Blackberries---In League with the Devil

Blackberries---In League with the devil


Every year there is great anticipation of the blackberry harvest, a harvest that is always, for one reason or another, rather up for grabs. It seems that seldom is there really a good year where we can walk along a well-traveled trail and fill our containers with ease.

This year the rains came in a comfortable interval, the blossoms were abundant and the canes strong, if not imposing. It looked good as we set aside and cleaned ample jars while dreaming of cold winters where Blackberry jams were laid across great bowls of ice cream. The excitement was everywhere---but like each year here in Wisconsin, there was apprehension as things can go wrong.

So on the advice of Tom, I set forth to secure a winter’s store. “The best ones are up higher and in the sun”, he suggested as he left town. Optimistically, I climbed the trail heading west while noticing some immature berries hidden in the brambles. Not far up, I reached for the first-sighted ripe berries only to find my shirt sleeve, and a portion of my flesh, had been impaled on a first-year cane the size of  tropical bamboo and armed with blood thirsty spines. I must have thought it was a small tree when reaching into the thicket and not an armored guard cane. As I slowly withdrew with a couple of meager berries, another guard cane grabbed my hat flipping it to the ground. The slight vibration of the bramble, or was it the profanity, wakened the mosquitoes who realized a target had arrived. They joined the Deer Flies who were doing the usual kamikaze stunts.

I thought of the can of DEET I left in the car but in a flash realized I had been told not to get it on my hands as contaminated berries would certainly cause some heinous disease. I tightened my collar, checked the buttons on my sleeves and proceeded up the hill to the good spots.

Higher up the berries were more abundant but generally low down under the bramble, meaning they were well guarded by those nasty canes, the ones that have been put there, not to produce fruit, but simply to hurt people.

As I worked my way thorough the better areas, it appeared many of the ripe berries were rotting on the vine. They were so far gone as they were touched, they spilled their juice all over my now sore hands. At least half the fruit was not salvageable. It seems a small fly had the pleasure of plopping an egg on many of the berries and within one day the little buggers had violated the new fruit and introduced bacteria. Now the berries were fermenting and the smell of Blackberry wine was everywhere, but I was after fat ripe berries, not some stinking bacteria-ridden grub’s idea of cheap wine.

As a result of the rotting, grubbed-up berries, my hands were now a permanent deep red color, or so it seemed. On close examination it was also obvious some of the red was actually blood from the wounds inflicted by the guard canes. This was not going well.

After some forty minutes of effort, I looked into the pail to just take stock of my take, which at this point was little more than a cup. There sitting on top of the collection were two unhappy stink bugs, which very much like to emit a putrid smell when disturbed. They, like me, were frustrated, pacing and partially covered in the cheap wine. Possibly they were finding the experience pleasurable and were ripped to the nines on this Mad Dog brew, making them unlikely to anoint the berries----but maybe not.

By now the late morning heat was growing, the wine was brewing and my constitution was failing, along with my commitment and dreams of winter sweet delights. It was then it occurred to me I could be blindly picking along, then looking up through this thick tangle only to see berry-covered, and possibly unhappy bear feasting in the now ripening patch. This was an easy visualization because of the short field of vision caused by the thickness of the vegetation. Maybe I would just see this juice-stained, puzzled, tongue-lapping face staring at me as if I was an stumbling intruder. This would be a call for a resource war worse than those in the middle East. I didn’t even have a knife nor a suicide explosive vest. What was mostly berry color on me could easily be changed to mostly blood.

This hallucination was the final straw---probably caused by the fumes coming off the fermentation---alcohol being volatile and all. I thought “Would the bear only be eating the fermented berries, getting lousy drunk and then be bar-fight belligerent?” Would he slap me around, take my berries, take my ball hat and head off to catch a nap at Tom’s only to be later found smiling, but hung over with my ball cap on backwards. I’d be found some time later unconscious, if not expired, creating a headline for the Spirit  newspaper, “Older Man found in berry patch, scratched, berryless, and with his favorite Brewers ball cap missing.” Things once more were turning uncomfortably wrong. It was then it occurred to me, Blackberries are in league with the devil, nice to desire but all to often forbidden.

The Big One

The Big One.

I recently found myself floating down the Yellowstone River for the sole purpose of catching trout.  As each foot of fly line slid through the eyes of my rod, ultimately placing a flashy woolly bugger on the clear cold water, my mind thought mostly of one thing, and one thing only, catching the big one. It was more like a dream, possibly a very visual dream where one can see themselves fighting the creature of the deep.

It is so strange to be fishing, watching the fly zip through the water and actually sensing the flash of a giant trout. The strike is almost written in my memories, memories that may not even be true, or so distant it would seem impossible to recall but the vision is there as I fish.

It seems I fish with such intensity, or should I say focus, that all other aspects of my life disappear to the back of my aging mind. I watch the fly and want so badly to see the hit, to possibly see the fish, maybe to know its size and beauty. I want to be a part of that moment, that instant where there is contact with the prey.

This dream state is why many people go angling. We want to catch the big one. We want the fight. We want  to have a memory, a story, an imprinted vision in our night dreams, a victory possibly of man over nature.

Yes, the big one is part of the dream, an aspiration one has which almost seems to be embedded in our very genetics. The hard pounding hit and the fight, like Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea. The rising open mouth of the trout, maybe the huge gaping jaw of the musky that follows the lure to the boat and then crashes on the huge spinner, that is the dream. This vision for me never seems to go away for even after having numerous days of failure, I still have the burning desire to fish again, always just hoping beyond all hope this will be the time, the time of the huge tug and the victory of the fight.

It would seem that possibly this primal focus, this genetically embedded focus, is in me as a drive to provide food for my tribe or a mechanism to impress a female member of my tribe thus making me selectively cool. Still, this is the modern age and it might be possible that there is more to the story as a result of advanced learning and education.

While I may be a Neanderthal savage for fishing it would seem there are other beneficial possibilities that now go along with floating down the Yellowstone River or standing on the edge of Boulder Creek.

There is a saying by Thomas Huxley that goes like this, “To a person uninstructed in natural history, his country or sea-side stroll is a walk through a gallery filled with wonderful works of art, nine-tenths of which have their faces turned to the wall.” Does this imply that even though we may have this urge to be a provider, buried deep in our genetics, our educations may have indeed taken us to a new point so that I, for one, no longer totally want the large fish as food, or to impress my wife,  although I have tried that.

What it comes down to is, I have had to reassess my “Agenda of the Gene” as a friend Nate Hagens calls it. Yes, I have the primal desire, the dream of wanting the big one. I can’t seem to shake that. But I have gone beyond that at least some, realizing there is more than the agenda to just survive for I am a modern man---at least a portion of my brain says I am.

In an effort to go beyond the hunter/gatherer I am programmed to be, or shall we say hard wired to be, there is a need to explore what might be out there in the valley of the Yellowstone or up on Boulder Creek other than food and an impressively large fish?

While I cannot consume it as sustenance, there is unimaginable beauty, not just in the cold pure water but in the willows that bounce in the afternoon breeze, and the shadows on the many river-worn rocks that line the edges of the rivers. There is midsummer Wild Bergamot, Columbine, the obnoxious Knapweed in purple hues, Figworts, Spiderworts and a thousand other flowers all bent on holding ground. There are Fritillaries of many makes, Painted Ladies, an occasional Monarch and Sulfurs, maybe an Admiral or two, all fluttering about as butterflies will.

The Mule Deer sneak in and out of the thickets and bounce across the low ground while the antelope lounge on the hillsides watching out of glancing eyes. Everywhere there is beauty, none of it really needing to be consumed but only observed and seen maybe as paintings on nature’s wall.

Still, I cannot forget the fish but I found that they too are paintings to be observed. And resting there in my cupped hand a small West slope Cutthroat Trout is almost unimaginable in its design and grace, a magical species perfectly adapted to this steam. To just look and then release was a momentary prize, a really big one, the big one.

Some may think this rationalization is simply a way of covering up the fact I did not get a “big” one---but this is not true.




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Local Handyman Saves Money with Older Equipment Restoration.

In my retirement I have the liberty to mess around with some pretty silly things, some bordering on ridiculous according to some individual’s observations. Still, while there are questions of sanity, in some incidences it would seem there is also a chance to learn---assuming I still can learn.

I have collected things, not like a hoarder, but items of esoteric interest for some time, thinking with a little ingenuity and stunning insight I might solve a problem or unravel a mystery.

Some “treasures” have been fetched from one auction or another, or from wayward antique dealers and even “found“ rotting in a friend’s discard lot. At the moment, I have in my possession a “few” hundred-year-old single cylinder stationary engines and at least one bulbous, but interestingly attractive, water pump. For reasons not fully known to me, this massive bulb, much like the cranium of a commonly imagined space person, was attached to this pumping device. While I suspect it was put there to maintain a constant pressure on the exit hose, it seems excessive in size and weight, but rather aesthetic. That’s right, aesthetic. It is a thing of beauty.

In a moment of ingenuity, it was decided to combine my Associated Chore Boy 1.3/4 horse power cast iron engine, weighing in at 300lbs with a Reliable, made by Sears, water pump. Coupled with the three hundred pound majestic throbbing engine, the seventy five pound piston pump makes a very handsome configuration almost reflective of American innovation and industrial power, the type of which laid the groundwork of this fine country---even if the pump looks like an alien.

The idea of this assemblage was to be able to pump the water out of my three hundred and fifty gallon rainwater storage tank and flood it on our sometime thirsty garden. Rain water is, of course, better for the garden than chlorinated city water as it has more nutrients and, in this case, lots of mosquito larva which will add some needed protein and wiggling compost to the soil.

Most importantly and part of my rationalization for spending untold hours on this effort, was to also save money by keeping the water bill down. By doing the math, it seemed the savings was close to five dollars over the summer---but I didn’t take into account the cost of the fuel for the engine which has a piston the size of a coffee can because fuel for the summer was given to me by the neighbor who couldn't remember if he had added the two stroke oil to his container. The Chore Boy simply didn’t care but it does prefer cheap whiskey better know as ethanol. Then there is also the possibility of using left over fry oil from the Ambrosia restaurant. It is all about innovation here in Amurika.

 Ya,ya, ya, there was the cost of the “pile” of cast iron and the parts that had to be made or found.  This portion, like the infamous wood pile, was written off as adventure, and educational gain. So, there was, with creative conjuring, the huge financial gain of five dollars to consider. I say this with great pride because there have been individuals who in their need to be critical, have scoffed and said this was a fool’s errand.

These very exciting, and notably aesthetic symbols of the industrial revolution were  hooked together by a number of pulleys, jack shafts, line shafts and belts to ultimately make the seventy-five year old pump run at an appropriate 250 rpms. One belt runs to a large wooden pulley attached to the ceiling of the shed and then from the other end of the very rustic jack shaft,  made artistically of cast iron with babbitt bushings, drops down to the elegant pump some five feet away.

Once fired up, with oil flying about and belts pulling in full muscle, it is a tremendous spectacle that even if the outfit could only pump ten gallons a minute, the day would be made brighter from raw show-casing of American ingenuity. The act of walking around applying oil to various exposed bearings and spinning gears is in itself an opportunity to dip into our glorious history.

I suppose it would be easier to just to hook up a 120 volt half Hp Chinese motor to a shinny Chinese centrifugal pump and just plug it into the wall. Maybe invest in a 12 volt Mexican motor and plug it into my Japanese photo voltaic system. No noise, no smells, no mining----here in town at least. Oh, I did learn a few things maybe not what I thought I would, but I did learn.

Changing Landscapes---Revolution Watch---Almost

Changing  Landscapes

Tucked away in drawers of antiquity, or hidden in Historical Society’s files or maybe on the Bank’s calendars are photographs from over a hundred years ago. While many are interesting from a historical point of view, others are fascinating because inadvertently they show the state of the surrounding environment---or what was left of it.

Mostly, we marvel at old photographs showing various activities of farming,  seriously posing baseball teams, dandy community parades and small town participants hoisting a pint at the local saloon. Of course, the tendency is to focus on the human activities without taking notice that the back ground setting is frequently treeless. There were no trees. It seems that by 1900 or so almost all of the trees in this area had been cut down either for fuel, lumber or to clear the land for farming.

Each time I see these treeless landscapes it makes me wonder what it was really like prior to white man’s arrival, say, when the only human occupation was that of the Native Americans. It is not too difficult to find out, either from much earlier photographs, historical records or interestingly, from pollen analysis. It would appear, this particular area was fairly heavily forested with some settings of Oak openings and tall grass prairies. The forests were deciduous, composed of oaks, maples and other hardwoods. To the north progressively there were more and more coniferous forests intermixed with the hardwoods.

While it may seem the white men were the only inhabitants to alter the local landscape, it is also true the native Americans were also manipulating it with the use of fire. Of course, nature itself provides plenty of fire with lightening strikes. The point is, prior to our arrival, the local landscape was noticeably different than it was in 1880 to 1900 when most of the photos were taken. There were more trees and more tall grass prairies and no cultivation to speak of.

With the arrival of farming and logging, the landscape shifted to what the old photographs clearly demonstrate. The land was simply barren of what was once the natural environment. Every inch of land was being used to farm with only a few remaining woodlots and almost no prairies.

I also know from my own father’s stories that in his youthful years there were almost no whitetail deer remaining in the area as they simply ran out of habitat, implying that with the loss of the natural vegetation the animal life also went the way of the wolf---mostly gone.

Most interestingly, at the same time one looks at the photographs noting the disappearance of the natural world, it becomes obvious the barren landscapes of 1900 are now tree-filled  and lush with vegetation. In other words, at some point in time the act of clearing every inch of land, and cutting every tree came to a halt. Thinking back to my own childhood, I remember fields of crops on almost every square inch along the rivers and lakes I traveled. Now many of those fields have been abandoned and are filled with fifty-year old trees of many species. Starting in the thirties, I suspect, many of the poorer farms began to fail and the land was left to fend for itself.

I remember also that many dairyman would turn their cattle loose on the land that was not suitable for tilling. While this terrain was not farmable, it could provide meager forage for cattle and in the process virtually every native plant was either eaten or trampled. At some point this woodland grazing was ended and the few remaining forests were given an opportunity to begin the long process of recovery. The point being, there is now a change going on, slow as it may be, of a recovery in the natural environment possibly moving back to a time  prior to our arrival.

The story seems to say that due in part to the failure of some of human activities, for example  marginal farming and logging, the natural world is creeping back in some locales. It has always been fascinating to walk though a fairly old forest and find miles of old stone fences that clearly once were containment for cattle and plowed fields. On some of the ground I now hunt, one would think this was a wild place, almost never touched by man but the telltale fences are everywhere. The kicker came when I saw a 75 year old photo of the same farm completely void of all trees---and most everything else.

In the portion of the farm where there are two-hundred year old oaks, to this day there are no spring ephemerals, and very few of the native flowers that were once in abundance in what probably was an oak opening. The reason being over fifty years ago this forest was still being grazed. In that fifty years it has still not recovered---and it might take another hundred to do so. Interestingly, in the ditches surrounding the farm, some of the native plants are beginning to thrive having never been subjected to grazing.

The point of this conversation is to make note of how our environment has changed due to shifting aspects of human behavior. Farming, and logging,  have in some areas simply failed to be productive and the plants and fauna of old have crept back in giving us a richer environment filled with a greater population of deer, turkeys and a multitude of wild plants. Obviously, this is not happening everywhere but here and there we see Trilliums, Big Blue Stem Grass, Switch grass, Blood Root, Cup Plants and many more.  Fortunately, the devastation that was committed in this country was only done for one hundred years and here and there remnants remained which could be used for reintroduction---unlike many places in the world where thousands of years of aggressive abuse and overpopulation of humans have completely removed the entire natural world. We are fortunate.

The Unexpected Calling Card

I know that some individuals will think that the subject of this column will have some metaphorical implications, that is, it may reflect on the voracity of some of the things I have written about. I will admit that I have approached many diverse topics, some being out there a touch but this one, while having certain olfactory tones is for real and confirmable by close observation. Here is the truth. Just today my wife of almost fifty years stepped into our very small forest we have in the back of our garden. Her task was to water a May Apple that is growing there trying to be a spectacular spring ephemeral. In her struggle to find the plant known to be growing in the maple sapling-surrounded duff, she approached a huge White Pine. She came to an abrupt stop, looking down in disbelief, for there on the leaf-covered floor was a large deposit, shall we say calling card, of an animal of considerable size. 

“David”, she yells. “You won’t believe what I think I see. I don’t believe it. This is incredible”. Initially, I though she had found a huge nest of Deer Ticks because just the day before she had, indeed, found a Deer Tick and it was attached to a part of her anatomy that we cannot really discuss here. Embarrassingly (no pun), it was on her back side and had to be removed---by me. No, she did not find a tick nest. Not another Fox Snake because that would have elicited a bigger yell. Most interestingly, she stumbled upon a very large, very black, seed filled pile of she-she, better known in scientific terms as a turd (recall the opening statement). She was apprehensive, maybe repulsed, possibly racked with retro-fear, but noticeably amused. It was as if the not-to-old, but not steaming pile, might jump up and attach itself to her. We looked closely having seen numerous turds in our lives, both metaphorical and real, so that we might be able to determine the nature of the depositor. We looked at each other, remembering our years on the ranch, and both, with eyes wide, said Bear----and not a little one. While we did not run our fingers through it as if doing a forensic analysis, nor fondle it noting content and age, nor sniff it, there was little doubt. We had a Bear turd pile of some magnitude. We were both thinking we lived in very civil community with highly trained public servants managing the village greens and its wildlife---mostly squirrels and rabbits. It is cosmopolitan and almost like a city with a fire department, village trucks with logos on them. The citizens have things like TVs and cellular phones. So how can it be we have a Black Bear living among us? We were confused so it was off to Merlyn’s to see if her “talking” dog had had any unusual experiences in the last ten days (I had determined the calling card was at least a week old due to the dryness of the outer edges of the deposit---this close examination that did not involve smelling or tasting). Savanna, the semi-literate dog, is attentive and will on many occasions bark in the middle of the night when she thinks lurking criminals are about, or more commonly, if a mouse runs across the road. One would figure if the lousy dog was worth its salt, if a four hundred pound bear walked right by her house, there would have been a ruckus---the aforementioned spectacular turd was only twenty five feet from Merlyn’s house. In making my inquiry, I did not mention our suspicions wanting to test my theory. It turns out a few days earlier and in the appropriate time range, Savanna had an uncomfortable experience. In the middle of the night the protective mutt began to bark and bark. Low and behold, in the morning there on the floor of the house, was a fresh calling card left by the dog---an unwanted pile never left before. The dog had indeed detected the presence of the bruin, and probably thinking it was a Grizzly Bear, literally soiled herself. Merlyn seemed relieved, maybe even proud, for rather than the dog just becoming senile, it had simply been emotionally overwhelmed---and saved the day, chasing off the blood-thirsty bear. If the canine could really talk, I am sure she would have said, “I smelled this God-awful stench, looked out the window and there looking back at me, only inches away, was this grinning mouthful of teeth. Man, I lost control. Sorry about the little mess”. After thinking this all through, we had to come to the realization that even though we do live in this highly sophisticated community where we are all safe, surrounded by citizens well above average and mostly, like myself, very attractive, we are still not so citified, or gentrified that wild nature cannot just pass through town largely unnoticed. My only concern, and it has nothing to do with our highly skilled police force, (oh, we don’t have one) will not be able to protect us, but if some of the citizens should happen to see a Black Bear in the backyard, number one, they don’t shoot it, or probably more importantly, don’t follow Savanna’s example and leave a calling card on the floor or in one’s trousers. We closed the door more carefully, locked the garbage in the garage and removed the half-eaten burger from the car. Again I will say, although I have been know to enhance, I do hope this topic has no symbolic connotations as to my truthfulness-------nor any indication of what the Packers have to deal with this year.

Getting a New Peg Leg.

I had this knee that for one reason or another would lock up, a trick knee they said. Personally, there was nothing tricky about it other than when the meniscus, that would be a floating piece, got in the joint, it refused to straighten out and I was left to scream obscenities, profanities and absurdities. A good push with the other foot usually would do the trick but when it happened while duck hunting alone from a canoe, a family concern arose. They did not want to see a newspaper headline stating, “Older man found floating in pond.” Included would be a minor heading, “He was doing what he loved the most but it seems he fell from the boat while screaming at his knee and not calling ducks”.

This knee, the tricky one which also had no cartilage, was initiating a lifestyle change. For example, being able to bust a move on the dance floor was seriously hampered. Someone mentioned they thought I was dancing until Dennis was seen stepping on my hand. The idea that I could no longer muster a helicopter dunk on the basketball court was also disconcerting, particularly when it was a 7 foot basket. It was just not a cool look having my knee pitch inward. At the same time hurting like I was a civil war veteran. It was also becoming historically uncomfortable when I told a youngster my limp was due to having taken a ball at Gettysburg, he believed me---which may be more of an age thing.

Due to my fondness for Captain Ahab, my first thought was to buy a whalebone peg leg. The idea of pacing around the quarterdeck screaming out commands to my crew ( just my wife) had appeal. “Lay aloft you bilge sucking slackers!”  I could hear the clomp, clomp, clomp on the wooden deck and appreciate my heroic calls to bury the shaft deep while in pursuit of the great white whale. However, if recollection is of value, his whale-chomped stub was cut off by using a rusty knife after he had consumed a half quart of cheap whiskey. A dirty rag fresh from the scuppers was placed in his mouth as a way of relieving pain.

I opted for the shiny metal joint and requested a nice single malt scotch but by the time I muttered my request at the grinning anesthesiologist, it was night time. On wakening, I inquired of the possibility of putting a battery post, one on my knee and the other post on my metal hip joint to see if I could be used as a human battery. All l would have to do is drink an acid filled coke and then the juice would begin flowing, making me a sustainable source of electricity. For some reason I had no takers but the staff did say the drugs tended to make individuals delusional.  I still believe it to be a good idea. I, and the person I had become, was asked to leave in one day possibly because of my dramatic story how I had recently picked up typhoid while in the jungle, or was it delirium tremens.

After a couple of weeks stinging pain and weak-kneed responses, I had to turn to other tactics to get sympathy. In a semi-concerned tone, Rick asked how I was doing.  I said, hoping for a gentle confirming response, “Well, the knee hurts like no tomorrow, but the good side is my general demeanor and rugged good looks have really improved”. There was a pause, and then a slightly muted response, “If you think that is an improvement, you better get a new doctor----or sue him”.

Then the issue of the pain-relieving drugs came up and how they can cause various issues including but not limited to delusion---and most importantly constipation---and they might be related. There had been some loose talk about my bowel conflagerations, or whatever it is called. The word was on the street that many days had passed since I had had a meaningful relationship with the porcelain pony. From my point of view this was no joke because my eyes were starting to inappropriately bulge out and my lower GI was sounding like Mt. Vesuvius. I had been given every imaginable recommendation from EXlax, colon-blow, prune juice and Duramax which turned out to be diesel fuel and 2-4-D.

Eventually, life settled to sloth with a touch of truculence.  Ann nursed me well, even with my cantankerous behavior. At one time the word was put out that if the day came that I had to wear Depends , a man-diaper, and she had to deal with it, I would be picked up and trucked off to the “facility”. Someone mentioned they had a special caulk gun that could be used from the other end but about then fear took hold and I was blessed with a religiously induced water closet experience.

While I am on the road to recovery, apparently no better looking, still partially in the grip of some stomach alien, not chemically burdened with a monkey on my back, I am no longer considering getting a whale bone peg but a gallon of good whiskey has real appeal. Maybe I am a cry-baby but I want to go fishing and not hear how Jim thinks the weather in California is delightfully sunny and warm---and perfect for going on a pleasant walk.

Missionary's Position, Temporarily Crippled Person Makes Statement on State of the World

I have been idle, in part because of sloth and in part because I had to buy a new knee. Today in a fit, not one induced by the Vicodin I have been taking, I wrote this diatribe in response to an article sent to me. http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/world/us/11-chilling-predictions-for-what-the-world-will-look-like-in-10-years/articleshow/51284405.cms?intenttarget=no

 If so inclined, one could read it. I thought it good and more consistent with the truth than can be found n out MSM---even though I suspect an Amurikan wrote it. It is in the Times of India.

Here is my response.

Central to the writers point of view was that oil prices, and probably commodity prices, were going to stay low. This one issue seems to be a very destabilizing issue for the writer. While presently we are seeing this to be very true and very destabilizing, I don’t think the prices will remain low due to the fact that oil is a very finite resource. As this graph below shows conventional oil peaked 8 or so years ago and all of the new production has been US and Canadian unconventional “Oil” (much of it not really being oil at all but condensates, natural gas liquids, tar and ethanol)

At the present price, it has also peaked. As is well known, production in the US and Can. is falling off very rapidly right now, so it is just a matter of time before the price goes up. It is my thought, and others, the price will go back to where it is profitable again which probably just short of $100/br. This one thing will completely change the dynamic which is stated a number of times in the article. In other words, the suffering we are presently seeing in the oil states (Russia, KSA, Venez. Brazil, etc) will abate to some extent. Notably, in Russia, thus allowing them to maintain there vaulted position as they do have lots of oil---10 million barrels a day production and 7-8 million being exported.

Will they break up, or lose influence---not if the price goes up which it will as oil becomes scarce (next 2 years). 

EU will not stay in its present form---I agree. Stagnation is already there so that is a given. Many of the southern states will decline. Euroexceptionalism:  not sure what that is nor why it was said unless it was a hint at the mass migrations they will have to deal with and how corrosive that will become. The influx of migrants, which is just starting due to widespread overshoot in the area (Egypt is next---graph above ), will have catastrophic affects and be very disruptive. This process will have no solutions and may well take down much of the EU unity---already is.


Poland: That is a new one to me but might be some truth to it, but they lack  direct access to resources--like we have here. Everything has to be shipped in. This will be the plight of many countries, they simply do not have natural resources. Japan being the poster child of this situation.

Turkey: Many Arab states will free fall and that is a huge problem for Turkey because they are on the trail north, the one that will soon be blocked (already is). Increase oil prices could elevate some issues there.

China: now, there is a basket case. Being a totalitarian nation, they are capable of some very hasty changes and if it involves the death of a few million, they will not care one lick. Their growth is and will continue to slow down. They are so full of economic bubbles, corruptions, population anomalies, and resource issues that it is hard to know just were the hell that will end up but not well.

Japan build a navy? What! Where the hell will they get the money for that? The next statement in the piece says their production will move to other places. Most writers think Japan will actively consider going back to their past feudal state. They have nothing----but the USA.

The next part of the piece is the most confusing as it states that most of the new Growth” and “production” will move to a group of states, a group that looks more like a list of the world’s biggest losers. Many are close to being failed states, most are obscenely over-populated, have few, if any resources and governed by idiots. Wow, seem to be way off based on this one.



The USA: First off, we do not and I repeat do not, have a burgeoning energy supply. That is pure nonsense. What we have is also responsible for creating global climate change.  To top it off, our economy has not been growing since ‘08 and will not grow ever again because it simply can not---if it should, for some odd reason,  it simply means that much more of the natural world will be destroyed.

Will we (the USA) remain stable? Possibly but with a much lower standard of living due to resource depletion, world instabilities, global climate change, wealth inequities, but we do have our own resources, and we are not obscenely over populated---even though there will be increased pressure to absorb more migrants from the south---but, in case no one noticed, Obama has increased the security force down there, built a much bigger fence and not opened his arms ( a paltry 15K Syrians) 

  In the end, I believe they are leaving out too many issues to be very definitive in their opinions. There is no mention of global warming, which is become very much forefront. http://qz.com/605609/the-climate-change-refugee-crisis-is-only-just-beginning/ There is no mention of population dynamics which has been known for years. http://churchandstate.org.uk/2013/04/dennis-meadows-there-is-nothing-that-we-can-do/
Economics and the nature of capitalism is clearly a threat to our survival but only passing information based on the thought oil would stay low. There are a multitude of writers beginning to criticize capitalism. No mention of that here in this piece. http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/09/books/review/naomi-klein-this-changes-everything-review.html?_r

While you have heard my rap before, here is a brief outline.

1. World economic growth will slow and eventually decline due to resource depletion, water, air, fuel and natural resources. Ultimately, these losses will lead to food scarcity and massive human migrations---and worse.

2. Species loss will become profound (already is).



3. Climate change will accentuate all of the above as will the 220,000 more people on the face of the earth each and every day.


4. Economic systems in place are all based on never-ending exponential growth which can not continue in a finite world. This alone may upset the entire globe before the other issues come to play. It is all based on debt at this point, debt that can not be paid back. At the moment we are seeing the affects of this with economic disruptions world-wide.

These events could drag out for years but even the piece you sent doesn’t paint much of a picture---really very consistent with my own.

There are some points of mitigation and adaptations for sure but we are not addressing them. Having energy prices stay low would be a very good thing because it will crash the world economies and that is what really needs to happen. Oddly enough, we would come out of that the best---because all we have to do is drop our standard of living to that of Europe---after going through a nasty depression.