The Road To Now

The Road To Now: Taking Stock of Evolution and Our Place in the World

By Melvin Bolton

I chose this book because I was looking for something to help me understand evolution as a theory and solidify my thoughts on why I feel evolution is an important part of our makeup as human beings.

I was not disappointed, however, this survay of evolution did get off-course here and there and especially towards the end of the book.

The book was informative in that it introduced me to the psychological side of evolution. How we evolved mentally and how the mental evolution happned physically is really important and fundamental knowledge that is needed to support arguments and help to understand the workings of evolution.

Bolton must have had a difficult time trying to figure out what he would leave out, instead of what he would include in this book. The subjects are very vast and involved.

I would recommend that someone looking for a survey of evolution start here.

Duluth Thrillz Building (manipulated digital photo)

The River Queen
by Mary Morris
2007

"The River Queen" is a travel narrative set on the author's 3 week adventure on a houseboat travelling south on the Mississippi River and for a short period on the Missouri River.

Morris hitched a ride with two guys, strangers named Tom and Jerry (you heard right) on a classic, battered and malfunctioning houseboat. The boat was slow and expensive to move along the river due to the huge V8 engines and the price of gasoline. There was no functioning shower and Tom has to sleep on the upper deck, on an air mattress, under the stars.

The other passenger was Tom's chiuaua (Mexican dog - sp?) named Samantha. The adventure was compelling enough for a book, but shared the storyline with the author's coming to grips with her father's death - although he was a few years over 100 when he died. Honestly he didn't sound like a wonderful father - he screamed a lot, criticised, was anxious and didn't care a whole lot for his wife, but Morris adored him anyway.

I felt sympathy for Morris in her midlife anxieties her need to understand her past in order to cope with the here, now and future. The trip turned into an elixir and medicine for her mind, along with understanding her father and his anxieties a bit more during the journey. Luckily, Tom and Jerry, kept the book lighthearted and afloat with their their humor personal quirks or else the book would've sank in doldrums of depressions and seriousness.

It was an interesting and good read, but some readers may be tempted to put the book down - don't because the ending is steeped in life lesson and reflections we all have had in life.

Taking the Wall
by Jonis Agee
1999

"Taking the Wall" is a collection of short stories set in the southern United States revolving around the blue collar world of NASCAR racing and its wannabes.

Until reading "Taking the Wall" I was of the notion that it was not possible to write something thoughtful, intriguing and at times, beautiful, about NASCAR ad its subculture.

Agee, in this collection of stories, writes about the lives of regular people surrounding sack car racing. Her style is very easy, romantic and freeflowing. She doesn't lead you on with cheap expectations in her story lines. You tend to sympathize with the imperfect characters because you see your imperfections mirrored in the characters, You are brought down to earth. Every reader has had a dark period in life, a struggle or difficult periods in general.

The most poignant story named "You Know I Am Lying" shines through among the collection. It tells of a man coming home to his family's multi-generational farm house that he has sold after his parents have passed. He recollects the memories of the place, while telling the story of how he was alienated from the farm with his fascination with the automobile and racing.

This is truly a working class book with the literary sense of a classic to be read by anyone and everyone - as a matter of fact a motor head may not enjoy the book quite as much as a "latte liberal." Strange world...... Great read!!!

The Tour De France Companion:

A Nuts, Bolts and Spokes Guide to the Greatest Race in the World

by Bob Roll

2004

The author, a tour competitor himself on one of Armstrong's earlier teams, has written a compeling and informative guidebook on many aspects of the Tour De France.

The guide is a quick read and would be recommended, in my humble opinion, for a beginner seeking to follow the tour. The book is broken down into many sections which allows one to go back easily to find, reference and gather info.

The book is highly illustrated so it is fun, not only to read, but to page through. I found the book to be slightly repetative in inspiring anecdotes and in its sappy overdramatic stories, especially about Lance Armstrong and Greg Lemond.

Overall it a great fun read.

Touching the Void:
The True Story of One Man's Miraculous Survival
By Joe Simpson
1989

Sunless
by Gerard Donovan
2007

It may sound cheesy, but yes, I read this book because the author and I share the same last name. I am glad I read the book because it was well worth the read.

Sunless is a complicated story of a boy named Jimmy who grows up in the near future in an America that is anxiety-ridden due to the scare from terrorism. The terror alerts seem to be the scare tactics designed to keep the nation addicted to pharmaceutical anti-anxiety drugs.

Sunless (what Jimmy calls himself) is the main character who losses his father from an unnamed, but treatable, illness. His father lost his life from the lack of health insurance. He also gets rejected for a possible life-saving clinical trial. Before the loss of his father, Sunless' mother has a stillborn child - Sunless' brother. The stillborn death of his brother haunts him for the rest of his life. The loss depresses Sunless' mother, Mary, and she goes on medication, leaving her in a stupor for the rest of Sunless' childhood.

In his teens Sunless starts popping prescription drugs from his mothers stash and the story takes some psychedelic and fateful turns from then on.

Donovan's style is abstract and cloudy. You don't, as a reader, have to see through the clouds and fill your own images, such as peoples faces and particular settings. Details are not built for the reader. This style of writing makes the story more personal. Much of the imagery goes off on wild drug induced tangents where quirkiness pervades the prose.

Sunless is a quick read, but pulls you in as you try and cheerleader for Sunless to get through his childhood unscathed.

Over the Hills:
A Midlife Escape Across America by Bicycle
by David Lamb
1996

This book shared similarities with “Walking to Vermont” (see my January 11, 2006 post) in that the author was beyond middle age and spent a lot of time reflecting on his life and achievements. Both were journalists – LA Times and NY Times. Both were very mature in their writing. Both were merely in the same physical condition. Both met up with old friends along the way. Both had a knee ailment. Both had doubts about making it and were told they were nuts by friends. Both made it! I enjoyed both books, but “Walking to Vermont” was more interesting.

Lamb took the Trans Am route across the lower states ( URL here ) where he met many characters who were generally quite friendly and helpful. The rural characters tend to be quite charismatic in their own way. In Alabama two toothless and intimidating grimy young men befriended Lamb and helped him across a dangerous bridge with heavy traffic and then disappeared into the hills.

The book was full of well-researched bicycling history which was downright fascinating. He points out many times how bicycling changed the face of the United States and was influential in the Women’s Liberation Movement, establishing a better transportation infrastructure and before the auto provided a means of transportation and economic gains for the country. These facts lend the idea that cycling has gone full circle within the one and a quarter century since the “safety” bicycle came into full production.

The trip was rather uneventful, which we surprisingly wonder how the book is even not dull, but Lamb in fills with so much info that you get lost and sidetracked when the focus isn’t on the personal story of riding across the country.

The inspiration of his journey is due to his age. If a man over 50 can bike across the country in a couple of months, it can be accomplished by mostly anyone capable of climbing aboard a touring bike. Character and stamina are both built along the way.

Cool (I hope) picture of Liam and Buddy at the park

On the Beaten Path:

An Appalachian Pilgrimage

Robert Rubin

1998

I have read numerous books on thruhiking in the past year-and-a-half and, besides A Walk in the Woods for its amusing and witty qualities, On the Beaten Path is hands down the most informative and honest portrayal of what a reader like myself (a non-hiker) would imagine an average personal transformation would be on such an arduous and difficult journey.

Rubin describes what the daily grind is like on the trail. It is truly fascinating to watch the change in him as he hikes for the many months on the Appalachain Trail. It is not just the physical change, but the mental change and how the anti-stimulous of being alone (with various hiking "partners" peppered through the route) and the stimulous of the environment and Nature play on the psyche that is intriguing.

I would argue that most people that write a book about the subject of their hike write the book because of how the hike changed them. Maybe it doesn't change everyone. The sheer extreme nature of walking with a 30-50 pound pack for thousands of miles would certainly test mental and physical stamina in even the most athletic and mentally stable of each of us - that is for sure.

For Rubin the hike seemed for fortify his own love of solitude and Nature.

My Boy Liam......... ...Rockin'...

....at 4 and a half years old!!!!!

Lost in the Wild

Danger and Survival in the North Woods

Cary Griffith

2006

"He stumbles through the woods like a somnambulist. He is devastated. He is trying to remove himself, trying to bring himself awake, but he's beyond conscious thought. He is tired, and he tries to focus on his mission - to find someplace to hide, someplace to sleep, someplace safe, out of the weather, out of the cold.

But he is cold. He can feel it as he walks. His legs are still wet and stiff and his feet are numb. His brain isn't functioning. It is as though the freezing water has reached around his cerebral cortex and deadened it with an icy grip." p. 140 Lost in the Wild

Griffith researched his subjects well. Giving an accurate second-hand account of survival stories takes a decent amount of labor - and to do it well - takes some skill and creativity.

Griffith gives an account of two seperate survival struggles of two young males, with two different sets of outdoor experience who get lost in the North Woods of the Bounday Waters Canoe and Wildreness Area (BWCWA) of Minnesota and the Quetico Park of Manitoba, Canada.

The two stories overlap by chapter in the book which allows the reader to compare and contrast the two stories - the novice who makes all kinds of mistakes and the expert outdoorsman who thinks clearly and posseses strength of character. Miraculassly both young men make it out alive.

The book was inciteful and well written. The reader will walk away with the stories vivid in their mind as if the reader was part of the story in some way. The stories were exciting and gripping.

Anyone who plans to daypack or overnight pack in the Boundary Waters needs to read this book...it may save your life!!!

Small Town Punk

John Sheppard

2002

Small Town Punk is a coming of age novel that claims to not be a memoir, but it seems like there is a touch of autobiography to the novel. I related to the story of growing in a dysfunctional family in the 80's. There is a certain anger to being the victim of abuse, whether emotional or physical, that is always quelling up inside and looking for escape. Buzz, the main character, was beaten by his father and sees the world in black and white. The characters are true-to-life believable and interesting. It is a quick read and well worth taking the time - as long as you can handle some profanity...

Strange Summer Indeed

This summer has been weird and uneventful (except for Thatcher's bike accident of course). We were supposed to have our house up for sale many months ago, but I decided that I wasn't going to spend the summer working on the house. Instead, I spent the summer with my boys and working part-time at Penn Cycle and Fitness in Minnetonka. The summer just flew by.

Liam has been learning how to ride his BMX bike without training wheels. He has also been getting quite good at riding his scooter. He has developed an interest in skateboarding also, but we need to get him some lessons so he doesn't break a bone or something.

Thatcher had an "incident" with his new bike that I bought him and he ended up with around 12 stitches on his upper lip and his chin. Besides his incident, he has been into reading a lot and I regret having to concentrate so much of my time with Liam in these years where he demands a lot of attention. Thatcher is a trooper and the most important parental priority is to try and be aware of where your parental attention needs to be concentrated to maximize the potential of your kids.

Leeann has been working a lot lately and coming in September she starts teaching clinicals again. She enjoys teaching a lot, she gets a lot of personal rewards out of teaching and she doesn't get stressed about it. So it is a treat for us that the University (of Minnesota) gives her this opportunity. We are also excited because she is getting a new car soon, which she REALLY deserves. If you have any suggestions about choices in cars, please feel free to e-mail me at vote4democracy@yahoo.com and thanks!!!

My New Toy!

1963 Vespa Allstate

We bought this for Leeann, but she is not comfortable with the clunky clutch, so we are getting her a NEW Vespa 150cc in the spring. She is handing this one over to me and I am quite pleased.

The Night Before the Funeral

Mom came in and woke me up by turning on my light. She liked to do that early in the morning to wake me up. Usually she would spurt out “WILLIE, time for school,” while she put my clothes away into my closet and dresser and I would roll over and snooze some more until the last possible minute to get out of bed. Then I would rush around to get to school.

This day was different. The light flicked on. Instead of telling me it was time for school, my Mom was pulling things out of my closet. It wasn’t morning either. It was nighttime. It was late at night - the night before the funeral. Mom was asking me if I had anything Pat could wear. I had two identical sweaters. One sweater was white and black and one sweater was blue and black. Selfishly, I thought that I didn’t want him, or anyone, wearing my sweaters. I worked hard for those sweaters and bought them at my own accord. Why couldn't she just buy something for Pat to wear? Why should I give up my favorite sweater?

To this day it haunts me to see my brother lying in a coffin and wearing my favorite sweater for eternity. We were nearly the same size and it didn’t bother me when he wore my clothes while he was alive. Sometimes he would ask me ahead of time if hen could borrow my clothes, and other times he would just go into my closet and find something that he liked.

He worked hard for his money. He spend most of it on liquor and hard drugs. But he had a addiction disease and I was sympathetic to his place in the world. He would work a hard nightshift at the concrete plant in Bethel and ride his ten speed four or five miles home across hills and on busy morning streets. He would be so exhausted that he would fall onto his bed and collapse into sleep fully clothed and lying on his stomach.

I would picture him riding home as fast as he could with the wantonness of a crazy person to get his sleep. All around him was the beautiful Pennsylvania countryside with the sun coming up and the misty coolness and quiet that, to this day, I long for. For him, it was simply getting home to his bed. Everything around him was a blur. All he could think of was that bed in his tiny blue wood-paneled room with a half-view of the back porch and the little brick pump house.

I can still see him there with his work jeans, crusty concreted boots on and his dirty blue pocket t-short sprawled halfway across the bed – his arms spread and hugging his pillow like a kid hugs his teddy bear and two legs spread and one leg hanging off the side of the bed at the knee.

I look down on my rumpled always slightly dirty brother lying in the clean white-laced and open coffin, his mustache combed, and his face cherry red from the exhaust fumes. he is wearung my favorite black and white sweater topping his "Wrangler” work jeans. My Mom said that because he liked to smoke his Marlboro’s so much that she put a pack of smokes and a lighter in his jeans. I remember thinking abut the cigarettes and the lighter while I looked at his expressionless face with those sleeping eyes. I know he had his crusty concrete blonde leather boots on. I looked at him and studied his face. I wanted to touch him, but I was deathly afraid of dead bodies. I wanted to hug him, like he wanted me to hug him, two weeks before when he told me that he was going to kill himself. But I couldn't. I didnt know what to do. I tuned to my Mom and gave her an awkward hug and cried. I didn't really cry, I wailed like the "baby of the family."

My Mom always called me her baby. After all I was the baby of the family. The label was endearing. More endearing, of course, than the other nickname - the "mistake." I wasn't actually supposed to happen. My Mother tried to abort me. It was a year before Roe V. Wade so she tried to strain herself by lifting the bumper of the car (still attached) in an effort to have a miscarriage. That is where my unborn brother/sister went. There was supposed to be a baby between me and Tom, but I never met my other sibling. He or she didn't survive my Mom's other attempt at self-inflicted abortion. That kid went down the toilet, or so goes the story.

My Mom was very open about the fact that she miscarried a baby. She told the story often, probably out of guilt, or ignorance - one will never really know. But according to Mom she was out chopping wood, got stomach pains, went inside to the bathroom and had a miscarrage right there on the toilet. So instead of ladeling the poor blob out of the toilet, she flushed it down.

It was always a story I repeated because it gave my Mom an appearance of toughness. What other kid could say that their Mom was bold enough to chop wood while preganant, have a miscarriage and flush it down the toilet with a nanchalant flush of that chrome handle? What she failed to tell me was that it was planned.

At 35 I learned that I was nearly a victim of the flush. After many months of self-pity and confusion about what my relationship to my Mom should be, I came to grips with the fact that I was here and I don't know enough about my Mom's situation in 1970 to pass judgement. I did know that she lived with three kids in a trailer and was married to a drunken, violent and emotionally distraught man who happened to be my Dad. Then my opinion changed from anger to pity. Only I didn't know who to pity more - my flushed sibling, or my abused Mom.

A couple of weeks before the dat Pat killed himself, Pat admitted his plot to me and me only, with no details, after he showed me the set of aluminum wheels he stole for me. He stashed the wheels away in the chicken shed. He really wanted me to thank him and appreciate what he had done for me, but instead I scolded him and told him that I wasn’t going to accept stolen wheels, no matter how cool they were. I didn’t even know if they would fit on my Mustang.

The World According To Garp

John Irving

1978

(film 1982)

If you want the lowdown on the plot, characters, etc... google the book. This is a blog with book reviews, yes, but the reviews are not generic, but tend to tell how the subject to be reviewed fits into, or pertains to, my own life.

In this case, Garp, the heroin and neurotic father, shows anxiety at the heels of his children. This is precisely how I can relate to Garp. Garp is a man who puts his children first - he makes sure that every decision he makes ensures that his kids are figured into that equation. I live by that philosophy. It is a hard philosophy. You may have many days where you feel that your decisions are wrong. Some days you cry because the you see how your decisions and actions affect your children - both positively and negatively.

Garp sits awake for hours some evenings just simply looking at his children sleep. I watch my kids sleep. I love to see them in that state. I sit and watch and think about how they were created, if they will still appreciate my goofiness and my love for them when they are embarrassed by my presence. I think about how happy they will be when they marry. I think about how their life will end...hoping, hoping, hoping that it will be painless and they will have family or friends to be there to send them off into another world.

"Tissue samples show that fish from the Mississippi River near the 3M plant contain some of the highest levels of PFCs found anywhere in the world."

Read the full story at:

http://minnesota.publicradio.org/display/web/2007/03/28/toxic2landfills/






My kids playing by the peaceful Mississippi River

The End of the Wild
Stephen M. Meyer
2006

What is the human without the Wild? Meyer presumes the end of natural selection and justifiably claims that for many many decades humans have changed the act of selection to human selection. It is our hand that determines the populace of individuals in an ecosystem - both intentionally and unintentionally.

This book was like a 97 page gasp. It is like someone telling you that your neighborhood is burning and it will never be the same and within the flames lie your beloved two cats and a dog and the deer, fox and squirrels that you watch every morning. The whole of the idea of what Meyer has to say puts butterflies in my stomach.

Meyer tells us that it would be wise to forget about saving the charismatic species like the panda, mountain gorilla California condor. The focus should be the whole ecosystem. The reason being is that these charismatic fauna and flora are doomed to begin with. It is merely an act of feel-good action for our own psyche.

Meyer tells us that we need to look at our own behavior and modify it drastically. He doesn't call for empty public policy and for more corporate environmental lobby, but a dumping of billions over the next twenty years into studying and classifying ecosystems. On the one hand he lauds the management of Nature as human selections, but on the other hand calls for a drastic step-up in management and study. This would-be irony makes a lot of sense if the end of the wild is real. There is no room, literally, for "nature to take its course" without human intervention, which is the definition of human selection.

If human selection is the contemporary process by which to make the most of our Earth and its various habitats, we should do it correctly. We may have to spend time mixing various sub populations for a stronger gene pool, cull weedy species, and construct larger and healthier wildlife corridors. We need to be consistent and smart about it.

Meyer doesn't state this in "the End of the Wild," but I think that there is a presumption that we are a weedy species that is out of control.

This book should be read by anyone and everyone...especially our youth. At 97 pages (it took me an hour to read) this could be part of assigned reading for many school-age groups.

Columbia River Gorge from above...

North American Canoe Country
The Classic Guide to Canoe Technique
Calvin Rutstrum
1964







The first item to compliment regarding North American Canoe Country is the wonderful illustrations in the 1992 softcover copy. The illustrations are by Les Kouba. The canoeing scenes depicted in woodcuts are vivid and dramatic and even solemn when needed.

Rutstrum seems to be a very methodical person with an emotional streak - methodical when speaking of technique and emotional when lavishing on the adventure, spirit and peacefulness of the paddlers' life.

Personally, I enjoyed both method and emotion. The book would be a better read with more of a focus on the emotional and romantic aspects of canoeing. Paddling technique is quite artistic and timeless as Rutstrum exquisitely lays out for the reader. I certainly will be a much better paddler in the long term with North American Canoe Country under my belt. What really makes this book a classic are lines like these where Rutstrum tells how he feels about paddling and whats sparks his romance with the sport:

"As you settle into the smooth, quiet rhythm of this stroke, you dare not even whisper. To call your partner's attention to a caribou camouflaged against a rocky background beyond the point , or a flock of young merganser ducks hugging the shore current, you rock the canoe gently. A short while back you altered your conduct for wilderness society. In time, the orderly, respectful protocol of the wilderness will come as naturally as breathing., and only then you will be accepted into the silent forest mansions."

Bounday Waters shoreline from the canoe

"In the lone journey you live closer to the nerve ends of feeling, where subjective response to the world around you becomes complete - objective response having been lost in the very intimacy of your natural existence. With companions, you saw the world with the eyes of aliens seeking novelty. Alone, you become a part of that phenomenon which was novelty, an integration that only the lone traveler ever experiences."

I think that what Rutstrum describes I have felt on day-long rides on my road bike through the mountains and valleys of Central Pennsylvania. When you are alone you notice things more distinctly because you are relying on your own senses judgement. Exploring new roads is more exciting and adventureous. I miss those days. Those experiences are remiss in suburba...unfortunately.

North American Canoe Country is an easy read, fun, and has a variety of subject material to keep you interested. If you don't have much time and are not interested in technigue, read the chapter on the strories of real-life adventurers by canoe. They are worth the read and are inspiring.

Mt. Hood

It speaks for itself!

Oregon Coast
Evening in March









My wife and I decided that we were going to travel to Oregon, Portland in particular, in an effort to narrow down our choices of where we should be living. We enjoyed our stay. We drove around Mt. Hood and retuned to Portland along the Columbia River Gorge from Hood River to Portland. Gorgeous!

Then we decided to drive south to Eugene, and west to the coast, north along the coast and east back to Portland. Wow, what a drive!
Eugene was a very livable and laid back town and the coastal towns were spectacular. The kids spent some time on the beach (yes, its not all rocks).

Portland was a great town, but very confusing to drive in, especially because the signage is quite poor...unlike the anal Minnesotans (thats is actually a compliment because it pays to be anal in infrastructure) who think and plan and think and plan. March in Portland was lush. Even though there were only buds on the deciduous trees, roses, clematis, daffodils and a host of other spring flowering plants were blooming everywhere. The rain felt good and seems natural there, where it is not uncommmon to find roofs covered with thick green moss. Green green green was everywhere!

We liked a little area known as Multnomah Village, where it once was suburbia, but later became swallowed up into urbania. It had quaint shops and nicely maintained, but modest homes. The Village was close to the sizeable and lush Tyrone State Park located inside City limits. I worry that by the time we actually get there we will be priced out of the area. I am anxious to visit the area again, and hopefully the next time will be to settle!

Nanook of the North

Documentary Film

1922

Directed by Robert J Flaherty

Do not underestimate a good documentary produced in 1922. Nanook of the North is one of those rare and timeless flicks that not only records lost histroy but is a part of history. My son Thatcher was as amazed as I was at the truly remarkable life of this Inuit family. These people were and likely still are, a remarkable people. Nanook, the head of the family, is a brave, strong, smart and caring individual who provides for his family day in and day out under unbelieveable circumstances. He should be named Nanoook, Superman of the North.

Nanook hunts walrus, spears fish through a hole in the ice with a "homemade" harpoon made of bone and ivory, builds an igloo daily, and still manages a humble smile and playtime with his tiny son.

Take some time out of your schedule and watch this piece of North American history. Watch it with your kids.

I ordered this from the Hennepin County Library at www.hclib.org

Northland Stores
By Jack London
1876-1916










Unfortunately for Jack London, his novels and short stories were written and published during the period of dime store novels of westerns and other regionalist fiction. Unlike dime store novels, London's stories were literary masterpieces who told of the raw aspects of life, broken down to the most primitive aspects of humanity. London wrote about such things as life and death, racial discrimination and the basic instincts of humankind.

In "The Sun-Dog Trail," (to be continued)

Grizzly Man
2005
Documentary Motion Picture

Grizzly Man is a documentary about the 13 summers Timothy Treadwell spent with the grizzly bears in Katmai National Park in Alaska. Shocking footage of Treadwell walking amongst the brown bears and patting a full-grown grizzly on the nose is truly amazing and truly irresponsible. The immensity of these animals and their ferocity is nothing to take lightly. The natives of the region for some 7 thousand years have warned of crossing the invisible line between these wonderful creatures and the human world. Besides the lack of respect for their role in Nature, the acclimation of these creatures to humans is a massive threat, not only to the bears themselves, but to innocent humans who accidentally encounter bears and do not have the understanding of their behaviors that Treadwell had. This looseness lead to Treadwell's own horrific death where he and his girlfriend were actually partially eaten by a late-season and hungry bear who wasn't interested in Treadwell as a curiosity, but as something to curb its own appetite and store enough calories to make it through a hibernation period.

With all that said, there is a deeper and more human aspect to what happened that lead to Treadwell's death. Although Treadwell was only 46 at his death (49 today), his situation was one of what many GenXer's and probably GenYer's feel in this this world of technology and isolation. Many of us ask "what happened to the natural world?" And "why are we so detached from it?" Couple this restlessness with alcohol, drugs and guilt and there is a recipe for many more Timothy Treadwells in the world. Treadwell found a way out of his pain from isolation and alcohol abuse. For him it was bears. For me it was my wife and kids. My obsession with protecting my kids and my own created world ultimately may lead to a similar destruction of the very world I am protecting for myself. Similarly, Timothy Treadwell latched onto the foxes and bears and created a world where he felt safe and where he felt he finally belonged. Although my kids won't eat me, as the grizzly that lead to Treadwell's demise, my life hangs in a similar balance. Love, emotion and attachment need to be tempered. Kids need strength in character from the adults in their life, but they do not need to be pressured. Like bears, kids need their own territory where they can lead their own life and learn life lessons. Bears cannot protect themselves from poachers, and maybe that is where a paternal role, similar to Treadwell's, may lie for people and the protection of bears. Children cannot protect themselves from immoral humans, but parents can teach caution for protection - and morality for a greater society.

Its true that we no longer fear wilderness, but there are many sacred aspects of wilderness and Nature that deserve respect. Tempered kindness and proactive thoughtfullness may eventually lead to protecting aspects of wild Nature and preserve our own society as well.

The film shows treadwell progressing from Nature lover to a militant-of-kindness whose evil foes were the Park Service, poachers and the "people world." He saw himself as morphing into a grizzly. It is all-to-abvious that this man's world revolved around his own problems and the bears and Alaska were his obsession, only second to himself. Alcoholics don't simply quit obsessions, they just go from one obsession to another and (hopefully not) revolve back around to alcohol. It would've been wonderful to see Timothy Treadwell champion his cause and preserve his bears, but his path was chosen through ignorance and emotion.

I envy the fact that Treadwell lived his dream in the most inconcieveably beautiful land on Earth and spent years in a world he created, and has gone emotionally and physically where very few people have gone - into the world of the grizzly bear.

Sowa Mensah and the African Music Ensemble at Macalaster College - beauty comes in many forms!!!!

Wilderness and the American Mind
By Roderick Nash
1967
Halfway through “Wilderness and the American Mind” I felt the need to go to the front cover and underline the word “mind.” Truly what Nash so straightforwardly and academically outlines in his predictable well-structured and footnoted style, is the mind of America regarding wilderness from the colonial to the pre-Rachel Carson era (post Aldo Leopold).

Most remarkably, wilderness is still (yes, even today) the binding in the American book. It is the glue that holds us together psychologically and gives us a sense of morality and American pride. It is our conscience and one of our unique features of America – both physically and mentally.

Nash points out that Joseph Wood Krutch stated in 1958 that “the wilderness and the idea of wildness is one of the permanent homes of the human spirit.” It is the idea, or the spirit of wildness, that is truly American. You don’t need to go to into the wilderness to experience something that is innate to your native psyche.

What is that “idea” of wilderness? Wilderness is freedom of expression, liberty and democracy. Robert Underwood Johnson perceived the wilderness “idea” as the embattlement of ruthless exploitation (Nash 158) where the land has survived consumption by commercial and social interests. Today, it might even be the land that survives recreational exploitation from ATV’s, snowmobiles and 4x4’s with the beauty and solitude still remaining.

When that idea is lost is when the land will be lost or destroyed. We hear the cries of the wildlife advocates for the large charismatic land animals, like grizzly bears, jaguars, pandas and mountain gorillas. We hear the warnings of environmentalists and marine scientists about the loss of diversity and indidual numbers of fish and marine mammals, such as the right whale, and fish, such as the shark and tuna. What we fail to ponder is what our moral compass will read, or diminish altogether, when we have lost these creatures or even the loss of the solitude of wilderness altogether. The idea that land and species keep us physically and mentally aware of our conscience, when those things are lost, will render our sensibilities morally inept. What will we have to strive for when that idea is lost? And where will we go to in our dreams and in our waking hour for relief and for philosophical and natural beauty and solitude?

John Muir defines the natural world in spiritual terms – Christian terms for that matter. What he lacked in religiosity he made up for in spirituality. For Muir the cathedral was the giant rock outcrops and crags that stood and weathered the wonderful thunderous storms and bright piercing life-giving sun. His spirituality melted into these feelings and images.
(to be continued)

Liam

Cuppa "Joe?"
Lonely cuppa "Joe" at the HW7 offramp coming off of HW169 in Hopkins. This joe has been sitting there for months on end....I thought about picking it up but decided I would see if it makes it through the winter.

That Cuppa "Joe"
still there as of 11/30/06 - first sighting sometime in Early September

St. Louis Park buses to get internal makeover
By Seth Rowe - Sun Newspapers(Created: Wednesday, November 1, 2006 10:57 PM CST)
www.mnsun.com


Will Donovan III (left) has made the curbside air cleaner for his son, second-grader Thatcher Donovan, at Aquila Primary Center. Will Donovan led a campaign to retrofit buses to cut down on exhaust. (Craig Lassig/Sun Newspapers)

After becoming concerned about emissions from area industrial operations, St. Louis Park resident Will Donovan III became acutely aware of pollution right outside his son's school.Donovan educated himself on environmental health issues as a resident of the South Oak Hill Neighborhood south of Highway 7 and west of Louisiana Avenue. McGarvey Coffee and Northland Products are located near his home."We're an old industrial city," Donovan said. "We're breathing all that stuff in."While picking up his then kindergarten-age son from school in St. Louis Park, he perceived another potential health threat when he noticed buses idling outside the school."I walked by a kid sitting in the grass and a bus was sitting there and an exhaust pipe was practically blowing in their face," he said.He worried that bus exhaust could trigger an asthma attack in a child and also about potential long-term effects on children. He recalled smelling fumes inside his own school bus as a kid."It was just hell on the inside of that bus," he said of his childhood bus. "The fumes were just terrible."He later learned about Project Green Fleet, an initiative that funds bus retrofits designed to reduce diesel pollution substantially."I realized this was a win-win for everybody," he said.The St. Louis Park school district and St. Louis Park Transportation, a private company that operates school buses in the city, were both receptive to the idea, said Bill Droessler, director for Clean Air Minnesota, the non-profit that organized Project Green Fleet."I think it's a great thing for the environment, to try to do our part to cut down on diesel emissions," said Tom Burr, manager of St. Louis Park Transportation.His company will retrofit 20 buses built between 1996 and 2003 while two smaller bus companies that operate out of the same location will receive emissions filters for 11 additional buses.Like Burr, Superintendent Debra Bowers said she welcomed the changes."It's an effort to make our buses safer and cleaner for our community," she said at an Oct. 23 school board meeting.The retrofits should cut down emissions on the St. Louis Park buses by about 40-50 percent, Droessler said. The equipment is funded largely by donations from corporations and foundations. Bus companies are only responsible for the cost of replacing filters, an expense that Burr described as minimal.Project Green Fleet has funded retrofits in seven Minnesota districts, Droessler said."One of the unique things in St. Louis Park is it's the first one that's kind of been that grassroots of an action," he said.In other districts, the organization has contacted school districts directly or districts have come to them.The filters will bring the buses closer to new federal standards going into effect in 2007 for new diesel engines, Droessler said. In many states, government agencies have mandated that older buses receive the equipment. However, all retrofits in Minnesota are voluntary because the Twin Cities metro is one of the few metropolitan areas in the country that meets federal pollution standards.Nevertheless, the area is in danger of violating standards relating to ground level ozone and fine particulate matter, Droessler said. And while the emissions coming from diesel engines is not high as a percentage of pollution in the area, the fine particles from diesel engines can enter the people's lungs and bloodstream relatively easily - a fact that led to Clean Air Minnesota's emphasis on reducing diesel emissions. Studies have found that the amount of pollution inside buses can be as much as five times as high as in outside air, according to the Project Green Fleet Web site, www.projectgreenfleet.org.By the end of November, the St. Louis Park project should be complete, Droessler said. The work won't affect bus service, Burr said.Donovan said he is pleased that the school district agreed to support the project."I'm really glad they're doing this - it's a great thing," he said. "It's just incredible what we breathe that we don't realize we're breathing."

 

Camping trip to Carver Park Reserve in Carver County....
....only 25 minutes from St. Louis Park. Just me and my boys. Of course Liam is wiping his nose on my shirt in this photo. We had a great time, but missed Mom... 

 

 

The Forest for the Trees:
How Humans Shaped the North Woods
By Jeff Forester
2004

Excerpts from Chapter 4 "Lumberjack Life"

"But while each horse in a livery got its own stall, in a lumber camp the men slept two to a bunk....Daylight cascaded in from numerous chinks between the log walls, and beams of light stabbed into the room from holes in the roof(p.70)."

"The companies forbid thermometers so jacks could not complain that is was too cold to work...Lumber camps were like loose confederations of fiefdoms, and as the jacks passed from one realm to the next they had to serve different masters and abide different rules (p.68)."

"Logging was harc work, dangerous and demanding. But the rules established to maintain control of hundreds of men living in close quarters were perhaps more tormenting than the labor (p.68)."

Excerpt from Chapter 3 "The Cut Increases"

Weyerhauser had almost exclusive control of logging operations on the Chippewa, St. Croix, and Upper Mississippi Rivers, and area containing some of the richest pineries left in the world. He woned timberlands, mills, transportation networks, and retail outlets, making the Weyerhauser companies the most econimically integrated organisation in the Upper Midwest and allowing him to set the price for lumber from the Great Lakes to the Rocky Mountains (p.63)."

Nickel and Dimed:
On (Not) Getting By in America
By Barbara Ehrenreich
2001

My Mom has been a low-wage cashier in various local grocery stores for her whole adult life. Since childhood I have pondered why she didn't change jobs or seek a higher wage.

Barbara Ehrenreich wrote "Nickel and Dimed" to expose the foray of the low-wage working poor in today's America. She did this by leaving her comfy upper-middle class life as a well educated (PhD in Biology) writer and joined the low-wage workforce for a sojourn of many months.

Ehrenreich first worked as a waitress in Key West, then as a housekeeper with the corporate "Merry Maids" franchise in Maine and finally as a Wal-Mart employee in my very own Minneapolis (she turned down a higher payng job selling plumbing supplies at Menard's).

Because my Mom has been a cashier for so long and I know what it means to live week-to-week, I already go out of my way to be gacious and kind to even the most forlorn cashier. Ehrenreich depicts the working poor from inside the workplace, where they are starved, tired and emotionally battered automatons for our modern corporate slavedrivers.

A most troubling scene was Ehrenreich's account of a co-worker at Merry Maid's who has fallen and twisted her ankle while leaving a jobsite. The woman refused to go to the hospital because she feared her boss and feared the cost of not having health insurance. Worst of all was missing a days work, which probably meant going without food. This is the "team" of maids who literally couldn't scrape together two dollars amongst each other.

Everyone should take the time to read "Nickel and Dimed" especially every elected official of every federal, state and local municipal government, along with the management of every large corporation in America and abroad.


Upton Sinclair

I would recommend reading this book alongside Upton Sinclair's great American novel, "The Jungle."

Other People's Dirt:
A Housekeeper's Curious Adventures
By Louise Rafkin
1998

Rafkin, even after pursuing a Masters in English, chose housecleaning as her profession. The book "Other People's Dirt" is an amalgam of stories from her days pre-housecleaning that lead her down the path of cleanliness, to her days of housecleaning and finally to her days of spiritually coming to grips with her chosen prfession.

Housecleaning lead her around the world, from Europe to Asia and back home again. She even hd a stint with a corporate houseclaning agency (much the same as Ehrenreich in "Nickel and Dimed") that payed incredibly low wages and expected extremely difficult and lonely working conditions.

During her shrt time with the corporate maids franchise she was chosen to clean the house of a very scholarly and wealthy professor. While dusting his bookshelves she came across a book she had read previously that contained an explanation of the working conditions of the poor. The book was socialist in nature and outlined the housekeeping industry. Rafkin decided to take the book and confront the professor about his hypocrisy with little success.

I found it impressive that Rafkin could be so upbeat about such a lowly job, in most people's eyes. It was illuminating and a fun book to read.

PS: I recently saw a TV commercial (the only one I have ever seen) for Merry Maids. The maids portayed in the commercial were attracive white women, which is NOT how Rafkin or Ehrenreich described their coworkers.

A Blistered Kind of Love: One Couple's Trail by Trail
By Angela and Duffy Ballard
2003

"The weather was clear and the skies were blue as we reached Lakeview Ridge. We turned slowly in a circle, admiring the views. To the north, the Cascades continued far into Canada - the crest unlike the trail, didn't end at the Canadian Border. CragglyThree Fools Peak rose from the south and more mountains loomed to the west, Reds, golds, and oranges painted the valley to our east." Duffy Ballard

The quote above is just another quote from the three books I've read in the past four months on the three major national hiking trails - the Appalachian Trail (AP), the Continental Divide Trail (CDT), and the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). The quote sounds really quite remarkable as read. But imagine nearing the end of a 2500 mile journey by foot. Would what Duffy Ballard is describing here be remarkable or just another fantastic sight?

The three books have many common denominators including "trail magic," intense hunger, frustrationa dn delight. All three publications describe similar degrees of the same hazards and fears. Most importantly all four hikers that contributed to the pages describe something unexpected and fantastic, besides extreme weight loss - the transformation of their lives from their travails. Duffy Ballard writes "I, too have found patience on the trail, and perspective."

Patience and perspective. I am not sure if the average Joe or Josie has to walk 2500 miles to find patience and perspective, but these qualities tend to be missing in many lines, both rural and urban and everywhere in between.

Duffy and Angela found that the trail broght them closer together in love and in life. Maybe each and every budding loves should take to the trail to "make or break" their relationship. It is possible that the therapy for the individual is therapy for the couple. Trail life is companionship - a sort of seperate but equal, together but apart, reliance on a partner but individual at the same time.

The Lobster Chronicles : Life On a Very Small Island
by Linda Greenlaw
2003

Did you ever wonder what is must be like to live on an island miles from the mainland with only a hundred people or less all year long? Did you ver wonder what is must be like to be a lobster fisherperson an spend life surviving on the bounty of the sea?

I did. And The Lobster Chronicles answered the questions above and other questions I have posed to myself about ways of life other than country-boy or suburbanite.

The memoir is of Greenlaw's move back to Penobescot Island, off the coast of main, after deep sea fishing for many years and after acquiring an education. Greenlaw decides to reinhabit the island where her folks live and set out to become the sole owner of a lobster boat named The Maddy Belle.

Greenlaw outlines island life from the eyes of a single middle-aged female in a prominently male role. She is not shy about explaining numerous times her want and need for a husband and a family. Three quarters of the way through the book she reveals that her mother has been diagnosed with cancer and turns out to be quite a survivor ( a happy saga indeed!!).

Many of the flaws Greenlaw reveals of island life would not be complaints from me. I would gladly trade her community for my own. Although there are more people on three blocks in my neighborhood than dwell on the whole of the Island, it is difficult to get my suburban neighbors to say hi and smile, much less work towards a common goal such as the islanders have achieved. Suburban Minneapolis if the individualists heaven and society's gulf. The islanders recognize that they are each individuals, yet part of a whole. Maybe they are forced into relying on each other for support, but nontheless it would seem that suburbanites can at least put an effort into feeling like they live in a community, instaed of a bunch of unrelated single houses that just happen to be next to each other.

I would recomend The Lobster Chronicles. It was thoroughly enjoyable, the characters were believeable and eccentric, but had a hard time keeping my constant attention.

Mark of the Grizzly
True Stories of Recent Bear Attacks and the Hard Lessons Learned
by Scott McMillion




I have never experienced true horror. Being mauled by an animal that weighs between 300 and 800 punds (and sometimes larger) proves to be a most horrific experience. Most people live to tell of their maulings. "Mark of the Grizzly" tells of the stories of men and women, some young and some old, who have been attacked by grizzly bears. It tells of more than one description of the tooth of a grizzly running along the scalp. More than one story of popping bones and crunching of faces. I cannot underestimate the gruesomeness of these attacks.

More often than not a bear attack changes the life of the mauling victim, both physically and psychologically. Surprizingly, the victim usually does not call for the death of the bear. The victim claims to have earned the respect for the bear - the power, the ferocity, the intelligence. Sometimes the vitim simply states "I was in the bears home, she was not in mine. I should've known better."

"The Survival of the Bark Canoe"
by John McPhee
1975

"Henri says that his reaction to Deliverance, while seeing the movie, was that he couldn't care less who was doing what to whom but he was shocked and alarmed by what was happening to the canoes." John McPhee

If you love the serenity of paddling gently across a lake in the heat of the summer. Even better, if you love the idea of paddling across a lake in the heat of the summer. Or if you love the idea of a canoe and the canoe itself, as a thing of beauty and practicality - as a piece of art itself - then "The Survival of the Bark Canoe" is a must read.

There is something very primitive about a canoe. Something primitive even about a kevlar, top-of-the-line, 30 pound high-tech canoe. Its not about the canoe really, its about the relationaship of the paddler to the canoe.

The birch bark canoe has been used by natives for a very very long time. The bark canoe rivals the kevlar canoe in performance and arguably in durability. The bark canoe is non-comparable to a modern hi-tech canoe in beauty and in primitive hi-tech.

A Vaillancourt built fur-trader canoe


McPhee introduces the reader to Henri Vaillancourt, a birch bark canoe artisan builder from rural New Hampshire (if there is a non-rural New hampshire to campare). Vaillancourt is crusty, tepid, self-absorbed, perfectionsist to a fault, and an extremely skilled self-taught canoe builder. As a character for a book, he is who you want to spend the 10 hours turning pages with. But you wouldn't want to take a canoe trip with him in the Maine Woods, which is exactly what McPhee and two other men did.

"The Survival of the Bark Canoe" is a typical McPhee read where the characters are so well described, the objective historical and contemorary information is relavant and does not disrupt the story, and as a reader, you get absorbed in seeing the world through McPhee's eyes.

McPhee is always a winner, and is a timeless literary non-fiction writer. I would recommend "Encounters with the Archdruid" as an acco0mpaniment to "The Survival of the Bark Canoe."

You can visit Henri Vaillancourt's web page and investigate this birch bark canoe phenomenon, or you can actually purchase one made from the master himself at http://www.birchbarkcanoe.net/default.htm

On Celtic Tides
by Chris Duff
1999

"I breathed, ate, slept, and lived with the sea and the tides. Within that physical world of listening and patiently watching there was a growing spiritual connection that went beyind the spoken words. the paddling life quieted me and the exposure, both physically and emotionally, made the entire day an ongoing form of prayer." Chris Duff

"On Celtic Tides" has some truly beautiful prose that merit a read of this book on that basis alone. The Isle of Ireland must truly be a magical place.

Duff traverses the perimeter Island in a sea kayak. He writes of treacherous seas and tidal waters that flank him if he is mentally unprepared. Other parts of the journey sport calm seas and a mystical presense of the spirit of the seas. In one magical instance a huge majestic basking shark appears out of the mist on a calm and serene morning.

The coastline of Ireland is filled with special places and special people. Duff sleeps in and around the ruins of monastaries. One night he spends in a stone beehive hut sleeping on a slab of stone. The most engaging parts of the story were the times he spent on the small islands only miles off the mainland. Some islands were deserted, while others were inhabited, clinging to a sense of tradition, at the same time seeking a piece of the economic pie of the mainland. This struggle is happening all over the globe, and it is sad to see the modern pulling at the traditional in Ireland.

At the time of Duff's journey there was some violence prevelant in Northern Ireland and it made for a fair juxtapose to the serenity of the trip. The violence interupted his internal serenity and jolted him at times into the reality of life in a violent society - strife vs. serenity.

"Out of the thicket of briars and ferns it rose like the walls of a fotified city. Eight to ten feet high, perfectly flat on top, and twelve to fifteen feet wide, the walls curved gradually out of sight. Beneath the white-gray sky that mirrored the rock, I walked into the walled monastary."

Chris Duff on his kayak somewhere

around Ireland or England

If I had a criticism of "On Celtic Tides" I would have to say that the book could've been condensed. There were no real surprises or suspense, except when Duff had to swim out to rescue a young boy who was riding in Duff's kayak while the boy's father pushed him around. The boy somehow got loose from his father and was being carried out to sea by the tide. It could have been a real tragedy. Somehow we all learn lessons from such misfortunes. What the book lacks in excitement is made up for in the great nature/travel writing. Additionally, we also have to consider that Chris Duff is not a writer by trade and this is his first book.

I would recommend this book to anyone who plans on travelling in Ireland. It teaches the traveler that the less touristy road less traveled would be the way to see Ireland.

Satellite Image of the Neighborhood I Grew Up In



Village of Host

Although I grew up in the Village of Host, our address was Womelsdorf, Pennsylvania, because Host wasn't large enough for an address of its own. My parents still live, with my Nephew, in the home that my father built. My Dad built our house from somewhere around 1970 to 1977. In the meantime we lived in trailer where the garden is today. I was born in 1971. So I literally was raised in a trailor. From what I am told, my Dad bought the three acres of overgrown land in 1967, for 1200 dollars. My Dad then proceeded to build a four bedroom house, with an oversized two car garage, a pavilion, and a chicken coup for the next seven years. This is clearly my Dads biggest achievement, and the one that I am most grateful for.
The three acres of land doesn't seem like much, but when you add in the many many acres of farmland to the east, a 200 foot limestone quarry hidden in the woods to the west, and a sizeable woods to the north, it adds up to a lot of freedom for a kid to wander and explore.

Hershy Meyer, the farmer who owned the adjacent land to the east, lived over the hill and at least a mile away. I never really visted Hershy Meyer's gray limestone farmhouse and I rarely adventured close enough or him to give a damn who I was, so I really took advantage of his farmland whenever I could to traverse and explore. There were sinkholes in the fields, shear rock cliffs and farm dumps in the woods (seasonally fresh slaughtered cow heads included), rusty and abandoned farm equipment on the edge of the fields, and worn smooth wild animal trails to follow everywhere. In the summer I would run through the alfalpha and corn, and in the fall I would trap for furs in the woods and have corn fights with the corn lelftover from the inefficient combines. In the winter I would sled from the plateau at the top of the field to the fence near my house, and in the spring I would look for nightcrawlers in the freshly overturned soil. Summertime brought butterflies to the conservation easement area and we could throws stones in the air for bats to chase through the twilight. I will always cherish the warmth of the lightning bugs flashing across the yard in the warm August evenings.

The Lost Continent
by Bill Bryson

I couldn't find a suitable quote to begin a review of "The Lost Continent." Bryson is one of the strangest writers I have ever read. He is absolutley hilarious and you will definitely find yourself laughing out loud over and over. If you are self-conscious about public places, read this book only in private spaces.
Bryson is searching for "amalgam," a make believe town that he pieced together from typical scenes he remembers from movies and other media from his childhood - clean, smiling townspeople, with a paperboy riding abike and throwing his papers onto porches while two suited men in lockstep whistle by on the street, is an example of what Amalgam would look like.

Deliverance (1972)

Most importantly, Bryson is a harsh critic of the simple-minded mentality of Americans that ends with poorly planned and cheap looking and feeling "McTowns," overweight, ignorant and rude people, greed and violence. It may be possible that his dark and insensitive humor may be a reaction to the mental lapse of Americans in general.

Bryson travels from his hometwon of Des Moines, Iowa into the deep south, across to the southern Atlantic states, on up into New England, back down through the middle west and into the southwest.

Wall Drug in South Dakota

From there he travels north through California and then on through Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, South Dakota, the lower slice of Minnesota and back into Iowa. he makes this trip in his Mom's Chevey Chevette that starts to clonk a lot coming back over the Rockies.

Most memorably are his thoughts of the Deep South, the gauked at Amish in Lancaster, PA, his views of the people of the West (as opposed to the Midwest) and his obsession with the sanitation of motel toilets.

Bryson has a way of insulting each and every population of people that he comes into contact with, but he does it with such wit and humor that you almost can't take him seriously. I wondered through the book at how accurate his research is when speaking of the various locations and people. If his genealisations and quips about subcultures were aimed at living indivuals he would offend each and every one.

Besides the humor, I enjoyed traveling around the country in Bryson's bizarro world, but reading another similar book by Bryson would be exhausting. "A Walk in the Woods" was not as light-hearted, but it was more enjoyable and better researched.

"Walking to Vermont," by Christopher S. Wren

border="0" alt="" /> "A lake is the landscape's most beautiful and impressive feathure...It is earth's eye:looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature." H D Thoreau from Walden

"The Appalachian Trail was not about hiking, it was about seeking nirvana, through pain on a hard day like this." Christopher S Wren from Walking to Vermont

Every book I read about hiking talks about this thing called "trail magic," which is simply the kindness of others. Wren's consisted of a cold can of beer left in a sparkling brook, to a lady who bakes chocolate chip cookies for hikers, to a hollar to "keep moving, it easier ahead." Karen Berger's "trail magic" was the kindness of ranchers who gave hikers snacks and let them travels on their personal property, to free cabins provided by landowners and the Forest Service.

"Trail magic" is a universal term for doing good things for people in need. Because hikers are stripped down to the basics of life - everything you can carry on your back - "trail magic" is more profoundly observed. We probably witness trail magic everyday, or even benefit from some of the "magic." However, our lives are so overwhelmed with work-a-day jobs, family, errands, and aquiring and taking care of all of our stuff, that we less likely to be grateful or even ofservant of everyday "trail magic."

I experienced trail magic on my trip from Shepard Air Force Base in Texas, to Edwards Air Force Base in the Mojave Desert of California. After arriving in LAX in my blues as a punky, ignorant and scared post-boot camp teenager, I was trying to ration my meager twenty-some bucks and no bank account to get me and my bags from LA to Edwards. I remember thinking how cool it was to be in Los Angeles, so I decided to take an evening stroll outside my motel room. I emerged onto the street with the sound of harried traffic and orange lights illuminating the dark figures on the street corners. By the time I got to the end of the block, I noticed some of these dark figures watching me rather attentively. Quckly, I turned my hillbilly ass around and fled into the motel for safety.

In the motel I met an Evengelical Missionary on her way to China to do whatever missionaries do - spread the word, or whatever. She must have noticed my cowering and look of being out-of-place. The missionary offered to buy me a dinner, and after prying my innermost secrets (literally) out of me, she gave me another twenty bucks to help me get to my destination. I ended up, with the twenty dollar "trail magic" donation, getting to Edwards Air Base with just a few cents in spare change. Luckily, the Air Force does not charge for meals, so I somehow made it until payday.

Vermont's Long Trail, 270 miles of footpath from top to bottom
www.greenmountainclub.org

To get back to the book at hand, "Walking to Vermont" started out rather muddled and slow, but ended up leaving me longing to join Wren on the Long Trail of Vermont in his last couple of weeks on the trail. It kind of makes sense that Wren was muddled and irritable beginning his trip in New York City. The walk out of town mirrors how hectic big city life can be. He has trouble finding his way because of wire fences, highways and private property. People weren't friendly until he managed to be in the countryside. Things started to calm down and his thoughts gradually became clearer until, in the end, he was approaching trail nirvana.

Long Trail

If you read this book be patient. Afterwards your first reaction will be that you would want the entire book to be written with the same flare as the beginning. But I think I appreciate the book for what it tells about life. Simplifying and appreciating your solitude, your family, your friends and good food and good companionship. Appreciate life and stay true to your soul, even when you reach the ripe age of 65, as Chris Wren was when he literally walked into retirment from Times Square to Vermont. Because of this book, I will start seeing old persons again, and remember that they are not, and should not be, invisible.

"Travels with Charley," by John Steinbeck

"American cities are like badger holes, ringed with trash - all of them - surrounded by piles of wrecked and rusting automobiles, and almost smothered in rubbish. Everything we use comes in boxes, cartons, bins, the so-called packaging we love so much. The mountains of things we throw away are much greater than the things we use." John Steinbeck remarking on the cities he sees and visits on his journey

My lifelong reading repertoire includes John Stenbeck whom I have extensively read, although I keep coming upon more obscure novels that have recieved little fanfare. One of those Steinbeck obscurities is "Travels With Charley" (1962). It is an autobiographical account of his retirement journey in an RV across the United States. It is completely unlike his novels, and his true character and personality comes through like a fresh ray of sunlight on a cloudy day. He is amusing, witty and generous. Most of all, he is an average guy out on a journey to discover the country, the people and himself.

An example of Steinbecks wit is this remark of a man he'd met on his journey - "The guardian of the lake was a lonely man, the more so because he had a wife."

At one point in his journey while passing through Minnesota Steinbeck remarks that he couldn't wait to get to Golden Valley, Minnesota, because any town with the name "Golden Valley" must be one of the most wonderful places on earth. He clearly spells out his disapointment in the west metro suburb of Minneapolis.

Steinbeck analyses the town, city or state in a Foucaultian discourse of goings on. Like his characters in his novels, he digs to the base of the soul of the human being, and their environments. He points out contradictions and sometimes even states to obvious, but does this with so much poignancy that you sometimes say, "yeah, I know," or " I've met someone like like that," or "I've been to a town like that."

"Wandering Home" by Bill Mckibben

"Wilderness and Ghandian nonviolence were the two most potentially revolutionary ideas of the twentieth century, percisely because they were the two most humble: they imagine a whole different possibility for people." Bill Mckibben, from Wandering Home

"I have the great good fortune to have found the place I was supposed to inhabit, a place in whose largeness I can sense the whole world but yet is small enough for me to comprehend." from Wandering Home

The full title of McKibben's book is "Wandering Home: A Long Walk Across America's Most Hopeful Landscape: Vermont's Champlain Valley and New York's Adirondacks." The book's title is nearly as long as the walk.

"Wandering Home" is about a journey by foot that Bill McKibben takes us on in order to show (not examine) the landscape of the present day Champlain Valley and the Adirondacks. It is hopeful and optimistic. KcKibben demonstrates the power of caring for the land and culture of Vermonters and inhabitants (both past and present) of the Adirondacks. On the way we meet students who built a practical garden at Middlebury College, a winery entreprenuer, a hemp retailer, a recluese/activist and a little known dead poet, among many others. These people demonstrate the spririt of the land and the spirit of the people who own and/or care for the land.

Mount Mansfield

On a more personal side, I was excited to read "Wandering Home" because a portion my childhood summers were spent in the Champlain Valley. My father grew up on a dairy farm in Bridport, Addison County, right on the lake. At least one week of each year of my childhood was spent in my uncles cabin on Lake Champlain watching the barges slowly float by while searching for Champ (the legendary lake monster) in the whitecaps. For me the cabin was heaven on earth - the quiet, fishing, skipping stones, taking walks, rowing the boat dangerously far out into the Lake without an adult or a life preserver, visiting my realtives.

I fell in love with Middlebury - the typical samll quaint town green on a sloping hillside, with a bandstand and a top-notch well respected college, where my grandparents are buried. I loved driving along the countryside through Addison County, hoping to get peaks at Lake Champlain through the trees or over the next hill. Vermont's farms always seemed cleaner and classier than farms in other parts of the country. Everything has a freshness in Vermont, even the homes of my relatives. My sister lives on a farm in Whiting. Some of my fondest memories are chatting with my sister in her living looking out across the almost wild landscape. Seeing the huge barn with "Otter Creek" in huge letters of discolored shingles on the barn roof, always made things seem simpler.

My Father mentioned Camel's Hump often when he reminisced about his birthplace in the Champlain Valley

My nephew Johnny, who was a year older than me, always could entertain my brothers and I in a special zany way. We would go fishing at Otter Creek, which was a journey of about a mile or two from the farm winding through fields containing the fiercest cattle known to man. We ventured through the fields bouncing and flying hopelessly on an antique tractor with our crazy nephew yipping and screaming and spitting snuffjuice from the wad in his mouth. Every once in awhile he stop and pop the tractor into high gear. The front two wheels would come off the ground a couple of feet. He'd give a "whoooeee" and I'd have to catch myself from slipping off the big red fender I'd be sitting on. If I didn't I'd be under a four foot tractor wheel.

One of my most memerable expeiences was getting lost with my parents for hours in the mountains behind Ripton and ending up in the boondocks. At one point we stopped at a beaver pond in some random tight valley on a dirt road. I got out of the car to take a look at the water. When I walked over to the pond I was startled by the jolt of life that that pond contained. A snake went off to my left, hundreds of tiny frogs scattered into the water, while fish ripples moved about everywhere, sensing the movement at the edge of the water. I was astounded at the amount of life that one beaver pond, no less than twenty feet across, could support. That pond in the Green Mountains defined the term "ecology" for me.

Anyway, I think that you get the picture. Vermont, in my ideological mind, is a little slice of heaven. I appreciated McKibben's assessment that the hope for the future lies in the people of the Champlain Valley and the mountain people of the Adirondacks. One thing that someone in my family always remarked about on our way home from our annual trip from Vermont to Womelsdorf, PA, our hometown, is that every person you see in rural Vermont, would wave or say hello. They were the friendliest community I have ever seen. I hope they can keep their way of life alive and can innovate and find ways to set an example of how to tread lightly on the land and preserve community at the same time. Lord knows, they are a rare breed in America today.

"Where the Waters Divide" by Karen Berger

"While people in big cities lock their history in museums and textbooks, people in the rural West still live with their version of history. They believe in it and are inspired by it; sometimes, even, they are defined by it." Karen Berger

Although I read the hardcover edition, the paperback version is essentially the same. I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and I while read I followed along with another title of Berger's called "Hiking the Triple Crown" which is a guide to the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), the Appalachain Trail (AP) and the Continental Divide Trail (CDT).
Berger and her new husband traversed many terrains, including dry desert in New Mexico and Wyoming and rugged mountains in Colorado, Wyoming and Montana. In contrast, the AP is essentially a jaunt through eastern mountains otherwise described as a tunnel through the trees.
The geological and historical anecdotes were essential to keeping the reader engulfed with the living hsitory of the land of the west, whereas "A Walk in the Woods" by Bill Bryson was filled with statistics that sink the reader. Bryson's charming wit is what keeps "A Walk in the Woods" afloat. In contrast there were no holding back chuckles to save embarrassment while riding the stationary bike at the gym in "Where the Waters Divide."
Most importantly the book layed out empathy for the lifestyle of the ranchers and their way of life, which Berger struggles with openly in many instances throughput the pages. She always seems to come down on the side of the environemntalists, but rather sheepishly and with a precautionary principle in mind presuming that it is better to overprotect the land, than to rape and ravage it.

Rewriting an Old Story - about my Big Brother

Something I have been thinking about for quite some time is a story that I wrote for a literary journalism class at Penn State. Toby Thompson was my instructor. He was a generous professor, and had some problems of his own, which he endeared with our trust. One assignment was to write a story about ourselves - something that would be personal of course, but he was looking for grit and dirt. Something profound. My life has been full of those such things. One thing that sticks out like a sore thumb, and something that, to this very hour of this very day, I cope with, and have a difficult time understanding. Not understanding my brothers death is probably the reason that I have had such a difficult time accepting.
It wasn't an act of nature, such as a fallen tree, or a monsoon flood that killed my brother. It wasn't an accident or a slaying at the hand of some merciless killer. It was his own hands and his own mind that took his life. I just cannot understand the concept of his suicide because I committed, at a very young age, that I would not die of my own will. The other piece of the puzzle of his death was my part, and my family's role, in his self-murder.
Writing about it again may help me understand what happened and why. I am not trying to exonerate myself, or convict my family, or vice versa. Understanding, if at all possible, may help me heal.
Laying everything out may also simply help to put the puzzle together. Right now my memory consists of scenes....like scenes cut from a movie with blank empty black spaces where scenes should be. I don't want to walk out of the theater shaking my head saying "that just doesn't make sense. I just don't understand what happened."
I wailed like a baby at my brothers funeral along with my Mom. Everyone else was composed. I am not sure if he wanted me to wail like a baby or he intended to hurt someone else as bad as he hurt me. It is possible that he wasn't attempting to hurt anyone, but simply wanted his own hurt to end. I cannot make that judgement. It doesn't feel right.

I may post the revision/rewrite daily, weekly, or not until it is finished. I will make that decision when it comes up. I would post a picture of him, but I don't have one......

"A Walk in the Woods"

Every once in awhile two things collate perfectly. This time it is my choice to read "A Walk in the Woods" by Bill Bryson. It has been sitting on my shelf for years and I have been running my fingers over it now and then. Once in awhile I would pick it up and open the pages, pinch my lips together with a "humpf" and put it back down.
Sometimes the walls feel like they are moving in closer and closer. Sometimes it seems like they have those huge spikes as they move. Kinda like those 80's action movies - Indiana Jones comes to mind, where the hero escapes barely in time as the spikes come together like sharp pointy teeth. I have been having some of those feelings, except my spiked walls come with a sharp and resonating whining sound similar to the hurricane warning horn every wednesday efternoon at 1:oo.
Anyway, "A Walk in the Woods" has been a great antedote for this feeling. I cannot wait to pick it up again and take in another chapter.
By the way, the book is an autobiographical account of Bill Bryson's hike along the 2000 plus miles of Appalachian Trail, from Georgia to Maine. His companion is an overweight and overbearing old friend from 25 years ago.

Editing Your Memories

Sometimes we look back at our past and see things that were purely fictional. It may be a reaction to the trauma of the original scenes that creates a fictional reality. I have often wondered how much of my past is locked up and isolated in my brain. In a compartment of a nook or a segment of that slimy mucousy material. All of that reality will be vanished like a computer memory card that ends up incinerated in the municipal trash incinerator. Vaporized into not even a memory because it is not a collective memory. Each memory is personal.

Those memories were not based on a reality, but were a reality at one point in time. That very remarkable conjoining of reality and fact is what is so enamoring, so lovely, about history, whether it be your personal history or the history of another being or thing. The place in time. The feeling. The senses in full emotion capturing each and every moment that will never be the same moment again. The atomic moment. The milimoment. The micromoment.

There cannot be a macromoment. A macromoment would be slowing down of time. It could not be a picture because a picture does not capture a cool breeze on your face, or a cloud moving gently across the sky, or a tornado whipping and roaring throwing bits of manmade plastic and junk through the air at unmanageable speeds.

Two Heroes: Teddy Roosevelt (left) and John Muir (right) who ironically represent two different ideals in conservation and preservation.

Dancing Girl Reflections (taken at the Como Conservatory)

Minneapolis evening from Lake Calhoun in August

Me and my boys in Grand Marais

Biblethumpers come a knockin'

I thought I was in Poltergiest this morning, when I was playing with my kids and went to open the front door to let some light in the living room. When I opened the door a pasty and stringy-looking old man was waiting at the door in a black suite with a look of severe concentration on his face. All that was missing was a black hat. Startled,my nerves pushed me back a pace.
He asked me what I thought of hurricane Katrina, the earthquakes in Pakistan and other natural disasters. I told him much of that is man-made. Of course earth quakes are not, but global climate change may produce such erratic weather patterns. I told him to look around. Two hundred years ago this neighborhood was not here, neither was the metal heat-treating plant that poisons my air across the street. I told him that this land was healthier before we got here.
The stoic man told me that biblical prophecies predict the global destruction we are seeing right now.
I said I do not goto church, but my wife is religious and attends church and that I don't have any need for religion in my life right now. He started a sentence about the bible and my mind went to the idea of a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I wrote a book that proclaimed a theology predicting the end of the world, and I got enough people to latch onto my theology and live it and proclaim to die for it, eventually, if it developed large enough, it may fulfill its ow prophecy through the actions en masse.
I told the man that Depak Chopra predicts that the chaotic period we are moving into will eventually pan out into something more peaceful and fulfilling where we actually care about each other and the land we live on. I told him there were others that don't abide by a catastrophic and violent end to civilization. Paulo Solero, the Italian architect who developed Arcosanti in the Arizona desert, although a bit too New Agey to take serious, wrote a book called "The Omega Seed" where he talks of an eschatologic worldview. This view maintains that civilization evolves into a utopian peacefulness by making use of technology to fulfill peacefulness and end human violence against the earth and its living inhabitants.
The man then pulled the Bible brochure quietly out of my reach and said "those communal ideas never seem to work," which lead me to believe that he was familiar with Soleri and his ideas.
We then said our peace quite politely and respectfully and turned around in unison, probably with mirrored thoughts of "what a nut."

"The Cost of Progress"

A new aquaintence of mine, who happens to be a conservative, used the term "the cost of progress" today when we were chatting with a neighbor about a possible intersection improvement in our neighborhood. I was wondering if this was simply a Republican catch-phrase, or if there actually were "costs of progress" in a negative sense.

We also got on the topic of the military. He couldn't believe that, because I am a member of the Green Party, that I was in the Air Force. I learned a lot in the Air Force as a heavy equipment operator. One thing is that it is not nice to dump potentially harmful waste into the desert, as I had to. And that compared to how much money the military budget takes up on our federal budget (hovers around 50%), military personel get paid quite shitty. My conservative friend said that the military is important because " it is the one thing we do right." Of course my comeback was thought of later, but what came to mind was that just because we "do it right" (meaning we spend a hell of a lot of money on it) does not mean that it is the right way to spend our money, or even that it is right at all. Might does not make right...we should've learned that lesson by now.