it 3 times. It was a trade for the use of the house.
Bob Geiser was in Freedom Train at the time and we were offered a chance to
play Incarnation Church with them which meant a certain level of expertise was
expected. We didn't have it. I objected and so did Steve. Anne and Dippo
thought we were ready and we weren't so we didn’t.
We kept arguing about this issue and soon our practices started sounding worse
than better. We kind of made Anne quit and then Steve went to play exclusively
with Maury. Suddenly me and Dippo were alone and Gary Smith got us to play with
Jeff Gedutis and that worked out fairly badly. I just wasn't that good
and had a good rhythm, but sloppy and slow otherwise. I couldn’t remember songs
for shit.
As the summer of 71 came along Bob Geiser jammed with us when he was available.
We played at Dippos sisters party at his house with Tony Delisio. There
was a Three Arts Festival I was heavily involved in. The sabotage night I
think. Greg Hall and now Larry Tamiso. He ended up taking my gal, Donna
Franklin, who was dismayed at my ignorance of relationships. Then
came Ralphs 18th birthday Party. That was kind of big and was a really great
show with pictures.
So Dippo, Larry and various guest guitarists, like the albino dude would play
in my back yard or meet us at Marks house. When I started 12th grade in
September, I became better friends with Steve Merski and I joined the band with
Maury Rich and Steve. We played New Years Eve at a party at Rich's house.
When we practiced beforehand, I remember trying to learn Funk #49 by the James
Gang. Fitz was friends with Rich the drummer and had started practicing guitar
and he had a knack for funky rhythm guitar.
In February, there was the historic Battle of the Bands where we played as Dr.
West's Delight. We smashed a dummy amp, I broke a crappy old guitar and
we threw Yodels and squirted shaving cream. Some of the greatest mayhem I was
ever involved in. Maury Steve and Rich. A year later Rich was dead.
We almost broke the good PA system we borrowed while we screamed and fell in
the audience. We wore suits (before anybody in metal) and had prominent
carnations thanks to Rich Carling stepmom Mrs. Morton as she sent us off to the
show. "You sure you don't want another brownie?"
"Thanks Mrs. Morton, no one knows how metal I am with my short hair and
Poindexter glasses but I am ready for the show." By April we had muscled
Maury out of the group. Seriously what fucking planet did he live on? His
guitar playing never sounds good except in that freaky space music way of Sun
Ra or someone from another planet.
We played a bit with Dave Jacques but that didn't work out. Fitz had
practiced a lot while he was away at school and joined up with us in late May.
It was a fun summer of playing. I had graduated. The drinking age was lowered
to 18 and the song by Alice Cooper "18" was a big hit early in the
year. The draft for war ended the year before so I was clear for takeoff. Time
to start adulting.
As I said it was a fun summer and we practiced a lot with Fitz but he became a
senior and Steve was a senior at Wethersfield High. I had college at 4:00. Rich
did get us a job at High Meadow for 120 bucks, I think, in October. We had
become an extended family of musicians. Bruce Gorman (Dusty Roads) was always
in on a jam or a gig. Pete Thorsell lived nearby when I lived in the barn with
Bruce a couple of weekends. Later in the spring I lived in Steves Merskis
barn on and off.
When I wrote most of this, it was 1973, and I was feeling like groups didn't
seem to work and maybe I was wasting my time. I really wasn’t that good. Some
songs were really hard to memorize and my chops were imprecise and my riffs
were trash.
I was done with it all. Except if I do something with Anne Austin.
Maybe when I'm 30 or something I'll pick up the piano but never another guitar.
POSTSCRIPT: Emotional youth. I
had another burst of reading and research as I took jazz lessons for guitar and
went back to the guitar but switched back to bass in a year or so. In 1974 I
did three things. Face to face with young phenom, Pat Methany, and then up to
Greenfield to spend $1200 on an Acoustic 371 for playing bass. One owner still
have it. I also bought an imitation Strat from Japan at Integrity n Music in
1974 and I still have that. Make that 4 things. One last time with Anne Austin
when she called me up and asked if I wanted to go see Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side
of the Moon” tour? We both loved them but we couldn’t find a joint to bring
with us. Then in a 4000 seat venue Mark Turley sat next to us and got us
buzzed. That show is a story for another day. Best show I ever saw.
1975 was about mayhem on the highways
and a jazz band with Fluteman Frank Marzano young Bobby Dest. Then me and Frank
jammed with a bunch of guitarists in town. Abbruzee I think Gedutis again. Then
I moved to East Granby with Sherry. Before that there was Cliff and Flutegirl
and the female blues singer who sounded like the 20’ssinger. Me and Bernie. And
to wrap it up there was some nice metal with me Bernie and Carl. Then I moved
to Tucson and me and Merski jammed and there was lance but I just didn’t know what
I was doing. Now I do and it’s easy to learn songs so I’m starting a rockabilly
band. With my arthritis I play songs amenable to playing 5ths or power chords
more commonly.
-6-4-
MYSTORY OF
METAL
From thee the river flows
What hath Ozzy wrought?
Heavy Metal, like the
ice breaker,
continues tearing across the ice, and opens the road to new innovations; always
pushing hard, sometimes over the edge and never standing still for too long.
Pop music remains content to use traditional and popular structure, dwelling on
the ubiquitous love song and derivative riffs stolen from rock and roll.
Mainstream rock music cops metal riffs and the crushing beats from previous
years metal, and this keeps rock and roll alive.
We are the metalloids, magnetized by the metal. I wanted to point
out we are all going to have our favorites and my metal may be a little PG for
most metal snobs who love brutal 24/7. How can you have a Top 100 with
all brutal compositions that most people can barely understand? I am not
going to consider Cannibal Corpse or Rotting Christ as worthy of my Top 100.
Just gross, that’s why. I aspire to nuanced metal song construction and won’t
tolerate violent lyrics. Except like, Motley Crue’s Shout at the Devil album.
Going back in time and sifting through my memories of heavy guitar rock, I
remember holding my breath the first time I heard "Cry for a Shadow"
by the Beatles. There was such a perfect guitar sound. This was what I was
looking for, listening for, that is.
In 1964, the Beatles
entire catalog was being played on the radio and the Instrumental “Cry for a
Shadow” broke out of the Pop Music formula as a Beatles instrumental. It was
the sound my core was looking for and it was all about the guitar.
The song managed to make the top forty briefly and I would listen to
the radio every hour I could, to hear it again. Then it dropped out of the
survey like a courtesy flush, and I couldn't believe it. Listening to it
these days, it seems like a prototype Blue Oyster Cult song. It was the first
song with elements of metal. Convince me I’m wrong.
The Kinks were proto-metal as far as I am concerned and these days, so do many
music experts. It was in the guitar, the sonic siren leading to a lifetime of
metal addiction. Fifth chords to the center of the earth.
The Avant Garde scene was noodling around the boundaries of what was possible,
thereby opening the door to psychedelic rock. Pop songs such as Hot Smoke and
Sassafras and Journey to the Center of the Mind condensed the power of proto
metal into a 3 minute pop song.
Garage Rock
has always been the birthing ground for metal, poor-ass motherfuckers out to
create a noise louder than there’s ever been before. The garage is our
cave, I guess, it could be seen in retrospect. The 4 dudes of Black Sabbath
emerged from their caves on the gritty end of industrial Birmingham England and
woke the world up with a new genre. They weren’t Prog guys, all college grads
‘n shit. SO, they must top my list of top 100 METAL MASTERPIZZAS and
so I asked myself a very important Black Sabbath fan question, and that is …
what was their best tune, ever?
"Warning" from
the first album is #1 on my list is my #1, the Rosetta Stone of how metal was
created, illustrating the link that separated rock and roll from the blues that
created the dark sound we were craving and complex musical configurations had
to start somehow and had to start somewhere. There is a mystery to the Locrian
mode that has eluded most. I’ll keep it a secret.
#2 favorite song
of all time is "Cities on Flame" by Blue oyster Cult. In 1971,
East Coast Garage rock met English Heavy Metal in Blue Oyster Cults first
album. Cities on Flame was a wakeup call to Americans to have a counter revolution
as another British Invasion began, led by Black Sabbath.
I went to very few
concerts as a youth but managed to see Blue Oyster Cult early in their career
when they were still billed as ‘formerly known as the "Soft White
Underbelly”; because the New Jersey band had regularly toured Connecticut in
previous years.
Alice Cooper, MC5, Blue
Cheer, the Stooges, were some of the notable American bands that were active
when Sabbath came on the scene, and there was a genre busting fray in the early
seventies. Cream Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix certainly have metal songs, but
Sabbath took their machete to find new lands. Grand Funk Railroad’s “I
don’t have to sing the blues no more” was rock in its hard rock way, but its
misogynistic lyrics make the song impossible to update.
When I
first started this Mystory of Metal chapter, it was 2003 and Napster was
great fun at the time. I finally found every song I had ever wanted to
hear, and We engaged in (file sharing) finding one interesting song after another.
From “London Bridge” for my 7-year-old, to “London Calling” that we both
enjoyed. As a sidenote, I bought more music during the Napster period that I
had in the previous ten years. Support your keepers and support the system that
allows file sharing. I don’t even know if people do that anymore. They stream
now and music is getting steamed, homogenized and packaged.
My boys didn’t listen to
the cornball nonsense they make kids listen to, the oldest gravitating to
various hardcores and the youngest discovering Rage Against The Machine and
others in 2004 when he was 8. Eight-year-olds don't get depressed. You
can be Emo when you're older, you're only young and innocent once. He learned
the difference between Iron Fist and Iron Maiden. Then Guitar Hero came out in
November 2005(7?) featuring all the great metal works of the past. Probably the
best game ever invented.
These eight-year-olds
grow up and become dudes and get obsessed with one interest or another. I let
my boys flow where they wanted though made it known my disgust for some bands
such as (I can't say. Misogyny and Violence suck out loud. Enough already. Skate
boards, slot car racing, lifting weights and I guess playing games for the
younger folks. In olden days, 14-year-olds got married and became
apprentices for 7 years as was the habit back then, and it seemed a grim time.
No IPod to cut the boredom as you worked long hours. They’re young now, but
they are the first generation to be complexly computer immersed and as elders
will grumpily note, “it wasn’t like that back in my day.”
As it says in “Working
in a Coal Mine”, “when night time comes I’m too tired for having fun.”
Then dudes are told in their 20’s, 'A happy wife is a happy life!' and as young
adults they think "Oh my fucking God, it's over."
Metal is the acid in the face of
bullshit.
I find the dead (all dead all dead
Queen) thank you little buddy. Find your power and use it. Groniger Rikku and
Cosmo. Went right to ‘em.
We are irresistibly drawn to Metal by some primitive gene that is deeply
embedded in our behavior. The link between our head and our heart. Drawn
together by chanting and insistent drumming throughout the centuries, human
expression is now drawn together by the guitar. Nazis switched the
something or other to 440 after it had been inexact previously but primarily
432. Now after 45 years of metal, the guitar reigns as the greatest
INSTRUMENT of all time and Metal is the greatest art form of all time. Or maybe
it's just the creative part of Rock and Roll. We can discuss the future of 432
and the metal revolution that will sweep the world in the near future. Make our
own metal, fenenre, where we play in 432. See if it makes a difference.
The older ones of us remember the British Invasion. Ears were opened to
the hard guitar of The Kinks and the Sonic explosions of The Who and the
psychedelic birth of hard rock in 1966. One truth most will agree to is
that the album Black Sabbath 1 is the birth of actual metal in 1970. Though I
may discuss "The Dude Culture" and 'dudes will be dudes', I am of the
opinion that the more women that become dudes, the better we all will be.
Some dude hears a womans voice singing and go, "that's not metal"
making that wing of the Heavy Metal Movement as misogynist as any Republican
Country Club. I hope by now with Arch Enemy and Battle Beast and Jinger and
many other combos led by women, these snobs can get over themselves. That same
dude hears an organ and says, “that’s not metal”, so I want you to know metal
is what you make it. For many of us Deep Purple is metal. Their music holding
up so well and they are finally getting their due.
Dudes gather in their
caves(garages) and light our amps on fire creating warmth and making sense of
an obviously fucked up world.
A world where the future
was to be a faceless fiduciary or a toiling miner and it didn’t look good
either way. Dudes grow and learn and there are many stages. One is their active
thread in the fabric of our culture. Actually it’s our culture, the dude culture.
An ancient and
insistent beat, there has been a return to chanting and drumming and grooving
as we tune into the hum of the earth. I've got my eye out for the next
big phase of metal and looking for bigger outfits with more percussion and chanting
and singing. The Solfeggio Frequencies is something to look into. Punk energy
and Metal chops continue to propel rock and roll into the future.
Rockabilly is the beating heart of rock and roll and prepared to meld with
metal. Sixth generation six decades of metal.
California garage
rock was reaching an apex of innovation and was spinning off sub genres and
gave us glimpses of genres to come back in the early and mid-60’s for those
infected with the hard guitar bug. You can still hear the influences of
California garage rock today.
The Monterrey Jazz
Festival of 1967 was an explosion of inventive music from many categories. It
created the cauldron of creativity from 1967-1973 for American Music. This era
also signaled an American dominance of the charts by people who had been enthralled
with the British Invasion 64-66. East Coast garage rock was never derivative of
West Coast and tended towards punk and a stripped-down versions of Rock.
In tiny little England, they tended not to have garages and garage bands, but
they did have sheds, old metal buildings and The Yardbirds. The second wave of
the British Invasion began in ‘67. Rock and Roll dropped its Blues base and
evolved the next three years into Heavy Metal, Black Sabbaths first album
marked where a new important branch began to grow on the Rock and Roll Tree of
Life.
The song "Warning" on Black Sabbath 1 showed all the
ingredients Tony Iommi used to forge this new weapon against Conformity.
Please go and give a listen to my #1 song on my Top 100 Metal Masterpizzas on
YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-T_6IdXFuw&list=PLB17282A8A544C863&index=10
Controversies.
Progressive Rock is not metal. To other snobs, a keyboard also
disqualifies the metal designation. Good musicianship is discounted as
self indulgent excess. Drummers can make a band metal. Carl Palmer(ELP)
and Bill Bruford(Yes) and Billy Cobham(Mahavishnu) John Bonham (Zeppelin) all
influenced by jazz but created the big beat bass drum sound at the bottom.
Unlike the former #1
instrument, the piano, guitars have more harmonics and scales, and you can
beeeend the notes. Metal is always artistically inspired, unlike pop
music which is profit inspired. Pop Music is weighed down with a preponderance
of love songs which gets quite tiring for a dude looking for raw energy. How
many times can you fall in love and have your heart broken? Pop
music sucks.
We are the Metalloids,
magnetized by the Metal and the searing melodic screaming guitar is our siren
call. Avoid the rock and sail into the Unknown. Joints, beers, torn clothing
and the Blue Jeans Army emerged in the seventies and the concert hardcore was
born. Punks came along with their slam dancing and the mosh pit was born.
Iron Butterfly had
emerged in '68 and it was like, "dude, listen to this."
Seemingly stripped of the Blues, it was in the Psychedelic Metal category, as
was Hendrix. This is the reason them and Led Zeppelin are not considered the first
metal bands. Metal is stripped of the Blues, despite Blues being
located in our metal genome. Garage Rock continued to churn out
innovation, and sub genres littered the sonic sphere. East Coast Garage rock
was never as big as west coast, but was never derivative. The English
hardly had room for garages and soon a third British invasion began.
The etymology of Dude
goes back to the Wild West and also became ghetto slang for friend, compadre,
buddy or brother. Mocking the “King of the Dudes”. When the brothers adopted
'brother' and dropped dude, honky dudes began using the word. We called
each other dude and we refined hanging out into an art form. "Dude, you
suck". "You suck." "No way, you suck" "and
you suck until infinity" which trumped all other sucks. Today, Bubba is
buddy and brother and it’s been shortened to Buh. So the secret green cult
passwords are “what’s up Buh?”
And so it began in
the primitive years and our habits became embedded in the culture.
Phrases becoming much more complex in the eighties till the phrase "that
doesn't suck" became the definitive phrase for something that is " cool
" or "neat". Entrusted with the sacred seals of the dude
language.
Most hardcore dudes
abandoned the word dude in 1974 when the words "let's get it on
dudes" appeared in the Grand Funk Railroad Song 'We're an American band’
on Pop radio. The eye roll heard around the world. We simply called each
other asshole after that. The word dude disappeared, buried by disco, one
might suspect. At the end of the Vietnam War we didn't need jingoistic
patriotic crap. We wanted to tear down this predatory capitalist military
christian complex. It is such a phony morality, but most Americans love to
perch on their pretentious branch and decry our morality with their moral high
ground hypocrisy.
The dude language
continued to evolve as fuckwad and jackbag and other creative terms were used
in our friendly interactions. Touchhole is a western New England
colloquialism, and it is a contraction of touchy asshole. Not long after, we
grew up and kept jobs and left our words behind and became responsible members
of society. Lol.
Usually, I liked Jazz
and Classical and still do, but once favorite songs became classic rock and
were played too often, I lose interest. I never really considered myself a
hippie and I identified more with the dude culture created by the sons of the
working poor. and I was influenced by the Beatniks of the 50's and the Be
Boppers of the 40's. My dad seemed to be on the edge of the Be Bop with a
strong interest in Hard Bop and I viewed this radical jazz through his
eyes. In retrospect it turned out to be melodic and thoughtful stuff and
not gruff and dissonant as it’s portrayed.
Dad didn't like the
Beatniks though. I remember our trip to Quebec in 1966 when I saw a herd
of Beatniks walking across a town square. "Who are those people?" I
asked before I knew their anti-social activity and protests were the fore runners
of the protest folk movement. The first and last herd of beatniks I have ever
seen.
There were Beatnik
remnants which people had forgotten about. Hippies were soon to become
the scapegoat for an alleged decaying society after the Beatniks were gone.
Black people were finally getting to vote and racists had their whisper
campaigns in full swing. It was a primitive time and the Beatniks were thinkers
and philosophers from 1955 to 1965 that lived outside of proper society as they
tried to usher in the dawn of civilization. Birthing the ban the bomb movement.
This is why I considered
myself a Blue Collar Progressive and unable to be categorized otherwise.
Pagan Anarchist Beatnik Hillbilly is my final form, and writing this book “ON
THE ROAD, less travelled,” is one of the most important things I can do
at this point. I don't want to die with my book in me, so thanks if you have
gotten this far. We weren't the dumb ass dudes of let's say, the Midwest or we
weren’t eastern CITY dudes who didn't really get most shit. More style than
substance. East coast suburbia invented the dude culture which went
through Americana and came out in the Valley Girls of California. “Duuuudddee.”
Was back.
Progressive dudes have intellectual obsessions, mine was and is still is that
corporations are taking over the world. Monsanto is practically its own country
and certainly more powerful than many small counties. Chevron has its own
system of justice as it can't seem to get out of the way of itself in South
America. Walmart heirs make more than a million of their employees combined. It
happened on our watch dude!
Libertarian Anarchists, we thought the Vietnam War was the greatest lunacy of
all time. We understood the Hippie Culture protests but weren’t really part of
it. We collectively decided war was over, because that is what we wanted. Who
could have known warmeisters Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney and Wolfowitz and
other chicken hawks who never served, would direct American foreign policy and
give us two wars at once in the 2000's. We could have been restructuring this
country instead of destroying others. Much of metal is anti-war.
Dudes were more of a
powder keg demographic coming down the pipe, but the killings at Kent State
chilled the hippies fervor and that apathy reached down into us younger dudes.
Reagans go go jingo go America attitude was a bitch slap to Green Anarchists in
the 80's that many of us became. All protest groups were investigated and
infiltrated by the FBI in the late sixties and seventies and ethnic cleansing
of the Black Panthers and AIM, The American Indian Movement was a brutal
reminder of the police state America has been for non-whites.
The police state headed
by J Edgar Hoover, the notorious cross-dressing hypocrite. These leaders didn't
follow the Constitution, but their own authoritarian right wing fascist
leanings.
Not hippies, not
beatniks, dudes are something else entirely and we persist in every generation
now. It was 1971 and an element of synergy was bubbling around the genre
defining Black Sabbath album. Metals Golden Age began with an explosion of
music the world had never experienced. As disco would influence rock years
later, metal would rock from 1971 to 1973 and Pop music really began to suck.
Then it all went bad.
With todays corporate
control of the world, boys grow up to be dudes and we are all subjected to the
numbing sameness and boring minutiae of what educators think we need.
Education must still be in infancy because it is virtually useless and can be
taught in 2 years when the child is ready, not programmed into children before
they are ready. Not dragged out for 10 years forcing children to learn things
before they are really ready. I remember being in school and thinking
what a load of crap most of it was.
We know it's all about
conditioning minds, the liberal commie plot to make us knuckle under to the
state, and dudes know this. Trained rats running to their next cage, I mean
class, summoned by the bell. Making sure you become a kiss ass and toady for the
monied elite who are treated with reverence. Conditioned to be callous of other
people. “till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all” – John Lennon.
Dudes, then guys, then
men. Many females have grown up in this mold and this makes them more well
rounded, questioning anarchists. Among the women I have gotten to know,
there are no gender barriers. No men no women, it's just people from now on.. Women
have the additional tool of empathy to understand the emotional roller coaster
of youth and would make some righteous dudes. Calling a girl or woman a
dude, is a compliment of the highest order, and trust me you are welcome and we
need you to help drag the misogynists in metal and rockabilly into the 21st
century.
So how does one qualify
for a dude card? First, you need a hangout and these days straight or not,
stoned or straight, the Dude Enlightenment is open minded in a Buddhist
Way. Zone out and feel the groove. "Shut up dude and enjoy the
music!" It's really not about drugs and alcohol, and it shouldn't
be. It’s about a chill vibe. But it can also be a support group of party
enablers, though really, most dudes like to hang out……some call it hang out and
party. The partiers are the ones who end up as alcoholics. Hang out and grind
up the Yak Horn with the dudes. With legalization, the sale of alcohol is
beginning to decline.
The Love Generation of
hippies found out that what they really loved, and that was money. Security
and happiness as you build your nest somewhere in the inner workings of the
machine. But some of us ended up as misfits, going against the grain
of our training and brainwashing and walking outside of the civilized circle.
Vietnam was about
manufacturing weapons and tanks and jet fighters and machines. Imagine the
empty soul that sends someone's son to a war without end. The dark specter of
Vietnam cast a shadowy pall over my life. In 68 I was 14 and suddenly with
Tricky Dick Nixon as President, things suddenly were not going well.
"Why do good in school, just to get shot in Vietnam?" I questioned my
parents who only said authority must be right.
We are
irresistibly drawn to by some primitive gene that is deeply embedded in our
behavior. Drawn together by chanting and driving, insistent drumming, human
expression is now drawn by guitar.
At first, I was going to
call this the History of Heavy Metal but then I thought that would be a little
presumptuous. Like, I would know the definitive history of anything, it
is all about choice. I wanted to point out we are all going to have our
favorites. My metal may be a little PG for most. Probably old school too.
The Solfeggio Frequencies. Punk energy and Metal chops
continue to propel rock and roll into the future, an enduring genre and perhaps
the greatest art form ever created.
Heavy Metal, like the
Icebreaker tearing across the ice, leading the pack with innovations. Just
passin' by. Later.
Roboto I’d like to talk about
my Feedbag concept.
-6-5-💚💞❤
II26 INTERSTATE INITIATIVE
#girdthegrid
In 1969 I picked up a
second paper route and have been working hard ever since. 1970 to 2020.
This year (2021) I celebrated a life of working too hard for too little by
taking two well deserved, out of state vacations. I saw 29 states in 40 days during
May and October, and the priority was to find peaceful places and not spend
money, other than gas and lodging. Remember this was the Covid year where city
people were all about masks and merely surviving.
I was a notorious "staycationer" for
thirty years in Florida although my spirit belonged TO THE
MOUNTAINS. I grew up a river rat in Wethersfield, Bloomfield and Enfield
Connecticut in the Connecticut River Valley (field rat lol), and places such as
Pennwood Park in Bloomfield or Cotton Hollow in Glastonbury were remnants of
the Appalachian Mountains I could visit. Mount Greylock was something I
wanted to see for the first time.
The interstate highway system had
always seemed like a good idea to me. As an American who believes that the
Constitution is the law of the land, the interstate highway system fulfilled
the constitutional protocol of providing for the common defense. Emergency
equipment could be moved to any part of the country without worrying about the
height of bridges or washed-out, muddy roads. Military e quipment too, if someone was foolish
enough to invade us.
Long ago
when I was seven and sitting in my sandbox, I could see Interstate 91 being
built. Loaders, graders, dump trucks. They were far off in the distance
but within view. Such an
inspiration for the highways I was building in my big red sandbox!
A couple years later when I
was ten, me and the boys took our bikes up on that nearly finished interstate
highway where it crossed over our street down near the Rocky Hill town line. It
was like the Bonneville Salt flats. A huge expanse of concrete, the likes of
which we had never seen before and we delighted in seeing who could make the
fattest or longest skid with our bicycles.
We'd practice wheelies
without worrying about oncoming traffic. Do endless circle 8’s and play
chicken. Crazy fun. Every day for a couple of weeks.
We'uns dint need no theme parks
back in the olde days.
The work was done on this part of I 91
and it was quite a while before someone finally came along to tell us to
skedaddle, "..get outta here you kids, this isn't a playground." A
summer vacation to brag about.
Now that
the rich have saved trillions of dollars in hidden off-shore accounts for us,
we can use this stolen labor (profit) to create the Infrastructure Initiative
of 2026. (II26) Envision something great for every one of us
to use in the next 50 years in an expanded and expansive safety net, and a
beautiful and enduring hardscape.
One way to
save money would be to sell half of our military bases, particularly the ones
furthest away from American ports, keep it closer to home, right? The
Constitutional mandate is for “a common defence”, not an international death
star.
Prove me
wrong, but the cost of keeping one soldier with all the attendant weapons,
housing and logistical support could provide ten jobs domestically.
Take all
those paper tigers at the Pentagon coasting to retirement, and put them to
work. Put them behind a wheelbarrow, we got an infrastructure to
build.
The
interstate highway system had seemed like a good idea to me, but a closer
examination many years later exhibits its flaws. The reason we were
compelled to test the highway before the public did, was because our
baseball/football field was at the edge of it. Who could resist?
I’d guess it was an early
spring day when we went to play our first baseball game and a fence was there,
about 75 feet from this new highway and 200 feet from our home plate. We were
like okay, a home run fence. It was pretty far away and there would be a
handful of home runs, if any. That stretch of I 91 was getting ready to open
but it would take Carl Yastrzemski to get one on the highway.
Today, I realize these
fences not only kept wildlife from running across the highway and getting run
over, but also kept them from migrating as they had done since the Ice Age. All
those fences for the interstate highways were responsible for trillions of
animal deaths as they were no longer able to follow their simple migrations. I
can’t imagine how many thousands of dead animas I have seen on the side of the
road.
There was a tunnel under
the interstate for Beaver Brooks ebb and flow and this benefitted the turtles,
polliwogs and other aquatic creatures, but mostly I 91 blocked migrations of
rabbits, foxes and all the rest of the animals who weren’t keen on walking in
two feet of water through a 500-foot tunnel under an interstate or becoming
pavement pelts on the road. When it froze during cold spells we would
skate all the way to the other side. Not for the claustrophobic.
Twelve years before I was in my sandbox
playing with trucks, my mothers neighborhood was disrupted by the planning for
Interstate 91. Eminent domain came a-callin’ and knocked down 10 houses for the
interstate highway. Mom’s River Road no longer was a way to get to the river.
River Road, Wethersfield Connecticut RFD #3, and the street was a stones throw
from the Wethersfield Cove, which had been a port of note since the latter half
of the 1600's. A 300+ year old town at that point.
Back then the plans for the interstate
involved buying around ten properties on or near River Road and nearby. Buying
them to be demolished for the new highway.
They got a good price, my mom
said, but people were not happy about it, and she always said, the neighborhood
was never the same.
I was there recently
and there is a house within 50 feet of the Interstate today, and I imagined
this 20 foot wall of a highway was quite disturbing in the midst of a once
quaint area with a nice green space in the middle. Who wanted to
live with the constant drone of highway noise?
What then of future highway building? I drove 13,000+ miles
and went through 29 states in 2021, and I want to share my experiences and
suggest improvements. II26 is the Infrastructure Initiative for
2026. I want to tell you about the state of our highways in 2021,
and also that there is a whole lot more to infrastructure than roads. On
the other hand, I’m kind of wondering what this Infrastructure Bill that is
trying to get passed here in 2021, is about. I hear about child care and other
social band aids in the bill, but nothing about bridges being fortified for
strong storms and an ocean rise. #girdthegrid
A plan that would include plans for evacuating the elderly before a
hurricane, as one example. Tornado shelters in every vulnerable town. After a
pretty strong hurricane, and the roads were somewhat cleared of trees, I went
to see my 90+ year old customer first, after a dangerous hurricane. She was
traumatized and frightened and "never wanted to go through that
again."
So yeah, 40 days,
13,000+ miles and 29 states later I have some opinions on the state of American
roads, and I would estimate only 5,000 of those miles were on the interstate.
My GPS guide, Bubbles, took me on back roads and state highways everywhere and
I saw how America really lives. Even going out west in May, she found all
the cool state roads and the only place I was in a traffic jam was in
California (3 times). She took us to Rt 50 in Colorado and it was probably the
most beautiful spring ride we could have ever had.
On the trip to New England in September, I got off RT 81 and asked Bubbles for
the scenic route to Deposit New York, where there was an alleged Motel 6. From
Old Forge Pennsylvania, where I slept on the side of the road, and then driving
to Deposit New York, I went on the most scenic 9-hour drive of the year. Six
dead deer, unfortunately, (how many were picked up fresh for the deer
processing facilities?)
I went on Route 11 then 220 then 17 to Deposit. I saw
SO MANY rural homes and noted how many people live. Too many planned
communities and uniformity and HOA rules in my central Florida locale and I
forgot how interesting the rest of the country is. Every house and property
were different.
I needed to get gas because I started the day at less than half a tank after
the I 81 highway driving. Stayed by the side of the road in a really dark area.
I didn’t need to be hassled. I went through two tiny towns without any
gas stations and finally in Millersburg there was a bodacious rest
area with lots of local handicrafts.
Something new I noticed are
self-regulating, one-way roads. Instead of two people on walkie talkies
standing there with their stop and slow signs, there were timed lights. Timed
out to 5 to 10 minutes, it was a bit of a wait but work crews were busy tending
to rock fall areas among other improvements. All those police officers
with their lights going and doing nothing at construction sites costs the
public, at least, 80 dollars an hour per car and officer, so maybe some money
is being saved.
Well, the bill passed but I must say that it seems like there is already too
much construction and repair going on. There is certainly the need for repair
and for one thing, I crossed many bridges that were built 80 or more years ago. #girdthegrid
a) 55 MPH AHEAD
There were too many construction zones whose cement mini
walls were disconcerting and scary to me. In construction areas I would be part
of the traffic funneled into one or two extremely thin lanes and those
cement abutments are two feet from the car on the right side and even less when
driving on the left. The scariest moments of both trips were driving through
these areas IN THE RAIN.
Good Lorby Lobster, I could hardly see! People high beaming and beeping with me
because I was going a very cautious 30 MPH through these dangerous construction
zones in the pouring rain. And don't say I could have just pulled over because
that is a whole 'nother problem. There are so few places to pull over.
On the trip to New England, I had a wonderful ride on
Vermont Route 7a. Simply beautiful as early patches of red and orange leaves
began to appear. I left Pittsfield Massachusetts a little after noontime, (420
in the 413), enjoying the slowly setting sun to my left and taking the gently
undulating scenic route, 7/7a, well up into Vermont to check on the progress of
the fall foliage colors.
When it got dark and there was no more scenery to enjoy, I asked Bubbles
to put me on the quickest route to Interstate 89. I didn't know at this point
about the dearth of facilities. I assumed I'd find a rest area on the
interstates, no problem, though I'd been fooled before on the previous trip in
May driving in New Mexico. I had driven 100 miles in a state of extreme
tiredness waiting for a place to pull over and had a nightmarish near collision
with a tractor trailer.
So I get on I 89 and la la la. Nothing, well surely
when I connect with I 91 there should be a large rest area so I could at least
sit in my seat to get three or four hours of sleep.
Parking
area ahead I see on a sign, but it was completely full of trucks and no
facilities. I figure I'll just keep going till I find a rest area with a
bathroom. La la la nothing ... another parking area full of trucks. Finally, I
made it, the Vermont Welcome Center was a relief to see. Lots of parking ...
but ... the ... place was closed. Open 7 to 7.
, Surely,
they would make the rest rooms available? The doors were locked. This is all
you got Vermont? As it turned out there are virtually no rest areas till the
one in Middletown Connecticut. I must have missed the one in Massachusetts.
This is a seriously important issue.
After
driving on dozens of state roads, I got the idea that the II26 infrastructure
plan would create rural hubs away from the interstates. Large parking
areas where people can stay and rest and local people can sell their wares.
Where the free national bus company goes where people can go and pick up their
friends and relatives.
I drove into the far corner of the Vermont Welcome Center and
went to Whee behind some evergreens in the dog walking area. Every 15 minutes
or so someone would park and check the door of the building in order to use the
facilities and would walk away disappointed. I was kind of wired and couldn’t
relax enough to fall asleep.
A cop pulled in as I was trying to figure where I would go if he/she kicked me
out and I tried to rest in my seat, but I really wanted to go in the back of
the car where I had a cushioned space I made for a bed. 100 parking spots and I
was the only one there and luckily the officer left, so I finally laid out in
the back. Florida plates in Vermont, let me rest FFS.
On the
average I can get a comfortable 3 hour nap in the seat of my car, but in the
back of the car I could get 6 hours of good solid sleep with the six layers of
various cushions and blankets and one of those, rated -20, sleeping bags for
the top. The coldest temperature was 42.
b)
PAVEMENT ENDS
Sticks and stones will break my bones but not if I use a cane. I was a bit
early to see peak fall foliage, but I observed the early stages, which was
interesting in its own way. It was Moss and Mushroom season. Beautiful. Mushrooms
abound and moss is thick and green. Every path I went on had tree roots
sticking up and I had to be careful of tripping hazards.
Back to
the drawing board. A new infrastructure plan should be a given, but the
obfuscation of "yachtboy" Manchin and cynical Simena kept it from
totally happening. Even a 3.5 Trillion dollar plan is nowhere near a big enough
plan, I'm sure.
I'm envisioning lots of engineers leaving their petrochemical jobs in the near
future, for jobs with II26 as the fossil fuel industry
prepares to collapse. Make more highways and less pipelines. smaller military
and bigger transportation alternatives.
All these
on and off ramps on the interstates are not easy to design and every aspect of
a plan will need people that understand we have to consider Mother Nature and
all her little creatures this time.
The
planning alone will cost a trillion dollars to get it done properly. Some
real work lay ahead. Challenging, fulfilling work involved in building an
infrastructure to last 60 to 80 years. Fortified for the rise in all bodies of
water in the near future.
Prioritizing,
designing in many new ways and creating many more wildlife tunnels and
overpasses. Forests saved from development and rural hubs built in junk areas
that have been restored, renovated and nearby towns renewed. There is going to
be a population shift and it will be a good thing. Who is going to work
on the wind farms in the midwest where most of them will be located? I saw
so many abandoned houses that were still restorable now, but won't be ten years
from now.
Jobs will be moving around as we begin to take back the Commons and Millennials
take charge of the economy.
Seriously
do you want a soldier in some distant continent pretending to preserve your
rights, or ten people working as Road Rangers or bridge builders getting our
shiny new infrastructure built?
I've been on some entrance ramps that are more fun than an
amusement park. We need planners and designers. It all needs to be worked on,
and what this decade should be about. Let the designers design with
modern environmental sensibilities. It's the politicians that screw things
up.
Sadly, there will be cases of
eminent domain as I described before and so I propose a triple indemnity. Pay
those relocated, three times the value of their property and long-time renters
could also be compensated in this manner.
Concurrently, large areas
of forest need to be preserved around these proposed rural hubs and MANY MORE
rest areas getting built should be a priority. We need to start a
de-corporatization of America and realize the innovation and invention we need
in the future will come from our barns, garages, and she-sheds.
One feature at a typical
rural hub, could be trail cams in these forested areas so travelers at the
rural hub could watch hidden trail cameras. A nice feature next to the soda
machine and fresh ground coffee. People can observe the local wildlife as they
take a break from traveling.
I drove on over a
hundred lightly trafficked state roads, and a federal program needs to make
sure these stay in good shape. My gas mileage was still very good on
these state highways. Too many people are shoehorned into these incredibly
crowded cities and Americans can be more evenly distributed throughout this
country. A new Homestead Act has been proposed.
Rural
Service Hubs | Rural Urban (rural-urban.eu) .
Rural
hubs. 500 acres of preserved forest and wetlands along with lots of parking
areas. Generally, at least ten miles from the interstates with an abundance of
free space for local people to bring their food trucks or locally sourced
products. Lots of people cleaning the facility. #jobsnottanks
Make
these areas (rural hubs) in run down abandoned towns near nice forests or swamp
habitats. Habitats that can be preserved for all time. Buying private land for
the commons and eminent domain for the highways.
Also, large darker areas to park overnight for people
living out of their cars who are needing some sleep. Ain't no sin to be between
situations. Someone in a tank in Africa or Asia ... or ten jobs
back at home providing much more security for travelers, visitors and
vacationers? The choice is yours. Here are the jobs for those laid off by the
much smaller military I mentioned previously.
Most
interstate rest areas are corporate traps with overly lit, parking areas that
discourage long distance travelers. In Florida there are three hour limits.
c)GPS SIGNAL LOST
I was in Pennsylvania and was losing my GPS signal and getting low on gas. I
had no idea Pennsylvania was so deeply forested and mountainous. I'll get the
name and location later but, like a mirage, a gas station appeared in
Millersburg. I had been worried of running out of gas and suddenly there was no
cell phone coverage. I was greatly relieved I didn't run out of gas in the
middle of nowhere. Icing on the cake, my cigarette lighter charger
stopped working and I didn’t know it and suddenly I was out of charge.
I could
have taken I 81 to I 84 and got to New England much quicker, but my phone had a
no interstate protocol. I went with the flow of the no interstate directive and
consequently saw so much more of America.
Back to the mirage in the
middle of Pennsylvania's Appalachians, this store had truly impressive displays
of locally sourced products. From furniture to smoking blends to Cinnamon Pear
Jelly. It was literally in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania's aptly
named endless forest and was a fair sight better than most of the other
farmstands I saw.
With these rural hubs we can create economic activity away
from the already busy highways. Driving 13,000+ miles from coast to coast, I
noticed something significant. Americas highways are oriented from the north
and northeast to the west and southwest.
Chicago
to Vegas. New York to LA. Everyone was moving out west back in the 50's and
60's when many of these roads were built. Florida to Oregon, Fageddabout it.
Georgia to Washington State? South Carolina to Idaho. Not gonna happen.
Discrimination against southerners in my opinion.
This is
going to be important in future planning.
After 50 years of ,“nose to the grindstone”, I gave my nose
a rest and had a grand adventure. My travelogue is in the “DOWNLOAD FILE”
ON MY Greenhammer blogspot blog. GREENHAMMER: Download File
(thegrimoireofgreenhammer.blogspot.com)
Certainly not the preppy Grand Tour, I
wanted to see the United States without getting into covid clusters and
waiting in line anywhere. I wanted to see America but not
necessarily talk to Americans. I've paid my dues being a good listener to those
over talkers, with all their lines of shit these last 50 years. But I learned a
lot. Most people are liars.
I want to also show a new way to vacation and propose
that we build an infrastructure to last till 2100. There are more people living
out of their vehicles, and why not have places where we can rest? The nature of
work these days is transitory and temporary. The RV life can be fun and
fulfilling to some. That’s the reality of the United States today. Another
reality is the proliferation of really fast bicycles. We need alternative
traveling lanes and some of these can be built on interstates. I remember
It was March 2021 when I got the idea to
go to Oregon finally. My gypsy friend was going back to the PNW for good and
needed a ride. She was done with Florida, and I needed to get away myself for a
while, and I had always wanted to check out an isolated warm zone in
southwestern Oregon. USDA Zone 9 located from Port Orford down the coast to
California. There hasn’t been a freeze in years and I think they can consider
year-round crops.
We used to be zone 9 in Central Florida. Zone 10 is
steadily moving northward in Florida, today its 50 miles north of where it was
when I first came to Florida. The USDA has confirmed this with updated
maps.
Several configurations of the trip developed and then almost came to a halt
with a bad EKG on April 27th. “You’re not having chest pains?” my doctor seemed
alarmed. He was ready to drive me to the hospital! Himself! This is shortly
before I was to leave on my 7200-mile journey.
Weirdly, I thought I had two new
skin tags, but they turned out to be ticks. I am getting older, and it seemed
that skin tags and age spots began appearing more frequently, so I try to
ignore them. The skin tag under my arm began getting really irritated and I
needed to find a way to get rid of it. Imagine my shock when I realized I could
pull it off and though almost unrecognizable, it was a dead deflated
tick. Died of a garlic overdose, still hooked into my vascular system.
The bite near my bicep still itched and red six months
later.
So four days before we were to leave for the
cross-country trip, my friend seemed alarmed that I could have a heart
attack at any time and we both became panicky and anxious about the trip we had
been planning.
Suddenly I
had a heart condition, and my extremities were steadily getting numb from nerve
damage and on top of it all, what if I had Lyme disease from the
tick? What if I became diabetic and slipped into a coma, having just been
confirmed pre-diabetic? “ROAD TRIP”
I had gotten a seven-week rental because my
electronic nightmare of a van finally shit the bed and I needed to keep working
as I prepped for this big vacation. I couldn't get a loan for another vehicle
so I took a chance with a long term rental. I’m glad I didn’t get a loan
because it was for a Chevy pickup with a lot more miles than what I ended up.
60,000 more miles and 2000 more dollars. Dealers taking advantage of people.
As a super bonus of this big trip, I loved seeing my five
children in 3 different states. I just missed getting the rental for a trip to
Tampa to my oldests’ house with his 4 children. Then the first
weekend with the rental, I went to my firstborns new condo, helping her on the
weekend of a 5K she had organized, and adding a couple plants to her garden.
The next Thursday I
picked up a rescue Pug named Jack in Vero Beach and brought him to Raleigh. Saw
my grand dog Louie and son in law Mitauex. Bonz the Cat does the best he can in
a house with rescues and foster dogs.
My youngest had left the nest last year and also moved to
NC and I visited him and his internet girlfriend who seemed to be doing nicely
in Four Oaks. A heavenly country atmosphere, it was out in the sticks,
and it was gratifying to see him out in the boonies. I spent the remainder of
this 6-day weekend exploring the foothills of the Appalachians. A scenic Route
50 in Georgia seemed just as beautiful as the Blue Ridge Parkway.
A couple years back it seemed that everyone was
talking about a bucket list and so I thought about it, and I figured I had 5
things left. I wanted to get over to Austin and see Little M, and I had also
wanted to see the Blue Ridge Parkway and the Blue Ridge Mountains since I was
like, twenty. I heard it was beautiful. I had no idea.
#3 was to visit Amish country. I wanted to meet a few
of them and learn about their culture. That was a practice vacation for what
was to come.
This trip sounded like something I needed to do. Secondly,
I’ve always had the feeling that Oregon was where I needed to go and that was
#2 on the list and seeing the Redwoods was #1.
Sure, I’d like to see Solutre, France and the
Niobrara River in Nebraska (the least populated part of the continental US) and
visit Hudson Bay from the St. James Road, but I would be pretty satisfied to
finish these five items.
Glacier National Park sounds like,
potentially, the most interesting national park to visit, and it would be
really swell to see Katahdin in Maine, but, speaking bucket list, I had five to
go.
Glacier opened its Sun Road into the park a week after I
had gotten back from going to Oregon in May. We’re glad we didn’t drive an
extra thousand miles to find it was closed. Here are some pictures from Colorado in May.
The
Blue Ridge Mountains was first on my bucket list since Austin was too far, the
wrong way, to go this time. I vowed to go there on the next vacation.
In
October 2018 I planned out a vacation to Connecticut, to Amish country and the
Blue Ridge Mountains, but Hurricane Florence had just torn through North
Carolina and closed many parts of the Blue Ridge Parkway for a week. Luckily
the beautiful Blue Ridge had just opened back up a few days before I got there.
Interstate 95 was washed out in South Carolina and the GPS had me on all small
country roads to get to the Blue Ridge.
Hurricane Florence pretty much followed my proposed
vacation drive through the mountains a week before I was to go, but the damage
wasn't as bad as I imagined it would be. News always exaggerates.
I went to spot #77 in Section C at the Doughton Campground
near Sparta North Carolina, and I had the place to myself for six days. Strong fairy spirits up there on the knob.
So, the Amish visit and exploring the Appalachians knocked
a couple things off the bucket list in 2019.
2021 comes along and finally a
chance to go to that isolated area in Oregon I had wanted to see and finally
feel the majesty of the Redwoods. The pandemic was winding down, but we weren’t
in the clear yet. Vaccines were available in May 2021, but we hadn't
indulged.
Commitments, logistics and complications changed the plan
10 times over the next two months and how do I justify a 7-week, 1500 dollar
rental? I rented three extra days and with all the charges it came to $1800.
Was this a $1800-dollar gamble?
How did I possibly think my back would hold up driving 7200 miles after just
driving 1800 miles for the Pug rescue in North Carolina and then to the Georgia
Guiding Stones and the Holy Mary site in Conyers Georgia?
Luckily, I didn’t overthink this one, or how crazy
the whole notion was.
It seemed a bit of money was on
its way, though not yet a sure thing, and that vacation out west to Oregon was
finally within reach.
No point in going to any Covid clusters and the only two
places I went in was the gift shop at Monarch Pass and the gift shop at Crater
Lake.
I saw lots of America and very few Americans, except at
rest areas and it was good to see people were all masking up as I was, but I
was also yet to be vaccinated. I did in August because three customers said I
had to, but never got the boosters.
Everyone in the world was supposed to get the shots and I
couldn't help being suspicious, so I waited, as did my client. This turned out
to be a good thing because our hosts in Oregon were anti-vax preppers who
would not have welcomed vaccinated people and their shedding proteins.
Gas was easily $600 for the May trip.
Motels $500 more. Food $300 easily. No income from work for three weeks. The
plan seemed precarious at best.
For sure, there were at least 15 rest stops I slept at.
AND, I also had three residences to stay at and that worked out great. I
actually did more socializing than I am used to doing as a guest , with those
seven days in normal housing.
Most excellent hosts in all three cases and
with three different groups of people. Slept well and had fun with my people
and the one thing this disparate group had in common, though, is
“Freecycle.” Freecycle: Front Door
Disconcertedly at the start, it took 22
hours to get out of Florida. A strong storm had passed over us and our trip to
Oregon almost ended before it got started. I left the impression I was
heading for “the mountains”, implying the Appalachians, knowing I was setting
out to see the Rockies for the first time in 37 years. Less than a handful of
trusted people knew my plans.
Too many buttinskis out there, intent on telling me how to
enjoy my first long distance ride in a long time. I don’t need the endless
advice, or the Tour books, or the 'go see so and so'. I no longer need any
advice or interference.
I’d never done much more than drive through Colorado
three times in my youth back and forth from Arizona, but this time I saw some
deep Colorado.
Rugged Route 50 in Colorado was
dangerous with its descents but there was breathtaking non-stop scenery. By
planning a Mid-May ride, there were snow covered mountains the entire way.
Afterwards I read Rt 50 is called the “loneliest road in Colorado.” My
passenger/friend/client and I hardly talked as we watched the scenery unfold
for the next 800 miles into Utah, Nevada and Oregon. No movie in a big theatre
could compare.
I remembered the ride through Nevada and Utah seemed
a bit boring a long time ago when I was young, but now I knew so much more
about rocks, wild grasses, tectonics and shit, and it became absolutely
fascinating. I love the western mountains so much again, but I have come to
realize the Appalachians feel like home.
Anyways, here I am with my client (friend actually,
but hereafter known as the client as I was creating the prototype for my
“driver for hire” side hustle.)
I have been telling people the
last five years that the economy is going to reassemble itself and opportunity
will abound and everybody in every field needs to be playing some heads-up
ball. Plumbers and mechanics will find work. Your kids with their hard earned
MBA’s who wanted to be white collar functionaries for the capitalist takeover
of the world, can now use their degrees as artwork on the wall or
something.
The world of 2034 will be different than what we can
imagine. America needs to shed its white-collar parasitical economy and learn
to work again. Class War. The workers vs. the parasites. Plot twist: AI
is going to wipe them out.
We need networks to connect. In the
past, Americans unionized to create a giant middle class. and now we can enable
a revived middle class in our modern computer era. Easy to connect with fellow
quilters and amateur astronomers and those creating Pollinator friendly yards
and join the latest groups created, such as ‘freecycle’. Or get that
carburetor for a '62 MG.
It's all happening so fast, and I don't know how I would
deal with it if I was younger. I'm out to create something brand new at this
late stage of life because, why not? Give it a go. Like traveling before I get
too old, imma see what I can do to connect people.
Connecting food communities, organic growers and fighting
for migrant workers that many of us will be. One area I'm focusing on.
Frankliniana. Franklin Tennessee to Franklin Georgia to Franklin North
Carolina. This is where the big population explosion will occur the next ten
years. Meat Eaters, Vegans and intentional communities all trading together.
People need to add a balance to the overwhelming influence
of governments and corporations and religions. I really believe the
American people are going to see themselves through all this. We can go back in
the past to bring back the good ideas we abandoned. One would be to make rural
hubs and large rest areas so we can have a partial return of the commons that
were stolen from us. Rich people stealing land to sell to other rich people.
Tax the largest landowners and purchase the properties for
organic farm initiatives. The rich have become lazy, and the working poor
have always been industrious. We will have a new Homestead Act and we
will tax the illegitimate wealth of the rich.
We can make the connections that will
create the networks of the future. We can create our own economy as if the old
one doesn’t matter is my battle cry. The old one best being described as crony
capitalism.
Getting
out of Florida
Driving Interstate 10 west, we were six
hours out of Boynton Beach. A windstorm and downpour had just finished. The
road was misted, and it was difficult to see even twenty-five feet. We were
going about 40 MPH
A TREE appeared out of the mist across at least two
lanes of traffic and we hit it direct ...dead on. Like, I don’t even tell
people cause I’m not a drama queen like that. It nearly broke through the
windshield in three places and I shit you not we could have been impaled by
huge branches if I skidded and swerved and went into it sideways.
National News “two people impaled on I 10 last night in a bizarre act of
misfortune.” Luckily there was not even time to put on the brakes to stop
completely. Best I could guess, it was a dead tree blown onto the road by a
tornado on to the middle of the highway.
It hadn’t fallen off a truck and it was
a large thirty foot tree stripped of its branches. Or so I thought. But there
were fresh needles everywhere when we pulled over a short time later. A Pine
Tree you see, we found needles on the top of the engine when we looked and it
did impale the radiator area. Somehow live trees had also blown onto the
interstate.
We were 7 hours into the trip, and we drove a mile more
into the rest area that was our destination. Miraculously, our battered steed
made it, and we got 6 hours of sleep. Enough of that day.
When I saw a dead pine tree walking in the woods, one day
recently, I noted its ghostly white color, and it looked exactly like the tree
we hit. I cant explain the needles though.
There must have been a tornado. Pine needles covered the
slow lane and shoulder for the mile leading up to the rest area, so it was all
very strange with the policeman who said he hadn't heard about it.
The next day when we left there were many trees that
were in the road but were cut.
We called the police and Budget rental Car
very early in the morning, and to make a long story short, we had the
originally rented Rav 4 replaced with a Jeep Compass by eleven. Might have to
pay a fee for not being able to go pick up the Jeep at the airport 39 miles
away. It MIGHT be as much as $425. We’ll find that out later.
So, from 1 o’clock the previous afternoon when we drove a
car to Boynton Beach to drop it off, till we then finally reached the Alabama
border, we were finally, 22 hours later, leaving Florida for day 2. So, we
nearly got impaled by a 30-foot tree that was laying across Interstate 10, but
we ended up getting a nice vehicle upgrade, and were finally on our way to
Oregon. (JEEP COMPASS PICTURES
HERE)
That afternoon we drove through some scenic state roads in
Alabama (231?) and stopped at a quaint farm stand/eatery for the big healthy
meal of the day. There were chickens loose in the store and everything, and we
ate some excellent vegetarian fare inside a gigantic barn.
We had a fabulous healthy late lunch there and drove
on. Night fell and I white knuckled it through Memphis and drove through
Arkansas in the dark. “Slow down Memphis” the sign pleaded as
motorcyclists and cars passed us going 100 mph. I seemed to be having some
trouble with city-based, busy highways and traffic seemed too intense.
We parked in what turned out to be a
motel parking lot and were told to leave and then an empty lot nearby
but got gently thrown out. We finally slept for three or four hours at
Walmart. Daytime came and we spent much of that day driving through Nebraska.
The Cherokee had two bodacious gas
stations. Large clean areas with lots of choices for travelers and the highways
appeared to be freshly paved. The GPS Guide, Bubbles, seemed to be keeping us
off the interstates and on much more scenic state roads. I learned that
too many roads out west are oriented for mid-westerners going to California and
not the south to the Northwest.
There was a Route 412 in Oklahoma
that traversed that really thin part (handle) of Oklahoma that I found
interesting. Driving those many roads I had really begun to notice that
people living in rural areas had really trashy yards. Now this coming from a
guy who had a yard full of stuff once upon a time. My hillbilly yard filled
with things “I might need someday.”
I couldn't believe how much stuff people had but
later learning most of the stuff is useful. With cheap ass government garbage
or white goods, pickup is rare. There's nowhere to take that shit. So people
dump on their own property.
It was puzzling to see 10 or 12
cars but then I started seeing yards with 50 or 100 cars. Too many 55
gallon barrels from farm chemicals like the Vorlex barrels I found in
Hazardville. Rusting leaking? Of course Tractor attachments, PVC stacks, etc.’
People in the fly over states don’t throw anything out.
But you know, it seemed that
in all these “hick” towns the American people had gone back to work. Businesses
had trucks that were busy being used and metal building doors were open. I had
yet to see a shuttered-up business while the people on the coasts were bathing
in hand sanitizer.
So I
was racking up some miles driving and there were no aches or pains yet. We
finally arrived in Pueblo Colorado at 6:00 and checked into a motel. Seedy
thought my client but I could care less. I slept in a sleeping bag on top of
the bedding and used my own pillow.
In
Pueblo that night, we bought legal and had a smoking room so, voila. First time
I could administer my medicine in a hotel room without Ozium and incense.
Then
we got on Route 50 in Colorado, and it was non-stop, breathtaking scenery from
there out. The Jeep Compass was climbing and climbing, getting half the gas
mileage it should. The gas pedal was hardly responding, and I figured
we must had gotten pretty high. The altitude I mean. Then we got to Monarch
Pass which sits on the Continental Divide at 11,312 feet. Honestly didn't see
that coming.
The mountain forced me to breathe deeply, and it felt good though I could tell
it would take some getting used to. Then down we went and eventually I would
tire of the 7% inclines and giant tractor trailers passing me out in the
passing lanes, but at first it WAS exciting and dangerous. I read later that
Route 50 is called “the loneliest road in Colorado.” It was a trip.
The goal was to reach Telluride for a second motel
rest on this six-day trip. At 7950 feet, my breathing was labored here also,
but deep breathing that Clean Colorado air also seemed to do a lot of good.
The
client went to a hot spring up the road and I took a nap in the Jeep. The next
stop was Crater Lake. Following that was the rugged scenery of Colorado and at
night we drove through Utah and then Nevada’s stark beauty became apparent as
dawn approached.
Truthfully, by the time we got to the Oregon border, we had had about enough
sagebrush country. Took the Oregon Redwood trail and saw and touched my first
Redwoods. So, there I was with an empty bucket list and a motel
within view of the Pacific Ocean. 👴
The
next day we got to our destination in Port Orford, Oregon and I was finally
going to experience this anomalous warm area that was in southwest Oregon. At
the motel near the beach, I noticed the largest Geranium I remember seeing in
my entire life. I lived in Tucson for six years and people had their Geraniums
for three years and they weren’t half this size. I estimated it to be six to
eight years old.
I
would later come to learn the Port Orford area rarely freezes and rarely gets
too hot. It seems I had found a place that doesn’t freeze and doesn’t burn, and
I have to consider a move to this area.
I think it would be fun to escape there to trim buds for a month or two
during the outdoor harvest in August and September when Florida is at its
hottest. It seems almost too cool. Every time I check the Port Orford ten-day
forecast, the average high and low seemed to be 65 and 52 and it was pretty
cool the three days we were there. When those western heat waves happen with
100 Degrees +, it might get over 70. No more heat.
The folks
in Oregon were busy with their garden, but took us to a very nice path near the
Pacific Ocean.
No one shedding proteins, and wonderful home schooled
children.
Redwood puppies, the soft bark. I just about fit in the
Jeep Compass and spent two nights in it. The first morning I opened the door to
the sun coming up and there was a huge Crested Jay, right there. I had some
distinct experiences with Magpies in Telluride I have to remember. They seemed
to follow me around.
No one is really interested in my stories and I’m like oh
well. I want to share and swap stories, but boomer men are all about what
they’ve accumulated in the rat race. There's a niche audience out there.
When I left the trailer park in Oregon, I should have
turned right to get back to 101. I went left figuring the first right turn
would get me on Rt101 again. I drove down an increasingly narrow road for 19
miles that had no right turns. I knew that because I came upon a sign when the
road forked finally and both ways became dirt roads. “To 101 -19 miles”
Four numbers on the sign. I think I had wandered into Californias deep forest
with only one way out.
I got a clue when I saw grass growing
in the road. You can tell there had been some landslides looking down on the
cliffside and up at the higher elevations, everything was sliding down to the
river below and there were cracks in the road where there were visible
rockslides. The road kept getting thinner and thinner and I didn’t see any
other vehicles and I got to wondering why. Nothing seemed familiar. I thought I
shoud stop and go in reverse for two miles as it might be the only way out. It
didn't occur to me to turn around probably because of the thin road and the
cliffs on both sides. There actually wasn’t room to turn and often there
are good results from getting lost when fate grabs the wheel but not this
time.
A rule of driving is not to get lost on a lonely
dirt road and so when I came to a fork in the road and both choices were dirt
roads I hoped there was a way out. I finally turned the Jeep around and saw the
sign. 19 miles to Rt 101. The other way. I was nearly in Humboldt County in
California.
Well, I was two days behind schedule and decided I
was just going to drive right through California and get past Kingman Arizona
by the next sunrise, 20 hours away. Sometimes I had to settle into long hours
of driving. California could be a vacation by itself but not this time. Time to
hoof it to Austin.
I had slept in the car for two nights and was feeling
good. I had about five layers of different materials such as yoga mats and
sleeping bags and an outdoor lounge chair cushion laid across the back.
Arizona and New Mexico, though boarded
up, were much more starkly beautiful than I remember. The entirety of New
Mexico seemed to be in dire economic ruin unfortunately. In the previous 15
states it appeared to be that America was back to work. Not in New
Mexico, though I didn’t visit Albuquerque or Santa Fe or Taos.
Unnecessary cattle GRAZING is an issue for another day.
After the visit to Shiprock I got on 481 South and
figured I could sleep at the first rest area I come across on Interstate 40
east. So, I get on the interstate and thirty miles go by and I am thoroughly
tired and I really need to stop. I drove quickly to get through California but
it took 14 hours with three traffic jams on the day that started with me almost
getting lost in Humboldt County California.
#girdthegrid
Sixty miles go by and I’m like “what in the hell!” There
always seemed to be a rest area just in time, but not this time. Here comes the
fatigue driving. I count backwards from 100 to 1 and then start again with 99
to one then 98 to one backwards. Out loud to keep as many facilities working as
possible. There are other tricks to keep the mind alert but I’d driven 20 of
the last 30 hours and seriously needed a break.
There was an exit with lots of trucks but nowhere for cars
to park. Then I did a big circle for about 8 miles following an apparently
drunk GPS lady and there was nothing anywhere that was safe from thieves and
highwaymen. Finally, I saw an area between exits and entrances that was 200 by
150 feet with several trucks that were parked. Aiming straight for it, I nearly
got hit by a tractor trailer while I was going left toward this wide open space
while the truck was signaling to go right on the 40 East entrance ramp. We
crisscrossed each other by like, inches, and I saw the corner of the truck a
few feet from the windshield. I never want to be that tired while I was driving
again. A regrettable risk, but a good lesson.
I slept 5 hours there and took off raggedy without coffee.
Ten or twenty miles later there was relief though I did wee when no one was
driving by at 3 in the morning.
I must have spent ten hours driving in Texas before I got
to Little M’s house. So much ugliness coming out of Texas, it seems, but they
definitely won the wildflower award. Vast areas of flowers and diversity spread
throughout the Texas highway side. The hill country was impressively scenic and
I thanked my luck with all these fabulous roads I drove on. The, NW to SE state
routes, ignored by the interstates.
I was tired, having driven 35 of the last 55 hours so I was
thankful to be able to stay in Austin for 2 and a half days to rest. M
and her beau listen to the most interesting mix of music. New stuff to
entertain my ears.
I was mirthful to discover that Austin has so many
wildflowers and a Central Park of its own and a world-famous natural spring. We
walked to the largest bat roosting area in an American city and I didn’t hear
it though my companions did.
Trying to capture the parts of America you don't see on TV.
New roads, new lands, new people.
May and October tours. Cannabis friendly stops. Colorado can’t be beat
and Massachusetts is all that’s good, cannabis-wise in New England.
The nine hour ride from Old
Forge to Deposit included the only clusterfuck of the trip. My cigarette
lighter charger went out. I had 1% charge suddenly, so I had to pull over and
test the other plug-thing behind me.
Shortly after that I lost
the GPS in a remote area and drove down some dead end roads, by trying to guess
the route. But it was all scenery you know? My goal was to get to Deposit by 1
and after this delay, 3 o’clock became the goal.
Enough 7% inclines for a while. Where were the
cannabis dispensaries in New York? Turns out they hadn’t gotten it together
yet. Now imagine people selling bud at the local rural hub?
Signs said “women only” I noticed on my two trips this
year. I hate to say it, but the smaller the town the bigger the ignorance. In
an enhanced infrastructure program, there would be MANY more bathrooms to be
built. Areas with bigger stalls for anyone to use Men Women Babies Anyone.
State road 11 and local road 111 meet in the middle
of Pixville. 20 million is spent purchasing nearby pristine forests and swamps.
Up north of town, hub road #54 is going to be built connecting state road 11
and state road 22 that winds its way northwest to the river.
Build it and they will come. Pixvilles population booms and
soon Lakeside, six miles away has began developing bed and breakfast and Second
Breakfast facilities. RV parks opening up everywhere. People vacationing to the
caves 20 miles south begin staying for a while, driving through this area.
We have to encourage working from home to
relieve traffic everywhere else.
RV parks and yards with many cars and debris and what looks
like a mess as observed from the highway.
Trucks that are running, are busy, though. America is back
to work. Flyover country for you jet setters. Got a plan for that shit too.
E
PAVEMENT ENDS
How do you pay for it? You fund this by taxing accumulated wealth, not current
income. The people doing well don’t need to be bashed in the back of the knee
with taxes. The individuals and companies that have accumulated billions have
saved enough money for us to completely rebuild the American infrastructure.
Rebuilt with compassion built into it this time. For the animals cut off from
their migration routes and for the humans abandoned by a
compassionless economic system dominated by long distance trucking.
Mass production undercut all the local economies.
II26 You absolutely have to have a
nationwide bus system. Free for all so all that paperwork and government mumbo
jumbo can be avoided, and all the red tape about who qualifies for what
discount is eliminated. People visiting sick friends and relatives? Why does
everyone have to have a car?
The goal is to cut down the
cost of living. Anyone who runs away screaming about socialism or Marxism isn’t
getting how I am talking about the self-governing goal of the future.
Primary to this is to set up a solid infrastructure. An
infrastructure to have what we and those unborn will need till
2100.
Interstate 250. will be highways built exclusively for trucks. We need shipping
and those truckers are a menace with their tailgating and spiked hubcaps.
18’8” could be the minimum height for bridges on truck highways on
anything newly built.
Think Big.
No kill shelters is infrastructure. Tornado shelters is infrastructure.
Costing peanuts compared to this bloated sow of a military and State Department
with it's "ambassador palaces".
The USPS acting as a non profit banking
system is infrastructure. Hey, I’m not convinced this global trading order is
working out. Worser things are coming after Covid, this global supply chain is
completely full of weak links. Do you realize how many people will own their
homes in a non profit banking system?
Finally in Connecticut. Hiking Rugged Mountain and road
rage behind me in in New Britsky. I took very few notes, I needed to be 100%
alert, but I noted this one. The most pock holed Main Street of 2021 was New
Britain. So here I am, I just scored at Dunkin Donuts headed for Rugged
Mountain. Kind of an early morning traffic tie up and I’m like hyper aware and
suddenly two cars ahead of me stopped dead. I had time to stop though things
fell on the floor.
Behind me I hear a crash about three cars back. Then
yelling. Nobody needs that shit but we are risen apes and we do the best we
can. Don’t pay attention for a couple fucking seconds and you get in an
accident. I got in an accident with a rental that way.
It was an amazing 6 months. 13,500 miles and 29 states.
Not knowing where the next place to sleep would be and seeing how many across
this country live. There are more homeless than is realized and the dearth of
facilities will be the death of many in the future. Shelter is infrastructure.
Smoking
wrench.
Below
is the article that got me fired.
-6-6-
Wildlife
Value of our Plants
"How much more
delightful is the task of making improvements on the earth, than all the
vainglory in destroying it." George
Washington
a) Unitarian Earth Day
b) It's not a dinner
party y'all
c) planting for looks,
not wildlife
d) LAURA RIDING JACKSON
e) the
single seed
f) Integrated Pest
Management
g) Unitarian
Universalist Plant Inventory
h) gratitude reverence
and care
i) trees need to
be forests, not baseball bats
j) the invisible plastic
of the Green Industry
k) Kevin the Turkey
l) Back to the UU
a) UNITARIAN
EARTH DAY
27th Ave and
16th Street.
Always
a lively presentation of Issues and fresh perspectives during the service on
Sunday. Then a bodacious coffee hour afterwards with the nicest people in
Vero.
Earth Day is on the way, it's always on the way, and
people at the UU like to say, let's make every day, Earth Day.
Okay, let’s do that.
This is specifically for
the Unitarian Universalist site, but also an overview of the Route 60 corridor,
and the new Laura Riding Jackson historical home.
I'm here to help you
save a site from becoming a biotic dead zone. Are UU properties around the
country filled with food for the many forms of wildlife? From the Common Toad
to the Nematode to the American
Three-toed Woodpecker Picoides dorsalis?
UU charters talk about
"reverence, gratitude and care" for all of nature. But my observation
is that the property on 27th and 16th is not wildlife friendly.
"everyone wants to park in the shade ..."
This presentation is a fresh perspective on how to be part of the ecosystem.
How to turn your yard or civic facility into a garden that would be
useful for birds, butterflies and pollinating insects and a safe harbor
for all life, and the pollinators for EVERYONES fruits and vegetables.
I'm also setting out to
show you that the Green Industry has been all about making money, utilizing
gasoline by-products to make that money. It has never been about creating
habitats in our yards.
I remember when Flower
Time ravaged the small nursery businesses all across New England. Hundreds ...
thousands of small business livelihoods were crushed. Eventually Lowes and Home
Depot came to dominate the horticulture sales market as small business America
was paved over to make way for corporate dominance.
Market socialism can't compete with capitalist monopoly.
Craftsmanship and customer service were once the hallmarks of small business
America. Mom and Pop shops were the anchors of this, Market Socialism. There
were the common street markets where you didn't pay to set up. America sold its
soul for low prices. We had it going on once upon a time.
Ye Anciente Warehouse
Everyone wants to park in the shade, but no
one wants to plant the trees. How did trees manage for millions of years
without Joe's Landscaping and big bags of fertilizer? Let's try and figure that
out.
"sometimes you have to walk in
that ring all alone" Billy Joel
The
intention of the new Atrium Garden at the UU property was to bring the indoor
Green Sanctuary idea, to the outdoors. As a result, there are
always at least ten plants blooming or fruiting in the Atrium, all year long.
It is not designed to be pretty and orderly like a
gated community entrance, but wild and spontaneous with blooming flower and
leaf displays that change and evolve. It is never the same, it is always
changing. This form of garden design creates cognitive dissonance.
People don't get it.
It seems that there are sedate and stately
people that like static landscapes. Get the best look and don't change it all,
EVER. Call it a winning formula, but a closer look at reveals it is a
conglomeration of biotically useless exotics. Singularly useless plants to the
thousands of species looking to eat and multiply.
The one large Simpson stopper in
the Atrium had more fruit to offer than the entire Memorial Garden. Once the
fruit ripened it was gone. The birds are in there at 4 in the morning.
Flying in and feeding. Hopping around looking for insect appetizers. People are
not making the connection between the nature shows they watch and what nature
could potentially be right outside their door.
The two feature plants I bought 13
years ago for the Atrium, were a White Indigoberry and the Simpson Stopper. Big
$60 plants. They are still there, and they both have had seedlings growing
nearby and fruit taken by birds. For the wild life, there is literally more to
eat in the Atrium than the remainder of the property. The Marlberry was
chock full of juicy purple berries recently, and is now currently flowering.
The Mockingbird Plant is a controversial native that
has Orange Berries at the moment and has had them most of the summer.
Controversial because it is also considered an invasive pest. One of these is
enough, if it has babies, I pull them out and toss them in the garbage, like
the way they do with male chicks at the Egg house.
I'm trying to educate people about weeds and wildflowers
these days and I'm looking for cooler indoor situations to make some income.
Don't know how many Florida summers I can survive. Then it occurs to me, sure,
the UU site is a wasteland for nature, but are there any local places that
emphasize about wildlife first? ... prosaic ...formulaic ...
everywhere you go.
I went to the Unity
Church once to look at the Labyrinth, and that was interesting. Down the
street a half mile from the UU site, I'm suddenly wondering about the wildlife
value of the plants on the property. I should go and visit to REALLY
look at what they are offering wildlife besides a labyrinth. Driving
today I see another church near 12th that had Hawthorns. Hawthorn hedges.
Everywhere. Once the safe, reliable(boring lifeless) and highly recommended
plant to use, it turns out to be junk for nature.
You betcha the nurseries have been selling the shit out of
this plant. They want sales,
In fact, it would be a fun idea to start rating sites for
their wildlife value all along the Route 60 corridor. Yes, I think
I'll do that.
Reverence, gratitude and care,
does not plant a fruiting shrub.
Looking around the
Unitarian Universalist property on 27th Avenue, I see Arbicola, too many of
those Hawthorns, non-native Eugenia, and ...literally... nothing that wildlife
can use in 1000 linear feet of hedge. That's a real shame.
The Bougainville in the first grass parking lot
is climbing the Oak again and will look good when it starts to flower, but this
South American plant has no value for pollinators here in
Florida.
Then there's the Memorial Garden upgrade and I need to
question if the result was good or not. In my opinion, the wild coffee hedge
planted by Jim, around the electrical box, has more wildlife value than all the
new Memorial Garden plants put together. Fast growing 👸exotics have replaced
the natives.
I had something going on
there, as I was able to add plants for no cost, culling from native plants at
other sites. Probably 12 to 15 species of native plants were removed from the
memorial garden. As Weeds. You know. Unstructured. Wild. The garden
was always changing. Why would you want to have it look the same year
after year? And hedges that look more like walls. Recall build that wall.
My only protocol was to keep the Chalice visible from
the street and parking lot. They were good looking natives to those who have
been on forest trails and have seen real life Savannas, but to some it was wild
and disorganized. This isn't the John Island Clubhouse, y'all. Lighten up.
Scorpion Tail slowly multiplies so when a plant got old, I
would just toss it out and manage the ones that were left. Native plants
regenerate, and so after 13 years there were virtually no costs to the
congregation for the Memorial Garden but for my pay.
I'm objecting to people, "volunteers," randomly
pulling all plants on several sites and it's about time to make my objections
known. Probably about time to seriously look at outdoor policy. I remember
Harry installing all the downward facing lights. Wildlife friendly so it lights
up where people walk, not in every direction skywards. That was a green move.
Gaillardia keeps popping up on one site, but the "palm
guy" keeps pulling them out as weeds. You know, how many times am I
supposed to turn the other cheek to this reckless and thoughtless wildlife
subsuming activity? People know more about
their Keurig's and Cuisinart's, than they do about the
outdoors.
I designed the Annex Garden at the Sebastian Town Hall and
it has been self-replicating since 1999. Today the only costs are the
time spent pruning the two hedges by town workers. These alternative hedges
were there to show people that there is a much wider variety of plants if you
include native plants. It doesn't have to be Hawthorn or Arbicola or exotic
Eugenia.
Wildflowers bloomed year after year without being
re-planted! They re-planted themselves. Bunnies Tortoises and birds were
attracted to this new garden outside the door of the Sebastian Engineering
Department, where
people got all their permits.
Blue
Love Grass.
Imagine
that this happy little plant was pulled out as a weed! Twenty of them! This is
Arbicide, considering how long it took to grow these fucks from seed in the
Atrium. 5 years of getting them to seed and breed. I moved them out from the
Atrium as they got old enough. This WAS the outdoor Green Sanctuary idea in
action. Reverence, gratitude, care and pride have still not planted a fruiting
shrub.
From time to time in the
memorial garden I would add bags of peat humus and other soil amendments to the
plants. Maybe buy a couple bags of mulch now and then to neaten the look up.
Sporadic use of mulch enhances the soil. Heavy use results in
caking, runoff and fungus problems.
But blame the leaves.
So I had a good thing going on there with wildlife in the
Memorial Garden. Did someone see a spider and get scared? A healthy
ecosystem has thousands of spiders per acre.
Where did the initiative for a sterile, lifeless
entrance garden come from? Someone who wanted it to be pretty, and not to be
wild? To be like grandmas plastic covered couches. "I'd rather you
not sit on them, dear."
Not long ago you would see many Butterflies in the garden.
Dragonflies, Spiders. They're gone.
some people see weeds, but nature sees food. Now the nature
is gone.
One problem is increased
pruning time with the newly planted Firebush, Green Gem, and Plumbago this summer.
Taking time away from the fall pruning of the Atrium. Oh and Kentia Palm,
Bouganvilla, Thryallis and the other new plants offer zero food for
bees, butterflies, insects and all the little soil creatures. Always in need of
pruning too.
The completely wrong plants were placed in the Memorial
Garden. Where was the Outdoor Green Sanctuary Committee on this issue? There is
no committee.
No pollen no nectar no fruit. Just big showy
flowers for people that can't design past color and placement. Well, there's
supposed to be big showy flowers on the new dwarf ultra flowerific
Hibiscus! I felt that Memorial Garden die. Everything that gave it
life was gone, replaced by the life-deadening plants from all around the world.
I showcase in blue letters above and below so you can
research for yourself. I'm recommending everyone to take a look at what these
"professionally designed" landscape designs offer wildlife in
Florida.
Also, check the plant list of what was planted and
see what is still alive. I mean who would plant Begonias in May? I looked at
them and went 'sorry ... not coming back three times a week to keep them
alive'.
1985 called and they want their hackneyed designs back. I
was intending to help people advance their knowledge of the plants in the world
but peoples brains are wired from all the Scotts fertilizer commercials that
called for killing all the bugs in your soil.
There is a distinct link between what I am up against at
the church and also the newly moved Laura Riding Jackson historical home. The
problem are the rookies to Florida. A Master Gardener from Indiana and an
amateur poet from South Dakota. They want pretty, I want the bugs life.
I see how many plants were planted from May onwards
and it's like raising children, I guess. Sometimes they have to learn for
themselves.
Gaillardia is a great native plant. But at LRJ they bought
some cultivar with big puffy blooms and groovy new colors. Gaillardia 'glitter pony rose' or something.
Looked great in May and June when school was out, and being the beginning of
summer, no one visited the garden. Looked great and no one saw them, but they
are gone. Just poof. They shit the bed.
Oh, by the way, round these parts, stakes are tacky.
One gardening standard I use is a plant shouldn't need to be staked. Vegetables
sure, not native plants. I suggest we take it off the tree Hibiscus in
the Memorial Garden. New Rule. No plant should have a stake after
surviving two summers in Central Florida.
The tree Hibiscus is one of the plants that are hiding the
Chalice. Also, I'm having to pull the hose out far more often now, which
is even more time expended. What a long summer it's been. The
Atrium continually flowering and fruiting while the Memorial Garden
is doing what. To water these new Hibiscus' planted right in the
middle of the hottest area in that garden. They look like shit after a summer
of extreme sun and heat.
So yeah, at the UU, take a look at the $1700 planting list
for the Memorial Garden, and check and see how they are doing today. At the LRJ
Historical home, I recommend that nothing gets planted after the April bar-b-q.
Our big event to conclude the season and Summer is right around the corner. I
saw SO MANY things at both sites getting planted and knowing lots of money got
wasted. By people who have spent barely anytime here in the summertime. I
just survived my 33rd summer here btw.
As gardeners we don't play around here in Florida. Vanity
projects usually don't survive the summer. We have 358 sunny days a year, and
up in Indiana and South Dakota they have like, 86. IT'S NOT THE SAME HERE!
I converted the memorial garden
to native plants that I planted and grew, as mentioned, while keeping all the
plants from the original hackneyed design, and I filled in spaces, leaving
plenty of lines and curves in the beds. Always changing, it was the opposite of
a static, unchanging, lifeless design. Plants that I knew from 33 years in
Florida, that could take the sunny conditions of the Memorial Garden. Now I
have to watch all these "pretty" exotics die from six months of
extreme heat and humidity.
Plants I didn't charge the congregation for, but worthy
plants I get rootlings from at usually no cost. I move a lot of plants around.
This is how you garden in the green way. "gardening adds years
to your life, and life to your years." The green
Sanctuary outdoors, remember? The Memorial Garden went from a barely
negligible carbon footprint to gross excess per
square foot.
How many new plants? All those plastic pots went where? 200
bags of mulch. People tell themselves mulching helps in many ways, but
there are those gasoline by-products again. 200 empty bags of mulch is like
1000 ziplocks. No recycling them either. The Green Industry is a notorious user
of fossil fuel based containerization.
Then there's the pelletized fertilizer.
GREENHAMMER: THE
GARDEN GREEN (thegrimoireofgreenhammer.blogspot.com)
One of my e-z gardening methods is to establish small
native plants, and they naturally grow slowly (well, maybe not Fiddlewood and
some others), but mostly they are slow growers. So, as a consequence,
there is much less
pruning time, en todo.
Hog Plum (wildsouthflorida.com)
This has been pulled out two years in a row in the memorial Garden. It
has come back another year defying the pulling of it in its previous two
eradications. Ironic that I have to take care of all these time consuming,
non-native plants while tenacious useful natives get torn out.
Look at what was planted and check to
see what is still alive. It was pretty frustrating to not have an input
into the plans. I will be noting very vociferously as to what happens to this
innocent looking Hogplum in the coming weeks.
In support of my Hogplum, I wrote this
on one of the pride flags. "I am not a weed, I am a useful native plant
that has scented blossoms and large fruit for wildlife.
Never mind the hackneyed choices in the Memorial Garden, there is
no plant diversity at all on the entire property. Quite a few Oaks, but they
are always stressed and most of their roots are under the parking lot.
They are constantly dropping leaves as a consequence, and besides, they
are Laurel Oaks that grow too fast, too quick. The Live Oak can easily live 200
years while the Laurel Oak only lasts 50-60 years, and sometimes much less. Big
impressive trunks make people enthusiastic about the fast growing Laurel Oak at
first, till the roots start buckling sidewalks and parking lots.
We did discuss today after the Zoom meeting whether they
were Live Oaks or Laurel Oaks. Also Dahoon Holly are looking good. After seeing
how well they were doing in Sebastians planting and parks plan, I suggested
them as replacement for the rapidly declining Oak population. It was noted
there are two more dead Oaks that need to be removed.
The Emerson Center seemed
unwilling to let ten parking spots go natural and let these Oak roots breathe?
So they had to be covered with asphalt? That the congregation paid for?
Every space needed for sold out shows? Is this what other
UU congregations do? Maximize parking and too bad for plant health? One of
those, not-very-green moves I'd say.
How badly do they need those last ten spots? I suggest
making these spaces for bicycle and under 49cc parking only, with a way to lock
up bicycles. A pole with holes in it. But how could we work around the ever
expanding, above ground, root mass? Or should we continue parking on these Oak
Tree roots and covering them in tar?
This might be a good way to encourage conservation among
the congregation. Green Sanctuary outdoors! Hey look guys! We are closing 10
parking spots to make parking available for less polluting vehicles. Reverend
Scott would sometimes drive ten miles on his bicycle before work. He knows how
to get out and be in nature. But I'm of the opinion he drove more miles than
the entire congregation combined, and I'm not counting his cross country miles
for hunger. Where are the conservation efforts? What are UU's across the
country doing to enhance nature?
The idea of the Green Sanctuary outdoors might be
puzzling to some people. There is a need to go beyond recycled toilet
paper and dimming the lights. That's tokenism. Then thinking the problem is
solved which is self-delusion.
I'm not convinced this panic to switch to electric
cars is warranted either. How about conservation? How about drive less?
Quality miles. More school and work from home. Build a transportation and
Infrastructure to accommodate many types of smaller, cleaner modes of
transportation.
Let's lead by example. As Jimmy Carter wanted to do,
conservation alone could cut down energy usage by 25%. Unfortunately,
Obama and Biden enthusiastically promoted fracking to keep the price of gas
low. The Military Industrial Complex needed a gazillion gallons of gas to
invade Iraq and Afghanistan, so Boomer stocks were booming! They were going to
be millionaires after all!
And OMG. Do you realize how much mining and toxic waste is
going on with EV's? You're being bamboozled again. This is about the faux green
industry that thought money was the greenest of all greens.
The Emerson Center needs
every single space on the property for events? Reserve 20 seats in the front
rows for bicyclists only. Do something dramatic. Two years now, and I have yet
to see a bicycle hooked up to Scott's bike rack. Or as a volunteer parker,
where are the people who walk in for a concert? I don't remember seeing any.
Lots of nice cars though. People who can pay $150 to see famous bands with no
original members.
UU's should be encouraging conservation in every aspect of
life, and I'm just not seeing it.
How are these suffering Oaks getting nutrients with 90% of
their roots covered by Asphalt? Mysterious deaths? Not really.
Laurel Oaks are known to be quick growing, weak and
short lived. Dropping dead branches among other problems, I would love to know
how much has been spent in the last ten years taking care of these trees. These
kind of short-sighted mistakes can be prevented.
SOOOOO....
Do we want to make a
long term plan now or 20 years from now?
As it's said, the best time to plant a tree was 20
years ago. The next best time is today. Luckily, two very small American Elms
were planted six and twelve years ago respectively, and are growing
quite large with a very minimal effort. A little watering when they were little
and now they are 16 and 24 feet, respectively. They started as $3
wholesale 1-gallon trees. This is Green. The Garden Green.
This is the green sanctuary. To use as
few resources as possible, for the desired green effect. Right?
An already large Live Oak, was purchased for $300 by an
Administrator about five years ago and is now worth around $1300 if you were to
sell something like that in its current size. The Live Oak was planted at the
eastern end of the grass parking area near the entrance, and I ask you, where
else can you get that kind of return on your investment? 433%. Where's the tree
planting plan and planting for wildlife initiative? Do other UU properties have
long term plans? I'm really curious now.
This Live Oak should have been pruned in its first few years, but
there is only so much volunteer work I can do. I need some Denero in my
Sombrero. Also, another problem the Facilities Committee needs to face is the
brush disposal problem. We took it up at the last meeting. I'm hesitant to
prune the American Elms. Where do I put the branches?
But a timely prune down below will keep the tree from
getting in the wires in 5 or 10 years. I completely cleaned up the
sloppy Bougainville in the grass parking lot, but a pile of branches
remain.
I want to prune the Juniper in the Atrium but where am I
going to put the branches? It's a logjam at this point and we can't keep
leaving piles of brush around the property. The Juniper is 5" DBH and
probably has some nice veination for woodworking. I wanted to make a xmas tree
out of it, string it up with lights but we need to cut it down. Maybe make some
wreaths with the needles.
recent
planting of Love Grass at LRJ
Replacing the dead looking
Hawthorn with Cocoplum on the north side of the Unitarian Universalist property
was a good idea a few years back. Finally, a native Florida plant, and a little variety
finally, but the stultifying sameness remains elsewhere on this 4 acre
site.
And, unfortunately, the Cocoplum is not being pruned to
encourage flower and fruiting. It's pruned across the top, over and over and
over zing zing zing, in the same spot and is dying below. Duh. A plant has to
be rejuvenated.
It never flowers and fruits as it did naturally the first
few years after it was planted. Something that is not done around here is the
rejuvenation prune. This is how I take care of hedges without a gas powered
trimmer. Cut every fifth branch or so, down below. It rejuvenates from below
and more likely to fruit in a year or two.
This current style of pruning is plant torture to me.
Instead of the entire plant growing leaves, branches, flowers and fruit, it
basically has two inches at the top where it does everything. What's visible to
the public is all that counts. Wildlife be damned. This occurs county wide and
correct pruning is rarely seen. Plants are a pain in the ass to these
profiteers and many plants are ruthlessly pruned to the ground once a year.
Ligustrums are pruned like lollipops.
Therefore,
I'm making it a volunteer project to carefully and gently revive the hedge by
the Ministers and Administrators offices with lots of pictures to show you what
I mean. A similar hedge on the west side has died and was pulled out. Can I
save this one and then the one on the north side? This looks terrible, but it
is the rejuvenation process.
Rejuvenation. Deep cuts spaced out to avoid sun scald. It takes time.
I'm going to explain why good enough isn't good
enough. It's why that hedge on the west side of the building was completely
pulled. Deader TAF from poor pruning and 4 inches of sand blown up into the
bed. Every time I go by the west side I marvel at the pitiful,
hackneyed plant choices. Decades of poor landscape techniques all rolled into
one. Same old same old. How much has been spent on irrigation the last 20 years
to try and keep this unnatural crap alive?
As near as I can tell, there has been no real
management of the outdoors at this facility. The central west side has six
inches of leaves blown up into the beds and who would plant 30 foot Bottlebrush
in a ten foot space? Oh yeah. Showy Pretty flowers but a heck of a lot of
pruning the last 20 years and btw, has anyone seen it flower? I think we need
an outdoor person to present these problems and perspectives to the Facilities
Council.
Someone was going to plant Macho Ferns to replace the, dead
from stress, Ilex Schillings on the west side? Who was going to water them?
Update. They don't look good yet. They look kind of dead. I'd suggest Ernodea.
But those are hard to find, native plants. Expensive, slow growing. Invaluable
to wildlife.
When you think about it, how many birds do you see on the property? Not very
many, and I spend 12 to 15 hours a month outside on
the property, which is more than anyone else, I'm sure.
The entire Route 60 corridor has had
no real plan for feeding and sheltering wildlife either, and landscaping in
Indian River County leaves a lot to be desired when it comes to planting for
nature, so don't feel bad. The art of gardening has been totally lost in
this area; $90 an hour landscape architects, who live far from here, can be
held responsible, and nurseries and garden clubs need to be called out for the
plastic waste and the hackneyed designs they produce.
Enormous plastic waste and selling inappropriate plants
from the other side of the world purchased by people from up north
with their notions on what Florida should look like.
b) It's not a dinner party y'all
The
Laura Riding Jackson house was moved from the nutrient-rich semi-scrub in
Wabasso to the Environmental Learning Center in the 90's. ELC as its known.
Then ELC went private or something and LRJ was told their lease was up. That was
2019. Somehow, it was arranged for this historical home to be placed on a
college campus next to a Library. So far so good. This is a one-of-a-kind
educational opportunity. At IRSC. Indian River State College.
Luckily Elliot has been on top of keeping the wood of the house
from getting degraded. No house, no native plant garden. Drainage in flat
Florida is difficult but he got it perfect around the house with an extensive
drainage system that allows the water that used to collect under the house to
now flow to the canal.
Listen, it's not a Vero Ladies
dinner party where we show off our $3000 paintings and $8000 couches. Design,
looks & beauty is fine, but you have to deal with the reality that we have
lost 50% of our songbirds. Primarily, multitudinous ecosystems were completely
over developed, lining the pockets of stockholders (aka boomer retirees).
There is no
hoping for the best or sending thoughts and prayers. A fifty percent loss since
"Silent Spring" by Rachel Carson was published in 1962! THEY STARVED
TO DEATH. COULDN'T RAISE THEIR FAMILIES.
On your watch Boomers. WHERE DID ALL THE BIRDS GO?
People aware of the outside world are also talking about an insect
apocalypse, but unfortunatly not as much as they talk about pride. Insects can't lobby
legislators with their inherited money, or demand facetime in the media
pleading for equality. So the birds and insects are stuck with people like me.
Pulling my hair out at the LRJ site that had already planted Wedelia, a
horrible pest plant. What designer in Florida could possibly suggest this? Then
saying WTH when the "garden committee" proposed to plant Rattlebox,
Cardboard Palm and worst of all, more Lantana Camara. 1983 called. They want
their hackneyed and platitudinous designs back.
The local Native Plant Expert told me the facility
has been told to pull out the Lantana camara at this site, so we'll see, they
are going for looks. Best I can do is point out it is a major pest plant. Or
maybe I'm just prdjudiced against the plant.
So far the Tortoise guy, the county
Extension Agent and I presume Janice Broda have advocated for the same things
I've been advocating for in their presentations. Things like allowing the Sabal
Palms to flower and fruit since they are the anchor to our Indian River
Bioregion. Over 150 species use our state tree in one way or another. This why
the fruiting stems have not been pruned. Mockingbirds are delighted. I often
see them flying from the high peak of the house and into the Palms. Some of the
taller palms have dead in them and look sloppy, even to me, so I'll try and get
them this week.
Come on guys. Not the same old, same old. Thinking
they are planting native but It's not a dinner party. I've worked on the
barrier island for 33 years now and met some wonderful people, but it really is
about the look. About what you got. Not saying it was wrong; everyone was
bamboozled when it came to the pretentious. safe landscaping. Lots of plants.
Hundreds of plants unloaded every day at johns siland. "helps the
environment".
Real gardeners want to see some wild and free material.
Knowledgeable botanists want to see variety. Some really nice labelling
going on at LRJ. Very educational signage. But I can tell you that these young
botanists are good at research and they know their ecosystems. They've been
watching wildlife show since they was soiling their britches. Young people that
DO ACTUALLY know better, are going to ask some tough
questions. 2033 called. Where did all the wildlife go?
Maybe if we all
planted fruiting shrubs as a mass American effort we'd all know that we can all
get along. And reduce the military to create infrastructure jobs here in the
homeland. AND, we don't need to cater to the divisive storm trooper wanna be's
of the reich wing. I'm thinking to myself, "Civil War? What the fuck is
wrong with you guys?" Are they afraid that Nancy Pelosi is coming to take
away their guns with gay soldiers and rainbow helicopters? It's about
soldiering now, not male bonding. Or white guy dominance over one and all.
I continue chatting it up about Floridas 4700 Native plants
hoping that number sticks into somebodies head wherever I go.
I told the LRJ Garden Committee that the only native
Lantana is White because i had some experience with it. At the UU, Our previous
minister had me plant a wide palette of native plants in his front yard,
since he is an outdoors dude, and 'gets it' when it comes to nature. I planted
the native white Lantana at his newly purchased house, and it didn't look like
ones that were purchased for the Laura Riding Jackson property. Not even close.
I'd gone to many dozens of meetings of the local Native Plant Society and was
quite familiar with the species.
Why Cultivars Could
Be Problematic (choosenatives.org)
What's
going on is people don't quite get it yet. Colorful new varieties "Look a
Black Petunia!" Making more work for me, these lifeless cultivars were
planted to improve the visuals. So don't put up a sign that says native plants
bring life to the garden when you plant the invasive and non-native Lantana,
and these lifeless cultivars. White Turks Cap and Bottlebrush. The white
Lantana that was planted is just another L. camara. You know the ones experts
have advised to be pulled out. Not the native. Lanatana Involucrata
— Wild Sage (wildsouthflorida.com)
To take another simple
example, I have yet to see a Rusty Lyonia planted by the anyone in this
area. Rusty lyonia - Florida Wildflower
Foundation (flawildflowers.org) Not seen one in 20 years in business
and I've been in quite a few yards. Easily recognized by its brownish fuzzy
color underneath.
I had close
close proximity to 300 homes at Orchid Island for decades. My adopted hometown.
289 homes built since the Receivership. 1991-4. Not one Rusty Lyonia. No Lyonia
species period, out of the five local ones, have been planted, period. But go
to the 7700 acre Sebastian Buffer Preserve and Lyonias are in many of the
various ecosystems within the park. Uncolonized Florida had them everywhere.
Birds love the fruit. Tastes like Key Lime Pie to them.
I'm inclined to buy
small for all my designs and got little Rusty the Rusty Lyonia for $5. About 4
inches tall. Well, ten years later, Rusty is all growed up and 12 feet tall and
I spend about an hour a year taking care of the plant. Probably less. Prune it
so its proportionally pleasing to the passerby. Clip out dead branchlets for
looks. This is the big difference compared to all the exotic, architect
recommended and popular plants that have absolutely no wildlife value
and take up most of the pruning time. Properties I design or manage
don't need fertilizer or much pruning, because they grow slow as native plants
do. It's like 80% less growth to prune. But that takes planning foresight and
knowledge about what works in Florida.
As I point out, the Sea Grape is a great native plant. But
the flawed design of the LRJ (Laura Riding Jackson) site has these monstrous
30' x 50' trees planted 3 feet on center and ONE FOOT from the cart path. 😟
In place of what naturally grows well in Florida, these
overwhelming exotic and needy plants that are sold by local nurseries,
accompanied by hackneyed and formulaic designs that creates these dead
zones. They have virtually no wildlife value. So, I want to ask people,
what does the migrating bird eat in your yard? In Vero Beach there is so little
planted for wildlife.
I'm fixin' to talk some sense to these overpaid landscape architects who
only design their derivative designs to pay for their $80,000 pickup trucks.
Just like Economists or Marxists --- they take no consideration of NATURE.
I want to clarity the peril our ecosystems are in, to people who should know
better.
c) Planting for looks, not
life.
How do you find a balance
between visual aesthetics, which everyone wants, and wildlife enhancement that
people don't understand? Planting as if all the creatures mattered. Are people
willing to tolerate a little wildness in their yards and gardens? Is your civic
facility ready to shift to native plants?
We will need
that wildness to stave off our first brush with insect, animal, and
human extinction.
Over ten years ago, it was
decided that in order to prevent future flooding problems, much larger drainage
pipes needed to be installed in our Atrium at the Unitarian Universalist
Fellowship on 27th Avenue and 16th St.
The old overgrown, non-native plant garden in the Atrium
was extracted and all the rats ran hither and yon into the mouths of Black
Racer Snakes. All the plants were pulled out as part of the project that
included adding an elevator so everyone could have second floor access.
The Atrium garden area was a
literal tabula rasa, a blank slate. I did save a Thatch Palm, (not really sure,
some kind of Coccothrinax, that looks like a Sabal Palm), and a Firebush, but
was given carte blanche to create something new. This Thatch Palm has
ironically been targeted for elimination because ...JUMPING RATS ... get on the
roof and invade the building by jumping off palm fronds. The Atrium is more
amenable to our three local Black Racers and I haven't seen any Mice or Rats in
years. That was the old overgrown garden that did that.
The Rain Lily appears after I
thought it had died.
An important part of the new Atrium Project
was to find plants that could survive rugged situations (full sun and
reflective heat) and plants that could also be beneficial to wildlife. How to
plant as if Nature mattered in an enclosed outdoor garden surrounded by four
walls and no other plants within 50 feet. Yesterday I saw a bigger variety of
insects in there than I would see on the entire property.
|
In the beginning.. |
tabula rasa
At this point in the planting, a contribution of 50
beautiful, stackable rocks by Al P. was the coup de grace that helped finish
the project. I was trying to give the illusion of changing elevation with
our overwhelming, flat Floridaness, and with 50 more flat rocks, I stretched
the step and made it taller.
All that was
left was dead sub-soil, churned up, so 18" drainage pipes could be put in.
The new plants were planted with bagged soil and were foliar fertilized
eventually with Fish Emulsion. I charged $1350 and managed to get at least 30
native plants in there. Not a purist, I used some exotics for variety.
In place for 13 years now I have spent less than $200 on
replacement plants fertilizer and mulch. That's like, $15 dollars a year.
I'm telling you I know what I'm doing.
Those dead shrubs on the west side. Replace with Ernodea?
But that's none of my business.
Pelletized fertilizer is only a steroid-style burst of
nutrients. There was a glitch in the Matrix when a local "expert"
told me pelletized fertilizer was basically "nothing but minerals."
Well, no, its not. I am still stunned at the lack of knowledge by people that
should know better.
The "Green Industry" is the knee on the neck of
wildlife.
At the two primary sites I am going to discuss, there has been
some similarities. One is the genocide of the life in the soil. First with too
much mulch and then at the UU site, volunteers actually raked the
leaves before the mulch job at one site. Anyone that knows anything about
the science of life, what's that called ...biology or something, knows that
life begins in the dead things. Insects that are crawling around brush piles is
what birds eat. That's why i leave brush piles at the west end of the LRJ
property.
The 25 different kinds of plants currently, creates the
diversity of insect life in the Atrium, and this enhances the soil activity
from fallen leaves and dead branchlets and this is what has been fertilizing
plants along with fish emulsion spray these last 13 years.
In 13 years I haven't purchased any pelletized fertilizer
for the Atrium. This Atrium is located 30 feet from the Emerson Center Box
Office inside the facility and is visible to the public. So come on over and
visit. Take a look.
At 27th Avenue and 16th Street. Box office open weekdays 10
to 3 on designated days till April 2024 or so, selling tickets. Though, it's a
real lineup of fuddy duddy bands for people who don't like thinking out of the
box for music choices. ABBA cover band. No thanks. Serenades for Squares.
Just think about the billions of animals that have
starved to death with all this delirious development in Florida since
1960. Billions of fruiting shrubs like Huckleberry and Blueberry along with
fields of Wild Coffee and Simpson Stopper all plowed into burn piles. It was a
garden of 'eatin for birds travelling the Atlantic Flyway. Then They Paved
Paradise.
Every year there was less and less food for migrating
wildlife in Florida as New Yorkers got rich and developed anything they could.
It wasn't the garden of eatin' any more here in Indian River County, Florida,
as everyone was out to become millionaires.
d)
LAURA RIDING JACKSON
In the middle of the last century, Citrus growers were
using Arsenic to ripen the crop. This, after many scheduled sprayings of
chemicals in the previous months. Had to keep the Citrus skin spotless, right?
At least three fungicide treatments for the fruit in that fruit bowl in your
kitchen.
Chlordane in your sink drain.
In the eighties and before, chemical spraying was done with
schedules. Fungicides, Insecticides and the dangerous herbicide, 2,4d were
regularly poisoning the ground and consequently, the groundwater. These
sprayings followed a schedule before Indian River County Citrus was boxed and
sent up north. Such pretty fruit, filled with chemicals.
As an aside, I have to bring up the controversy regarding
Roundup. As a reliable killer of whatever it was sprayed on, it replaced all
the old school, dermally toxic herbicides through the 8/90's. It
bio-accumulates however and that make Roundup a big problem in waterways,
watersheds and anywhere people go fishing. But it's not toxic in the same way
the old herbicides were and hardly anyone knows that.
Worse than that, when the tourists and Snowbirds are here,
the water tables drop with the excessive usage, and we have saline intrusion
from the ocean along with this toxic runoff from chemicals sold at nurseries to
these flower crazed northerners, ou water sources have been compromised for
profit. All the solutions for your plant problems ..... that they create
... by
selling trendy, easy to grow, bullshit to make a buck. Now Roundup is
accumulating in the lagoon and that's not cool.
The innocent migrating songbirds were basically being
starved and/or poisoned to death during this developer delirium that's
been unleashed since 1960. Normalized as progress, it was wildlife genocide.
"filling in the swamps" people were told. Bird murder. Some died in
mid-air in their frantic search for food. Most yards will waste a birds time in
our area with all these singularly useless plants.
Spending too many calories flying from shrub to
shrub, looking for fruit, seed or insects. Something, anything!
How does migrating wildlife fare in your yard?
Sad little birds. They just wanted to start a family.
Birds may have been here for a hundred million years, but it hasn't increased
their lifespan. Many songbirds live less than five years, let them enjoy
their life. Leave the poisons unsold on the shelves of the
nurseries. (take a poll of the audience to name three plants in their yard
and we'uns try to determine their wildlife value)
when it filled in
There are
thousands of over pruned plants that never flower such as Jasmine and Ligustrum
and Sea Grape in the gated communities I used to work in, here in Vero Beach,
are a puzzling imbroglio. Most plants are pruned so regularly,
they never get to fruit or flower. Then there are the blanket chemical sprays
to kill all the insects. One gated community in particular seems to have
virtually no insect life at all, or song birds either.
Through all the geological changes of the past, plants have
adapted, and it has always been the birds that spread the seeds during
planetary climate change. Now, with perhaps the most abrupt and severe global
warming Homo Sapiens have ever experienced, it has become important that we
initiate stewardship of the world's ecosystems. Now. Why I'm compelled to do
this Fred talk. We start right here in our back yard.
As responsible Unitarian Universalists, we need to be
concerned with the interdependent web of life, right? Yet my observation
is that I saw more songbirds in my little 80x120 yard ... last
week, than I did all last year, on the entire 4 acre
Unitarian Universalist property. FACT.
Why it is nearly a biotic dead zone? Because no one
realizes it, that's why I'm bringing it up.
Four miles down the road apiece from the UU is the Laura
Riding Jackson site on the campus of the local college, and we have an
opportunity to educate the public there, also.
Laura Riding had a riotous personality and harbored no
sentimentality towards the established order. By WW2 Laura was done
with poetry and eventually settled down nearby in Wabasso Florida, to grow
organic citrus.
Meanwhile her peers were spraying Arsenic to ripen the
Oranges shipped up north. I remember the Indian River County pride in having
the best Citrus on the East Coast of the USA. Their famous shipping boxes
recycled in places like my parents cellar pantry. Year after year, holding jars
of Green Beans. The ideal xmas gift. A box of fruit from Florida.
The Word Woman doing things in her own
inimitable way. Hand written notes to customers explaining the occasional spot
on her oranges was because she grew Organic and did not use Chemicals. Whoa.
Synchronicity. Kind of what I was trying to do at her historical home.
e) "The magic of creation is contained in a tiny
seed."
Look at
a book with all the Florida habitats and you realize most yards,
do not resemble the wild lands in any way. Landscapes in this
area are like flower arrangements at a dinner party to most people. It
just has to look good. Very few yards replicate our wild lands and as I
drive around town, it's yard after yard filled with useless plants. I am going to
try and do what I can to influence people's perceptions of what is really
going on. The Green Industry is like a death cult trying to kill off
everything. The knee on the neck of nature.
There are scams that arborists and horticulturalists engage
in. Nurseries and landscapers are their flunkies. Of course plants from
China are going to have problems. I think of Hibiscus, (Vero Beach is the
Hibiscus City or something), and I think of all the insects. Pest insects. Huge
delicious flowers ... tastes like Cream Puffs to Aphids. As a result of being
aphid magnets, Hibiscus pests are sprayed with chemicals frequently. I've
seen it. I've been working on the barrier island for 33 years now. I know the
scene.
Literally tons of pesticides at Johns Island alone, yearly.
Dollar Weed constantly sprayed with Atrazine. Snakes all chased away, so Johns
Island developed a big Rat problem. Or they did 10 or 20 years ago. One day I
cleaned a shit ton of dead vines off a big trellis. Watching the rats scurry
away, I was like, no snakes in this billionaires Eden, but plenty of rats. Rats
were making nests in peoples bar-b-q'ers all through the barrier
island.
I forgot the old school chemical used to kill Hibiscus pest
insects, but I compromised with people when I started taking care of them in
their yard, and I sold them on the use of Horticultural Oil. Hort Oil requires
repeated applications, but in time it got to feel like putting a square peg in
a round hole trying to keep up with Hibiscus pest insects. Enough Hibiscus
already. Big flowers heh heh heh.
Once again, Murica, land of the profit. Florida has
4700 different native plants but visit a local nursery and they may have a
handful and in many cases, no native plants at all. How did that happen? Are
you kidding me? The scam was to get you to spend money. This is like basic
science. Asian African and Mediterranean plants are not suited for North
America in many cases.
Native Beauty Berries are lauded for their colorful
berries, but in central Florida they get fungusy and yellow leaves and can
look really bad.
Then there's the pollinator issue. All these college
degrees and its never occurred to anyone that European Honeybees are not
the only pollinators of Florida's crops. There are 400 native bees.
Florida Bees. They hold pollen on their little bodies better than the European
Honeybee. This is some wicked tunnel vision, we'd say up in New England. No
pollination, no people.
Florida ecosystems are on the ropes and most of what
isn't swamp has been developed. Sebastian was a swamp that was drained and
platted. Logically you'd think people would replant with what was there before
in the flatlands or Scrub habitat. Not the case.
Nurseries sold the dangerous chemicals that are used to
treat insect infestations for these exotic plants, like Hibiscus. Another weird
thing are the people who have a knee jerk reaction when they see chewed
leaves.
ALL INSECTS MUST BE KILLED
I'm reminding people how many shit tons of chemicals were
used on yards back in the day, with no one questioning what would be the
long-term effects.
Then in the end, Cats become the scapegoats for the deaths
that these profitable poisons caused. Not to mention the habitat destroyed by
developers and capitalist profiteers. The cat haters blame cats, not
understanding what has gone on before with poisons and developer
delirium.
Why would I implicate Nurseries in this greenwashing
expose?
The earth doesn't need us to
save her; she can shake us off with a mass extinction. What we CAN DO, is
replant our yards and common areas to connect with larger, nearby ecosystems,
and be a healthy cell in a sick, poisoned world. What's that 7th principle
again? Because why? The survival of the humans would be the answer.
7th Principle: "Respect
for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a
part." Respect has yet to plant a tree. Can't work a shovel, you know?
Now we ask ourselves. What plants were here before the
nurseries and landscape architects' quest for profit these last 75 years
in Florida?
The latest trendy plant is what the nurseries are about.
Not the Lyonia as I mentioned. Come on in and buy a ton of mulch too. Hey,
you need this expensive fungicide if you want to save your plant. Hey, you need
this tree sitting out in the hot Florida sun all day, so you come back and buy
another one after it dies.
Driving back today
I see two people dutifully planting a palm from the Philippines or
something, and I say to myself, oh great, another plant that birds and insects
can't use. It's sad every time to me, because I know people think planting a
tree is somehow helping the environment. But getting that Palm Tree big enough
to sell in a 7 gallon pot required lots of pelletized fertilizer and Peat Moss,
along with several plastic pots. Heavy carbon hurling content there, Hoss.
I drive by yard after yard here in Indian River County and
wonder what will the insects and birds and reptiles and mammals eat? Most of
the plants in people yards have absolutely no value for wildlife. Zero. People
plant Ixora for looks. It's poisonous berries not filling any bellies. Ever see
a Songbird near an Ixora hedge. No, you haven't.
I did an experiment last year with the other
Palm Tree in the Atrium. The frond stems were covered in Scale, a dreaded pest
insect, and it was caked thick on the frond stem. I cut the big part away, and
left 18" of the stems and they were completely covered with Scale.
Which poison should I use
to kill them?
Time goes by. No chemical treatment at all, not even
horticultural oil. Then, three or four months later when I remembered about the
infestation, the scale were gone. Kaputski! Most likely lizards ate them all,
because scale tastes like marshmallows to them. Or it could have been something
else. But the point is to leave shit alone sometimes.
The Atrium has to be wild and a bit messy in spots because life
begins in the dead things. Plants that reseed travel around. Think about
that next spring you northerners. You buy annuals and the large carbon footprint
that goes with it.
You can't have a soil replenishing soil profile if you don't
leave the leaves. I don't need fertilizer because the healthy soil feeds
the plants.
Master
Gardener raking leaves, then adding pelletized fertilizer, before a thick
micro-organism suffocating layer of mulch is applied? No wonder we don't see
Fireflies no more if conventional wisdom is all about neatness and not nature.
An OCD kind of neatness.
Imagine, a Sequoia growing 384 feet tall without help from Joe's
Landscaping! Relying completely on dead leaves and plants.
f)
Integrated pest management (IPM)
I went through the
Master Gardener program in the spring of 1989 in Connecticut and in Florida, in
the fall of 1991. This was thirty years ago, back when people still had bags of
toxic powders such as Chlordane in their chemical sheds. And everybody had a
chemical shed The
Cold War was over there somewhere, but the war on insects here in the homeland
raged continuously my entire life.
Most garages stunk the high heaven with chemicals like Orthene or the other
dizzying compounds of the day and were quite toxic. But, after all, there
was a war on insects. And weeds. Poisoned groundwater
be damned. What I remember was that people were so DETERMINED to keep pests out
of their little fiefdoms. That's the commercials that did that. Yep.
In 1984, as a salesman for Tarnow Nursery, I was
supposed to recommend Diazinon to kill moles or something. Birds were eating
the Diazinon pellets and dying, en masse. Finally banned in 2004, but
unfortunately today we still have weed and feed whose pellets also look
like seed. Don't claim to be for nature if y’all do stuff like this.
Preventative weed killers poison the ground for months. I can see doing it in
sidewalks, but chemically sensitive people need to be warned.
In '89 as a phone volunteer for The Extension Service, I
was supposed to be recommending Sevin to kill Japanese Beetles on roses. Then
two days later "aren't those a beautiful bunch of roses" were on the
dinner table. Little chunks of Sevin falling in the mashed potatoes. Today
people still use it, but in many countries, it has been banned. Sevin
S-E-V-I-N. Not only are people planting plants that do not feed all the
pollinators out there, but they have systematically and systemically poisoned
the earth.
I'd tell people to knock them god dang Japanese
beetles into little bags (they were all Paper back then) and burn the little
bastards in the Bar-B-Q. Wink wink, nod nod. No one likes to kill anything, but
University research says to kill them. Kill kill kill. Some people don’t have it
in them to kill every bad bug they see with their organic gardening, and I
totally get it.
Who wants to squish a fat, two-inch Tomato Hornworm? Any
Bearded Dragons in the neighborhood? They love those Hornworms! This is why we
need to connect. Re-invent community. Somewhere free of the right wing douche
bags who infest places like *Next Door.
I’ve been fortunate to no longer have insect problems in
the seven gardens I take care of, and I did use horticultural oil to great
effectiveness back when I did have twenty customers. I don't even do that
now. if you see me with a sprayer you can figure it's fish emulsion fertilizer,
or enzyme packed soil conditioner. Luckily, I only see an occasional
Japanese Beetle where I live, and I know how bad they can be. Impossible, like
a Locust swarm. That's a tough question, how do you battle complete devastation
in your crop or fruiting shrub?
I NEVER suggest using irrigation either as part of
Green Gardening common sense. Start planting where the hose is. Native plants
are slow growing. They grow in plant communities, and they hug each other with
their roots. Namaste.
I keep track of which accounts might be drying out. After a
summer full of rain, I finally need to take the hose out today. Less than
a half inch the last three weeks. Know your yard so you can maximize the
management of it.
I’ve promoted the idea of using native plants
since like, forever. Diversity is the key, but I also use lots of worthy
exotics. Many are benign or add food to the ecosphere. So I plant lots of
native plants and tear out some invasives. I work with what people have. Move a
few things. Add natives and check monthly on the gardens progress. I can help
you manage your own yard without great espense.
There's
some that would have you buy thousands of dollars of plants and put in an
irrigation system and kill any insect that lands in the yards, and somehow
expect to see birds outside their newly remolded gated community kitchen.
With some long term customers there is always a plethora of
insects and 99% of them are harmless. The bad 1% get eaten by this Army of Good
Insects. I've been fortunate to be working on a site where there was a
hatching of Atala Butterflies. I was like, …endangered species, gotta get a
count... there was 23 of them, all floating in place. What a delight
standing there and counting them. An endangered species making a comeback
because of the effort to plant the native Coontie. That was when the LRJ house
was at the Environmental Learning Center and they had ten or 20 Coonties and
the ELC had dozens. One of my favorite nature moments. I was glad to see 10 new
Coonties get planted at the new site.
In general, pests abound, and they invade quickly, while
beneficials are slower to reproduce. I worked with Biogreen and learned
there was a registry of chemically sensitive people. These were among Biogreens
customers whose business was oriented towards organic, natural, shrub and lawn
fertilization. I went to Okeechobee once and picked up a ton of feather meal
and other bagged organic by-products for the fertilizer mix he was making. The
last chore for Molly the '74 Econoline. Later it seems a Palm Beach company
bought his name and idea and are quite successful down there with it.
With the weed spraying and preventative weed killer on all
the shell pathways recently at LRJ, you might want to have a warning for these
chemically sensitive people. Just because a chemical company says its safe
doesn't mean it is. I was up on Shirleys roof one day and here comes Sandpiper
Pest Control. "Is that stuff safe?"
"Oh sure" I was told. Well, no, it wasn't a safe
thing to spray on all the leaves I had blown off the roof, and was going to
rake up when I got back on the ground. He was told it was safe but I looked it
up. Normally I brought the roof leaves back to where i could compost them
because there was accumulated organic matter.
People have been programmed to think that all insects need
to be killed. Annoying little buggers. But there’s a Dragonfly resting on that
tall dead flower stem you were just going to prune. Now there’s dozens of them.
Certain yards have become Dragonfly magnets. Gerts and Sams. In central
Florida, once the mosquito problem begins in earnest, the Dragonflies follow
about two weeks later. It's important there is a thriving Dragonfly community
because I notice once they come out, the Mosquito problem ebbs away.
When I moved to Florida 33 years ago, I was expecting far
more mosquitos than there were. Indian River County was foresightful many
decades ago, in its mosquito management plan. Quite ahead of other counties
that tried to tackle the problem.
So here I am leaving brush piles to encourage
insect populations and knowing that pruning ALL the dead looking stuff would
end up keeping bird food limited. You know how birds like to sit at the top of
dead trees? Yeah, kind of like that. They're resting, but also scanning for
food sources.
native grass and Paw Paw
Leaf mulches are what i try to encourage with my
gardens. Leaves could keep the plants green without the pelletized fertilizer,
which is something a chemical free, organic, historical site would want. So
many lesser-known good guy insect such as Assassin bugs need to be coming
through the garden. Only one in two hundred bugs might be an Assassin Bug,
but boy, they carry a can of whoop ass on them. Like Gimli slicing
through Orcs.
After that stint with the guy who created an organic
fertilizer company called Biogreen, I went to work in a golf course community
and I saw the end of an era. I remember one of the first times I went to cross
the Wabasso Bridge to get to work, there was a tractor pulling a 500 gallon
tank. Then …splip… all this gray chemical on the windshield and side window. In a twenty mile an
hour wind he was gettin' 'er done. It was the wild west of chemical use when I
got here in '89. Hilk.
END scheduled sprayings at your home or facility as a
basic second step in learning how to steward your property. The first step was
stop to planting those bullshit foreign plants and learn your natives.
We've all been poisoned here in the glorious homeland, the
younger ones less so, since many of the worst chemicals have been
banned. Chemical warfare on the Boomers subsided when the worst of
the WW2 chemicals had been expended.
None of
the last seven presidents have wanted to tackle the Trillion dollar Toxic Waste
cleanup that waits for us at military bases here in the USA. La Jeune military
base is in the news lately. and other military sites that poisoned the
well-intentioned soldiers are subject to lawsuits because of careless chemical
use and storage. Still poisoned, but soldiers are assured everything is
fine. I'm not kidding, a Trillion Dollar Toxic cleanup. everything is fine.
In the mid eighties, I was reading permaculture
literature, primarily, Michael Pilarski. There wasn't a need for
chemicals in a food forest he would explain. Permanent Agriculture is called
permaculture, and I was able to do that in Hazardville Connecticut.
I was also reading and purchasing the Rodale books about organic gardening and
really started gardening organically with heirloom seeds when I got to North
Street for the summers of 87 88 and 89.
Seed Savers Exchange was my
other primary source of information which I had joined in 1977. Seed Savers Exchange - Wikipedia Magazines
such as Harrowsmith promoted no-till pesticide free farming and articles by
Wendell Berry while the Rodale books on organic gardening laid out the basics
for keeping chemicals off your own food.
Why the wholesale genocide of every form of life then?
Gardeners and farmers doin' so much killin'. At a gated community, Orchid
Island, there seemed to have no birds for a while. I would notice, I was there
several days a week. For a good six months it was like, there … are … no birds.
Wading birds, sure, because of the retention ponds. There were no insects and
consequently no songbirds. It was spooky.
Integrated pest management is about knowing your plant. Knowing your site. Is
that leaf spot on the Gumbo Limbo a problem? “It looks like it’s dying”. A few
weeks later, the new growth covered it up. Leaf spot rarely kills plants, but
peoples startle reflex is to spray fungicide.
A natural, unsprayed
garden in 2024 will look like Laura’s citrus.
A less than beautiful fruit, but easily as
tasty for the birds. Like Lauras poems, even more beautiful when you understand
the deeper meanings. Tasty as in attracting all kind of different insects out
there for the little birdies to eat. I don't understand why people want birds
to die. That's what your plant purchases indicate.
BAHAMIAN WILD COFFEE ... MY BEST POLLINATOR. A bird magnet,
but not a native according to some.
FANCY PLANTS NURSERY
"free advice,
expensive plants"
I'll tell you what. I had a
customer that showed me how much a visit by the local plant columnist cost her.
$150 for two hours and that was over five years ago. She is a lecturer and
county extension agent and presumably the best in her field.
In the working world, some
people talk, and some people do. I'll use leaf mulch and primarily native
plants. I know how things work, but not in a pedantic, by the book
way. I don't have the big-league cred people are looking for, but I
have the earth cred. So if you're looking to join the living by putting useful
plants in your yard, let me know.
No staking. No Bonsai either. No Areca Palms in the full
sun. No irrigation. Nature has a network out there for you to plug into.
What was here before European settlement? So many different
ecosystems. Wetlands. Swamps, bogs and bayous. 16 distinct habitats alone, at
Johnathan Dickenson State Park, south of here.
Here come the humans. First the
Original People, then the big Florida sell-off began as developers touted
Paradise. Planting nearly all the same things. The same old same old, same old
25 plants that were popular and "trendy" these last 75 years. Mind
numbing conformity. Our outdoors are arranged neatly like our living rooms
without a single thought to the creatures. Everyone imitating Lord Fauntleroys
Green Castle.
With 4700 choices of native plants spread out over Florida,
why have we chosen the same twenty-five lifeless progenitors of widespread,
biotic dead zones? What's the deal with all these plants from
disparate parts of the world?
It's not working folks. An insect apocalypse is upon us and
the blame lies squarely in the laps of landscape architects, nurseries and the
Garden Clubs who have promoted the use of plants they thought looked good.
There is no education regarding the collapse of ecosystems
caused by all the development since WW2. Boomers all trying to be millionaires
and they looked the other way as the wild animal populations were halved, their
traditional hunting grounds destroyed. Songbirds worse than that.
It was never about the value of the land, but land values
instead.
UNITARIAN UNIVERSALIST PLANT INVENTORY
The ones in blue are new to the
garden. My point being that we are veering away from our outdoor Green
Sanctuary.
"Respect for the interdependent web of all existence" of which we are a part with.
Sound familiar. It should.
How many acres are not buildings or
asphalt parking lots? What's with these plants that have no value for wildlife?
I don't see many birds on the property, but in the last week I've seen
Catbirds, Cardinals, Woodpeckers, Doves, a bunch of Yellow Warblers, (I think)
Mockingbird, Hawk and Blue Jays in the yard I've been taking care of the last
twenty-five years.
I've got food in the yard. Wild Coffee
berries, Marlberries, Starfruit. A gang of Warblers were having a feast on
something in my mature Ulmus americana. Bouncing on the branches gorging
themselves on something.
As I said, the small coffee hedge
around the electrical box is more valuable to wild life than all these plants I
have notated in BLUE. Packed with pollinators when it flowers and visited by
birds and mammals when it fruits, Wild Coffee should be a staple for bright but
shady areas.
THE NEW ARE IN BLUE
DRACENA Wildlife
value? Probably none.
TI PLANT Looking raggedy here in
February.
ARBICOLA “chinette”
a more pronounced variegation and very attractive, but no apparent wildlife
value. Driving around today I noticed, it's like, one third of the plants in
all the local landscapes. Wildlife value --- zero.
How to say I don't know how to plant for wildlife without
saying u don't know what it takes to plant for wildlife. Like religion is the
last refuge of a scoundrel, Arbicolas are a plant of last resort for those
that don't want to make the effort for the wild things. Count
on plenty of pruning time.
Why are there hundreds of mostly Green Arbicolas on
the UU property? They are about the most, dead to wildlife, plant
going. I've pruned many of them over the years on many accounts and they harbor
no life and are rampant, annoying growers.
Apparently, it's the only plant people
can keep alive. You really need an outdoor person to replant these dead areas
with native plants such as Gopher Apple that feeds tortoises and other ground
feeders. Wild Coffee will fill in all the dead spots in the hedges. As would
Marlberry Fiddlewood and other prolifically berried natives. I got a bunch of
baby White Indigo Berry plants in the Atrium I'm hoping to plant
somewhere.
BROMELIADS
wildlife value? some water for lizards and others, maybe. Not even a
good look.
PLUMBAGO Bees are attracted, but the nectar is
too deep in the flower for them and other local insects. A big waste of their
time. Spiderwort would give us the blue flowers we crave, but they all got
pulled out as weeds. Plumbago is adapted to its
native bioregion in China, so remember that, if you decide to move
there.
Spiderwort was one of the natives removed as weeds along
with Scorpions Tail and quite a few other useful plants such as the southern
favorite, Blue Love Grass. blue elliot grass - Bing images
BOUGANVILLA colorful papery bracts is what we see,
and to pollinators it's like eating cardboard. The flowers are teeny tiny and
they may have a minute amount of nectar for tiny moths. Inchworm infestations
July to December. Let them eat leaves or kill the caterpillars? Minimal
wildlife value and a major waste of time.
The new BOUGANVILLA is planted
where a 40 foot vine shouldn't go in the Memorial Garden. Pest caterpillars that
turn into annoying moths is all it offers. Do localized birds feed on those
worms on Bouganvilla?
There are so many questions
and it's time to find out what the heck people are thinking. Dig into the heads
of this death cult trying to eliminate nature.
FLAX LILY Cerulean flax lily ( Dianella ensifolia) from
Australia. In China, it’s believed the blue berries kill cows. (I
hope by this point you are picking up the patterns. It was about sales and not
seeds.
CROWN OF THORNS sap can
cause nausea and diarrhea in humans. Still searching if there is any wildlife
value. Maybe in Madagascar where it's from, but at best, it can be pretty, and
it's been used in different areas here.
We need to plant native plants
around the UU property. The LRJ site needs to loosen up and drop its new
directive and "go according to the plan." A flawed plan
at that. Bottlebrush, White Turks Cap Wedelia Lantana and exotic Passion Vines
are counter to what nature would like to do. Plenty of flaws in the design and
a dramatic increase in the variety of natives need to be planted. A natural
garden with life in it, is not a dinner party y'all.
It seems the committee wants to stick
with the ten natives and that's it. From the National Wildlife Federation
regarding native plants. “Native plants have formed symbiotic
relationships with native wildlife over thousands of years, and therefore offer
the most sustainable habitat. A plant is considered native if it has occurred
naturally in a particular region, ecosystem, or habitat, without human
introduction.” 4700 natives minus 10 leaves 4690 more possibilities.
Peel back another layer and what we
have is another form of colonialism. Botanists found all these marvelous,
colorful, unique plants from around the world. They brought them back to show
the people who sponsored them. “Does doth please thee, your highness.”
Then these exotic plants become trendy, so I am hoping to
make people understand that the nursery business in the last 150 years, has
been about profits, not pollinators.
Birds
are the keys to healthy ecosystems as they are able to replant native fruiting
shrubs. Those little songbirds get into those niches where the rare things are.
Fish and fruit in their claws carried northwards.
Sadly, they have
been subject to a chemical brew and there has been a silent slaughter since the
end of WW2. So I plant for birds and use prolifically fruiting plants to feed
them. I don't need to kill an insect, that's what the birds and lizards, toads,
frogs, spiders, Earwigs, Assasin Bugs and other insects are for.
Yet somehow these very helpful natural allies are the
creatures that people find creepy. Coincidence? Have the chemical companies
been controlling the narrative all along? kill all the bugs
Something to remember is
that 99% of the insects that come into your yard will not cause harm to your
plants. They are pollinating vegetable gardens and fruit trees and everything
else, or just eating other insects or getting eaten themselves. All of
wildlife out there, all murdering each other, lol.
Insects are the fresh meat needed for bird nestlings
in the spring and an important food for resident birds in the summer. SO WHERE
HAVE ALL THE INSECTS GONE? They have nowhere to go, so they die.
Birds
feed their helpless young, and it consists of 95% live prey. The quicker they
can find some breakfast for the babies,
the more time they can
spend in the nest,
and be with their
families. So are you anti-family? Don’t all families matter? Birds are
endangered, humans not so much.
Not just the invasive
exotic plants that cause problems, but singularly useless plants.
PHILEDENDRON
for instance, is in the Memorial Garden and is a good example. Too common
outdoors here, and so I looked up to see if there was any wildlife value. Turns
out in warmer areas, it fruits a bit and monkeys eat it. So, no. No Monkeys in
Indian River County to feed.
Philodendron serves no useful benefit for
wildlife in central Florida. Maybe Cane Toads can hide in them, but most big
leafed stuff from South America are adapted to the South American pollinators.
They are languishing in the pots by the entrance and can be replaced with
native plants so we can begin to educate people about how nature works.
FICUS GREEN GEM. Let's look that up. This plant has become ubiquitous
across the county and surrounds our chalice in the Memorial Garden. I guess
it's beloved by overpaid landscape architects because it "doesn't get
thrips". Rabbits love it. So if you need those pesky pests, go right
ahead, but it has no flowers for butterflies or fruit for birds.
Zero wildlife value aside from the bunnies. It's supposed to look like a wall.
A short green wall. Not showy at all but dependable af.
The problem is that the native plants
in this area are not showy and colorful either, unless you like seeing a Cardinal sitting on a branch eating Wild
Coffee (Psychotria) berries. Or a Blue Jay sitting
in an old Simpson Stopper looking for a water source, or maybe a Painted Bunting feasting on something you
planted, as it gets some calories to fly to Cancun. Now that's some real color!
Necklace Pod is a native that does
have showy yellow flowers and is blooming, at the moment, but it has awkward
stages it goes through. It looks dead and raggedy at times in the summer.
"Can we save that plant?" It's not dead ma'am. Just resting.
"The Gumbo Limbo is dying." No, it's not. "That tree is going to
die." No it didn't. Alarmists everywhere, ready to spray chemicals at any
problem they perceive. Mo·noe·cious drama
queens. No nuance. Creating habitat. Knowing your plants, knowing your
soil.
People are so OCD about the outdoors,
they are even motivated to straighten out trees bent from hurricanes. That's
some cred there , man. I survived, is what a hurricane bent tree says!,
WHITE INDIGOBERRY
I think the best spiders to have
around are the Lynx spiders. They have a very nice green color and no patience
for scale, mealybugs or aphids. Particularly when pest insects are in the
crawling stage, the Lynx spider is on the prowl. I need to find some to place
in the Atrium.
With their probing and chewing
mouthpieces, Scale type insects are looking for a sugar daddy shrub to
stake their claim, but they do have a brief crawling stage when they are
vulnerable, and Spiders are doing the work to keep them off your plants. Unless
your yard is sprayed. See?
So ask yourself, are there spiders out
there in the Memorial Garden? An occasional butterfly looking for something to
sip on, but it's gone silent to me. No spiders, no lizards, no birds. I'd
really like to change that and disallow anymore lifeless, exotic plants to be
planted. Let's make every day, Earth Day, eh? Allow the Memorial Garden to
become wild and free. The introduced plants didn't do well and a couple of them
grew too fast.
The Variegated Yucca looking
thing is a totally inconvenient plant to weed and prune and
there is no kind of nature gonna find sustenance there. Hostile pointy
projectiles. Agave with spear tips needs to be pulled out. I had a plethora
of native plants that were pulled out as weeds, so I'm compelled to make my
point of view known instead of continuing to be silent.
So this brings me to the wildlife
value of the Memorial Garden. It’s fine if you want to keep it pretty, right?
Sure. I notice all the shapes work together and it looks good from every angle.
The volunteer sweating his head off, making all the hedges look like walls.
"There" he said sweating in a profuse stroke ready way --- "now
it's fixed". PS: I pruned it rounded so the plant would get more sun
inside it, but you know neatness. Order.
But what was there
before this radical return to landscape design principles of 1985, with all the
attendant leaf litter and dead parts of plants, was a habitat for many sorts of
insects. It was alive and it was upsetting to see a garden connected to nature,
become a lifeless caricature of environmental health. I'm going to be looking
to have a vote on the next outdoor devolution.
We
need the leaves to break down into dirt and they can't do their job if they get
raked up. Lesson #1. Leaves turn into dirt that feeds the plants. I
mean, didn't we learn something about plants in school?
I
don’t see Lady Bugs or Butterflies or Spiders anymore, or even lizards. Lizards
like things to climb on and that's why I used to have rocks of different sizes
scattered about. But I guess it looked random and not soldierly, so I put them
back in the Atrium.
Geckos
can walk up walls and upside down, but Lizards can’t, and they keep the Atrium
pest insect population under control so pretend you're a Lizard, and where
would you live? Atrium or Memorial Garden?
Lizards
need things to climb. Places to hide. Especially now with those giant, orange,
Evil Lizards prowling about. We want to protect the little guys. Probably the
last thing we want to do is rake the leaves out before mulching. In fact, many
people might not know how mulching kills insect activity. That little lizard
hiding under a leaf as the Orange Rex Lizard walks by.
Those
of us in the no-chemical world, realize leaf litter is where life begins. It
eventually breaks down into nitrogen fertilizer and soil. Soil, also known as
dirt. We believe the health of the soil is essential for the health of the
plant. Let's recall the interdependent web of life. What it really is and not
what it's like in our thoughts and prayers.
If the
soil is alive, the plant will very likely be healthy. Most soils are dead with
no organic matter and many plants are looking for that chemical fix from
pelletized fertilizer. How did the General Sherman Sequoia get to be 384 feet
tall without Joe's Landscaping fertilizing it four times a year? Hopefully I've
helped you figure that out.
Self
replicating City Hall Model planting
Good
bird food too. easy to find in the dark.
What
has happened is people have made their plants addicted. Blast it with Sevin to
kill a pest. Chewed leaves is so unsightly. Are they supposed to be like,
living room couches or your Beamer? No scratches, no damage? No insects or
fungus anywhere. Pretty all the time, but a waste of energy for the
pollinators? Naturally healthy plants will have less insect and fungus problems
and like they say, happy soil. less toil.
Wildflowers holding their own in North Carolina
Psychotria nervosa berries. What
birds eat.
h) GRATITUDE REVERENCE AND CARE?
With
this exotic, divergent ecosphere of plants from all around the world in the UU
Memorial Garden at the moment, Nature now seems absent. Do you want one garden
that looks good? Right in the center of the outside area? Why not?
Or do
we really want to follow the seventh principle of the Unitarian Universalists
that states respect for nature. Respect has yet to plant a fruiting shrub. No
thumbs, lousy helper.
I'd
like to introduce native plants I save or dig up and plant them in the hedges
around the property. This is how I avoid the whole plastic pot thing. I can
create an English hedgerow with various native plants that will eventually
replace the exotic Eugenia. I move surplus plants. The durable, but usually
expensive native plants. Buy them small. At Rusty the Lyonias yard there is
also a Saw Palmetto that was the teeniest of things. Another 5 dollar plant
that has slowly grown into a $50 beauty.
But
I'm trying to survive on $1500/month and I'm not like a fucking saint or
anything. I need some income. Did I hear the site has been paid for?
How
many feet of hedge is there on the UU property? Easily over a thousand linear
feet and a great opportunity to introduce life. A way to educate the entire
congregation. The native plants will create more native plants to create a
hedge that won't be perpetually dying but continually coming up from below from
fruiting native shrubs.
Or
I'll just do a TED talk to piss everyone off with my truths.
me so corny
So
let's make every day Earth Day.
Okay, let’s do that.
There is very little
habitat and a shockingly limited selection of wildlife friendly plants on the
entire Unitarian property. Kind of a biotic dead zone when we actually want to
be part of the "interdependent web of life". A death cult you're in.
Earth Warriors here to
deprogram you. Next, I have to time this out. Maybe more images for the
overhead screen
The Unitarian Fair Trade
store sells products from villages trying to restore or maintain the healthy
ecosystems they live in, by creating products for a cash crop. Many villages
around the world are nearly self-sufficient, but need a cash crop to buy what
they can't produce. So this is very cool and shows an awareness of worldwide
economics and common sense. It's so important to support the markets we want to
encourage. Small family farms especially.
I'm telling you to buy
some home-made products at the Fair-Trade Store, and realize you are helping a
community and not just corporate profiteers. And BTW the office
jellies are DeVine. Subtle flavor on that Beauty Berry Jelly.
I am obligated to
spend six hours A MONTH to maintain the Atrium garden and Memorial Garden.
These additional exotic plants have doubled the time I need to spend in the
Memorial Garden so I will be requesting an increase in hours and pay. I also
have some ideas for the outdoors. There are places that collect way too many
oak leaves and there are also places that need Oak leaves. The desert garden on
the south side took bucket after bucket of leaves from the parking lot and it
breaks down quickly into the soil. The north side free garden has Oak leaves
I've raked up to keep the ubiquitous weeds suppressed and break the leaves down
quickly. Making some bodacious soil there.
It's the middle of
August and I get a complaint that there are too many weeds, but it's the middle
of August FFS. It's the time of year weeds and pruning gets ahead of you. This
summer particularly has seen spectacular growth. People out there furiously scribbling
notes of the weeds' location. You know, is Tassel Flower really a weed? The is
the crux of the biscuit. Weeds or wildflowers? Some see weeds others know they
are wildflowers and pollinator friendly plants. You need to start accepting
weeds. Learn their names. Fleabane is a friend. Frogfruit fills a niche
and here was I pulling it out for decades. I'm learning stuff every day. The
"Dwarf Firebush" story below.
The Porterweed we
promoted was not the native as it turned out. The Butterfly Plant everybody was
trending hard with, actually hurts the Monarch as it turns out? We need a
source for the best information so let's make a guide for free for everyone.
Weed or Wildflower, with amateur photos and reviews and opinions along with
descriptions. What insects have been spotted feeding or resting on them.
It's not just the
technique, it's also the passion and the peace.
I have to have my
say at some point since I have to take care of everything in the dead of
summer. The "dwarf" firebush is an exotic and take a close look.
Butterflies don't go there, but I do, spending 20% of my time cutting back,
cutting back, cutting back. People got fooled because the "dwarf"
Firebush was enthusiastically sold, but it grows to 20 feet! And it's not the
native. I haven't seen butterflies on it. Have You? The standard grows to
25 feet. Another sales gimmick, sleight of hand. It's smaller, call it a dwarf.
Now I have a good deal of trouble trying to dispose of the many
"dwarf" Firebush pruning. I have to prune out huge chunks of branches
to keep it under six feet, it's ridiculous.
Kentia Palms near the front
door need to be constantly groomed.
20% of my time now goes to
the Ficus
Green Gem. A real
curiosity, it can be kept low WITH FREQUENT PRUNING. So now we have Firebush
that wants to be 20 feet (the dwarf) and Ficus Green Gem looking to be ten feet
tall and needing to be frequently pruned while trying to maintain the protocol
of being able to see the big metal chalice. More time is also lost trying to
keep the Hibiscus alive. Particularly the tree-form one in the middle of the
hot area. Pulling out the hose is a drag in the summer heat and I used to only
need it during dry spells. Rain or shine, that tree Hibiscus (tackily staked)
needs water twice a week. Stakes in the landscape make everything seem
unfinished.
Then there's the PLUMBAGO, a rampant, sloppy grower
and another one I spend too much time with. As noted before, its flowers are
too deep for the local pollinators. Yes LRJ, that includes the white ones
planted next to the house. Probably a lifeless exotic cultivar. They will try
but their modest proboscises won't allow feeding. It's Florida and we are like
nowhere else.
At the Laura Riding
Jackson gardens, I have 8 hours A MONTH to keep it weeded and pruned. When I
started it was like being dropped into a war zone. "Here's 50 hours of
weeds to pull and you have 8 hours a month to get it done." In May I was
about caught up with volunteers helping when they weren't planting section
after section of short lived plants. Where did the Rosemary go? It was doing
fine.
So at first, I tried
different things to hasten the demise of the quickly growing weeds last summer.
Tried a big plastic tarp to kill weeds. "Didn't look neat." so I had
to remove it. I found that kind of curious. I thought we were looking for organic
and natural ways to solve weed and insect problems. It took three
weeks to kill a patch covered with the tarp. It was brown, black might work
quicker.
No one objected to the
55 gallon rain barrel I left at the LRJ's Houses previous location at the
ELC. No running water or a working irrigation, so I was able to water
plants with rainfall.
I'm telling you I've
been totally green in all my projects the last 25 years Laura would have
approved my efforts at both sites. How much money was plowed into an irrigation
system that could have been replaced if someone knew how to run a hose she
would probably say?
i)
Trees need to be forests and not just baseball bats.
Your yard isn’t a living room to be arranged with
what looks good. You can make it look good with useful plants and skip the
annual purchase of annuals because the fertilizer, water and plastic pots
needed to get your pretty little annuals to market has a heavy carbon
footprint. All that gas to ship these annuals too. Vanity gardening. Too many
Easter Bonnets not enough Blue Bonnets.
How many? 600 million annuals sold every spring in
America? 700 million? That's only two per person. Who knows, but when I see
pretty pretty, I liken it to a dinner party arrangement. A lifeless museum
piece. I dreaded seeing Hibiscus getting planted in the memorial Garden. They
just suck. Where are they from? Then there's the hundred million plastic
containers for those 600 million annuals.. Where did all that shit go from last
springs plantings? Where is all that plastic waste you suppose? I'm trying to
get you to comprehend how much plastic waste there is in the "Green
Industry."
How do these new plants at the LRJ site that didn't
survive the summer help the little creatures of the world? Rosemary does if
allowed to flower. I've planted ground cover mimosa to practical success in
several locations and just cant comprehend how anyone thought M. pudica was
going to contain itself in a 4 foot by 6 foot area?Who will help those with no
voice? Ask this before every purchase. Seems like a lot of planting and
re-planting is being done. Weed warriors are not working the acreage but
deadheading cultivars that died anyways.
Helpful tip for those new to Florida. Don't plant stuff in
April and EXPECT it to live. Your summer is 80 days in Indiana and , ours are
160 days. Plants don't act the same. it's hot and humid for too long and I
watched the parade of "original plan" replacement plants come and go.
We have to create a demand for native perennials and wildflowers with the
nurseries. The only way to get proper supply.
Peat pots was a good idea twenty years ago, till the
peat bogs became scarce. I would suggest we boycott plastic pots and trays. The
other day I noticed a “peat free” soil mix. Headed in the right direction,
that.
j) plastic
waste in the green industry
... day after day I was left with dozens
of mulch bags. Upset with myself for participating in
this exuberant use of plastic, I'm done planting annuals. So symbolic
of our throwaway culture. Then dealing with the irony that people think they
are helping nature with the 50 Begonias they bought and planted like they do
every year. Formulaic is being generous in describing this type of
"gardening." Tell me then, what benefit do Begonias bestow?
Maybe some slugs and snails were happy but there is
no other insect or Mollusca that uses the Begonia in any way. There ARE
Begonias that last up to ten years here in Central Florida and that is good in
an easy color way, but in no way are they helpful to the starving bird
populations. Maybe a bird would find soil insects amongst Begonias but the
Begonia itself bestows no benefit to Bee or Butterfly. Tell me if you disagree.
I do read Begonias have Vitamin C and Oxalic Acid so they are useful for humans
medicinally. Just chew some leves when you feel that scurvy closing in.
Remember, I am not the end all be all botanist,
my personal experiences shouldn't reflect in what is the actual, accurate
information. I realize something has to go in those pots in the driveway.
In the aforementioned gated community,
we laid out 125 bags of mulch in every yard. Think of one empty bag of mulch as
35 large ziplocks or 25 plastic shopping bags if that gives you a better
perspective on the plastic waste that goes into professional landscaping. It's
like 2000 plastic shopping bags. Per Yard! Wheeee! Recycle that beer can
though.
Then,
36 -- 72 or more plastic pots that everyone pretended would get recycled get.
Every day annuals were planted, resulting in a sickening amount of plastic pots
that had to be discarded. “Leave them by the dumpster. We’ll pretend to recycle
them.”
Question:
how do you NOT use plastic pots when replanting your yard? You transfer
self replicating perennial natives to the parts of the yard where you need
them. Trading or giving away plants would be an important component to the
Community Product and Service Exchange. Exchanging surplus is the vanguard of
the CPSE and trays of young Wild Coffee, Psychotria nervosa, should be becoming
more available.
A 4 ounce bird has just flown
250 miles hopping from one island to the next looking for food and shelter as
it migrates north. She goes to the cookie cutter house in the gated community,
and sees oleanders, ixora, plumbago, philodendron and other popular, same old
same old, non-native plants. Off to the next house....no food there either.
The yard looks great to the
judgmental HOA’s. All neat and tidy. HOA”s are another detriment to
enhancing our ecosystems with their policies on neatness. A wild garden is
going to be messy. Life begins in the dead things. Under logs, under
rocks. Lizards also like a perch as they hunt for prey. I like
to place rocks in rockless Florida yards. Lizards climb up. Insects burrow
underneath. Creatures that birds like to eat, live around rocks or brush piles,
not on four inches of mulch. Ain't nobody round these parts what can eat da
mulch.
Please understand this … what looks
good are plants that are very likely, from various places around the world.
It’s the Age of Information. One last time. ASK YOURSELF --- How will these
plants I'm going to purchase enhance wildlife? It’s easy to learn. Learn the
plants you see every day. How do they function in the ecosystem? Wedelia,
Scheflerra, Asparagus Fern and other detrimental ecosystem destroyers need to
be ostrasized from all our gardens.
Remind me to check out the Unity
Church property for wildlife value. That was a good idea. There's a Quaker
Meeting House. I can check that out. The local Rabbi gave me the Skankii and
probably wouldn't want to see me traipsing around the Temple property,
checking out the wildlife value of their plantings.
There was an ecumenical effort where
about 5 churches all planted an Olive Tree. I'd like to see it. The UU and the
Temple among them. Our olive needs to be pruned again. You see, the five
churches all planted Olives and we would all theoretically create
olive oil from squeezing all our Olives together and, we would all use, in
like, a peaceful loving ceremony or something. The only problem being they
don't produce Olives in this area.
One more time. This is not
Indiana or South Dakota. We are Central Florida Proud. When is Ecosystem Pride
Month?
Finally, that little four ounce
bird that we observed is now starving, she flies over to the mainland and
into my yard with White Indigo berry, Wild Coffee, Tamarind, Elderberry,
sugar cane, Fiddlewood, Maypop (passion vine) and Marl berry. Saw
palmetto Snowberry and a few dozen others. Like, 80 other varieties. If
not fruiting, they are flowering, which attracts the many pollinating insects
that birds love to eat. Once
again this is why a 80x120 yard can contain more bird nests than an entire 4
acre facility. Planning. And Stewardship. If you think there is a climate
crisis, then it is time to stop kicking the can down the road.
Deprogram yourself from the green industry. The headlong
rush into Lithium mining is more than a little suspicious. Bill Gates and China
buying up the good American farmland will be the end of the family farm.
Hopefully tx them out of existence.
So little original habitat left save it all for the rest of
humanity's future. Most of us have about had enough of these techno
Doofuses setting out to create policy. These CEO's that buy
thousands of acres of forest then clear cut them, then re-sell the property.
They should be seen as criminals stealing from the mouths of the unborn. It is
not easy to regrow a thousand year old ancient forest. No one's got time for that.
NEXT: introducing the very worst offender for soil health
in the future, and that’s PVC pipe. You thought the microplastics we are
already ingesting was bad. Hoo boy. On your watch Boomers. Why have you
been so enamored with exotic plants propped up with an elaborate irrigation
system?
Today I read about 14
billion pounds of PVC are produced per year and I wonder if that amount can be
lessened? Dear god please this can't be true.
It can’t be
billions. It must be millions, I’d check that.
Later: Basically its 7 million metric
tons. So that’s like 7 million times 2000
pounds, which is a ton, and more than I can add right now. I mean tons of
plastic that will be recklessly degrading fifty to one hundred fifty years in
the future. Disintegrating into the soil profile and plastic never breaks
down. It never is gone.
Worst of all it
is unseen, buried in the ground. It was literally swept under the rug, never to
be seen again. (except the 65 dollar an hour repair guy. I've been monitoring
these networks of PVC for forty years. You thought the ocean garbage patch was
bad. This country is entirely gridded out with PVC.
Plastics just
break into more pieces. Getting the picture? 700 million what? Plastic
containers of annuals? A sloppy
mess that has been left for generations unborn to deal with. PVC is the
ultimate sand in the face to the people in 2100, when the problem is at hand.
There are
the obvious polluters but then there are the hypocrites. I notice a certain
demographic are the most avid recyclers. Going on and on about recycling
different things, but then I notice their recycle bin is filled to the top with
packaging on a weekly basis, where as ours barely covers the bottom. They
obsess about recycling and yell, “recycle that!” if they see someone tossing
out something that could be recycled.
I
want to say “buy less STUFF! Only 14% of the packaging gets recycled.” The
answer is to buy less stuff, not recycle all the plastic packaging and wrap and
whatnot you use for the ridiculous gifts that are given with so many
pretentious holidays. With this obsessive online shopping and delivery trucks
speeding around the corner at any hour of the day, people be telling themselves
they are helping the econonmy but it's just another year the landfill grows
ever larger.
Greening the indoors and outdoors starts with the waste you create. Rich
people all big on giving money to eco-charities while at the same time being
responsible for the rarely mentioned pollution from cement production with
their gigantic houses. “Let’s build another guest house!” "Let's change
the driveway!" Constant renovations and thousands of dumpsters taken to
the landfill. Millions!
Boxes and
boxes of schtuff out by the street on recycling day in thousands of these
wealthier neighborhoods. Interior decorating leaves a heavy carbon footprint,
but that is their religion. Freedom of religion.
People out in the
country just make another metal building to put stuff in. People primitive
camping carrying out their garbage realize how much wasteful packaging there is
these days. This is the dilemma of our current paradigm.
Your lawn
philosophy can be “anything, as long as it’s green.” I remember the
suburbs of yesterday and
Big Papa comes out
with the spreader on Saturdays basically creating biotic dead zones all over
this country. Not to mention
carcinogens in your sandbox. Died young with cancer? Hmmmmnn. Never mind Jarts,
Boomer kids played in DDT.
I’m horrified at the thought of the gridded out lines of underground PVC
across this whole country, across the entire world. Sure, I realize PVC is used
in big cities where aging pipes are corroding. Should last longer than the old
stuff.
That’s when
it’s good to have something last 100 years. The municipality will keep track of
the integrity of the pipes and their eventual removal. Many tons lay
underground now, lost and forgotten in suburbs and gated communities across the
land
I
see it as a grid of plastic poison. Forever part of American soil. In a
hundred years they will begin to degrade, and everyone will be forever
ingesting microplastics. And yes, the yearly production of Poly Vinyl Chloride
is 14 BILLION pounds. Unimaginable. There's like a gazillion tons already
in the ground around the world. See we don't get to vote on shit like
this.
Need
I remind you of the recent train wreck in Palestine Ohio and the toxic spill
was of this very same pollutant, poly vinyl chloride. PVC. 14 billion
pounds of plastic that won’t be recycled. Per Year! Profits in Toxics. How are
your dirty investments?
Please tax
the Plastic industry and plastics coming in from other countries. It's the
single most influential component for the failure of recycling. Plastic is so
cheap. Untaxed BS, gasoline has a federal tax. let the plastics industry start
to clean up its own mess.
As long as you … sound … like
you know what you’re talking about
Garden
clubs and nurseries as the enemies of nature.
European Honeybees are not our best pollinators.
They retain as little as 10% of their pollen in their travels, whereas a native
bee is caked thick with pollen and consequently has higher pollination rates.
As THE GARDEN GREEN I spent twenty years proving
fertilizer and irrigation and pesticides aren't needed for a native
planting. It doesn’t have to be messy either. Susan Dan Gert John are
chock full of natives that are allowed to flower and fruit. No pest problems.
Everything grows slow. Honest I am your low carbon footprint solution.
I chose to try and prove chemicals and irrigation weren't needed in our
gardens in this already poisoned world.
And to me personally, I was out to prove that a diversity of
plants, leads to a yard that doesn't have problems with pest insect population
explosions. It’s true with the six remaining gardens I take care of.
Most people treat plants like indoor furniture, you know,
it’s all about how it looks. Like a prototype car with no engine, it doesn’t
work.
A
lizard gets it’s drink from water drops on the leaves. A bird feeds its babies
with live insects and most people don’t know about the billions of tiny
creatures in the soil, or the hundreds of spiders in their hopefully, unsprayed
yards.
Dragonflies scan their horizon when they rest on the dead
tips of plants. Life thrives in the brush pile, not under four inches of
mulch.
My concern is the 50% reduction of songbirds the last 50 years.
My yard was not flashy and colorful with the big blooms because native plants
tend to have small blooms. But by USING SOME OF Floridas 4700 plants you will
find there are other useful attributes. Then again there are what I categorize
as "worthy exotics."
Native plants such as Fiddlewood and Marlberry are strongly scented with
medium sized dark colored berries and birds are well fed when they arrive from
up north on their journey south. Grasses provide seeds the smaller birds
enjoy. Grasses that seed in the spring feed them when they come back in the
spring to fly north. BUT IT DOESN’T HAVE GIANT COLORFUL PUFFY BLOOMS.
Do you want to feed animals and insects and look good in a
wild way, or do we want a world devoid of all but human life? We have to stop
right now and ask that question.
The colorful
biological deserts of most yards may have their "curb appeal," but I
would rather have "mother nature appeal" a balancing of all
life, a healthy cell in a sick world. I think most people would if they knew
better. This story is a deprogramming device for us to think new. Think smart
nature.
WEED OR WILDFLOWER?
1 FROG Fruit
2 fleabane
3 spanish needle
My original intention
was to make a list of "weeds" that should be seen as wildflowers.
This is what I mean by "under construction". My professional goal is
to make people aware of all life and what weeds we need to show the general public
don't need to be sprayed or pulled. How
to Tell Weeds from Wildflowers - Our Wild Garden
Gardening also
requires more time and attention than people are used to. You’re too busy to
garden? More like, you’re too busy. Fix that.
Should “looking
professional” be the goal? Or is using what we already have till it is no
longer usable the right thing to do? It is now. Why is recycling seen as low
class? To waste means wealth to the upper middle normies. At a gated community
I worked at for 30 years, 300, multiple-million dollar homes got built and the
dumpster waste could have built 2000 tiny homes.
Just The
Waste in the Dumpster.
I
tried cutting out waste in whatever way I could think of. I was experimenting
with different materials of different thicknesses. I didn't like the
recommendation to put 4 inches of sand under brick work. Such a waste and how
many more millions of bags of plastic? I tried to use as little as possible and
played around with that. There is so much waste, and the reality is that in the
next 5 years the demand for plastic is going to INCREASE 30% a year instead of
levelling off as it should have.
SUMMARY
People talk about recycling plastic as demand increases 30%. Do the
math.
I do a
lot of FAUX. I had a faux granite rock that I broke up when I dug the trench
for the city water back in March. I liked it though. It was supposed to look
like a gigantic New Hampshire boulder. I put bits of it in the wall and I think
it looked like the tippity top of a gigantic boulder. I liked the effect, but
it was seen as sloppy. Unprofessional.
My front sitting area also. Every brick was picked up at the side of the
road or abandoned by customers or friends saying “You want ‘em?” Did a nice
Herringbone pattern I thought with streaks of red and white.
On the
north side are more bricks making an edging. I once used 100 coconuts as an
edging and six of them sprouted. Which was a Bonus. They got blown over after
about 8 years of looking good but lived after the Hurricanes but then finally
died in the cold. 25 degrees one night during a real cold spell.
LOVED THESE GUYS
Greening the indoors and outdoors
starts with the waste you create. Rich people all big on giving money to
eco-charities while at the same time being responsible for most of the
construction waste and the rarely mentioned pollution from cement production.
“Let’s build another guest house!” Boxes and boxes of schtuff out by the
street. Interior decorating leaves a heavy carbon footprint.
At the UU, the dumpster is emptied three
times a week. At least half of that is plasticware. Soup bowls, forks and
spoons, all plastic from children eating at the aforementioned pre-school. On
and on from the Bridges pre=school. So much plastic waste and diapers
were spilled behind the dumpster. Ewwww.
So Bridges, the pre-school is a separate
business, and the UU has no say in what they do? They should have required the
new owners to use the industrial dish washing machine in the UU kitchen. Bad
enough we have to smell the food in the bathrooms, but I use the dumpster and
am amazed at the amount of waste they produce. Some of the help miss the huge
dumpster and bags break open behind it ande forks and diapers and vomit are
exposed when Racoons tear open the bags.
Is this the reverence, gratitude and care we
was seeking?
The business model in America is buy a business and
think of fresh new ways to cut corners, and I’m sure they don't want to pay for
a new dishwasher. Plastic is cheap and disposable and no messy dishes ...
and ... get what I'm saying yet?
90
seconds of peace
People primitive camping carrying out
their garbage realize how much wasteful packaging is our paradigm dilemma.
I remember the suburbs of yesterday and Big Papa
comes out with the spreader on Saturdays basically creating biotic dead zones
all over this country. Not to mention carcinogens in your sandbox.
So let’s
take a look at your own yards and what you are looking to do in the near
future. (5 min discussion)WEEDS OR
WILDFLOWERS
On the golf course we heard that there was more leaf surface on the grass
than in the Oak Canopy nearby. And, per square inch, I could believe that for a
while.
Think of covering a kitchen table with grass and leaves. A lot of
photosynthesis going on in both cases, whereas, a tree is mostly empty space.
Now imagine that dramatic increase of photosynthetic potential there is in a
field of wildflowers!
Natural habitat conservation. I have too many Sea Grape Leaves in one
spot and would make a nice blanket of weed suppressors. Lots of bugs like Roly
Polys crawling around the decaying leaves. They taste like Cream Puffs to
Birds. But cover soil with sea grape leaves? Oh no. That looks sloppy.
Sea
Grape leaves. used as plates when green, mulch when dried and brown. Now there
is a product with potential. You cant beat it for weed control. But the
look is unacceptable. HOA"s and the johns Island and Orchid Island type of
places are all about the Real estate value. "Too sloppy. We not white
trash." Land values and not the value of the land.
Sea Grape Leaf Mulch would be a great
recycled product instead of digging up peat bogs in Canada or decimating
Cypress swamps in the south. We don't think local anymore. Thanks to
plastic bags. Diesel fuel hauling these bags across the country. Golly, it's
such a wasteful polluted system with future contamination problems awaiting for
the green economy. How much PVC do we need in the ground?
So many real estate millionaires love their
commissions from three million dollar homes, but flip about the
preservation of nature. Remember gratitude reverence and care have yet to plant
a fruiting shrub.
A lot of what is unacceptable for community
standards is common sense. We nearly emptied the swamps of Cypress Trees in our
green initiatives in the nineties. Cypress mulch prevents insect damage
everyone was told. Remember kill kill kill. So millions of trees were cut in
the swamps as if nature would be unaffected. The demand for irrigation and PVC
surely hasn't declined in what passes for landscape design. Suddenly everyone
seemed to need irrigation. No one needs to tell me twice not to use or adjust
an Irrigation System over the past 40 years.
Not
too lazy to hold a hose, I guess.
I go out and I need a bit of soil and go to pull the weeds
out of a small 30 sq ft area. But here is Merrimia diseccta and there is the
Velvetleaf. It sprouts about but no real problem. It’s easy to pull out. But it
has a unopened Dandelion look, and a lovely purple color, so leave it. 19 out
of 20 people see a weed.
Learn the weeds. The worst is Spurge. It has ten different
kinds around here and it's easy to identify. They breed in like 5 days and can
quickly take over a brick sidewalk.
The scourge of Spurge is how I remember it. Then there is a
weed called the Wimpy Winter Weed. Dies with soap, it's so week, but it doubles
in size every day.
Learn to spot Sedges. They will tell you when something is being over
watered. Keep the ones you like and put the others in your weed pile. Sand
Spurs gotta go. Learn what they look like.
It’s not about knowing so much; its about learning what tends to not
work. In gardening, the exception to the rule is the rule. I got A Blue
Eucalyptus to survive down to 5 degrees in Connecticut and took it to Florida
later in the year. 1989. Not supposed to do that. I grew three mature Mesquite
Trees in Florida. Not supposed to do that. According to the Master Gardeners.
Dollar Weed is a problem. Many irrigated lawns have Dollar weed and
people call in the herbicides to get rid of it but, but today, the
recommendation is not to spray it but turn down the time on your irrigation in
that zone. Oh! But then an area that needs irrigation will get dangerously dry.
Irrigation is a crutch and a nuisance at the same time. Dollar weed is also
edible but not in Johns Island, the toxic wasteland where probably nothing is
safe to eat.
So see, doing without irrigation simplifies life. Keep Dollar Weed at
least two feet away from the garden areas but otherwise its green and shiny.
Mow it with everything else. It's edible? Are you sure? Not the poisoned ones
at Johns Island.
We should try and identify these nice=looking daisies and other
wildflowers that pop up and dominate the lawn. In February and March. Fleabane.
There are so many, and we hardly know who is worth saving. Don't like all this
weed pullin'? Then there's Lori the Tortoise who seems to enjoy the variety we
have now and why we need to keep more weeds and plant. The latest is she likes
juicy Firebush Berries. Pluck a bunch off and let her have at it. Saw her
eating a weed. A Chinese Lantern or something and it was gone the next time I
looked for it. Very not invasive, this "weed" getting pulled is akin
to taking candy from a baby.
Orchid Island
stories: -Stickneys Brazilian pepper. Yes I remember. I had gotten so
sick of Orchid Island not taking care of its Brazilian pepper problem I went on
private property and chained sawed through five of the biggest ones I could
find. Then waited.
A1A pepper
removal east side
Jungle trail
snowberries. Violations everywhere.
How
can any plant be a bad plant? Plant communities change all the time. But
its a slow shift over years and decades and then sometimes it’s catastrophic. A
cow pasture back 'o my house was sold so seven ranch style houses could be
built. Red Schuman owned the land and wild dogwoods and pears sprung up from
the former cowfield in ten short years. With little being developed all the
native plants and fruiting shrubs popped up.
Todays it's a mixed forest of native hardwoods as it remained
undeveloped because I assume it was zoned as an occasional flood plain. Local
plant communities and ecosystems were basically intact enough so when land was
cleared, the local natives sprung into action and covered the bare ground.
That
isn’t always true today with all the nature that has been cleared. Invasive
weeds are ubiquitous in our ravaged towns and cities.
-
Twenty years proving fertilizer and irrigation aren't needed for a native
planting, that was my business. I had no reason to underpay people, so I had a
craft gardening business. Got my own style. No annuals, no stakes. No wussy
plants. I prune most trees at ground level and deep prune fruiting shrubs.
Pruning cuts that are not visible.
I chose to try and prove chemicals and irrigation weren't needed
in our gardens in this already poisoned world. I could have made so much more
money with applications I could sell to people. Or working with people I despise
such as funeral directors or indoor plants in lawyers offices. I've watered
indoor plants at Hallmark and IBM and Ernst & Whitney among many
others.
Most importantly to me
personally, was being able to prove that a diversity of plants, leads to a yard
that doesn't have problems with pest insect population explosions.
I wasn't motivated to be booxhy daddy sending the kids on expensive
foreign vacations and spending their entire childhoods preparing for college.
Sell the Smiths an expensive fertilizer plan. You know? I would have had to
compromise too many of my standards. Did I want to be a green industry
hypocrite? The market was already saturated with them.
On the other hand I've
used Roundup and can claim to have landscaped with a chain saw and roundup.
That's my native habitat landscape on A1A on the east side along Orchid island
city limits.
I'd buzz down one
Brazilian Pepper a week with the chain saw. Kept invasive plants dead with
Roundup. Year by year, the native fruiting shrubs multiplied and expanded into
the bare areas. Even nearly
thirty years later you can see how the east side is chock
full of fruiting shrubs while the west side of A1A is still a solid wall of
Brazilian Peppers.
And of course, irrigation free gardening needs a
good hose, ready to go. Windy, dry and hot conditions means monitoring
soil moisture and understanding the soil moisture in your entire yard. That's
all you really need to know along with which plants are vulnerable to drought
damage.
You're brilliant about all things indoors, you can be
brilliant outdoors too, now git. What plants need water during a time of
drought in your yard? In time you’ll know by just looking. It’s about
observation and learning. I'm here. I need a bit 'o work but I got a free hour
of suggestions to help anyone to become more aware of what they got and what
they could have.
To maintain life we have to be self-sustaining without
developing any more wild lands. Wildlife needs lots of space and we have to
save whatever is left. THIS IS TOUGH LOVE. Not trying to be insulting, but
opening perspectives on stewardship of ecosystems is the purpose here. We
can live cheaper and smarter. Bankers own everything but we can put them all
out of business with a non-profit AI driven loaning system maintained by the
United States Postal Service.
In a total stock market crash they will foreclose on all of the
unpaid houses when no one has money anymore. That's the Black Rock conspiracy
theory. They will own everything. There's an effort out there to stop them, find
out.
Recyclers and
recycling You spend
time checking to see if that aspirin bottle is recyclable, but no time
wondering where the 125 plastic bags from the mulch application goes every
year. Or the disposal of 75 plastic pots from new plants to freshen up your
landscape. Or the 100 bags of sand for the walkway. To Re Use and RePare is not
a meaningless slogan. There is profit in waste and resource extraction.
K Kevin the Turkey Kevin the Turkey attempted to take back the land of his ancestors. He was
a polarizing figure in Wethersfield Connecticut and has a large following on
Facebook.
He gave me an idea for the germ of an article
regarding wildlife returning to populated areas that were once their
genetically encoded forage areas. KEVIN THE TURKEY===Birds have large areas
they forage in and Kevin was brave enough to mix with the human
population.
Owls rotate around three square
miles and I love watching the Hawks hunting. Standing on my Recycle barrel
looking for something to catch or watching for movement from the wire over the
street.
I would certainly hope no one was feeding Kevin the Wild Turkey, but on
the other hand Kevin needed to stay away from people who want him to be safe.
This is such a teaching moment. We wanted Kevin to have his freedom and reclaim
the land of his ancestors but he was chasing small trucks and blocking roads.
It was Nature In our Face.
We
held our breath fearing the day when we would read that Kevin got hit by a
truck he was chasing, but conveniently forget the millions of
animals whose habitat was destroyed as Wethersfield went from farms, forests
and wetlands, to suburbs, stores and sprawl.
Baby bunnies buried as the foundation of your house was being poured.
All that prosperity in Wethersfield. Meanwhile Muskrats were starving and
hiding when their wetland was filled in during the silent slaughter created by "civilization".
Beavers and Weasals long lost to the empty ecosystem dominated today by
Squirrels and Raccoons. Large bug eating animals such as Skunks and Possums are
on the ropes in all these communities.
Everything wild about America was tamed and Kevin the Wethersfield
Turkey is the symbol of what we once were. There are many ways to
integrate wild life back into our life and we need to learn that. Plant trees
that have nuts that wild turkeys like, and grow native grasses so turkeys can
harvest the seeds. Prune up the canopies of the numerous beautiful trees in
Olde Wethersfield so Kevin can fly low like turkeys do.
Kevin reclaiming the ancient hunting grounds and America is
finally ready to stop cavalierly running over wild life. A perfect storm of
goodness. The cavalier attitude towards animal suffering in the 5/60’s has been
put to the test as a social norm these last 60 years and has failed. Kevin
symbolizes the wildness we have lost and please ... don't let the Quilting Club
knit sweaters for him.
F)
BACK TO THE UU
All the unraked Oak leaves lend a sloppy feel to the
Dumpster Area and entrance to the pre-school but Oak leaves are great for
Earthworms, so I have been moving them into spots. I have 4 or 5 areas now
where I put Oak leaves.
Finding native plants is very difficult. Why is that? There
is no demand, because there is no education about using native plants, which
leads to less demand. Meanwhile, 4700 plants native to Florida, are unavailable
in Florida Nurseries. If they sell you native plants, you may never come back.
It's all about sales and once you see it, you can't unsee it.
ERNODEA is a seaside plant that grows slowly, and we have
one in the Atrium and I have them in at least two yards I take care of. It is a
tough plant that is used to exposure and sun. I've seen them come back after
being pulled out. Tiny flowers are beloved by tiny pollinators. Fruits
are loved by any critter that finds them. We could plant GOPHER APPLE at LRJ
which is a ground cover that is fine with full sun. But try and find these
plants. Seriously.And now the directive is to just have what was in the (flawed)
plan. I am compelled to introduce an acceptable list of potential
additions.
Nurseries WANT to sell you plants from all around the
world. Landscape architects want you to pump up that total cost of plants.
Those big flowered beauties. You can't resist. They know you will come back to
spend more money because these plants will need fertilizer and insect control
and replacement. Our native plants from central Florida are symbiotically
linked with our soil profile. It's small. Small flowers, small pollinators.
What leaves break down, whatever twigs there are or what debris blows in, what
insects die there or what bird or Fox or Squirrel poops there, is what makes
the soil. Earthworms working the dead roots. Raking up the leaves depletes the
soil in the Memorial Garden. Organic matter in Florida's sandy soils
doesn't last long.
Roots of plants tend to go sideways instead of
downwards here. Live Oak roots will stretch out 150 feet in a mature tree. They
are picking up nitrogen and nutrients all over the place. There are a lot of
Oak roots under the pavement. The 20 places where they intrude on parking
spots, can be made inro bicycle parking.
We don't fertilize much because soluble nitrogen that is in
6=6=6 formulations goes right past the root zone with two
good, summer afternoon showers. But golly, those previously fertilized Memorial
Garden plants are looking needy. More fertilizer. Now check with Accounting.
How much EXTRA have I charged the Congregation to keep up the Memorial Garden
the last 11 years and Atrium the last 13 years? Fertilizer, mulch, chemical
purchases? Plant replacements and other enhancements? My guesstimate is $600
and that is $46 a year.
Taking a look at this property. there has been no policy to
plant as if nature mattered. Every last hose is so completely shitty, I don't
wonder why no one wants to work outdoors. I'm going to enjoy checking out the
Route 60 corridor habitat report. Bring a clipboard and look like I'm from the
government and I'm here to help.Inspecting the hoses on the UU site I see one
that is not long enough, and one is connected to a bib with no knob to turn it
on. The one to water near the pre-school entrance is a joke. 100 feet of hos
that barely reaches 20 feet its so old and inflexible.
Reverence, gratitude and care is what the
Unitarian Universalist Green Sanctuary 2030 discusses. But how
are UU's stewarding the properties they own? How does our property stack up as
a nature-embracing sanctuary? Not very well. I think we need some dramatic
improvements, and I will bring it up at a Facilities meeting. Looks like the
Unitarian Universalist site in West Melbourne has lots of trees. But what kind
of trees? Shrubs and wildflowers are the most prolific food providers.
ASTER blooms every November in the Atrium
IXORAS are from tropical
Asia and they used to be problematic because they looked bad after cold
winters. But we don’t seem to have cold winters anymore and Ixoras are looking
good this year and nurseries are selling lots of them. Do we need to consider the
well-known toxic components of Ixora? Possibly toxic to Dogs, it’s being looked into.
Meanwhile let's get serious about what we plant. Ixoras have no useful
contribution to our Indian River Regions Biosphere. Nothing.
Ixoras have no use here
other than to give color. Eye candy. The choice is yours. A splash of color but
dying, starving wildlife.
Vanity and extinction, or diversity and life? Make your
voice heard.
Ixora is from tropical
Asia, and I keep asking, why do we need to plant all these plants not native to
Florida? Do we want to look good, or do we want to be useful?
FIDDLEWOOD. Native pollinator magnet and has a gentle
gardenia/jasmine scent in its tiny flowers. We have one in the Free Garden, and
when it is blooming, people probably don't notice it. They assume that the
heavenly scent they detect, is from a Jasmine or something. Fiddlewood also has
large fruits that birds love.
KENTIA PALM another one from
Australia, is planted near the entrance. People think palms are what Florida is
all about, and it’s not. Not in this area. There are 4700 different plants in
Florida. Is Kentia Palm from Florida? No. This is where my educational emphasis
is going to be. Spotlighting the same old same old twenty plants found county
wide, to do what? To purposely look nice. For who? Martha Stewart is coming
over? It's not a dinner party y'all.
And guess what! Martha Stewart is no square. She gets it
that soil health is plant health, and from Martha Stewart Magazine comes this
quote. "Phillips
recommends adding food compost to the area to create a nutrient-rich soil without the need for
potentially toxic fertilizers. "The best amendment for a native habitat
garden is compost," she explains.
"Compost conserves kitchen waste and naturally
enriches the soil." Martha Stewart. I used to dig holes and slowly
fill them with kitchen waste and cover each addition with little shovelfuls of
dirt or leaves. I never liked hours and hours turning a compost bin. It didn't
seem right.
Looking for native plants may take me far afield,
but I am going to have some by the end of the year that I would like to
use.
Take a big look around at the property. Hawthorns rarely
grow edible Haws around these parts, and Hawthorns are the majority of
the hedges we have planted. The Southwest corner grasss parking lot,
does anyone know what is going on environmentally and have there been any
attempts to plant for birds or butterflies? Is there a safety check by an
outdoor observer. Kristy already has 60 hours of work, in my estimation, and
doesnt need outdoor work also.
Go to the northeast parking lot and I see the two ...
AMERICAN ELMS and they are doing well. Tick eating Possums
would welcome any seeds they could grow. Many caterpillars are born in them,
feeding the birds that visit.
Jamaica Caper a pretty
native plant that is happy in the Atrium
WHITE INDIGOBERRY A Florida native with attractive glossy leaves and
useful fruit for Birds, Possums and others. White fruit that is vividly colored
purple inside. It attracts numerous wasps, flies, Oblique Stripetails, bees and
a host of other pollinators, and we have a beautiful example of one in the
Atrium. It's about four feet tall on the far right.
ROUGE PLANT. Another useful native I almost forgot to
mention.
SIMPSON STOPPER So beloved by the local native
plant chapter. They call themselves the Eugenia chapter. Named Eugenia
simpsonii before it was reclassified as Myrcianthus. It’s pruned as a topiary
in the Atrium, and had hundreds of little red fruits. The fruit didn't fall to
the ground, the birds got them, except for a few late ripeners that are still
on the plant. They're out there real early, like 4 or 5 o'clock when they know
no one is around. Someone had a feast when they found them.
Dr. Khalid has a hedge of Simpson Stopper surrounding his
office on Rt 60 and 32nd Avenue. Walking off some medication, I
pulled off a leaf and crushed it and smelled it. That Eucalyptus smell. It was
nice to see a solid hedge of our adaptable native on the west and north side of
the property. Street conditions but they are holding up pretty nicely.
When it came time to replace the shopworn Hawthorn, I was
able to convince the committee to plant 130 Cocoplum. They are a native and
hosts so many pollinators but are slowly going dead with our modern hurry up
and prune style of care as mentioned.
So here was the challenge. When I was approved to make a
design for the plants in the Atrium, I knew what I needed was a variety.
Something to bring down insects flying overhead. Birds would naturally check it
out ,but the best thing to do was plant a variety of plants with a wide palette
of colors and shapes to attract different bugs and whatnot.
One time I grew some Millet. It reached 11 feet tall, and I
hoped the seeds would attract random birds flying by. The input I got for that
effort was “why are you trying to grow corn?” Plants are everywhere. Do we want
to recreate Hershey Gardens or use the 4700 useful plants, native to Florida?
Huh?
There's the question. Hershey Gardens or Oslo Park? Looks
or Life? pretty or useful. The era of vanity projects is over, and I'm
determined to bring the congregation into the 21st century.
In the United States we have been sold a bill of goods
regarding lawns and colorful Asian or African plants. Why not use the most
beautiful plants and largest blooms? Kill all the soil insects and have a
perfect lawn. Makes no sense now, but it is still engrained in peoples
minds from all the commercials. It's like people don't understand the
first thing about soil. "It turns to mud when it's wet, right?"
I hope I'm clearing things up.
Ecosphere is described this way. "the biosphere of the
earth, especially the interaction between the living and nonliving components.
What is habitable for living organisms." You representin' a Ecosphere or a
Biotic Dead Zone?
Imagine that little four ounce bird flying in from
Cuba. Where does it find food or shelter on the Unitarian Universalist
property? I wonder if other congregations are aware of the life outdoors? Time
to visit some sites. This is going to be fun.
Is COCCOTHRINAX crinite Barbadensis?, a threatened
species in Florida. I saved a Firebush and what I thought was a Cabbage Palm.
Years later I discovered it was possibly a Coccothrinax, and it’s growing very
slowly. Looks like C.crinite. It has a different, thatchy trunk that I didn't
notice at first.
However, there is a fear of “Jumping Rats” and I have to
keep fronds away from the roof but this stresses it by leaving only three
fronds. Maybe 15 years ago there was a rat problem in the overgrown jungle that
was once the Atrium, but not anymore. I know the Black Racer visits the Atrium
and a mouse or a "Jumping Rat" doesn’t have a chance against it. So,
it's not happy to be pruned so severely. I'll google jumping rats to see if we
can solve the problem.
GOLDENROD Just getting ready to bloom,
the usual fears of its pollen will be mentioned. Even if it were the cause of
Hayfever, it’s isolated from everything, 50 feet from any door. It gets
confused with Ragweed that is the actual problem plant. This is a new
introduction that did fairly well last year and was a small insect magnet.
Here I’d like to make an important point about native plant
gardening. Habitat gardening, which I think is what we want to do. I designed a
Habitat/Pollinator garden at the Sebastian Town Hall. The Tree Board called it
a model planting. This model planting is over twenty years old now and is still
presumably self-sustaining.
I took care of it for ten years and didn’t use
fertilizer or mulch. The town took it over and seem to be keeping it
wild. People from New Jersey think it's a good idea to put their tropical house
plants from South America there, however. To this day it has a natural leaf
mulch. Self-sustaining and self-generating with wildflowers that reseed
themselves. The Florida Privet that I shaped into a tree, and its braided
branches, is still there. Time to go there and take pictures.
You can’t plant one native plant and expect it to do well.
They want to be in a community of plants. How often does nature plant a single
tree in a field of grass? Come on, use your head for something other than a hat
rack. It's not natural the way people do things. What passes for design will
cost you $75 dollars an hour by college edumacated experts. Professional
Landscapings Conventional Wisdom is in dire need of updating. People still out
there with their spreaders flinging poison in every direction.
I remember how much changed between the 1991 Master
Gardener course I took, and the 2001 version of the Master Gardener course I
went through. They went totally non-chemical between those years. I took the
course twice at the same location ten years apart.
Very little money is needed to maintain a native
planting. That’s the secret the
Nurseries don’t want you to know.
Sebastian Town Hall
For $326 in plants, and volunteer labor, this garden has
been host to Gopher tortoises, cute little bunnies and innumerable Bird Species
since 1998. Always butterflies floating by. It was once a chronic wet area next
to where we had our meetings, after a rain the water was almost seeping into
the buildings. We decided to plant it ourselves and the result was a
self-perpetuating native model planting for new residents to look at while they
were getting their permits and dropping off stuff at the Engineering Department.
A little maintenance on the model planting hedges and
that's it. Much less time spent (per square foot) managing a native stand as
opposed to an exotic, irrigation watered and fertilized flower cluster buster.
You all been suckers paying for all that shit all these years.
Same with the Atrium. $1300 to plant and UU has spent less
than $100 dollars in replacement plants in the last 12 years. The 25 year old
model planting at Sebastian Town Hall is completely self-sustaining. Work crews
only have to prune the two native plant model hedges. While $1700 went to
refurbish (deaden) the Memorial Garden, with no real net gain.
The Memorial Garden had never needed fertilizer and I
introduced many native plants such as Elliot Grass and Scorpions Tail through
the years that were popping up throughout the garden in a self-perpetuating
way. Didn't need to buy annuals because of that, just pull up the old one
because something new was always regenerating.
It was alive with a vast variety of small plants that
were useful for insects. Did people think it was a little too wild looking? I
think so. Someone saw a spider? Maybe we can build a sidewalk or something. Oh
wait, there is a sidewalk?
The seventh principle was an afterthought, wasn't it?
Reverence and care of the natural world, something like that? Or maybe just
thoughts and prayers do the trick?
These newly planted plants are marginally adjusted to our
climate, some die over the summer in the all-day sun exposure. The plants need
soil and humus, not mulch. Healthy soil healthy plant. I would buy five bags of
humus now and then to enhance the plants and the soil profile, but
I'm letting this good looking dead zone run it's course.
Thryallis is
pretty but has no wildlife benefit. Let me know if you ever see a butterfly or
moth on it. I mean virtually none of the new stuff has any benefit to wildlife.
For 11 years, there were occasional applications of
mulch. It wasn't messy, it was busy. Busy with life. I've proved it over
and over again the last twenty years as the Garden Green, that a diversity of
plants is the best way to co-create with nature. I have no insect problems on
any of my accounts and there are lots of insects.
Leaves raked up before mulching and natives such as the
sweetly scented Hogplum were torn out. It FEELS lifeless now. For the sake of
beauty, I guess. Comfort zone for Boomers, I guess. For pollinators and the
rest of Nature, the Hogplum, by itself, had more to offer than all the Ficus Ixora Plumbago Canna Lily Hawthorns, Queen
Palms and Hibiscus planted in the
Memorial Garden ,,,PUT TOGETHER. So I think
we need to discuss the future of the Memorial Garden.
The good news is that it wasn't all eradicated. A new
Hogplum has popped up recently. Hopefully it won't be pulled out as a weed FOR
THE THIRD TIME. It has come up from a root fragment or something.
So do we want to take the Green Sanctuary commitment
outdoors? We need to make a long-term plan that involves replacing dead plants
with at least 50% natives. A little quarter acre in Sebastian has more species
on it than the entirety of the UU property. That doesnt see right. So, I’d like
us to consider how we can help wildlife right here, where we hang out. Make
every day Earth Day? Be careful what you ask for.
Reverence, gratitude and care have yet to plant a fruiting
shrub.
This picture shows what
birds actually eat. Marlberry. A native plant. It flowers, then fruits
spectacularly, providing vittles for exhausted, migrating birdlife. This
picture is from between annex buildings at Sebastian Town Hall. And I'm sure
this prolifically fruiting shrub has begat others, as its seeds are deposited
elsewhere by squirrels and birds.
WHEREAS, Ixora,
Philedendron, Agave, Arbicolas and
other plants from the other side of the world, that have been newly
planted, do not. Bottlebrush? A worthy exotic? That's a bit of a
stretch. A Bottlebrush hedge is completely overgrown, and in constant need of
pruning on the west side of the Unitarian Universalist building. Listen folks.
These pretty plants with big flowers. Stop it. Human survival is on the line
and the climate change can has been kicked down the road. The Oil and Gas
Industry won't go quietly.
LET'S MAKE A PLAN
At the LRJ historical I
think we should be exhibiting as many native plants from Florida as we can.
Even with natives it doesn't have to be about pretty flowers. Get over
yourselves. Get a variety in there and marvel at the explosion of bird
and butterfly species. A model planting not a planting for models.
All these rules with the
"Johns Island style of Landscaping" 1985 called and said they wanted
their weed control mats back.
"Plant things in
odd numbers like 3, 5 or 7 so it seems round""
The tree has to be
planted here, lined up with the front door." So many
"professional" rules that have absolutely sucked the life out of our
yards.
I didn't know what the
heck that was all about for decades. Some esoteric meaning beyond my
comprehension, I figured. Buddha, Kundalini, chakra cleaning? Who knows. The
song portrayed the emptiness of upper-class luxury and the story of a cruel
master.
In 1981, I inherited a
528-sprinkler head system. Just monitor it, not fix it, thank god.
I still didn't know what
the hissing meant in the song, "The Hissing of Summer Lawns".
Finally, a few weeks, ago I was revisiting the song and --ding--sprinkler
systems, of course! Not so mysterious after all.
Don't need thousands of
dollars of PVC to keep these exotic plants alive.
The colorful
biological deserts of most yards may have their "curb appeal," but I
would rather have "mother nature appeal," a balancing of all
life, a healthy cell in a sick world.
Anyone out there wanting
to turn their yard into a garden please give me a call. This is actually an
infomercial for my side quests; I would happily give potential customers a free
analysis of their yard, but I require yards that will yield a minimum of 100
dollars a month in maintenance fees. Or once a quarter in some cases. Phone
number earlier in the post. Sometimes managing acreage isn't as difficult as it
may seem.
Green lawns in the desert. Lawns where they
don't belong. Plant slavery. Pretty over plenty. Water tables and Aquifers be
damned. The San Pedro River went underground for 30 miles as a result.
Profit oriented nurseries and overpaid,
college edumacted landscape architects. Clueless property managers. Budget
cutting City Councils. And yeah. The Garden Clubs. Death panels, every last one
of them. Choosing aesthetics without regard to nature. We're coming for ya.
Young scientists gonna kick your silly asses. Veterans of the stewardship game
R gonna shame your lame, platitudinous designs in order to reclaim our
wildness.
plat·i·tu·di·nous plan·tings
[ËŒpladəˈto͞odÉ™nÉ™s]
ADJECTIVE
1.
(of a remark or
statement) used too often to be interesting or thoughtful; hackneyed:
"this may sound platitudinous"
SIMILAR:
-6-7-JOHNNY
HUCKSTER
💚💞❤December 30, 2023
I had
started 2023 with the vague notion to create the Johnny Huckster persona which
was going to be within the Community Product and Service Exchange
concept. CPSE.
We need to get behind something. People are using thrift stores much
more, spontaneous markets have begun to pop up, and in my travels, I see gas
stations selling goods that are obviously homemade and locally sourced.
When
there is a major conference somewhere in the world, who goes? The G-20?
Certainly not the People. NAFTA? Wasn't that about crushing small business on
both sides of the border?
What
have we got to get behind, then?
We
set up a series of Community Exchanges is what we do.
What we
do is trade amongst each other. Zoom or actual meetings. No more third
Thursday of the month meetings to connect unless you want to. Let THEM worry
about cargo ships stuck in the Suez Canal and the Somali pirates.
Community
Product and Service Exchange. How does only Facebook have a marketplace? Though
I have noticed it works well for regular folks selling their surplus
stuff. Create a new market as if the old one doesn’t matter.
Much
like the Grange of Old, at the CPSE, we store surplus, shelf-stable goods.
There are days we are open and staffed by volunteers. Like Mondays and
Fridays.
Bring
Sysco and its food like products to its knees. I saw amazing
growth in the farm to table initiatives as Covid progressed and corporate
shelves were getting empty. Many people in Florida connected. The CPSE is a hub
for like 20 to 200 people.
Imagine a Community
Exchange (CE) in any form you like. These abandoned malls and closed Burger
Kings and those nice country homes on the verge of being too expensive to
repair. People buying a community space together. You know, Turkey threatens to
close US bases in 2019? Fangool to them ...imagine the savings if we did. Close
the bases and Ambassador palaces from Turkey to Thailand. Update: Now with
Stupid Bigly’s war, it has become more obvious to quite a few people.
We could
close 200 bases in Turkey Japan and Germany. We could fund 1,000 No-kill animal
shelters across the country with 20,000 employees if we start abandoning the
Middle East. Or a free intercontinental bus system. The military is a money
pit.
The Middle Eastern people haven't stopped
killing each other since 4000 BC. Leave them be. Let them have their blood as
high as a donkey’s shoulder.
Once
upon a time every town had a Grange but they were all closed up in my young
years. Some had 125 years of farmers selling their wares, and the furniture
makers marketing their wares, and wool garmenters, their home made wears. It’s
time to regenerate small farm markets. By giving advantages to small farmers.
#taxchurchesnotfarmers. I discuss methods in section 7 that would build a small
business free market and a heavily regulated big business regimen.
I belonged to a food co-op
in '73 and '74, and to get the wholesale prices, you needed to volunteer two
hours a month. I'd have a backpack full of peanuts and potatoes and carrots to
bike home with, and was even a vegetarian for a while with so much produce
available. It was about that time when I learned how Veal Loaf was made.
Art or
Furniture or anything else that used to be made in this country, can be sold at
these Community Product and Service Exchanges CPSE.
You're
going to see a BUY USA initiatives get serious this year.
A focus
on locally sourced products that local people are looking for.
Community
Exchanges would also trade with each other, exchanging surpluses. Sending
Mangoes up in June and sending peanuts down in September.
The
Johnny or Jenny Huckster, is the person that drives between the Community
Product and Service Exchanges. This is what I was trying to put into action in
2023.
I try to have as
low a carbon footprint as possible with my 2009 HHR. At 52 MPH on a smooth
road, I get 39 MPG. I lived AND worked in and out of that car for 125 days in
2023. I visited ZERO tourist destinations and used a single burner propane
burner to cook when outdoors.
Biscuits
and Gravy at local historical home. Single burner and my cast iron pan gets the
job done.
I made Chicago Dogs at
Mill Woods in Wethersfield. I was completely contained in my relatively small
vehicle. That was the goal. The senior population was 20% of the homeless
population but that is over 40% now.
An
improvement on that carbon footprint would be Bio-diesel. Using restaurant oil
to deliver to restaurants. Some delicious irony there.
Or
deliver to Food Trucks, which is another trend that will be big in the next
five years. Not just farm to plate, but farm to food trucks.
Putting the chain restaurants out of business and low taxation for small diners
and gathering establishments.Their greed is going to drive them out of
business. Pricing themselves right out of the market.
So to
create Johnny Huckster I had to be Johnny Huckster. The spokes that support the
hub that the Community Exchange would be.
I
had to live it and also, I have to do what I can ... while I still can, as I
approached 70.
#Houselessness is trending. It was an adventure for me. I
could have borrowed a few hundred bucks to get a roof over my head, but I
wanted to do this. One last ride. Well ... a couple last rides.
Like I
mentioned, our American economy is about to change dramatically but, I'm
hopeful it will be mostly good changes.
The people who save the seed,
grow the food, ship the food, process all the agricultural products; people who
cook your food and clean up the mess you make at Cracker Barrel. We'uns are going
to create our own economy and by doing that we will resolve our left/right
differences and without the parasitical white collar class getting between
growers and shoppers and we will all make more money.
I'm
imagining people living out of their food trucks. I see these electric bicycles
popping up everywhere. The whole economy is ready to do a transposition into
Market Socialism.
The
hapless, feckless fools in Washington are all about enabling corporate control
of all markets. They don't even know we exist anymore. So we're going to create
a new economy as if the old one doesn't even matter.
We need food trucks at work sites. We need work sites
so we can get food. Let the buyer beware. Caveat Emptor (let the buyer beware)
is also CE. We are not the rubes of 1950 who bought into every corporate
ensnarement they could get their hands on. I recall the Tabacco industry going
to Saturday movies back in the 30's and 40's and give away free cigarettes so
the kids would get hooked.
Gonna be A LOT of bridges getting repaired and
rebuilt in the near future. Water pipes collapsing and rotten in big cities
that are needing to be replaced. Everyone trying to be millionaires with the
overlapping pyramid schemes in the last 40 years fueled development to create
the illusion of prosperity.
Alachua,
Tallapoosa, and Tallahoma would all have exchanges and would trade with each
other. Add Durham and Four Oaks and I am looking into the Franklin North
Carolina / Asheville corridor for opportunity.
My
target area is; Franklin Georgia to Franklin Tennessee to the, oh so beautiful,
Franklin North Carolina.
Look
that up and within that triangle is where the best "climate change ---
work at home" place to be is going to be. Learned that from a strange
visitor at a campground, and from some real estate insiders. In ten years most
of North Carolina will be too expensive to live in for the workers as Florida
is now.
At the
Community Exchange (CE) we would co-incidentally keep Caveat Emptor (CE) as the
underlying theme. "Let the buyer beware". The motto of the
marketplace for thousands of years will return.
People
should be able to sell tinctures and potions out of their house. Or have a Raw
Milk delivery route.
Here's
the rub. Without government regulation or interference.
So much
STUFF out there that needs to be fixed. And seriously, do you go to thrift
stores? The world can stop making clothes for ten years and we would still have
most of it ending up in the dumpsters.
We create our own network of Community Exchanges. Running between them
are the Johnny or Jenny Hucksters.
I
haven't told my stories to anyone yet and I didn't even write down any notes in
2023, so I have to flashback.
I
remember driving away from Tennessee headed for Durham and getting in a three
hour traffic jam to go 40 miles outside of Chattanooga. That was going to have
me coming in late to Asheville. After sunset.
I wanted
to check out the Asheville alternative scene and I needed a place to spend the
night. I ended up getting there at 8 that evening and finally staying at an RV
friendly Cracker Barrel after a visit to the Waffle House.
After five hours of sleep, I needed a
rest room. 3 am there were none, just a parking lot with ten RV’s and no real
privacy. Wait, there's a Waffle House. I ate and figured I could just pullover
on the Blue Ridge somewhere and get a couple more hours of sleep, so that's
what I did. I drove out of town then slowly up the Blue Ridge Parkway to Mt.
Mitchell which was my #1 goal.
It was
raining up on the Blue Ridge but not foggy, which was a great relief and I
found a pullover that no one was going to bother me at Well, there was the big
heavy storm at that time, closing roads and whatnot. Headline news. It was the
18th of June 2023 and I was catching up to the storm as I drove
eastwards.
I woke
up three hours later to three inches of water in the parking area. I must have slept through a
downpour. Lucky to have my Crocs on. But it was all good, 6 o'clock and I
was a half hour from Mt Mitchell.
I was up to the parking area at 6:45,
even before the employees. Too foggy for the big view, but dry enough to hike
the moss-covered trails.
Hiking comfortably amidst massive
moss at 6300 feet, I noted on FB some people on Mt Washington at 6288 feet were
probably cold with big winter coats on and icicles hanging from the sign. And
that was after the harrowing drive up the thin laned and precariously curved
mountain road.
There was one facebook friend who
posted pictures of them and some friends in their Parkas with piles of snow in
the background. All smiling after not sliding off the dangerous icy road to the
summit. It was late June and 60 degrees on Mt. Mitchell to start the day.
Extremely recommended if you're down that way, Mt. Mitchell has an easy drive
up, and a spacious parking area.
Johnny Hucksterism is a lifestyle and
I lived it in 2023. 125 days on the road. No notes so I'm going to indulge my
memories. This is a manual for laying out your future. "van life," as
some call, it is now congealing into communities.. Car camping #Houselessness
is trending and I never considered myself homeless. I was building a business
model. It was also one last adventure perhaps, as I approach 70 but still
enjoying sleeping in a cot and looking up at the stars from my tent, or the HHR
Moon Roof.
One theme. I go where the good
weather is. Or I been hella lucky.
First of January in 2023 I went to practice my camping at Fort Drum for
five days. Trying the patience of my calves and triceps as I dragged everything
I needed to set up for 5 days. A long six tenths of a mile to the
campsite. I counted the steps. 2500. So in a five day stay I walked back
to the car 12 times, let's say. Mostly to charge the phone back at the car.
14.4 miles in total and my back never felt better sleeping on my borrowed cot.
Legs and arms felt strong when it was over.
glad I saw the Georgia Guidestones
before they were blown up by the local snowflakes. Illuminati boogie man you
know.
In April, I went to Georgia to paint a
house. A twelve day, all expenses paid, cannabis friendly, biscuit-fest. I also
began tearing up a sidewalk of interlocking pallets. They were slippery and
dangerous but kept the walkway above water. We made a plan for finishing in
July.
Twelve days deep in the forest in Georgia within sight of the
Alabama border and then back to work in Florida. No one was even aware
I was gone. Going to Carolina for a week I told a few people since I am
expected weekly at most of my jobs.
At the time K was done renting a room from B and
she wanted to get the heck out of Florida before it got too hot. So we shared a
camping spot at Donald McDonald Campground for 8 days in April 2023. Ten
dollars a piece per day. Then I went to site #14 by myself for four days.
Beautifully managed, foresty place.
So, I was literally in the forest for
the entire month of April with the combinations of jobs and situations I found
myself in. This felt like what I was trying to accomplish but it was very
tiring.
And you bet your bippy I was wore out
from camping, cars and couches for an entire month.
It hurts. Sometimes everything hurts.
But I'll tell you what, there are going to be many thousands like me looking to
avoid the high rents and make an attempt to live and work out of their car. So
let me recall as much detail as possible and try to explain the business model I
am trying to create.
Stayed with ex and son till June 14th and then a planned house and
dog sitting gig was on deck in Durham. Another month on the road.
Streamside in Lynchburg
Tennessee
COMMUNITY PRODUCT AND SERVICE
FACILITY. We can do it folks. Create a new small business economy as if the old
one doesn't even matter.
There was a brouhaha about some
Fathers day slippers I was supposed to deliver, but I already had plans.
I had three hundred pounds of some very fine, rich people paver rocks to
deliver. Some medicine to deliver to Tennessee. Great weather in Georgia again
last June, and then in Tennessee. Summer hadn't hit yet. In Lynchburg, Tennessee
I stayed in a newly purchased plantation home that was getting renovated. Asked
about a painting gig there but they got it all done themselves.
Two barns on site and fencing for
Sheep. Some really fine hundred year old trees. A creek was nearby and giant
slabs of rock appeared to have been moved by the currents during extreme
washouts. (see photo above). So much Birdlife it seemed; like I hadn't
seen since my childhood when birds were always flying out of the brush all day
long.
And fireflies. So many and a family of
Cardinals were feasting on them. Fireflies is bird food with lights on, so it
was moonlight madness sittin' on that porch.
So far,
staying in the forests in June and July also.
In Durham North Carolina, I had a
dog/cat/house sitting gig in a nice 60's style house in the Parkwood Section.
Close to downtown. Importantly, one of the most nicely designed neighborhoods
I've ever seen. Most houses were off the main road but close enough for easy
access and in fact my kids house is right near the very nice trail of large
trees. So much safer and every house looked different quite unlike Indian River
County and its ticky tacky gated communities. There was a really swell Mideast
Market with some unique selections to create recipes that was near the
community garden.
Amazingly, there
was an Ancient Forest trail that started within view near the back yard. So me
and Baloo, the lovable Pittie, would hang out in the back yard. Anyone walked
by and he'd be off barking. Don't need a no trespassing sign with Baloo on
duty.
The picture above doesn't do the
Ancient Forest trail any justice. Very nice hiking trail that started next door
and a community garden that was flowering prolifically at the other end of the
trail about 3,000 feet away. The weather continued to stay cool till about the
4th of July. At the same time, I saw the smoke and haze from the Canadian
wildfires roll in.
Two days we
stayed indoors. Hot and Smoky. Summer of 2023 finally caught up with me. In
Florida, where I normally would have been, it was fully summer with its
debilitating humidity. It was also Mango season and I had brought a bunch with
me. People going ewww when I posted a picture of my Spam
l'mangue. Organic Mango, locally sourced peppers from the volunteer
neighborhood garden and Spam.
I managed to stay out of state for a
month and check off the last thing on my bucket list which was seeing the
Rhododendrons in bloom in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
So, another month on the road. 2.5
weeks in Durham and a week in Georgia finishing the walkway project. Sixty five
days so far. I didn't go back either time to re-supply at my storage space. I
was totally contained in the car for the entire time in both months.I then
switched back to a working vehicle on July 15th and stayed with the ex and my
youngest till October 15th.
Customers seemed all right with me
being gone for a month and it was a most triumphant moment to have finished a
second full month as Johnny Huckster.
You don't see the homeless till you
are homeless or houseless yourself. I stayed at truck stops for $5.35 and saw
the homeless on their bicycles and some with their young children. I listened
to stories about conflicts while standing in line at T&A Truck stops.
I stayed at a location that will
remain a secret for now. Cost $0.00. A little outside of town but nice dark sky
to watch the moonrise or see the stars. Listen to the distant sounds of
large bird life. Big hooty Owls. Trying to figure out what noises were
alligator noises, and did I just hear a pig getting caught by
a Panther or Coyote?
Another thing
about memory. What do you do as you see your own facilities decline? Many
elderly will be homeless or already are as the economic squeeze continues to
bleed the middle class, and the long time essential workers of the lower middle
class. Houselessness means toiletlessness. Just briefly imgine your
elderly neighbor being homeless. There’s desperation out there and we have half
asleep idiots in congress the last 30 years.
This is the core of my business model.
How are people going to move around? Where will we live? It's concerning that
predatory male creeps are everywhere and the safety of women trying to be Jenny
Huckster is in jeopardy.
And where are all the Black People?
They have to be overly cautious with all these crazy, heaven-bound, gun crazed
White people around. Not to mention the knuckle dragging white nationalists and
racist police.
In St. Lucie County there is a
gigantic rest area, but you are only allowed to stay there 3 hours. THREE.
Florida state law.
But I felt I was an advantaged
homeless. I had a car. And money for gas and I have work commitments. But I was
running out of places to be discreet. My luck that this area has been noted for
its notoriously over priced rentals. The third leg of the effort was to spend
as little as possible on getting a roof over my head.
October 15th to December 19th 65 days
living out of the car with no places to stay. Refreshed at a motel twice for
two days. Christmas tips got me into an overpriced rental. I found a spacious
Walmart to stay at on Christmas but it was pretty far away.
So I lived it. Johnny Huckster and the
Community Product and Service Exchange.
-6--8-TUCSON TO THOMPSONVILLE
After a
thousand miles my hands were numb from the noise of my engine and my mind blank
from the ceaseless revolutions of my tires. The yellow lined road points to
some distant towers and spring grasses of early April, freshly greened the
Texas and Oklahoma countryside. The rivers in Missouri were running high with
snowmelt caused by recent rains.
Riding the great open spaces between Midwestern cities, structures loomed far
off down the road as if the road would end when entering this great palace. I
continued to head straight for them. They were glistening and
futuristic----with a touch of grey, reminding me of the Hollywood backdrop for
the Land of Oz. What Dorothy saw off in the distance at the end of the yellow
brick road and all that stood between her and the Wizards castle was a field of
corn, I mean poppies.
The Towers. Who cared that they looked a little fake. They lured Dorothy and
the others and drew me in too. Even when I drove by the massive grain towers it
was not a disappointment…because seeing America was mysterious and magical.
****************************************************
As many people know America is divided into ten growing zones. Zone 10 being
Miami and Zone 2 the Boreal Forest in Canada. Some configurations gauge
their results from the lowest winter temperatures and some use the date of the
last frost. Either way, there is a general agreement as to where these zones
are.
Zone 10 includes Miami and Sand Diego that are frost free. Zone 9 runs up the
Pacific coast out to the Mojave Desert and into the Sonoran Desert where Tucson
and Phoenix are located. Zone 9 also includes the Texas town of Corpus Cristi
and areas north of Miami and up to Orlando, higher along the coasts. Averaging
less than five days of frost with minimums of 20 degrees.
My trip from Tucson to Thompsonville begins in zone 9. I entered zone 8 only
five hours into the trip. Zone 8 is north of Phoenix and through the mountains
of New Mexico and goes through lower central Texas and across the south to
South Carolina. As I headed north of Alamagordo in New Mexico I hopped over
zone 7 quickly. Alamagordo is 4300 feet above sea level and lies at the western
edge of the mountains.
I
maintained a path through zone 6 as I got to 6,000 feet in Northeast New
Mexico. I continued in a northeasterly direction to Amarillo Texas, central
Oklahoma, and the beautiful mid western state of Missouri. Zone 6 covers a wide
band, including Kentucky Tennessee, northern Virginia New York City and Newport
Rhode Island.
Zone 6
had just been waking up from the winter. I suspected zone 5, which had seen a
snowstorm of epic proportions that early April winter day, was still frozen and
asleep. In Missouri I skirted the line between 5 and 6, and up till that point
had seen no precipitation. Up ahead on the drive across country was Illinois
Indiana and Ohio at the lower edge of the heavy snow areas. After leaving
Tucson when it was 75 degrees, I wouldn’t feel any temperatures above 40
degrees. Had I left too soon? In Illinois it was 38 degrees when the rain started.
******************************************************
November
in Tucson is not always pleasant. November is when the coldest temperatures hit
Tucson. It was the month I saw the only snowfall over one inch. It was the
month of the coldest temperature I experienced in Tucson---18 degrees. November
’83 was no exception. From upper 80’s at the beginning of the month to frost
and 35 and frost or 45 degrees and rain. On my job as an electricians helper I
was digging 10 foot wide ditches 3 feet deep. These would fill up with rain and
collapse.
My
friend and boss Jeff Schombert was letting his friend, Jesus, run a job by
himself for the first time. The illustrious dumb-fuck macho queen, Jesus (Hey
Zeus) Romero made many mistakes. It was a job with 160 apartments led by the
primary contractors---the Valley Carpentry crew. I was stuck in the ditch while other
beginners were shown how to do electrical installation.
However, as the Motorhead song says,
“Don’t let the bastards grind you down,” as I never let them. As time went by,
I had to grit my teeth and survive with my principles and convictions intact.
There was six months to go before we moved back to New England and many times
our trip back could have been halted or delayed. The plan was to leave Tucson
just before the summer started and in New England as the spring was at its
flowerful best. I had a month long house sitting job in Enfield waiting.
Many people who move to Tucson miss
the four seasons. It’s hot for 5 months and moderate for 7 months, but on the
other hand many Tucsonans would be happy with a year round summer. “Don’t like
the cold. No sir, I don’t.” When the temperatures turn from moderate to looking
into the hot oven warm, there are collective groans and cheers across the
valley.
Where would we end up? Boston was a
good idea, a return to tradition and intensity. Boston---culture, history, and
activity. I was ready to move but my bank account wasn’t. Unlike many Tucsonans
who empty their bank accounts to take yearly trips back “home,”I had no
desire to visit Connecticut. Living in Arizona gave me the opportunity to see
America and meet people from fifty states. Native people, Pacicific coast
people, disgruntled Floridians looking to flee the humidity and arthritis.
Mexicans Guatamalans, Detroiters, Minnesota people, Vermonters Texans.
I became a global citizen there and
now I live in New England not because I was born here but because I choose to.
In fact we almost become Marylanders. My girlfriends brother was a muffin
executive at Thomas English Muffins. He could hire me for 12 an hour which was
a lot for me never making more than 5 an hour. We would be rich and all I have
to do is poke the muffins with toothpicks.
The factory was in the beautiful
Maryland countryside, 35 miles from D.C. My potential boss ended up getting a
promotion and moving to the god-awful cold city of Chicago.
After five years in Tucson it felt
like the city was a bit of an island. Isolated and out of touch, but beautiful,
young and strong with hints of class. Yet somehow boring. Or was it just the
people? So there I was in November of 1983 with a dream about getting back to
New England. It kept raining like a Connecticut spring, and some weeks I only
worked 20 hours, at 4 dollars an hour.
Through December we never got out of
the 200-400 dollar range with savings. I had decided not to tell anyone in town
about the plan till we had 500 dollars solidly in the savings.
There is an old movie called the seven
trials of Hercules. To escape the beasties, Hercules had to endure seven major
tribulations before he could be set free. That’s how I saw myself once again,
nose to the grindstone trying to endure. The first trial was the chronically
small savings account but still knowing this was going to get done. The
February plan was scrapped and then the March date of escape. Then I picked
April 11th as the day of departure.
January progressed and we were solidly
above 500 and we told people about our plans. Why? They all asked. When I left
Connecticut in 1978 I got the same question---why?
At that point the van was 92%
repaired. Engine overhaul, carburetor overhaul, fuel pump front end and much
more. Then Memere Bellemare pledged 500 dollars for our effort.
Then came the second trial. Since I
was concentrating so much effort raising cash---getting a raise, selling and
trading our extraneous possessions, I neglected my work on my, work for rent
situation. The Kingstons, our landlord and boss demanded a major effort. They
suggested I was complacent and said we should leave if we can’t do the job
right.
It seemed like they wanted to fire us
but we squeaked by knowing we weren’t ready to tell them we were leaving in two
months anyways. Moving into an apartment at this point would cost us too much
in deposits, first and last months rent.
Ah but Tucson. How COULD we leave?
January 10th was the last day it rained till at least March 10th.
High temperatures ranged from 64 to 82 degrees which is ideal for most people.
When I left with my whole life packed into an Econoline Van on April 11th I
knew that for three months I had experienced the most beautiful weather on the
planet. I found out later from a weather buddy that Tucson had its warmest May
on record.
Jesus, the macho turdball, returns to
the story to present the fourth trial. He had finished the Valley Carpentry
Crew job and joined us at the Mission Road Apartments. I had gotten a raise to
$4.50 while I was there working with Jeff the owner and boss. My nemesis
blandly stated upon our first meeting that his intention was to fire me. But I
prevailed.
As Jesus tried to provoke arguments
that would lead to a fight and the inevitable deceptive descriptions of events,
so I approached my boss and friend about this problem. But Jesus was his
business partner. If Jesus could direct a lot of people, Jeff could expand the
business. A good business partner is hard to find.
Calmly I discussed the problem.
Unbeknownst to me, Jeff had suspected a problem and was aware of the loss he
took at the Valley Carpentry job. Jesus Wormtongue was one of those gossiping
sorts, saying bad shit about a lot of people frequently. Jeff concluded from
the mountains of paperwork that it was more than lazy workers that ballooned
his expenses. A lot was spent on supplies and fuel and miscellaneous.
The worm became a mouse and I
became the Cheshire Cat, by doing nothing more than telling the truth.
Motherfucker never said shit to me after that, and Jeff didn’t scapegoat me in
any way, he told Jesus that he was inefficient and should spend more time
watching himself instead of the workers. Jesus was demoted back to the crew for
more “seasoning”. Patience is rewarded.
The fifth trial arrived about two or
three weeks after the Jesus fiasco. It appeared this time as the flu. We were
struggling to save, and I needed every paycheck. Stumbling around the job site,
I tried not to fall off the second floor. It was a killer flu, and it took an
extreme effort to work.
Not even a week or two later came the
fifth trial. At 10 o’clock one evening my tooth inflamed and massive pain
became my bane. My girlfriend said to call the hospital for pain killers. Mouth
pain I could have survived but the tooth needed work, over 500 dollars
worth---a punch in the stomach for our savings effort. The grimmest outlook had
us leaving for New England at the onset of this coming winter,
Memere sent another 500 and my parents
had sent a 300 dollar birthday present. People were eager to have the Prodigal
Son back. The only one they knew in recent memory to move out of Connecticut.
The Vagabond, the wanderer.
I really got to know the weather of
the desert and it’s imprinted on my mind like childhood memories in
Wethersfield. The flooding arroyos, the random dust devils spinning nearby, the
baking hot dryness, and the sacred rain, never repeating a pattern and always
different. The Robins arrived in their flocks much earlier than usual and this
indicated to a weather watcher that an early spring would commence.
The weather was more boring in
Connecticut and New England with it’s tedious, never ending light rain.
But there was the big trees and the fine old homes, the beaches and small
quaint towns, rude people and every extreme of individuality and conformity.
Three weeks before the trip I
organized a weekend outing to New Mexico. Why would I take a long drive three
weeks before a cross country trip? There were logical reasons like checking out
if there were any places to get gas and food. From Tucson to Las Cruces (275
miles), there were sporadic stops for travelers. No phones that I could see and
very small towns like Bowie and Deming. These towns roll up the sidewalks at
six o clock, I’m sure. No phones. 275 miles.
There was a gas stop only 75 miles
outside of Tucson in Willcox. Belly up to the pump with the engine running to
get every teaspoon I could in there. I could make it to las Cruces but what
about Alamogordo (375 miles) and Roswell (525). No one wants to run out of gas
in the desolate mountains of New Mexico. I’m sure. There were two 24 hour
stores in Alamogordo as it turns out as I asked around more.
Hopefully the mountains would have
gradual grades and I wouldn’t waste gas. So the little weekend in New Mexico
allowed me to listen to the van carefully to see if there were any sort of
problems. I hadn’t taken any strenuous trips in the aging van in the last two
years.
Her performance was sluggish at best
and became downright dreadful on the little trip. I went to Tuneup Masters
where they did a lot of replacing. A complete tuneup was needed. I DID NOT want
to break down in the middle of the country with everything I owned. Well, it
ran better and was solid with the recent front end work I got done on it.
The New Mexico getaway psyched me for
being on the road again and this time, to another new place. I took the trip
with Steve who was the one who was responsible for me moving out of Connecticut
in the first place. I stayed at his place when I first moved out there and my
two room mates joined me later in the month.
I hadn’t seen much of Steve the last
two years because of his chaotic marital situation. We played in bands together
back in Wethersfield and wrote songs together. We made up some pretty
complicated jazz rock fusion progressive music. At the White Sands National
Monument we let our imaginations run free and pretended to be filming different
movies from that location.
After that weekend I was ready and
resolute. Chance of snow at 5500 to 7000 feet where much of the road lay. Once
I got to Amarillo there would be plenty of places to gas up and gobble down.
The sixth trial was of course another
surprise. The girlfriend was going to stay behind and leave on the 27th and
fly to meet her brother in Chicago. Well on April 5th, which was 10
days after we’d given our notice, we suddenly had to move by the 11th. She
couldn’t wait to bring in the new people even though she originally liked our
plan which gave her time to screen a lot of people. Mrs. Kingston said there
were 125 people that applied for the job that we got and we thought it would
take a while.
We had to super pack since I was going
to leave between the 12 and 16th as per the plan and casually
pack. So the girlfriend scrambled staying mostly with Cheryl who was Jeff the
bosses wife. The last picture of me in Tucson is with my arm around Cheryl
standing by the black van. I set sail from there at 4 in the afternoon and
drove the 18 hours to Amarillo without sleeping.
Our packing was rushed and so were our
farewells. The 40 acre ranch we were caretakers of was a great place for
friends to hang out. Nearby looming in the eastern sky was 8400 foot Mt.
Rincon. The Catalinas, topping out at 9200 feet were due north. The pool was
like 40 feet long and 8 foot deep and many enjoyed the scene. People would
visit with their pet tarantulas among other memorable creatures. Pregnant
friends relaxing in the pool because it made their joyous burden less heavy to
carry.
I was leaving a career in electrical
construction and leaving a very desirable living situation. These moves have to
be made and I lost out, took one for the team. Actually, electrician work was
boring and the Kingstons and us had had enough of each other. Like pruning back
a rose to watch it grow. We made the break from the comfort zone.
I patted and hugged Sally and Sammy,
our most wonderful dogs. We would miss each other. The long hikes in the
foothills of the Rincon Mountains. The time we were in a small canyon and
coyotes were on both cliffs. I had a beating stick and Sammy regularly chased
coyotes out of the yard. The times the Javelinas tried to dig under the stone
wall to get at the dog food. “bye you guys”.
The Kingstons took pictures of us and
the heavily weighted down Ford Van and we said good bye. No tears or regrets we
would spend the night at the Holiday Inn about 8 miles away. It was hot enough
at 85 degrees and the black van attracted the sunny heat. The van swayed as it
picked up speed going down Broadway, I was completely over loaded.
The starting mileage was 160,353. It
was hot enough with a reminder of the summer to come at 85 degrees. It had yet
to hit 90 that spring but it was hot in that van when the 7th trial
reared its ugly head. As I approached the intersection of Pantano and Broadway
and the…..van……..died! Holy fuck, it wouldn’t start for anything. I know the
battery is good so what was wrong. We were now officially homeless waifs all
our belonging stuffed into one vehicle.. A dead vehicle. Luckily I had AAA road
service and the driver dude discovered a thin wire that had worked itself
loose. Phew!!
At the motel I was still organizing
the truck that night and the next morning. The girlfriend would stay at our
friends home and they helped prepare my launch. I had fixed heater hoses,
ignition switch, gotten gas shocks and new tires all in the last week. I only
had one more thing on my list to get and that was a couple of flares because of
the desolate area I was going to drive through.
>>>>STATE
OF THE INTERSTATE<<<<
I WAS TRAVELLING ON Grant road to
catch I-10 from there. Too many things on my mind and I drove right past
Checker Auto Parts. I cursed because I couldn’t just turn around. Tucson
has a No Crossing Rule between 4:00 to 6:00 and I drove down a bunch of back
roads to get back to Grant. Grant Rd. goes under I-10 and goes further west of
town.
Five o’clock and I was finally getting
on the Interstate after going to get flares then getting caught in a traffic
jam. I inched my way up, then finally I was on the entrance ramp with its
smooth concrete sides. Vehicular conveyance merges and brain unit relaxes and I
am plugged into the Interstate Zone. Happily, I thrust my elbow out the window
as the warm day began to cool off. I drove by the power company and I drove by
the new IBM headquarters and was soon on the quiet stretch of highway to Vail
Arizona.
On my journey to Arizona on August
18-25 1978, my favorite cat of all time, Mary Lou, accompanied me on the trip.
She made the journey enjoyable and the memories golden. She died in a coyote
attack living free as she wanted but now, I am missing her a lot. As the
Catalina Mountains faded in the distance that April 12th 1984,
I reminisced. I would look at a spot on Mt Rincon and say a prayer to her and
now I was passing that spot but closer than usual from the southern angle.
I always hoped she could hear my
messages, so I concentrated them in one spot to give me better odds. Losing her
to the desert ways was one of the saddest days in my life because we interacted
so much, we were close friends. I looked at the spot one last time and yelled
out, “Come on Mary Lou, let’s go. Let’s get back to New England, you can be my
travelling companion again on these lonely interstates. I’m leaving Tucson,
let’s go.
Sixty miles later I pulled into
Willcox. One last fuel stop before the long empty ride to Las Cruces. One
thing I was looking forward to doing was keeping track of the gas mileage. It
has to be wild estimates at first till more mileage data rolls in. At the 250
mile mark I took my first estimate. Which was 15.5 MPG. I had a tape
recorder to play cassettes to relieve boredom but also was recoding my own tape
of the journey.
Just as I was talking into the tape
recorder about 15 and a half MPG I went under a bridge that said 15’6”. Just
one of those good luck coincidences I told myself. I’m getting ahead of
myself here. I went by Bowie Arizona and then San Simon then Lordsburg New
Mexico. After that came the most desolate 125 mile stretch of road you ever
want to see. For you New Englanders that would be like driving from Danbury
Connecticut to Cape Cod without seeing any people. Well…except for Deming New
Mexico which couldn’t be seen from the highway but the signs assured us it was
there.
No phones no services and truckers and
travelers knew they would get gas somewhere, but Deming was in the muddle of
nowhere. A nearly full moon rose and its luminescence lit up my dashboard and I
could see the things I needed to keep me entertained. There’s boredom and a
disease called white line fever. I paced myself, a little music then I’d turn
that off and have some snacks. I saw some deer and this truck with 10,000
lights on it coming towards me and flashed his killer beams before and after he
passed me.
Then I would smoke something and then
check my thermos. Coffee was still hot and it was good. Some time later and 313
miles into the trip I came up on Las Cruces. I filled up my thermos at the
McDonalds in Willcox and stretched. Four pumps outside a food oriented 24 hour
fast food place. I got back on the highway and started the revolving stimuli
again. A little of this, a little of that.
Now I have put in 34.1 gallons and
that is divided into 313 miles or about 9 MPG. I can estimate safely that I
will get 250 miles from this tank which would bring me to 563 miles or about 19
MPG. Three or four cops drove by slowly because you know….black van.
Don’t need to get arrested either with bud 6 Units.
I was glad to be back on the highway
and I was one alert dude with my mission fully actualized. No clouds and
a nearly full moon was traversing the sky at about 1 P.M. The I got to
Alamogordo and stopped to top off the tank for the ride through the mountains.
A couple of guys yelled out some indecipherable comment. You can bet I didn’t
blithely give the finger. You don’t fuck around like that when you’re traveling
by yourself. Just like the way you don’t drive 50 MPH in a 30 MPH zone in these
small western towns. Even after driving for an hour at 80 you obeyed speed
limits because small town cops don’t got much to do but pull over tourists and
travelers.
Let’s leave the details behind and get
rolling here. The second phase on this leg of the trip. I’d be over 6,000 feet
in elevation for over 75 miles and a storm could pop up anytime though unlikely
in that arid climate. It seemed very cold when I stopped to pee. Probably 25 to
35 degrees. But I saw 6 deer hopping across the road. This highway was nicely
surfaced but there were no towns or cars or trucks or people.
My thermos had broken so I had two
giant 85 cent coffees. One I drank right away and one I insulated with a towel
and it was still hot two hours later. The night was clear and I was very
awake considering it was 3 in the morning. Everything was going okay but
I could completely trust the ten year old, 160,ooo mile veteran of the party
wars.
Could I stay awake? I was on the way
to Portales New Mexico. 590 miles into the trip and 46 gallons purchased. It
was about 5 in the morning and you know you get a little tired and sleepy. You
tell yourself you won’t accidently fall asleep and hit a bridge, but you never
know. I was closing in on a new time zone and calculated I was averaging 47 MPH
even with the brakes and the overloaded truck I didn’t dare drive over 60.
At 6:00 I jumped ahead an hour and was
being kept awake by a beautiful sunrise. Slowly, the sunrise took an hour and a
half before the sun came over the mountain. Then it stayed really low at the
bottom of the sky for an hour. No clouds but this mysterious weak sunrise managed
to make me feel like I had just woken up and a new day was upon us.
A time and temperature clock in
Portales said 36 degrees at 7:32. And then I got back on 70 with only 125 miles
to get to Amarillo.
Lost in Texas green, cold, corn, lotta
silos. Zone 7 grass is up. The ride from Lariet to Bovina was gorgeous
reminding me to take a trip someday on the back roads like I did on other trips
Farm roads 3333 and 1731 which I took are basically lush Midwestern farm roads.
Active fertile pump engines running for the 300-foot irrigation devices and the
only trees are the ones near houses.
All kinds of machinery many water
tanks fields turned over ready for planting. Warm looking brown dirt. Tractors
plows and pick ups. All new all vital all outdoors unlike the south and north
this flat Midwestern area has only 10 to 20 inches of rain a year. Machines
left outdoors won’t rust as readily though.
Canyon Texas headed for Amarillo. 721
miles into the trip 15 hours later. Seeing the sun rise woke me up all over
again. Not tired just a little spaced out. Rt 60 ended and I got on Interstate
27. It was one of the most absolutely beautiful exits I’ve ever seen. Masters
of motion. A 270 degree turn so graceful it puts Connecticut’s exits in a
clearly inferior category. A marvel of engineering. Sweeping and guiding me
with no defects. Purple flowers on the side of the road.
In Amarillo I searched for a pizza
place, I had a desire for pizza. An insatiable desire. No luck at 1030 they
were all closed. I ate at Wendys and got back on the highway. 50 miles outside
Amarillo I finally took a nap. I went 805 miles in 18 hours at 44 MPH. A half
ton van with ¾ ton of shit. Mostly my musical equipment. I rarely went over 55.
A three hour stop in Amarillo. Till
this point I don’t recall seeing any roadside pullovers. At 3:00 I was on the
road again. At 4:30 I called Sherry and she was surprised I was in Oklahoma.
After 26 hours on the road with 2 hours of sleep I began getting tired again.
And since I was in safe pullover country I took a 3 hour stop outside of
Oklahoma City.
There was a knock on the window. I
didn’t feel threatened with so much life and activity nearby so I rolled down
the window. Two young dudes. They needed a hanger, they locked themselves out
of their car. Two Okies, and they were also ‘riggers’. They worked on an
oil rig. They drove three hours to work and three hours back. It was a job.
On through Oklahoma and Missouri. Full
tank of gas in Joplin and 1200 miles into the trip. Some reflections half way
through the trip. Where else n this world can you travel 2700 miles unfettered
and unmolested on safe fast dry roads? Places to pull over to tighten the
straps of the two bicycles on the back check tire pressure, stretch and all
that? No hairy eyeballs from KGB spies or Libyan terrorist police. How are the
roads in China, impassable during rainy periods? People in Moscow need a permit
to travel outside the city.
I ate ¼ pounder and grapefruit juice.
Las Cruces—ham and cheese. Shaklee energy bars throughout. Amarillo bacon
cheeseburger Okla pecan maple candies and Stuckeys coffee (yuck). Unlike
Europes inconsistent food and South Americas bug ridden fare, Americas
corporate feeding is an advantage for travelers. Did need some Tums however.
Throat burn with all that coffee, Stuckeys candy and sesame chips.
Too many trucks going by and they blow
me around. With my excessive weightm I weave in all kinda directions when they
roar by. Always something to see or think about. I’m reminded of the trip to
Tucson. Totally joyful and totally awesome. I love this country.
Headed to St. Louis with a full tank
of gas. 5:00 Wednesday the 11th of April. Friday afternoon.
Rolling down the interstate I was thinking about Oklahoma. Red dirt red and
green from early spring grass. The barns and farms were bigger and older than
the ones in Texas. Oklahomas rivers erwe as big as Missouris streams.
Many billboards in Missouri like darlenes antiques and needlecraft, insuranc,
advertising doesn’t cost it pays says the empty one. Roads are quick and steep.
Three shits in two days. No problems
with THAT. Ah yes St louis. Stopped at the information bureau. Noted food spots
so I didn’t drive two hours looking for one. Closest call for smoking came
shortly before St. Louis. I was pulling on a number and around the corner a cop
had someone pulled over. As I drove by, he was just getting back on the highway
and so I extinguished the stick and slowed down. He was going agonizingly slow
behind me 6 miles at 52 MPH. Keep in mind I had 6 ounces in one of my suitcases
and driving I noted the gas was $1.05 on the average. Many caves, caverns, and
historic sites. I can see where a person would be proud of their state and at
the very end was the Mississippi River.
The big muddy. Big big. Standing next
to it was like looking at a lake. Slate blue, serge blue? Blue brown yellow?
Metallic light blue black. Hard to describe the color and I pulled over and
noted many black people fishing. I clambered out of the van to stretch my road
weary body. With an eye on the truck, I jogged along the river to get fresh air
in my lungs. I drove around Bellefontaine and found a Steak and Shake.
I was about needing a dose of
vegetables and got a big salad and read the Time magazine I had brought with
me. Shortly before dinner arrived, I noticed people gathering around a
dead guy in the street. Too many bacon cheeseburgers I suppose.
THIS IS NOT FINISHED WHERE IS THE REST
OF IT?????
6-9-
“ENVIROMENTAL LEGISLATION
DESTROYED MY FIRST CAREER”
The paperboy of
yesteryear was a wonderous option for boys in the 60's. Girls broke in during
the seventies. It was a skill building, freedom loving occupation; with the
obvious benefits that came from learning about small business at a
young age. If you were never a paperboy, there was also a social component
involved with this job that was critically important.
When I had to go collecting for the weekly bill, I went to nearly everybody’s
house, exchanging pleasantries then enjoying talking with the many different
kinds of people and listening to what they had to say and always adding in my
youthful two cents. Now it’s funny to look back and realize I had my own small
business with 40 customers such a long time ago, one of the last of the
door-to-door peddlers.
By 1971, I was 17 years
old and getting many questions; derisive questions from my peers wondering when
I would get a real job. You see, being a 17-year-old paperboy was so uncool to
them, just arrived from the misery of South Hartford. The minimum wage back
then was $1.25 an hour and when I got the second paper route in tenth grade, I
made 40 dollars in about 13 hours a week. Over three dollars an hour! It would
be like making 16 dollars an hour today, in 10th grade! I
thought I had it going on, because work and school were over at 3:10, and when
that school bell rang; I was free! “Tell me when you’re making forty dollars a
week” I told my peers, “From your real job.” They spent 20 hours a week in the
hot Connecticut sun, working shade tobacco, to make 22 dollars.
I spent three
hours of the thirteen total collecting what was due, but that turned into 6
hours a week, with all the diversions and wanderings I pursued, but fun didn't
count as work hours. I was a young teen running loose in the morning and in
the dark delivering papers. On Friday and Saturday evening I didn’t have
to account for any of my time with my parents. Nice to be trusted. Now it’s
like, “why were you at the store so
long?”
Eventually, I did get
curious to see what a “real job” was like. You know, a first step towards that
corner office. Remember my work was done by 7 in the morning. So, I had time to
be a “soda jerk” at Dougherty Drugs after school. I only made 20 dollars a week
there, in about 16 hours from 4 to 8, 4 days a week. Who needed that, not even
half of what I made as a paperboy? I’m glad I didn’t give up my
morning job.
Back even further to
1965 when I was 11, my very first paper route was for the afternoon paper. Back
in those days there was a competition in all the cities between the morning and
afternoon paper and the paperboys were active selling the product, and there
was no advertising needed. My parents approved of this activity, and thought if
this worked out, I could start my own college fund. I just wanted to make ten
dollars a week and ended up having more fun than I expected.
Back in
those days, banks gave between 5 and 6% interest. Today most “banks” don’t deal
with savings accounts that are small, and they get away with the legal
corruption of eliminating many savings accounts for young people. They did this
by instituting the "Inactive Account" scam throughout the nineties.
People thought they had put aside 400 dollars, for instance, for a newborn
child’s future, only to go back 10 years later to see that there was nothing
left in the account! Inactivity fees. Today, banks never pay more than 1%
interest in savings, stifling the teen entrepreneur at the very least. In fact,
if you do not have a minimum of $400 in the account these days, there is a
penalty.
In the old
days, you could put money in the bank and every quarter you would check how
much interest accrued, so my mother set aside 8 dollars every week to go in the
bank and I kept the rest. I got a few new customers and got my income up to 11
or 12 dollars a week which gave me some jingle jangle in my pocket. I had 3
dollars a week to spend as I chose from the time I was 11 onwards and 7 dollars
a week by the time I was 16. Usually for bicycle parts or sports equipment that
wasn’t available in the paperboy contests, but I can say I’ve been buying my
own shit since then.
My bundle
of papers was dropped off at the apartments where half of the customers were
with the Hartford Times route. Sure enough, I was up and down those elevators
thousands of times. Friends seemed to like to help deliver the papers if
they got to mess around with the elevator. "Dude, that's the last
time" I'd tell them as the elevator opened up to a generally friendly old
person. "How are you fellas doing today?" “Great Sir, we forgot
a paper on the third floor and we’re going back. Rodney Kolodny here (pointing
to a friend) still doesn’t know how to operate an elevator.”
I had businesses on the
Silas Deane Highway; along with a couple remaining residences on the Silas
Deane that refused to sell to developers. Customers included the gas station at
the light, Western Auto (where I got tires, spokes, and ball bearings) and a
wide variety of other customers. A place called Carlin Inc. had the WORLDS
MOST PERFECT BIKE JUMP.
I had
a stretch of customers down the other side of the light including
a hardware store. Burger Chef, the first fast food to arrive in
Wethersfield, was where I would give 25 cents now and then to the teen age
panhandlers Tony and Tommy. Every day I cruised through the Carlin
INC. loading dock, setting up for the jump. I only had to fall once at the
beginning, to be much more careful.
Back when we could have
unsupervised rough play.
Then I'd
drive over the tracks and over to Mill St. A wooded swampy
area with some very dilapidated housing. They were very poor
families, much like you’d see in Appalachia; people that still had outhouses.
One generation removed from potato sack clothes, they were former mill workers
and it was a stark atmosphere that was hard to forget. The mill had been closed
more than ten years and these families were impoverished by the paltry pay from
the predatory capitalist fat cats, no doubt, and became desperate minimum wage
workers.
The Mill Street
Appalachia was demolished a year or two later and there was a rumor something
different was coming to that site. Something we’d never seen before. During the
summer of ‘66 I was 12 and decided I couldn’t go another school year working
the afternoon paper and miss all those baseball and football games after
school. I made the phone call to sign up with the morning newspaper, The
Hartford Courant, which was established in 1764. Their motto was and still is,
“Older than the nation, newer than the news.”
Two weeks later
came the phone call; route #406 was available, was I interested? “Yeh!”
Dude named Gorski was giving up his route, being 14, a big kid who was going to
get a “real job” working tobacco. In Connecticut we know about “working tobacco”.
Shade grown for cigar wrappers, it was hot and horrible work, but what a pile
of cash at the end of the week and 14-year-olds were allowed to work it though
you had to be 16 for the full-time work. 50 dollars! In one week! All you had
to do was resign yourself to exhaustion, sunburn and summer fun only on the
weekends.
Gorski told me about the customers he liked on the route and made sure I
treated them right and they WERE great people. I went with him for three
mornings and that was it. He passed on the collection book and told me I’d make
14 a week from it. This route was in historic Old Wethersfield and I did make
14 a week and built it up a little bit to 16, and then something big happened
at the former Appalachia site.
Eventually, there were sixteen buildings and 64 living units on the site. What
a bonanza, so many potential customers in such a small area. I could drop five
papers in a minute. Mill St. Appalachia gave way to something I’d never seen
before. It looked like the Jordan Lane Nursing Home, but everyone grew to
love it despite its bricky nothingness for architecture. These homes were
called “condos”. Condominiums.
I had been like
any other fierce, territorial CEO. As they were being built, I hovered around
them territorially while letting Izard and Joe, the two closest paperboys, that
this uncharted Hartford Courant territory was mine, because, after all, I had
customers on both side of the project. Permanent residents I once had on the
Hartford Times afternoon paper route that I strategically converted to the
morning paper, the Hartford Courant.
So, Gorski went off to
work tobacco in the blazing sun and humid summer heat. 50 bucks! 44 after
taxes… he had big dreams. For the full timers. Under 16
was limited to 25 hours a week. Saving up his pennies saving up his dimes
to buy him a 409.
The Hartford
Courant had good contests for getting new customers, and I often won
basketballs and gloves and bats and newfangled collecting books. With these
condos; I got enough new customers to qualify for numerous day trips to New
York City. In the winter, the Courant took us to a ski lodge in Massachusetts
and when I had gotten enough new customer points; there were the three-day
trips to D.C. or Cape Cod.
When
things go well and sales are up, everybody prospers.
Customers were all pretty nice, and everyone had their own little gig to talk
about, and it was fun getting a peek into other people’s lives, and there were
lots of people to talk about the issues of the day.
“We buy our milk from the store now," I remember people telling me things
like this as we were transitioning into the modern age. The local dairies began
having trouble competing with the avaricious new dairy corporations bent on
excessive profits and converting the family farm into the factory farm.
“The fruit peddler used to stop here," was another comment I
remember. He had a rolling fruit stand, and when I was about 12
He had 10 or 15 customers on our street and I would wave to him,
though he was a grumpy sort. He’d about had enough of punk ass kids. A
couple years previous he even had a horse that pulled his cart, for real, with
horse poop (road apples) in the road and everything. Nobody cared; you went
around road apples in those days. Today you sue the horses’ owner.
Business
was bad since the A&P opened up in 1964 and by 1970 he was gone. Mrs.
Gangi, who was handicapped, was his last steady customer and one or two others.
A & P became the place to shop. Then Popular Market in 67 across the
other side of the Silas Deane Highway opened up and all the small stores in
town be closing down.
Now instead of
fresh market produce and locally sourced goods, we would all drive to the store
instead of walking to the corner store or common market.
Two small business institutions I saw fade away in my youth; the milkman and
the fruitman, and eventually the paperboy also disappeared.
But I was thriving by
1969, making about 20 to 24 dollars a week and I think my mother was making me
save a minimum of 16 dollars per week at this point. She’d show me the passbook
now and then. Astonishing, approaching 2,000 dollars when I was 15! The 5.5%
interest helped the savings build faster. In this world of 2022, you need to
save thousands of dollars in long term notes, to barely get 1%. Did
I hear someone say ‘pit of
vipers?’
What
then of the milkman and fruit peddler now? Our local dairy was probably 8 miles
away in Rocky Hill. Every 20 miles or so, there was a dairy, I’m sure. Locally
grown eggs and milk from cows you could wave to as you drove by. "John-get
your head back in the car!" “Hi Cows!”
One of my jobs was
leaving out the milk bottles to be picked up; then bringing in what the milkman
left, since I was the first one to wake up in the morning. Looking back, what
was the greatest generation thinking when they let progress trample over this
and other old fashioned but useful traditions? Predatory capitalism has torn
apart the social fabric with the greatest generation as willing dupes. The
small market economy was crushed as Boomers languidly tried to halt the
corporatization of America.
How
old are our eggs now and how far have they traveled? What chemicals have been
applied to feed? How crowded are conditions with the chickens? Our modern food
production kept food prices artificially low, but at what social and moral
cost? Too much lost…landmarks, wetlands, ancient forests, and the
fine network of small brooks and streams were compromised or destroyed as the
greatest generation ravaged resources such as Southern Forests for cheap homes
in the fifties and sixties, and the Atlantic Ocean for fish on Friday.
That white Cadillac, so many aspired to, symbolized purity and wealth and the
façade of prosperity. Corporations tore apart the family farm and the
self-sufficient homestead during the alleged post war prosperity. Much of what
makes a community tighter was destroyed by the Greatest “can’t do anything
about it” Generation. “Can’t stop progress” the cathode ray instructed them.
Where are the paperboys now? I don’t think I’ve seen a real paperboy for 20
years. What a great way for children to learn about profits, and loss,
productivity, and efficiency along with customer relations. Something has most
definitely been lost. Now our pollution spewing death wagons are used in paper
delivery. I could always throw a newspaper within two feet of the door. No one
wants to get dressed to go get their paper at the end of the driveway like we
do today. The death wagons spew carbon monoxide in the early morning
stillness. Some customers demanded I put the paper inside the screen
door, and usually these people tipped pretty well.
I was deadly accurate, even at 15 MPH on the bike, so my customers opened the
door just a crack to get their news instead of walking down to the street in
their jammies. A lot of youngsters like me had an income and my money
circulated through the economy via Western Auto and Mad Magazine and Nestles
chocolate, while saving 4,000 dollars by my senior year in 1972. Take
that … real job.
Before being a paperboy. I had my first career picking up soda bottles. It was
1964 and littering had gotten out of control. People thought nothing of just
throwing out garbage of any sort as they drove, the Greatest Generation, right?
The privileged 'we defeated Hitler' generation. Unbelievable now to think how
our roadsides used to look like garbage at the dump. Most frequently littered
were soda bottles. Some were worth 2 cents, bigger ones were 5 cents.... America
was discovering soda in a big way and we brought in bottles frequently.
Business got really slow in ’65 because of the littering laws that were being
passed and ironically; environmental legislation drove me out of my
first business. It was worth it though; a new consciousness was
arriving, questioning the strictures of the Old Society. The Greatest
Generation felt they deserved anything they could get, and the resources of
this country and planet was theirs to use: seven generations worth of
consumption in one. Consume they did and dumps became
landfills.
One day, to make some money, me n' Richie got the notion of picking
blackberries and selling them to the produce manager at Popular Market. With a
spaghetti saucepot half filled with berries, we walked into the store figuring
we could possibly make 75 cents. It would be like finding more than 20 bottles,
all at once.
The
produce manager looked at our fruit and for perhaps for a second, a bemused
smile crept over his face as he thought about tasty local fruit…………………..but
then he looked at our crud encrusted fingernails and said, “I appreciate this fellas……….but
uh, I'd need to see a business license.” What hath the corporate world
wrought?
*****************
-6-10 STRIKE THREE ADD WHEN I POST DRAFT?
-6-11- TABOOS
EXPOSED
TABOOS EXPOSED
In
the 70’s when I entered the work force full time, unions were very
controversial. In 1975 a union was voted in where I worked, much to the
consternation of the chief influence peddler, I mean, department head. To
everyones astonishment the bosses assistant ran for president of our local…and
won! The union reps were tearing their hair out. No, no, no, don’t vote
in a member of management as president of your local! It took a few years to
dismantle this lackey system, but the union raised a lot of standards and brought
the pay scale more in line with neighboring towns and eviscerated the small
town corruption. New equipment stopped disappearing and town workers stopped
going to the boss’s house to clean windows and paint. My dad was in the
union and I got updates from him because I had moved out of state. I had moved
to a “right to work” state, which is Republican Party code for NO Unions
Allowed. In America, unions had always been there to show profit gobbling
industrialists that workers rights would always be part of the equation.
Unions were a polarizing force back then and I would
hear people ask, “What does my union do for me anyways?” and in many cases they
did nothing. Union money was going into political campaigns? How can an
organization speak for an individual voter, but on the other hand, there was
always the old timer regaling us with stories of the old days, “Unions fought
for the rights you have today you lazy ass kid!” Some remembered the bloody
strikes of yore or heard tales from parent’s, aunts and uncles. Unfortunately,
union wages far outstripped national averages during the 70’s, and unions
priced American goods beyond what people in other countries could afford, yet
historically, unions tempered the horrors of disgusting dehumanizing factories
of the Industrial Age.
The question to ask is how best to represent
workers on a planet wide basis because corporations just wander the globe
looking for the least costly and most servile workers. A great fear amongst
predatory capitalists is the day when all the workers hold the line
together. As it’s asked in a song by hair metal band Poison, “It just
makes me wonder why the poor eat hand to mouth while the rich drink from the
golden cup. Why do so many lose and so few win?”(
) Unions are needed badly in many countries, and have not
outlived their usefulness. Many unions had become bloated and complacent and
corrupt in the United States and need to be modernized for the 21st century.
They need to be modified without the taint of socialism, representing workers
during the rise of Enlightened and Sustainable Capitalism as we abandon
Predatory Capitalism and the chalkboard Utopia of Socialism.
So I agree, if a union has
helped you reach equitable comparative pay and you can manage to negotiate
within management then by all means, vote the union out. There are progressive
companies such as Whole Foods Market that have many clever and generous ways
for employees to get better pay through incentives, productivity and smooth
operations without the intervention and bureaucracy of unions.
Ideally it should be easy to vote in unions and easy to vote them out. Many
modern industries are fair to their workers but there are also many that are
not and there IS corporate tyranny on the jobsite. An
American should have the right to allow a union to step in and individuals
should not fear corporate reprisals as workers at McDonalds and Wal mart know
only too well in their attempts to unionize these low wage, no benefit, highly
profitable corporations.
How about a worldwide minimum wage of one
dollar an hour? There’d be so much chaos. “Cancel the order for the Rolls Royce
and the quarter million dollars of furniture for the guest house, things are
going to get tight with this global union nonsense taking hold.”
Something economists don’t see is that if that worker in the sneaker factory in
Thailand or Bangladesh made a dollar an hour instead of 25 cents an hour the
price of the sneaker would only go up from seventy dollars to seventy five
dollars because as we now know, most of the cost goes to the corpulent export
executives. The global sweatshop has proven to have inhumane conditions, so why
not pay 7% more for those sneakers so workers can have a livable wage and a
life worth living? A dollar an hour minimum wage for the world, would
finally make a better life for many millions, perhaps even a billion people and
slightly higher prices for those of us that can afford it.
If
foreign goods began to go up in price because of higher labor costs then guess
who benefits? We do! Get it? This is when inflation is a good thing; American
goods still cost the same while those sneakers from Thailand will cost more and
the more these Corporate Slaves in other countries get paid, the more
competitive American products become. We can’t lose! It’s in our best interest
to promote safety and good pay in all jobsites around the world no matter what
the grumpy neocons may tell you. This is the secret corporate taboo no one is
to speak of. Union is the word we dare not speak. Striketober inspiring the
needed change.
taboo
numero 2
I’ve always thought it was unusual that in this country we find glory and
patriotism in the killing of people. Yet one thing that makes America unique is
the fact that more people from more different countries have arrived on these
shores. So why kill people that are potential Americans? It’s unfortunate that
patriotism requires us to enthusiastically hate our enemies, “Huns”, “krauts”,
“nips”, “gooks” and now “Sand monkeys.” Then we’re told the United
States is slipping into third world conditions with our liberal educational
system. Well, the truth is, thanks to unions, we have only emerged
from our own third world working conditions since 1945. We started
slipping back in the 80’s because most Republican jobs are low paying service
industry jobs.
Civil
rights advocates were abused and hassled and murdered. I’m not seeing how
going back to that era, the golden age of the 50’s, would be good. Those who
fought for civil rights were brave patriots who were directly fighting for
equality and their constitutional rights in their own country,
and there was no lifetime military pension as incentive either. They
fought for equality and what was right and they did it right here in this
country. Why are they not considered patriots?
Boomers,
stand up to this claim that we are a lazy and immoral generation. We have
discarded a lot of unfair traditions of racism and sexism. It was the “greatest
generation’ that left us with 10,000 years of nuclear contamination to store
and 160 toxic nuclear sites and aging nuclear power plants that will need to be
decommissioned at a zillion dollars apiece. It was the greatest generation that
told black people to stand up and get out of “their” seat and supported
segregation as it persisted through the sixties,mostly in the south, and they
wistfully want to return to those days when men could beat their children and
wives and there was nowhere for these victims to go. The boomers managed to
change these cultural nightmares and it was the parents of
the greatest generation that did the lion’s share of risky strikes, labor
reform and unionization during the 30’s which shook the
corporate world and finally gave American workers a good living and
lifted us out of third world conditions. Look up the Ludlow Massacre
to get a feel for that era
In 1918, my grandmother was twelve years old and working 12
hours a day in a factory while the company big wigs were at the country club
clipping fat cigars and drinking martinis. They laugh at the workers who have
to beg to take a bathroom break. I remember the pain in her face as she
recounted some of this type of corporate cruelty. Imagine that a long
time ago, in 1834, one of the first organized labor strikes occurred. What I
read is that child laborers went on strike to lower the work
week to six days and limiting the workday to 12 hours. You wonder how they got
away with this.
Factories and many other large companies really treated workers poorly.
Our American ancestors, endured difficult, torturous working conditions. Still
today, so many employees are pushed beyond their endurance, but they keep going
and going. Have you ever seen a 7-11 at lunch hour when there is only one
employee? This cannot be the life the Creator intended and it’s very sad that
so many people freely give their lives to enrich the few unworthy
ones.
There’s no denying the extreme bravery of those in a war zone. But I ask
myself, was it our victory in World War 1 (1914-1919) over the “Huns” that
improved working conditions for my grandmother? NO! The child labor laws
enacted during the Progressive Era and their enforcement as years went on was
how her life improved; these labor reformers are the patriots to me. Fighting
the corporations and eventually all this reform paid off with the prosperity
of the 50’s and 60’s which the “greatest generation” primarily enjoyed!
Other examples of true patriots…..how about the suffragettes? For over fifty
years they endured the criticisms and efforts to thwart them. But of course
they were right; half the countries population was finally given a voice in
1920. Till then women were not allowed to vote. Talk about third world
conditions!
Of course, we have advanced a lot further than many countries, like China,
whose tyrannical communists have conceded only one reform to labor
activists. Women are now allowed a 15 minute break to give birth. Then
it’s back to work making “happy meal” toys for McDonalds.
I’m saying military service shouldn’t be the keystone to patriotism. What about
the 250 million Americans that have never been in the military? Why do
veterans have a lock on patriotism and now they are SUPER CITIZENS!
This is the military taboo we are not to speak of. Taboo Numero 2. The working people of the world
need to find dignity and fair pay on a planet wide basis as the main priority
of our societies and dismantle the system that supports the warrior elite,
corporate fascists and weapon manufacturers that continue to steer us
away from the peaceful and sustainable world that is our
birthright.
💚💞❤-6-12-
BIOREGIONS
Here is the world broken up into
Bio-regions. How will this help us to
rule ourselves, employ ourselves?
The natural health
of the soil in the United States has been stolen. so a couple generations of Americans could
overeat.
The GOP has the beating heart of America in their hand. Or do they? I took a
long vacation to see if I could find the heart of America and for the first
time, I discovered the Blue Ridge Parkway.
I also discovered it isn’t the people, it is
the land that is the heart of the United States. The land that has been sliced
and sold like cheap luncheon meat.
We have to seriously protect our wild areas and
Appalachia is a great place to start.
The Blue Ridge Parkway campground I stayed at, was
flourishing with life, arachnids in particular were abounding. If you
don’t like spiders crawling everywhere, this is not the place for you.
Ten
minutes after parking and looking around, I went to take the Superbrella out of
the back of the Jeep to set up camp, and there were spiders everywhere.
The first Daddy Long Legs I'd seen in many years was crawling on the back
hatch. Somehow in ten minutes it had crawled up the tire and the side of the
vehicle to meet me at eye level on the back door. It reminded me of the
early days in my life, and the abundant insect life I remembered.
A Tussock Moth spent one rainy
night on my hat under the Superbrella. A Beetle sat next to me on a towel I had
laid on the wet stone bench the next day. For hours I kept looking
next to me at this unknown Beetle as I read a book and there it was, for like,
four hours. Then the insect below hung around with me the next night.
In the 1920’s, when the environmental zeal of the
older generation at that time had ebbed, there was still an effort to open up
as many places as possible for recreation.
The National Park System kept growing, preserving
the best of the best. Preservationists continued to battle with the Oil and Gas
Industry, the logging conglomerates and the ranchers raising cattle on arid
lands because they are thinking about the next one thousand generations.
When everyone makes
more, there is more everywhere. “United we stand together we rule.”
and all goods are valued for what they are worth, not what they could be worth.
Food is like a gambling chip to capitalists, speculating like Wall Street with
its gambling and its Pork and Soybean futures.
The River Trout alone
... are more important to the permanence of the land than any dam or
human manipulation of nature for short term profit. More important than
the humans even, the Wall Streeters anyways. People are temporary, nature not
so much and now people are waking up to the fact that the rich got theirs by
stealing from the resources needed in the future. They will also see the need
to tax this illegitimate wealth.
Nature has been ravaged and despoiled for far too long and
Rednecks curse the environmentalists and call them environmental wackos because
the golden microphone repeats that phrase ad nauseum and he even claims that there are more trees now than when the
Europeans invaded this continent. More conservative
sleight of hand that fools most people most of the time and they go "yeah, there are more trees now than ever before, stupid
environmentalists."
The problem is that the great Prairies which
covered one-third of the country five hundred years ago, are now filled with
suburbia and its non-native trees. Invasive Bradford Pears and many other
exotics with no wildlife value. The Short and Tallgrass Prairies were two
important bioregions for hundreds of thousands of years and unfortunately, less
than 5% of it remains.
You know the narrative. We are taught about
ingenious new plows and "sodbusters".
The
golden microphone also equates one 8 inch sapling in a Georgia Pacific tree
farm to a 200 foot Sitka Spruce in the Tongass National Forest. Forgotten are
all the great trees sawn down a long time ago when all the forests were ancient
forests. The forests in the entire state of Connecticut were cut down by the
charcoal industry in the mid-1800’s.
The
mountain people were great hunters and Phil Robertson claims to own them. The
gentle giant of the south, the Indigo snake, was portrayed as a dangerous
monster. To a rattlesnake nestling perhaps, as the Indigo Snake is one of the
few snakes that will go into a rattlesnake nest for its breakfast. Now that’s
badass. Shooting Squirrels out of trees not so much.
I
remember a book on reptiles I was reading as a kid, and the Indigo Snake was
depicted as this scary, black, eight-foot colossus you might find hiding in the
shed one day! Quite prepared to eat you alive.
All these NGO’s ( non-governmental organizations) are nice, but there is
a lot to consider with NGB’s. (Non-governmental bioregions). Farmers and
growers would become important again and they will regain the voice they lost
during the Industrial Revolution. Voices united within a bioregion.
There are myths and mistruths that get are there to subtly fool you.
“Small farms could never feed the world” you are told over and over in trade
magazines.
You can reply with “Agribusiness has stripped 50%
of the topsoil in the United States, how do you plan to grow anything when
there is none left? " Wooosh we become the Moon.
The Appalachians were created by the first great
tectonic disruption of activity several hundred million years ago. What I
discovered this year, was that they are still full of life 600 million
years later. Sitting at my stone table a tiny bird started feeding nearby and
soon ten others joined her and I got to thinking about climate change and still
wondering how will the birds survive? They need remote areas like this but
development is coming to North Carolina.
I try to make people comprehend how fragile the
existence of the small birds is. When I’m trying to convince someone to use
native plants in their yard, I tell the story of the little four-ounce bird
that has already flown from South America and arrives in Indian River County,
Florida. She flits here and there and finds no fruit or seeds in one yard and
goes to the next---same thing. It starves in this totally fake landscape
that overpaid landscape architect’s design.
The heart of America isn’t the people because our
lives are short compared to a giant watershed or a forest. People 1000
years from now will still need an intact environment, they’ll want clean and
clear running streams to catch trout. Clean aquifers below ground.
Then one day Jeb was shootin’ at some food and up
from the ground came a bubblin’ crude. Southerners like to hunt for their food
as did the Native Americans, but with a paucity of wildlife these days, they
end up shooting squirrels or whatever else is left in a damaged ecosystem.
This is when I wonder if the heat and humidity of
the south affects their brains. They vote for the people who have profited from
destroying the streams and forests. The carpetbaggers today trying to steal the
one thing they have left --- their vote. The Native Americans were forcefully
moved to the driest, most desolate western lands. Lands the ranchers didn’t
want. Return their eastern hunting grounds and let them steward some new
National Parks.
Keep in mind that it’s the birds that will carry
seeds and moss and fish eggs northward in a rapidly warming world.
The Prairies contained many
dozens of different plants that flowered at different times. In school we were
taught about the "sod-busters" and "amber waves of grain"
but there was an incalculable loss of species. The Prairies were pollinating
bee magnets for all the wild apple trees while making honey for the bears. This
is why bees are shipped 1000 miles to pollinate the mega farm monocultures. The
entire biosphere of the middle of the United States is gone! All the wild fruit trees and shrubs were
pollinated by the now imperiled 4000 species of native bees. It wasn't all
grass but a tight weave of native plants and the Buffaloes role was to break up
the tough sod to refresh the areas they ran through. Later. Look up Buffalo Commons.
-6-11- FAVORITE
QUOTES FROM HISTORY OF THE PAGANS Copyright 2008
“… a slow turning of
the patriarchal screw. The richness of pagan cultures was sacrificed to the square
peg of patriarchy banging itself into the round holes of nature.”
Pagan News Network “….another pagan village was destroyed
today in southern Poland as Christian……” If there was an honest media in 1354.
“Motivation to be good
is derived from wisdom, knowledge and a sense of civility most of us have, not
the thought of demon pitchforks poking us for 363,000 years.”
“Give them some
ancient hand gesture if you are told by pagan intellectuals to be neo-pagan.
Pagan is as pagan does, there is no neo about it.”
“Come on evil dudes, make up your
own symbol and stop using positive ones like the swastika and the pentacle.”
“Colonial foreclosure
took place as Christians helped themselves to the goods and wares and property
of the accused”
Not from a monkey as we’ve been told but another
primate they haven’t found the skeleton for, a relatively quickly evolving
‘missing link’ the goddesses used to achieve the final evolution”
“…… The richness of pagan cultures was
sacrificed to this square peg of patriarchy banging itself into the round holes
of nature.”……
“The Ten Commandments is a dumbed down version
of morality.”
“ …It wasn’t me. Pilate took his magic, his
sorcerers did!’
“You
liar, I dispose of you not as revenge for my son but because you are no damn
good.” She held her hands out, Drudd style in the fence of protection, and
instantly Lucifer’s form turned to powder that floated briefly, leaving only
the iron molecules he used to assume his shape and these percolated through the
soil till they reached the molten core of the earth where they melted……
“
“If you are a scientist and go against conventional wisdom, such as
saying the pyramids and Stonehenge are 10,000 years old or more: you are
banned, fired, harassed, ridiculed and banned from publishing. In some ways
Science is even worse than religion…..”
” Worship with exuberance as
Julian the last Pagan emperor of Rome said….”………
”……..we also keep plunging into the tar pit of
technology and genetics, nodding our heads to anything that scientists say.”…..
“..do you see what I’m trying to
say? Pagans were building fire altars, kissing images of mother earth and
forgiving past wrongs, but the Christian propaganda machine has you visualizing
goat horned demons and bizarre rituals. The simple folk religion is harmless,
respectful and exemplary.”
“ Your favorite pagan neighbor
who traded potato soup recipes with you now had their head impaled on a spike
to scare other pagans into converting to Christianity”…
“ These Goddess believers were
no sissies, driving away the Vikings when no one else could and on the other
side of their land they were keeping gold grubbing sacred site smashing
Christians at bay. These were tough
people proud of their pagan past.”…………………………
“Paganism truly allows the
freedom of thought and choice and association and especially our freedom of
speech which we hold dear, unlike Christianity and Islam whose precepts counter American style
freedom. For instance neither religion allows you to use the tarot.”
“Christian Christmas mostly ends
up in the landfill while Solstice fills the heart……………………….”
“Know me in my simplicity
and awake to my
love and justice”
”………..xians and xlamics claim the moral high
ground when they have proven themselves to be hypocrites, terrorists, thieves
and perverts…”
“….If foreign goods began to
go up in price because of higher labor costs, then guess who benefits? We do! Get
it? American goods will still cost the same while those sweatshop sneakers cost
more. The more that these corporate slaves in other countries get paid, the
more competitive American products become. We can’t lose! It’s in our best
interest to promote safety and good pay in all jobsites around the world, no
matter what the grumpy neocons tell you…..”
“There will be a separation of church and state or there
will not be the United States that the founding revolutionaries intended.“
“There is no hell and I only
capitalize god at the beginning of a sentence. I kneel for no diety “The innovations of the future will come
from the garages of America, not the boardrooms of corporations.” They won’t be real victories till we encode
liberty, embed equality, ostracize criminality and vanquish cruelty. Let’s give
ourselves the chance for a new start, with the rejection of violence and the
ushering in of The Dawn of Civilization.
Try as they might to make mass murder
acceptable and patriotic, deep in our collective American hearts we know
it’s wrong.”
“In Republican America the severity of the punishment ensures the
authority as the warrior elite creates a necessity for war as our dominant
reality.”
“If
foreign goods began to go up in price because of higher labor costs then guess
who benefits? We do! Get it? This is when inflation is a good thing; American
goods still cost the same while those sneakers from Thailand will cost more and
the more these Corporate Slaves in other countries get paid, the more
competitive American products become. We can’t lose!
It’s in
our best interest to promote safety and good pay in all jobsites around the
world no matter what the grumpy neocons may tell you. This is the secret
corporate taboo no one is to speak of. Union is the word we dare not speak.”
“Churches serve quasi-governmental
functions, as do the Cub Scouts, the Rotary,
Homeowners associations and Garden
Clubs. Government should be our solid edge and border and all these civic
groups are a high thread count in the fabric of freedom”
I
made up a religion that I discuss in other parts of The History of The Pagans.
All adherents are known as Druddités or Drudds for short. I combined the words
Druid and the word Luddite. Here’s where I bump into a wall of pagan
snobbishness. They believe you can’t combine goddesses and gods from different
pantheons. Historically, Druids were
collectors of knowledge and were poets and bards along with leading
ceremonies.
The Luddites were people in the early
1800’s who rebelled against the quick acceptance of every new technology that
came down the pike.
The Luddites destroyed machines back
then but today would be questioning our overly quick acceptance of genetically
engineered food and plants along with the pandoras box of cloning. Druids of
course were hunted down and killed, many of course fleeing to outlying posts of
the once forested world to try and pass down Druid traditions. The Luddites
became the enemies of the newly emerging industrialized and predatory
capitalism so you can guess what happened to them.
I was a Reagan Era Pagan, and my best ever nature experience was the
overwhelming nature spirituality of a power spot near the Rincon Mountains in
Tucson Arizona in the early 80’s. I lived in the last house on Broadway in
Tucson. On one side was the Saguaro National Monument, a startlingly beautiful
desert preserve featuring the Saguaro Cactus. Travel then 40 miles to the next
town and in between was a mountain range, part of the 250,000 acre Coronado
National Forest. Nature was a powerful force in that area and I was fortunate
to be a caretaker on a 40 acre ranch which has since become a nature center.
I’ve extensively hiked everywhere I’ve lived, and the outskirts of Tucson was
the most remote wilderness I’ve ever known. On Google Earth go to 12,661 East
Broadway in Tucson to see where I’m talking
about.
One day I found this unique grassy area in some shady trees. Snowmelt
and storms created a network of temporary streams that ran nearby and this was
a very special place of peacefulness. Not much natural grass and not many deer
in the Sonoran Desert, but I have seen them scampering away from this place.
When I found a pair of antlers on the short soft grass it felt like some
special gift.
The antlers are a memory and a remnant of what I felt at that time in
that very special area. My atheism lapsed knowing that nature was the true
force in the world. Nature is my god I used to say. Then, I worked with this
quarter blood native American dude named Mike Two Hawks in the late 80’s
He was an enthusiastic modern native doing ceremony at work. He had a lot of respect for his surroundings
and enthusiastic about Mohawk tradition. People would say quarter bloods aren’t
real Indians but trust me he could wipe the floor with any 10 gambling moderns.
Most importantly he taught me how to feel the unseen energy of nature.
Regarding the human assault on mother Earth, Mike would often use a baseball
metaphor saying, “Earth bats last and she’s coming to the plate.” Nobody out with the three best hitters coming
up. Hurricanes earthquakes and volcanoes.”
Suddenly everything has come
alive for me again, this time for good. I’ve been a pagan all along. My message
is that you also may be a pagan and maybe you’ve been a pagan all along. Here's
History of the Pagans to help your curiosity.
Here are some more viewpoints that I hope cut through the fog of deception
and half-truths that will fill our media in 2020. As I mentioned it will be
presented by Fux News that there is some ‘Great Awakening’ going on and I’m
going to quote conservative historian Richard Hofstadter from his book,
‘America in 1750‘ about the original Great Awakening to start educating you
about it.
Richard Hofstadter, “The end of religious wars and
extreme persecution, the rise of mercantile cosmopolitanism and a more affluent
and luxurious life, had taken some of the terror out of existence. In America,
it had not been long since (slaveholder and witch executioner Cotton Mather had
seen the Protestant Vanguard as leading a direct assault on Satan’s wilderness
bastion, the cooling of religion could be felt, and men, even clergymen, leaned
unmistakably to Enlightenment heresies. A society that was beginning to produce
deistical leaders would soon affect the solid middle class, whose members
wanted the best and latest of everything, including freedom of thought.”
Americans continue to become more
logical and educated but still we have to live with this Christian fantasy of a
great battle between good and evil. 4000 other religions are not talking about
war but Dharma, Harmony, Community, and maybe we need to give them a listen.
Xianity and X lam by themselves, have subdivided into 4000 sects. They are
sectally promiscuous and they all have miracles and talk to God. Yeah the one
with the capital G. The Mason God.
Atheists are experiencing miracles at
this fortuitous time, except they call them, random, un- designated realities
fluctuating somewhere between the glass half empty and the glass half full.
Get lost ya mugs, and
just remember fellow patriots---
Liberty will always be in
ascendance over religion in the United States, or there will not be a United
States. Revolution time has come.
Christo Nazis fuck off.
-6-12- PAGAN MILLENIUM
Pagan Millenium
Author: Zone 9 Pagan
Posted: July 18th. 2010
Times Viewed: 1,154
The influence of paganism is everywhere and yet this word stirs up the ancient
hatred, a brainwashing that has been going on for many hundreds of years, by as
an illegitimate authority as there has ever been. My intention is not to preach
to the pagan choir but to grab the attention of those who are seeking new
answers. I want to explain to them that it is okay to be a pagan and to accept
others that call themselves pagan. If you are, then have confidence in what you
believe and "worship with exuberance" as Julian the last pagan
emperor of Rome told the population, Christians and Pagans all. Go right in the
yard and do a sun salutation. Instead of saying ‘thank god’, thank the Goddess.
Masons and Rosicrucian’s and all the other secret societies need to come
forward and peel away the Christian facade of their organizations and let it be
a secret no longer. There are many ways to seek the Creator or search for a
truth to guide you. The Inquisition is over and the tolerance of the American
people is beyond reproach. We cling to our freedom of speech as if it were life
itself.
Paganism is just below the radar of the media and there are so many issues
regarding our freedom of religion it will be like the 50's when the concept of
race equality was a wildfire in the shag carpeting of the day, or like in 1919
when the American Congress actually had to debate the merits of allowing women
to vote or like in 1834 one of the first organized strikes was started by child
workers who went on strike to lower the workday to 11 hours.
Paganism suffers from so many glaring misconceptions in the folklore of our
society that your average American will be shocked to realize that pagans are
not evil after all and witches especially can be considered do-gooders. We need
to act and pile on as the emergence of paganism begins to happen because people
will see the vigorous opposition pagans get from an outspoken minority as we
begin to surface. Open-minded tolerant Americans would be more supportive than
we can imagine… and they are the actual majority.
Back in 1774 when Israel Putnam heard about the first battle of our
revolutionary war he unhitched his horse from his plow and with the soil of his
homeland on his boots and hands he rode off to join the fight for independence.
Freedom of association, expression and the pursuit of happiness are compatible
with pagan lifestyles whereas followers of patriarchal religions are not
allowed to even use Tarot cards as one simple example. Writers such as Phyllis
Orcutt in 'The Book of Shadows' and Alan Butler in 'The Goddess, the Grail and
the Lodge' make a strong case that America was founded by masons, deists and
free thinkers of every stripe.
Thomas Jefferson’s ‘God of Nature’, Washington's and others ‘Providence’, and
the Masons’ deepest mysteries reflect the Goddess at Adelphi along with an
acceptance of the god and the goddess together. The phrase ‘under God’ was only
added in 1954 to the U.S. Pledge of Allegiance and ‘In God We Trust’ was added
to money in the mid 1800's. If a religion was involved in the founding of the
country, it was decidedly not the Christian religion. Considering the American
freedoms it doesn’t seem possible.
Allow to me to add some early American History to show pagans that we have a
stake in American freedoms:
With not a bishop in sight, George Washington took the oath of office in full
Mason regalia. Thomas Paine echoed the sentiments of Edward Gibbon denouncing
the attempt of religion to usurp the power that freedom brings. Edward Gibbon
noting how Christianity usurped the power of Rome in a book he wrote at the
time of the American Revolution. Thomas Paine, in his part of the world,
denounced the steady insinuation of religious strictures that contrasted with
the freedoms American colonists were seeking.
The Inquisition was still fresh in his 18th century mind. Among the first
people of America, the Iroquois and Mohawk had governing charters that codified
individual freedom. Women’s gifts were honored and women made certain important
tribal decisions. There was a lot of friendliness and trade between the natives
and the roughneck pioneers. It was the ‘elitists’ who actively promoted their
slaughter. The Native Americans were seen as far too pagan to be managed and
assimilated and, being extremely earth centered, they could never really be
Christians.
The natives helped the Mayflower gang with their sissy preachers who were
unprepared for life in the wilderness. Earlier than that in Jamestown,
indentured servants helped the rich preppies in an attempt to settle Virginia.
After the rich dudes left for England one cold winter, the workers fled to
purportedly live with the Croatans, a nearby Indian tribe, and were never seen
again.
The arriving black slaves were forcibly converted (Yemaya and voodoo went underground
or mixed with Christianity in some cases) and the red genocide was instrumental
in bringing down the Great Spirit who ruled our continent. Today, pagan
expression of the black and red people needs to be free to flourish once again
as guaranteed by our constitution.
There are thirteen stars on our flag in a circle, thirteen stars and stripes.
This despite “13” being considered an unlucky number. It is well known Lady
Liberty represents a goddess and Washington D.C. is laid out as an outdoor
Mason Lodge. Our first four presidents were downright antagonistic to the pesky
preachers pontificating their pernicious platitudes.
Our American mythology carefully sidesteps the pagan aspects of what actually
happened. But there is a clue in the Bible: The meek shall inherit the earth.
Well, guess who the meek are? The conquered people, the people whose cultures
included many goddesses, and yes.... when I say the pledge of allegiance I say
‘one nation under the goddess’. The people once pushed aside are today on the
rise.
Plymouth Massachusetts became the first permanent European town in 1620 and
other settlements began on the nearby east coast. The Puritans were a dominant
force and despite escaping the clutches of tyrannical royalty they proceeded to
impose a ridiculously restrictive theocracy on themselves when they got here.
If you said a curse word and you were found out, you might get your tongue
nailed to a board in the center of town.
It wasn't long before people tired of this religious extreme and the tally-ho
of English elitists became the westward-ho of those disenchanted with the
Puritans in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Thus began the westward movement in
this country. Many pioneers were handier with an ax than a Bible and these
unsung heroes never wrote down their history. These non-Puritans were
agriculturally independent and self-sufficient working slobs who were ruled by
good spirits and generally mingled with the natives and the Indians were
welcoming.
Then there is the case of Thomas Morton. He was a rich dude yet spirited and
fun loving. He and his mates wanted to grow their town after they started it in
1624. He often mocked Miles Standish and his Puritan Stormtroopers but when he
erected America’s first Maypole to show the local maidens how to party in 1626,
he was finally banished and deported. Exuberant pagan joy needed to be crushed
at every turn. The war had begun, the war to banish paganism in the New World.
The friendly Native pagans unfortunately were not aware that the war was already
over a thousand years old and the faith based genocide and deforestation had
landed on their shores.
Encouraged by a Podunk Chief whose tribe were settled on the east side of the
Connecticut River, settlers explored the west side and founded a Dutch trading
post in 1632 at the future site of Wethersfield. In 1633, the first permanent
settlement was built in Windsor. In 1634, Wethersfield became the first
incorporated town and in 1635, an area between the two towns, Hartford was
founded. Wethersfield, Windsor and Hartford commingled in trade and held town
meetings and in 1639 banded together into what they called, "One Publick
state or commonwealth".
Inspired by Thomas Hookers iconoclastic sermons, Roger Ludlow drew up a
document for governing this new organization and called it The Fundamental
Orders and he created what has been praised as the first practical constitution
to declare, "The foundation of authority rests with the free consent of
the people." Also at that time in 1636 Roger Williams said the king had no
right claim native lands and was banished for his efforts and went south to
Rhode Island where he started his town through legal means, purchasing land
from the Narragansetts at fair value.
By 1662, the Connecticut Colony was a proud and thriving region. The locally
appointed governor sailed across the pond to visit the King Of England and they
discussed commerce and other logical things. Meanwhile, most of the population
paid lip service to the preachers who were whipping up an anti-native frenzy.
To Christians, the New World was filled with pagans, and a popular T-shirt back
then would have been, "So little time, so many pagans to smite."
These moral high ground hypocrites saw the native population as troublesome and
ungovernable and sought their extinction from the start. Yet, the population
began drifting away from this religious extreme and according to Richard
Hofstadter, a famous historian, by 1750 only one in seven had a religious
affiliation. (An important statistic to those seeking to counter the urban
legend that this country was founded by Christians.)
Justice for all had to begin somewhere, it had to begin somehow and these
pioneers left us an enduring structure that has led to freedom for all today.
In 1687 a new king, James the second, threw a fit when he heard about the
Fundamental Orders and stated thusly, "Authority is created from the free
consent of the People!! This is an outrage!!" He appointed a new governor,
Sir Edmund Andros, to sail to the Connecticut Colony and demand they give up
their precious charter, the now controversial Fundamental Orders. Upon
arriving, Andros endured a town meeting and listened to people rant and rave
about his appointment and authority.
Meeting day fell on Halloween and as evening wore on candles were lit at the
center of a large table. Apparently either some magic happened or the town
narcoleptic fell asleep at the main table and knocked the candles over and the
room went dark and the original copy of the Fundamental Orders that was in plain
view had disappeared even though no one left the meeting. Tradition states that
the charter was thrown out the window to someone on horseback and hidden in a
giant oak tree. As years went by, the hidden charter was a source of pride and
mystery and an important part of the fuel that built our 1776 revolutionary
machine.
That hiding place, that infamous tree, became known as the Charter Oak. The
state of Connecticut chose this symbol for its state quarter as representative
of its ideals. As a pagan whose path is influenced by Europeans who venerated
the oak and often built shrines nearby or had eternal fires near them, this was
a triumphant moment. Then further research shows that the local native people
used this very same oak as their guide to planting corn.
As land was being cleared near the tree, in 1646, the local natives pleaded
with the farmer not to cut this tree because the tree was their guide. When the
leaves were the size of mouse ears on the consecrated tree they did their
planting and he obliged them. This famous symbol of defiance, the Charter Oak,
already an old tree, should also be a pagan symbol of the America we need for
the future.
Sacred sites desecrated, statues and altars destroyed; shrines and wells and
caves defiled and ancient trees and sacred groves incinerated: everywhere in
the world that pagans prayed and loved and appreciated the goddesses and gods
has been under attack. While the free consent of the people to express
themselves as a witch or druid is denied anywhere in this country, then the
full flowering of the Constitution has not occurred.
Yes, it may take some time but the millennium of patriarchy, war and slavery
has begun to shift into our peaceful spiritual future of the
Pagan Millennium.
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