Old Photos and History----Ann's

I have always been fascinated by photos that have a certain historical bent. For instance, we have a book of old shots taken in the west prior to 1900, Many are of cowboys and even covered wagons. Indians in some instances but what I find interesting about them is that the setting the shots were taken in are still very much there. The individuals might be long gone but the setting, be it in the Black Hills or Cameron Trial are still unchanged at least in a geological sense.

 As a result of this it is still possible to go there and take a shot, of say yourself, standing in exact same spot, maybe even posturing in the same way some noble warrior was next to say Pike's Peak. It would be some work to find the exact locations because they might be altered, or they might be genuinely hard to find. One might need someone who is very familiar with an area.

There is a famous painting done in about 1860 on the Cashe la Poudre in northern Colorado. There are also some good prints of this painting around. I believe the title is something to the affect of Looking West from the Cashe la Poudre. Having lived in that area, it is easy to recognize some of the land marks in the painting. In fact, I have some times thought I was close to the spot but never had the painting in hand to compare it while in the spot. Still I found this interesting to have "been there".

 There have been many old photos I have seen and recognize the spots and wanted to go there and retake one of me doing the same things and replicating the photo even to the point of using the same sized lens. Actually, a guy by the name of Fielder in Denver has done this but he didn't put me in the shots---loser. I would not be interested in doing any of me in old porno shots but it is a thought--few were done in outdoor settings anyway. 

Tonight, I was going through some old shots taken in Paris by Ann's parents. Of course, there is cute little Ann standing ever so prim in her blue coat . Because the spot of the photo is easily recognized (Arc de Triomphe) it would be great fun to go there and take another shot with her in it--might even include a bike like the one against the wall.

Interestingly, Hitler may have also strutted down the same road 10 years earlier all puffed up for over-running the French. Probably a lot of history on this street (rue), French painters, writers, prostitutes, everything one can imagine.

Missionary's Position---Fracking Data

Everyday it seems we get another cornucopian article in one of our jackass newspapers declaring that the new oil and gas wells brought on line by the frackin' process has set conditions up so we will be energy independent. Each time I hear this my eyes fill with figures that do not agree with this idiotic position.

For one thing, the new drilling has only added some 650,000 barrels a day to out production bringing our present total to a grand 6.4 million barrels a day. But always I find myself thinking, "But we use some 19 million barrels a day" and we import close to 10 million. So just where is this additional 10 million coming from? Out of frackin"? We have already drilled some 35, 000 well bores to get this new improvement and those holes were mostly in the sweet spots. To top it off the wells decline very fast so in order to maintain the new flows more and more holes have to be drilled just to keep up--and they will not be in the sweet spots.

Yet we hear this nonsense that keeps telling the citizens drive baby, drive because we have tons of the stuff. Even if we have "some" why the hell would we want to burn it up all now. Why not save some for future generations? Plus, if no one has noticed the earth is getting hotter. We are a mindless lot.

A couple of days ago new graphs came out that one would think would wake up at least a few of the electorate, not really, I suppose, because it is outside of their world view. Maybe cognitive dissonance or some thing. Here are the graphs. Above, one can see that even the highest estimate from the tight oil only shows 2.75 million barrels a day. Not 10. The lower estimate shows almost no gain from today because the "Red Queen Affect" has kicked in where they just have to drill more holes just to stay even.

This graph may also be telling because it show that of right now the Bakken play is in decline. Admittedly there are some wells missing from this graphs as the companies are holding back some data, but still a little unnerving. Then again, maybe unnerving is not the right word because I don't want more oil. We do not need "more" oil. It is killings us. It is a tough mind change. A a paradigm shift

All and all, it is all a sad story as we struggle to maintain a lifestyle that is a dead end. When it is all gone, it will be all gone. What idiots. Nate Hagans said, "The biggest threat to the American way of life is the American way of life". There is more to that than meets the mind. We need and end to it, I am afraid. I wish it would be voluntary and not nature induced.

You Tube---The Gift that Gives

I have some wacko interests---at least by some accounts. These interests can lead a person the fascinating world of You Tube because like the internet, or interweb as some call it, there is inormation out there that would boggle the mind. It has been said if a person wants to build an A bomb it might be found there in the cyber world under U238. 

Last night I thought I would look up antique marine engines, the type I had seen in the 60s being used to power small fishing boats in New Foundland. In the morning we could hear them go out to sea, blinkity, plunk, plinkity, plunk. It was a great sound in the fog of morning and we were told even back then that these same boats had bee used for 60 years, with the same engines. They were a fascinating, cast iron contraption with push rods on the outside and brass carburetors. Beautiful actually. 

So there they were on YouTube, but now they were in the hands of collectors, restored and still running. The heavy brutes were mentioned in songs from the maritimes. They were called one lungers, or make-and-break engines. After twenty minutes of listening and looking at some beauties, I noticed that on the right, among the other offerings, they also had films on Newfoundland boats, ones like we remembered, Wow. So off there I went but soon noticed the offering of Newfoundland songs. As a traditional fiddle player, that had to be followed along with the Newfoundland language.

In short order I ran into the Clancy Brother as their music had been a part of my wondering youth. Whiskey Your The Devil was a huge in my world and Nancy Whiskey was a tune that followed us to Hyampom California our first home after college. An instantaneous memory of the Trinity Alps of the west. 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvyX6jrxEdM

But it didn't stop there. Oh, I had a distraction of going to the funerals of two of the Clancy Brothers. Then,  it was off to Yeats and the great poem, The Host of the Air  ---and others, The Stolen Child. Then there was talk of the Troubles of northern Ireland. That led to the songs of rebellion, The Rising of the Moon, then the Parting Glass. Finally, late at night Dylan, and his tune based on the Parting Glass. What a night time ride of history.

Yeats:
I HAVE heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods
Make their faint thunder, and the garden bees
Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put away
The unavailing outcries and the old bitterness
That empty the heart. I have forgot awhile
Tara uprooted, and new commonness
Upon the throne and crying about the streets
And hanging its paper flowers from post to post,
Because it is alone of all things happy.
I am contented, for I know that Quiet
Wanders laughing and eating her wild heart
Among pigeons and bees, while that Great Archer,
Who but awaits His hour to shoot, still hangs
A cloudy quiver over Pairc-na-lee.

Roadkill and Hunting

I have tried and I have tried to secure my deer for the year and have yet to spear, arrow or blast a lousy horned trophy. It is no secret I am a fair weather hunter, meaning I prefer to sit in the warmed woods in the afternoon in weather above 20 degrees while refection on my memoirs or past gallant actions of bravery much like Braveheart.

Getting up in the morning, for me is brutal beyond common knowledge. It just hurts, in part because I stay up late loving the quiet of nights, encouraged by a couple fingers of Jamison, and in part because a bed is a beautiful thing, all comfortable with a nice warm girlfriend holding on to me. This girl friend is not a Patreaus biographical concubine but my favorite bedding partner, my wife. I feel lousy so early, the head is a fog (sorta normal), my body has aches and pains and Jesus doesn't even want me up then because it is still dark.

 But for gun season all the action is early on the first day, maybe the 2nd day and after that the herd has been decimated and the survivors are huddled in some bog terrified to make a showing. So, I got up hell bent on redeeming myself----after not capturing one with the bow or a crossbow (an old dudes version of a bow and arrow but with a trigger, a 200 pound pull and scope). These are not the cross bows of 15th century France as illustrated by Monty Python.

I sat out there for the better part of two days and saw damn little but did have the opportunity to go face to face with a 6 pointer. He was a behind a tree 15 yards away and I was behind another tree. And even with the 870 I was not able to get in position for a shot.There I was looking around my large oak so carefully and he'd look around his eyes glued. Back and forth for 45 seconds until he got the drift of my intentions and tripped out of my woods. I could have laid down a barrage of lead but that is not an ethical style, fun maybe but not cool. Guys do love guns and shooting, however.

Finally today after not becoming a real hunting mam, I had to head home for the Packer game and the comfort I have become accustomed to. On return, I will admit the thoughts went to finding a nice roadkill because they are not uncommon and a fat warm one would fill the bill. Nothing until 2 miles from home and there right on the shoulder was a fresh kill. I whipped the car around and bolted out of the running Golf to pick up a very fat pheasant, still warm and in possession of a very broken neck. The weekend was not lost---and I never got a single tick, saw 2 porcupines and many nuthatches, Palliated, and assorted wood peckers along with one million Crows.

Sucession---Missionary's Position

I just learned today that there have been petitions presented to the US central government by citizens of a number of states asking that their states be allowed to secede from the union. Meaning, and clearly stating, that they would like to take their states and become a separate country not under the US government that is led by President Obama.

It is true, so I am to believe, they have done this before and in the 1860s they took a real shot at it---and it is the same bunch down in the deep south. Initially, I glanced over the idea and just tossed it off as another wacko idea by the usual crowd of crackers who don't want rules, hate welfare,  really dislike folks of any color other than their own pasty white complexion, consistently fond of NASCAR, really like a thing they call religion and are generally poorly educated.

Of course, they also tend to be from the south and in many cases have yet to really recover from the Civil War. Like always, I assumed this was a real bad idea because we all can gain from each other, and as I stated a few days ago, I do believe we are our brothers keeper, and in time we will all learn to love each other, play banjos, tote guns and have hound dogs. I already have many of these things so I do have to watch my mouth.

Then I got to thinking about it. I checked out a few facts and I found the following items represented in graphs. Wow, this means that the a greatest amount of recipients of welfare, assistance, and government handouts are in the same region. To top if off, the same folks per capita get more money from the government than the states to the north. Man, this secession is looking more reasonable all the time.


Now I already new the level of education was much lower in the south as were funds provided for education , but when I found the next graph I could not help but wonder about the request because where there is heavy income equality there are other issue--think share croppers, angry folks and  distrust, maybe pitch forks and torches. Not good there. (What is with New York?---oh, the bankers and hedge fund managers--that is another issue--and not a pretty one. I ask, when will the Hamptons burn?)

Then I discovered that mother nature has a burr up her ass for the same region. And that burr is costing the rest of the nation one hell of a lot of hard currency--and these same dudes don't like government help. Sweet Jesus jumping across the tundra on a rubber crutch, why are we allowing the south to hang with us. They look a lot like a liability to me. I swear if it were not for that brother's keeper thing, I would say adios guys. It is all yours.

In Persuit of Dinner---The Deer

I have tried and I have tried but winter's dinner has not crossed my sights. I have planted my aging butt in the woods for considerable hours, all of it in great pleasure, but not many deer have shown themselves. It is true I am a fair weather hunter and prefer to plop in my comfy cushioned folding chair while anxiously preparing myself for the kill

Yes, I am distracted by the busy nut hatches and the squabbling, obnoxious jays and I have also been know to fall asleep while laying wait only to find tracks within 30 yards of my position---and that was in the snow. Yes, I fell asleep while sitting in the snow, almost laying because I was tired. But this year I have not been remiss, much.

There is this one exception but really committed very little error. It is just that while sitting in my blind, I, for one brief moment forgot to put on my face camo and while discussing a world problem with the only intelligent person I know, that would be me, failed to see a fat deer approach my position. When I looked up there she was looking right at me through the tiny hole of my tent. I could only see her face and It was obvious the deer was not sure what she was seeing.

It was my face but that can be confusing by anybody. She might have thought it was nothing more than a steaming pile of fecal mater and posed no threat. Still she saw fit to pause and I could not even blink because at 15 yards it would be over. We stared at each other, both anxious, me the killer and her the prey. Being out smarted by a deer is not good for my resume but it was stating to look like another bad recommendation.

She finally concluded the situation was weird but not weird enough to bolt and the grass of my brothers lawn was not far off, so she proceeded, head down up the trail and closer to my shooting lane. However, she did go behind the apple tree rather than in front of it which means the shot was not really there. She paused again right at the tree and abruptly gave me the stare, the stink eye if you will. Her head moved back and forth a touch as I tried to get my crossbow up.

Then as if to say, "You be ugly, dude.", she reversed engines and skipped off to the forest, not real excited but still off. I sat meatless and starving.

I just don't want to take out the big old gun in a week but if I get no volunteers this way, it will be Katie bar the door with the big armament---unless the government tries to take my guns away. I guess that is not a problem in that there hasn't been any real gun legislation in my entire life, but I need to recite the mantra to please the conservative faction, my people.

The Obama Hug---Revolution Watch

The election was exciting and I was pleased because it shows we have a very different country than some thought---like we are not all just white old people with a burr up our asses. I do believe we are our brother's keeper. It is about community and I think that is the Natural Way. It is in our genes. I feel good about it.

Still the other point of view has to be considered and while it seems to have this distant attachment to Ayn Rand and the idea of everybody for themselves, there must be more. Maybe it is the selfish streak, maybe it has to do with men wanting power as a way of expressing their sexual dominance. Quest for power? Greed is good? We hate different people because they do not fit out world view. Whatever?

This is something that caught my eye today. It is this odd struggle for power, the struggle between the right and the left and the inability of some folks to see the writing on the wall, the blindness, the desire to manipulate, the dysfunction that comes with the inability to compromise. Reaction to hidden fears? The list just goes on.

So what we have here is the front cover of the Economist. It is no secret that the Economist sees things off to the right or off in the direction of pure economics that seldom takes in the touchy-feely issues of people, the environment, or the actual conditions of a finite world. It is straight economics in the neo-classic view. Sadly, economics is in the philosophy department and not the science field. It is just a bunch of guesses, not science and frankly based on a false premise that we can have never ending exponential growth in a very finite world.

This is sorta beside the point because the issue with the magazine is the implication of the heading. "Now, hug a Republican" I mean why in the hell don't they show Mitch McConnell with the heading, "Listen dipshit, stop saying that your sole objective is to make Obama fail and hug a Democrat." The economist heading implies it is the liberals fault, not that they are totally innocent, but come on, it is the Republicans who have refused to embrace one single thing the Democrats have proposed---even if the issue was one they earlier had introduced.

Another part of it shocks me. The Democrats WON you idiots. The conservatives ideas are nonsense and shown for years not to work, why should you now be telling the Dems to hug a Repugnation. They won! Do they want an act of compassion while the $300-million-Rove is disgusting in his behavior while being pummeled. Hug a Republican, give me a fucking break.

November--The Garden is still Going

It seems absurd because we set aside lots of canned and frozen vegetables for the winter but in truth the time we set it aside for is more like spring. The reason being that the garden produce really last longer than what is commonly thought, even right here in the frozen north.

Now, it is true that it is not really very frozen anymore. I mean, we have not really had much cold weather yet and it is moving on to mid November. There are things still growing in the garden, and they are not really working at it. I mean they are still growing. It is not like they are just sitting there sucking their thumbs waiting to die, they are still, as of today, actually putting on new growth.

A couple of weeks ago I pickled all the Brussel sprouts (and they ain't that hot) thinking the year was done but in truth, they could have been left out in the garden and continued to grow---they were growing. I just thought that the night time temperature of 17 degrees would do them in. It doesn't. As long as the day gets above freezing they still power on.

 

I am sure that all of the cabbage family would still be growing as is the chard (not cabbage family) and the cilantro, and the celery root. What it comes down to is that at the moment there is no real need to start hitting the reserves. We can still eat fresh stuff.

This is just the goods still growing in the garden and believe me that could include the beets and carrots under the leaves. Why, hell the rutabagas are still growing as well, just that everybody I know considers them to be famine food and won't touch them until their ribs are showing. Losers. Not many ribs showing in Wisconsin.

We still have dandy squash as well. Why, we could go until mid December on the stuff that is still fresh. It is easy to give up early. I just have to keep my eyes open and trust the garden. Caught 3 walleyes a few days ago. Life is good for the scavenger.

Pizza---Food at its Best

After having spent a few weeks in southern France, oh ya, right there on the south coast, right there with the beautiful people, yes, in Provence among the French, it is hard not to notice a few things that are different.  I do not imply worse, I mean events which are treated differently on a daily basis than what we experience here.

Now in saying that I do not suggest that all of us are callous in our treatment of food, or the meal, but that we here, on many occasions, just throw some industrial product-labeled food on the stove, pour it down our gullets in an unceremonious manner and run off to yell at the TV, or play some mindless video game. The meal here is commonly not an event---I suspect because we do not have time. Maybe don't have time because we have to play with our toys. I am not innocent because I too have toys. We are material people.

In France, the meal is an event where friends meet and talk, tell stories and reflect on the ways of the world--including Amuricans. Each item is judged, and slowly consumed mindful of the process used and the quality of the product. It is an event. Even the breakfast of dark toast and preserves is noted over the daily din.  Time is different. There is no rush. Lunch is one and one half hours and very well may include wine.

However, frequently we here in this fine little burg do take time for ceremony, for the event of eating in fine company and in a fine setting--not to mention the exquisite food. Happily, we have weekly potlucks at the lake where the food affectionatoes display their dishes of local vegetables and venison, and of course, Bud's home grown beef---when he can round them up.

Of late, a new adventure has produced a stone built bread and pizza oven where in a fire is built, bricks heated, and a pizza in three short minutes is roasted. In itself the oven is a gem that breaths flames and warmth. It is a fire filled living thing that draws us closer. We huddle like bums around a burning barrel, while sipping pleasant wines from The Continent much like the Rothchilds of our dreams. We are rich I would say, not filthy, but rich. Never a sad thing said, never a a regret, always a smile and a knowing that wealth is our friend.

There is so much more. In the kitchen, others fabricate their perfect pizzas all over one of Jerry's hand-made crusts that he insist consists of the best Italian flour. He is full of himself but for good cause. There is multiple-virgin olive oil, Italian cheeses, assorted peppers from gardens around, onions, meats of many flavors and a splash of red wine carelessly fallen from a lifted glass. There to is the chatter of friends. Advice. Belittling of ill conceived ideas, and laughter at Norwegian suggestions.

The pizzas are not like the plastic-engulfed frozen offerings. They are simple, sometimes tomatoless, a splash of cheese, maybe a slice of lemon and dash of basal. All very simple, all very elegant, all with smiling faces as each pizza rolls into the room to be sampled. Hours go by and the warmth of the outside oven filters though out the room, The wine tasted of the south coast, of France and Italy, and pizza drew in the memories of our time in a castled town.

To France and Italy we must raise a glass for they have a way that is to be admired----------------------even if they are cheese eating surrender monkeys. I couldn't resist.