Earlier this week John le Bon and I had a 2-1/2 hour conversation, which was saved for posterity.
I do not imagine I am that interesting, so relax. I am not suggesting that you go to John’s website to listen to me rattle on for that long, but there is a trove of interviews there. I am going to subscribe, but am waiting until my credit card rolls over, some time after the 20th. I am in that time frame where I can incur an expense, and then postpone payment for almost 60 days. It is an interest-free loan.
I do urge readers to visit his site, as this very interesting young man contributed tons to our interview. He is currently a resident of Plovdiv, Bulgaria, a beautiful city north and west of Greece. One thing I wanted to ask him is how he ended up there, but I never got around to it, you know, talking about me, me and then me.
Our family has lived in our small, humble abode for more than 25 years. Most of the trees on our property have stood here since we arrived in the late 1990s — already fully mature. It was the landscape of tall, proud, and abundant trees that invited us in.
The lush trees have provided not only beauty, healthy habitat for wild animals, and shelter from sweltering sun in the summer, but also a place on which to hang our hammock and swing, when our children were very young.
We actually kept the swing attached after all these years. Every once in a while, I have sat pensively atop it.
We have gratefully enjoyed the offerings of the majestic trees, attempting to not take them for granted. To echo the thoughts of this writer, the bold ash trees have served to anchor our front, back, and side yards.
June 2022
The photo directly above is not reflective of a storm (norclimate change), but, rather, the consequence of the blight of the emerald ash borer (EAB). Accordingly, twenty-one (yes, 21) of our trees (exclusively ash) were professionally felled. This week, it took the tree cutting service 24 hours over the span of 2 1/2 days — long days in the heat — to clean up the devastation created . . . by a frickin’ beetle.
The emerald ash borer (Agrilus planipennis) is a destructive wood-boring pest of ash trees (Fraxinus spp.). Native to China, Mongolia, North Korea, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, and the Russian Far East, the emerald ash borer beetle (EAB) was unknown in North America until its discovery in southeast Michigan in 2002. Today, EAB infestations have been detected in 35 states and the District of Columbia; Alabama, Arkansas, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Nebraska, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Vermont, Virginia, West Virginia, and Wisconsin.
Sadly, over the past few years, the green metallic-like ash borer beetle bore inside our ash trees, ravaging them — leaving behind massive decay, and destroying the natural green canopy above us. In the meantime, the dying trees provided a home for plentiful lichen.
After the post below and yesterday’s interview with John le Bon (which I will discuss in a later post -a very nice young man and a very good time had), I feel a need to set the record straight, to care what others might think. I am not a person who simply abandoned his five children. Of course I am flawed, of course I have made mistakes, but walking out on my kids is not in my nature. I am Mr. Do-The-Right-Thing, and when I do the wrong thing, I pay a psychic price.
The above video is at the center of my spiritual awakening in the early 1990s. Typical of me at that time, I was not aware of the song even three or four years after its release nor had I heard of the band called U2. I was busy working and being a dad to five kids, and growing away from my wife. In fact, I had already left her mentally, or as Kramer famously said in a Seinfeld episode, “George, in my mind I am already gone.” George’s look at Kramer after that remark was a classic deadpan. I still laugh.
By the way, I have not been kind to people who put up their favorite videos here, just out of the blue, as if saying “You must like what I like.” Music is personal. I am writing about this particular video because it represented an awakening, a turning point, a point in my life when I had a future that was going to be very different from my past. I will write first about my experience, and then about the song, the instrumentation, the video and the lyrics after. Rolling Stone places it at number 93 in its list of 500 best rock songs.
I invite others to use this post to recount similar experiences. Please limit yourself to one song or video.
The authors of the book Dark Moon: Apollo and the Whistle-Blowers, Mary Bennett and David Percy, think that Apollo 13, the failed mission that spawned the Ron Howard movie by the name, never left low earth orbit and that all the excitement was staged by NASA and the astronauts from inside a space capsule that really did contain astronauts.
That could well be the case, and those two certainly have the chops to make that case. I’ve long thought that all those launches in the period 1969-1972 served some purpose (except Apollo 11, which I think merely took off and dumped in the Atlantic). I do not know that purpose, and have speculated that it could have been a joint effort with the Soviets to install spy satellites and weaponry in space, later to be called “Star Wars”.
We live in the mountains and have a back deck that is, at its highest above the ground, about twelve feet up. There are many benefits of living here, and some problems. One of those is these things called Golden Mantled ground squirrels, and chipmunks. We cannot grow anything down on ground level, as these creatures will eat anything we put out there. We have managed to put out Russian Sage, as they show no interest in that particular plant, but everything else is quickly toast.
Everyone who lives up here has the same problem. The best solution is planters up on the deck that are large enough that the critters cannot get up and in them. That seems to work. Other solutions are sonic devices that supposedly disrupt their nests and force them to move away. Last year we tried these, and noticed that chipmunks would perch on them while they observed the horizon. In other words, they do not work.
They do not like water, and I delight in standing on the deck and surprising them with a burst from the hose. It brings me such joy to see them scatter and hide under and in rock walls.
We’ve been watching the TV series Yellowstone these past couple of weeks. It’s well-acted and the writing is intense, violence always threatened to break out anywhere. The series is supposedly set in Montana and near Bozeman. Indeed some of the street scenes are of Bozeman, meaning a movie crew did some filming there, but without the actors in the series.
The series stars Kevin Costner as owner of the Yellowstone John Dutton Ranch, a massive complex that appears to be located in Paradise Valley near Livingston, Montana. In real life, the outdoor sequences were filmed near Darby, Montana, a small town located near the far western border of the state. Indoor sequences are shot on massive sound stages in Park City, Utah.
Years ago, when I lived in Bozeman, Montana, something was going on at the federal level regarding Social Security that inspired me to organize a meeting, and to publicize that meeting on radio. I was quite the activist. It was nerve wracking, as I had no idea what the turnout would be. The subject of the meeting was the viability of the Social Security Trust Fund, and of Social Security itself. I was not receiving benefits, but since I was a wonk, I was steeped in numbers regarding the Trust Fund. I did not understand at that time that that Trust Fund was nothing more than a plot device crafted to create the illusion that benefits were threatened, and to convince young people that Social Security would not be there for them when they retired. Overall, the big picture was a movement behind corrupt senators like our then entrenched Baucus and Burns that Wall Street should be in charge of our retirements, and that the concept of “defined benefit” needed to be replaced by “defined contribution”. (If you do not understand either of those terms, now is the time to get up to speed. They are critical.)
The group I used was called “Wonderlust,” and the meeting was a huge success, even drawing a wonk from Washington to act as monitor and inspiring a huge turnout with older people asking and demanding answers to intelligent questions. What a relief! I feared a cricket fest. But to this day I regret my own lack of understanding of the nature of Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, and all of our “entitlements”.
It’s tree-planting season. My annual order of 24 native seedlings arrived today via Fed Ex from the State nursery in Missoula, Montana. Minimum order is 24 “plugs” or bareroot stock, grown for “conservation” purposes and sold throughout the state. This year, I selected P-pine (Ponderosa). Last year it was juniper, and western larch the year before. I treat this as a ritual of Spring, that for me goes way back to the mid-1980s. The serious woman at the nursery – maybe a tree scientist — I ordered from this year wasn’t thrilled about my selection because the seeds were gathered at a much lower elevation, and from a site West of the Continental Divide, somewhere in the Blackfoot River watershed. I’m planting East of the divide in much poorer dirt, in a more hostile setting with less annual precipitation (drought prone) and generally lower humidity. After a robust discussion she agreed to send my 24 Ponderosa pine.
Ponderosa pine seedling (“plug”)
These little beauties are now in 1-gallon pots. It didn’t take long at all.
Wildness, wilderness and roadless areas are all words that we use to describe lands that remain as nature intended, untrammeled by man’s unquenchable thirst for comfort, convenience and attachment to shiny objects. Fragments of Montana, Idaho, Alaska and smaller parcels scattered about the Lower 48 are all that remain of the once vast wild landscape that existed before Europeans occupied (colonized) and exploited anything and everything that could be converted into gold, silver of fiat money. It was all wilderness once. Lately I’ve been reflecting on experiences and events that have influenced my life in the Northern Rockies. Yes, I’m a transplant, originally from “The East.” College in Denver, and then migrating to Missoula, Montana in the winter of 1974-75. I wrote the following piece for a group I helped to found in 1987 in Swan Lake, Montana, The Friends of the Wild Swan. wildswan.org
After 35 years of grassroots wilderness and forest-ecosystem activism, it’s worth reflecting on one of Friends of the Wild Swan’s most important accomplishments: wildlands protection. In 1987, the social, cultural and political climate surrounding the wilderness/roadless-areas debate was highly contentious, to put it mildly. All across western Montana, and in the Swan Valley in particular, public outrage and resentment was growing rapidly against the rapid expansion of clearcut logging on Plum Creek’s (“checkerboard”) corporate holdings, and indiscriminate clearcutting on publicly-owned forest land managed by the U.S. Forest Service.
Piece of Mindful 