venus in retrograde

funny little thing happened on the way to virginia.

some background: years ago, i married my best friend. it didn't last. we had 2 lovely girls together. he doesn't acknowledge them or speak to any of us. it's for the best, believe me. after all the lies and the hurt and unbelievable unfairness, it's been relegated to the "scope for a novel" file and bedded down.

dollars spent on therapy are sometimes very well spent. because of him, i developed a shell thick enough to have survived some pretty horrible things, even afterward. in retrospect, i could almost say i'm grateful for the lesson. almost.

never let it be said that the gods do not possess a divine sense of humor.

said ex and i have not spoken much in the impending decades... i wish i could say exactly why, but it just boils down to awkwardness, broken dreams, maybe a little too much honesty, but i don't regret it. the quiet has been peaceful, even blissful at times. it is hard to be married to someone who knows you better than god himself.

but getting back to the funny thing on the way to virginia.

karma is a wonderful thing: you never know when you will have to rely on help from those whom you've screwed.

my oldest daughter and i --the one he fathered and i gave up for adoption when i was much too young to be a mother and he has to this day never acknowledged, even tho' she is a full sister to our other daughter who was born while we were married --and is a dead ringer for him --were driving up the interstate as it began to rain. the clouds had been gathering for some time but thankfully traffic was unusually light. as we neared an overpass i noticed a truck, with a flat-bed trailer, on the side of the road. it was somewhat near a landmark truck stop but absolutely nothing else. the truck caught my eye for just a moment, and i started to look away when i noticed a tall, thin, blond-headed male walking up the steep hill away from the truck toward the overpass. as we passed he raised his cell phone to his ear.

"that's p******," i said to my daughter, who turned to look.

she sniffed. "no way," she answered, shaking her head in her sensible way. "that's impossible. you can't see who that is from this distance."

i shrugged. it was several thousand feet, to be sure. and it was raining. "no, i can't. but it's him."

we hadn't seen him in several years, except i had glimpsed him momentarily at his mother's funeral several months back, which we'd attended with my daughter, who was particularly close to her grandmother and was pretty broken up about it.

but i knew it was him. you see, i have known that person since the sixth grade. and we were close, at one time. we --well, suffice it to say i was certain.

i said, "i'm going back. it's him."

r****** said, "well, ok, like, you could do like in the messin' with sasquatch commercial, you know, make him run a little bit. that would be amusing." we laughed.

"yes, it would," i agreed. and we laughed again. but i knew that i wouldn't do that. no, the opposite would be far more adventurous.

it was a ways to the next exit, so i had to drive a bit before i could turn around. but about 10 minutes later we pulled off the exit near the truck stop. i knew he'd be headed for that. but would he let us help him? would he even acknowledge us? i had to know. it was raining harder now. r. still wasn't convinced it would be him, she was going on the fact that he lives four states away now and what were the chances, really, that he and i would be on the same road at the same time in the rain and his truck would break down at almost the exact minute i'd be passing by? it was highly unlikely. i agreed with her. still, i knew it was him.

we pulled to the top of the exit, which turns out on an old, unimproved gravel road down to the truck stop. he was walking down that road, having gone up the hill, over the overpass, and turned right. walking. hurriedly. phone to ear. he turned to look as we pulled up, just across the road. i blinked my lights at him and he raised his hand politely, nodding and pointing down the road to the truck stop, motioning me on and indicating he was fine. i waved and rolled down my window.

"don't you want a ride?" i laughed at him.

he said, "i'll call you back," and clicked the phone shut. grinned. i pulled across the road and opened the door. before i could change my mind i just went on old times, the times that should be preserved. the good memories. before it got ugly.

i said, "you need some help, don't you? we are nice people, you should let us help you."

part of the problem always was his ridiculously suspicious nature. once i had known how to break through that. like i was nineteen again i held out my arms and said, "no one is watching. no one will know. only her," i gestured over my shoulder at our daughter, the one he wouldn't acknowledge, although i know that at one time he'd drawn a broken heart with her birth date and time in the middle of it. i held that image in my mind and hugged him, quickly, before he could back away.

he needed it. and so did i. it is more blessed to give than to receive. it is.

one thing i had learned over the years is to grab things and then let them go, quick, before they can bite you. to do the right thing before you think about it too much and chicken out. he was alone, and god only knew how many years it had been since he'd been hugged by someone he could trust. he lives in a walled-off fortress among situations of his own making. his mother had died convulsing in his arms, not too long ago. his shell is thick --but he knows me. and deep down, he knows i only want the best for him --when i remember the little boy i knew in sixth grade, and the awesome young man he grew into. i loved that young man. i always will.... even though he left him behind and became someone else, long ago. as did i.

i turned to him and said, "i finished my book. the one i started in alabama."

he looked confused. "book?"

"you don't remember. i was writing a book --several books --and i began in alabama. in enterprise, when we were there."

"oh. well, that's great. congratulations."

"one of them is about fred."

"fred? that book needs to be written. i always said that."

"yes. me, too. you do remember."

he was grinning from ear to ear, shaking his head. remembering the good times.

"but you know," i continued. "most of what i know about fred is hearsay. i wasn't there for most of it. it was before my time."

"well, you know what happened."

"only because someone told me. i do remember hanging outside a window, upside down and not knowing if it was you or fred holding me by my ankles." he laughed, nodding at the memory.

i looked at him. "it was fred, wasn't it?"

he nodded again, still laughing. "you made him stop," i finished. "you saved me. i could have broken my head."

"yes," he said, barely audibly, still grinning down at me. he is so tall.

we laughed and chatted and i introduced him to r******. he leaned into the car, hand extended in a friendly, courteous manner. "hi, I'm p******," he said. she smiled and shook her head in wonder, thinking, "i know who you are, you a******. and you know who i am, too." but she smiled, and played along as courteously as he.

i don't know why he kept up the charade but at least we could laugh at it. we gave him a ride down to the truck stop and stayed with him while he figured out what to do. at one point he even considered going up to the ville with us, since we were all headed that way. but later he decided he needed to stay with his truck, since he was on a "tight schedule," and he didn't know how long it would take to fix the truck. he was always on a tight schedule. indeed, i don't think he knows how to live any other way.

he's a curious combination of laid-back and uptight, sensible and full of shit, observant and blind. he didn't seem to have changed much, if at all. but it didn't creep me out - i knew exactly what to expect. somehow that can be comforting, when you know there are no surprises.

r & i laughed all the way up the road after we left him, after taking him back to his truck to get a few things, and then back to the truck stop to wait for the towing vehicle. he laughed too, a bit. he was incomparably polite, even affable.

i looked at him from the rear-view mirror. "you know, we are nice. you should talk to us."

"i can see that," he replied, nodding and smiling. i pulled into the parking space. we were back at the truck stop, and it was time for him to get out and go about his business. i shook my head. the present was back, palpable, in the car with us. camaraderie was fading back into the dimness, and i struggled to make it real, to catch at the threads of time that were dwindling away, breathless, like smoke escaping thru the open window.

"here. write down my phone number. you can contact me anytime," he shuffled through the calendar he carried, wrote the number down carefully, bending his head to the task. i saw him again in math class, diligently writing numbers on a page. he looked up. smiled, and shut the book. opened the door, and was gone.

i know that the past rises up before us whenever we are there to re-create it. it is still as tangible as it was every hour that we lived it.

but i also know, just as certainly, that i'll never hear from him. that as soon as we were gone one of two things happened: either he forgot us completely, or his paranoia kicked in and he worried all night long about repercussions from talking to me, which in his mind could range anywhere from the wrong people (who? i wonder) finding out he actually accepted my help (like he had any choice? he was in the middle of nowhere without transportation and it was raining!) to my running my mouth to godknowswhat. and that, my friends, is not my problem.

it's his.

the nice thing about divorce is, their problems are no longer your problems. their craziness is no longer your craziness. their issues are not your issues.

but you can still give them a hand up when they need it --and then move on.

that day our daughter got to meet her biological father for the first time, and that has to be some closure for both of them. only the three of us know just what that meant, and i'm not going to share that here. the point is, as i said: karma is a really cool thing. you never know just when you'll get the chance to kill the one person with kindness who was unforgiveably bad to you once --and that it will make you giddy with joy, and laughter. and for just one minute, time stops, rolls back, and people are alive again all around who have been dead for years.

that's a pretty cool occurrence, all in all. i'd recommend it to anyone.

midsummer finds

these were taken by my hubby atop a mountain in my home state of virginia, at the cumberland gap, specifically. will be traveling this week for a visit with relatives and to be revitalized by all the old familiar places. it'll be cooler there, a welcome respite from the heat.

here in sc, the air is still and hot as we await yet another afternoon thunderstorm. there is a hum in the air, a quickening that heightens the senses, hovers, and yet refuses to alight. it spears the calm. in the garden the bees advance like gleaners gathering beads of tranquility, spiriting into hidden pockets and disappearing under limp, curling leaves. they beg for the storm to bring its cooling effervescence, life-giving sweetness to the packed bare earth.

i move about between the buildings from early morning to late afternoon, attending to various duties, weaving wishes together to make something artful. if only for myself. as i wait, the summer beckons: don't stay in, come out, come out, the winter will be here before you know it, and you hate cold weather. i stand still, letting the countless archaic souls of this place wind throughout my heart and mind, encompassing all manner of thieving rhythms and timeless nightmares etched in rhymes down the winding paths, white with dust, my brow wrinkled to heaven. the place is timeless. it whispers platitudes in my ear, telling me "all in good time, my dear. all in good time."

finding peace amid rapidly truncating options

Hanging out on the porch with oldest daughter Rachael, June 2007

...in other words, watching your big fat world shrink. there is a parallel for what has happened in my own life over the past few years or so and what is happening in the world at large. this is so often the case that i have ceased to wonder at it, and only rarely stop to comment on the phenomenon.

the health is not good. it is a result of long ago choices that were ill-conceived and momentarily self-serving. while the popular culture of my youth espoused chemical pleasures and lack of remorse, my own experience was a grueling dedication to succeed physically and mentally but with no more thought than anyone of what might be happening within my own body, that would later require a reckoning.

the same might be said of our earth. long ago, or maybe not so long ago, the world began spinning on its axis at a much faster rate. or so it seemed. we reached out across miles of wilderness to grasp at whatever we wanted. if we saw it we calculated its effect on us and made the decision to go after profit as a matter of course. we did not stop to visit other options. profit equalled progress. students of history and social systems foretold the nasty outcomes and estimated the length of time we had left to adjust our behavior to avoid them. we as a society of individuals largely ignored them, save for a few feel-good celebrations of our existence and the good of sharing the seemingly unstoppable wealth here on dear mother earth.


Delivering a water quality report to Rural Water Board Members, Barbour County, Alabama, 1987. At the time weighing about 90 lbs., funny how piling on the layers of clothing hides that so well... typical trick of the anorexic, along with wearing things that fit too loosely.

it does not matter that those of us who were aware of impending climate and societal changes that would be brought about by over-reaching on so many levels knew they were coming and tried to do something about that. we will reap what we all have sown. and that's ok in my book. it is fine to be challenged, perhaps especially by ourselves. we who foretold --if we were all that smart --should be out in the forefront, continuing to feed back to those who struggle to understand just how we are supposed to continue to function in the face of a shrinking planet's growth pains the hows and wherefores of our continued existence. we should not cease to be scientists just because it's starting to get downright wicked and hot up there in the crow's nest, and because the mists of doubt and distaste that are rolling in obscure the horizon that was clear not so very long ago. we now see what we foresaw --what makes that so difficult to discern? we must now see beyond that horizon, and press on to the future that awaits.

i welcome that extreme of categorical oblivion. it is true that some of us see bliss in the hardest press of faith. to us the journey is the most pleasant option --to hell with the outcomes. when we find ourselves struggling with the present, we know that if we look up and outward, we will find the present disintegrating and our future ahead of us once more. continued effort will only yield a difference. it is up to us to choose whether to press on, or to succomb to our own ineptitude and lack of vision.

to apply this to myself is my own personal challenge. the damage wrought in youth by ignorance and inattention to my health at times just kicks my ass. lupus is a disintegrating disease. i refuse to acknowledge the damage without a hefty dose of envisioning renewal. that philosophy is largely what has kept me going forward... and has kept me largely able to deal with this drug-free. the time may soon come when i will have to consider those options. i am searching for ways to continue to avoid them, and am presently considering a somewhat radical change in my activity pattern.
Age 26, 87 lbs. and hanging over the edge. Note the loose-fitting clothing trick.

so for now, more palatable to me than drugs is facing my propensity to overdo and undereat. for the past ten years i have avoided strenuous exercise because of the rush of adrenaline and appetite suppression that accompanies it. i know these are learned psychological reactions, not normal ones, but apparently these do not go away even after years of therapy and healthy eating. in past years whenever i have picked up ballet and modern dance exercise the weight always plummets. this was the trick i used in youth that kept me hovering between 88 and 93 lbs until i was over 30. and my doctors eventually convinced me that "you can kill yourself alot quicker by not eating than by overeating. you need to get used to what you consider fat --and embrace it." so i did, so that hopefully my children would still have a mother when they graduated from college. i haven't weighed myself in over a decade, since i threw away the scales. and my husband, the gourmet, assures that i eat wholesome, regular meals regularly, watching constantly for signs of avoidance like ribs and hip bones that look more like sticks and plowshares than the inner supports for a human being. with his help i have been able to survive and care for my children.

Precious moments

but i am heavier and softer than i can possibly stand --even with all the mental tricks I can utilize --or can reconcile even given my warped sense of what is and is not "fat," and i believe the stress on my legs and the circulation problems that are being exhibited must be aggravated by the extra weight and lack of muscle tone. ok, we are probably talking about less than 10 pounds here. to some that is laughable. but i am a tiny person, and the niggling suspicion driven by daily pain is, shouldn't i do something? and perhaps it isn't the weight so much as the tone. my arms feel like pudding, my legs are starting to look like my 75-year-old mother's --fine for her, untenable for me. surely a moderate amount of exercise, beyond the walking and stretching that i allow myself to do, would help. so the question now is, how to find middle ground? it is easier to understand how to solve the world's consumption problems than my own. i find i have no knowledge whatsoever of what constitutes middle ground in an exercise regimen. this is exacerbated by the fact that when i work out, i have no sense of time or stress. i am carried aloft by the chemicals my own body generates that are akin to a dose of methamphetamine for an addict. i know when that happens i will swallow it whole and press on until i can feel nothing but the light and air that surrounds me. and so it is only afterwards that i may realize i went too far, and by then the damage has been done. this happened so much in the past that i can ill afford to do any more damage, and so i stopped exercising, rather than collapse one day before my kids were grown and still needed me.
Dance class, 1983.

so my prayer today is for middle ground. i don't believe this is the answer for the earth --i believe that concerted effort toward conservation and cutting back on economic fortitude is the only thing that will stem the tide of environmental backlash. but i could be wrong... in that, too, the answer may be "everything in moderation," as it seems to be in my own life, and so often is the case. then again, the answer could be in the definition of what constitutes "middle ground." perhaps that might be found by looking at the earth overall --in which case, extreme measures should still be taken by the most developed countries, so that the overall result the world over is moderation, buffering, slowing down to a less dizzying pattern of growth, renewal, and faith in the future --reaching toward the light, yet never losing conscious contact with our feet upon the ground.

hanging out, letting loose

the last month has brought some new challenges and opportunities, many of which i could not have undertaken had i solely remained in my professional career as a certified land use planner. i have become increasingly involved in the media as a writer and editor for Project Laundry List's Hanging Out! newsletter, in which capacity i find myself --finally, where as a geographer i feel i always belonged, but as a land use planner was prevented from doing so - in the middle of the environmental movement. yes, you may think it odd that a planner is 'not allowed' to embrace environmental ideals and apply them. after all, isn't it the mission of planners, and written in the aicp code of ethics, to 'have special concern for the long-range consequences of present actions' and 'pay special attention to the interrelatedness of decisions' and moreover, 'to conserve and preserve the integrity and heritage of the natural and built environment'? actually, the old, pre-2005 code had stronger language than was watered down by apa in march of 2005. i tried to preserve the foregoing, but was stymied again and again by the people who signed my paychecks. over time, it became impossible to reconcile what i knew was right with what i was observing on the ground. i became no more than a cog in the wheel of constant permitting; my body of environmental knowledge was not only not sought, it was not wanted. it is the main reason i left the profession in june of 2005.

The issue of line-drying laundry unfortunately became a symbol of poverty sometime in the past 30 years in America, and has therefore been banned or severely limited in thousands of communities and homeowner's associations. this, even though there are many of us who associate line-drying with nostalgic childhood memories of home, not to mention the sweet smell of sunshine-drenched towels and bed linens. as a planner, i had been frustrated for years being caught between ordinances and the public too many times, seeing the regulations enacted by short-sighted organizations and public officials chopping away at the roots of citizens to live their lives --and care for their homes and property as they saw fit --one invasive, prohibitive sentence at a time. the covenants adopted by myriad homeowner associations are in many cases outright authoritarian and extremely restrictive to the point of being fascist, in my humble planner's opinion. many of these restrictions are hidden in the back pages of monumental layers of paperwork signed by buyers in the midst of the excitement of owning the property, and are not discovered --or actually read --until a representative knocks on their door, alerting them to an "aesthetic problem." these can range from the location of vegetable garden plots to the size and construction materials of doghouses, to the outright prohibition of laundry lines.

in retrospect, i am glad i had the experience of seeing the wheels of government turning from the inside out. i can verify the suspicions of many: that government does not serve those it was designed to protect, it caters to the wealthy. but not in the way many think - it is an inefficient mechanism for big brotherhood. that honor belongs to big business, who merely assures that the regulatory and political yes-men are in place to approve and give credence to their greedy outcomes.

but all this is happily undergoing change, which i have been shouting about now for years to anyone who would listen. people thought me a charming cassandra, they would pat my head and say, 'there, there. don't get so upset. it'll never get that bad.' but i knew that it would. my educational background as a geographer was either completely invalid or the mighty were going to run smack up against mother nature at some point. and see, i was right. so glad i am now in a position to lead people to the answers they are so desperately seeking now. all around us, people are wondering what to do. not to worry --most are simple changes. like hanging out laundry. raising a flock of chickens. planting a garden. looking for new value in the simple things in life - writing a poem, going for a walk, reading to your children. i saw a group of neighbors last week doing something i'd not seen for ages: playing horseshoes, outside, on a weekday evening. bravo - much to be preferred over electronic evening entertainment of any sort.

i wonder if the homeowner covenants in their neighborhood have anything to say about that.

things of note

best i can do today is pass on for your edification & perusal some things i am totally embroiled in & consumed by at the moment... too much so to really comment right now. so much to learn, so little time!

the first time i voted for al gore was when he was running against clinton for the democratic presidential nomination. i was devastated when he dropped out. and i read & actually admit to owning a copy of "earth in the balance." but that's old history.
Emotional Return to Congress for Al Gore

Here's another spin on same:
The Goracle

Go get 'em, Al.

Jim Kunstler has condescended to go round & round with me on some things (notably his yankee ethnocentrism on inhabitants of the southern united states), but when writing on the end of oil, he's right on target. His recent Orion article demonstrates:
Making Other Arrangements

Project Laundry List - National Hanging Out Day is April 19th!

No Impact Man - "A guilty liberal finally snaps, swears off plastic, goes organic, becomes a bicycle nazi, turns off his power, composts his poop and, while living in NYC, generally turns into a tree-hugging lunatic who tries to save the polar bears and the rest of the planet from environmental catastrophe while dragging his baby daughter and Prada-wearing, four seasons-loving wife along for the ride..." You gotta love a guy who jumps in with both feet. Experiential (also called experimental) archaeology at its best.

and alongside that:
The Compact - just click thru and read... and read... and read...

The Forest Stewardship Council's FSC Certified Paper program: or, how to use paper and save the forest at the same time. still trying to figure out how this works.

and last but certainly not least:
carbon offsets - only the latest in the "if i pay enough i can make my conscience cleaner" anti-logic that brought us PDR's, TDR's, and Wetland Mitigation Banks:
Another Inconvenient Truth

spiritual recourse

Lots of interesting items in the inbox from the past few days. i could wax poetic on more than a few, but for lack of time to pontificate i'll just drop these here and expound upon them later:


Distributism - ran across this in a list of replies to an article on the Myth of Organic Farming, in Business Week. The poster said, "Look it up." I did. Wow. So this philosophy I've been developing all by me lonesome for the past 15 years has a name, I'm not the first one to think of it, and I'm not crazy? OK, maybe I am, but so are some other people. Take a look. I'll write (alot) more on all the thoughts this intelligence provokes soon.

Keep the Chickens Out of Cages- this is totally a no-brainer for anyone who raises chickens. I mean for those of us who actually RAISE chickens, not build a big metal building just over the hill and cram 118,000 birds inside it. As Page Smith explains in the marvelous work, The Chicken Book, the history and the ultimate fate of the human race is inextricably tied to that of Gallus domesticus. We are what we eat, fellas.


Don't fence us in!

Which leads me to...

New Study Details Devastating Effects of Eminent Domain Abuse on African Americans
“Eminent domain has become what the founding fathers sought to prevent: a tool that takes from the poor and the politically weak to give to the rich and politically powerful,” concludes Dr. Mindy Fullilove in her new report released today titled, “Eminent Domain & African Americans: What is the Price of the Commons?”

'Nuf said. But don't say I didn't tell you so.

Rethinking Suburbia - Neighborhoods that once held the suburban dreams of many have become havens for crime and the all-too-familiar problems of the inner city...

um.... duh.

this is why whenever i see a 800 to 900K, 7,000 sf home in the 'burbs being built by mexicans i think to myself, "nice apartment building."

what goes around just keeps spinning 'round.


School of Rocky
You know, the most interesting part of this whole story is, the guy seems to be doing an Al Gore (as in, no thanks, i'm not running, i've got more important things to do. things that will actually make a difference one day). That's 'cause when you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas, and you can take only so many fleas.


Sustainable Cities
ahem... if that isn't an oxymoron.
the only thing keeping me from writing more on this obvious silliness is the worry that in their haste to be chic and politically correct, that Cities will do to 'sustainable' what WalMart and Dean Foods did to 'organic' and Public did to 'education'.
you can't make black into white by painting over it --you'll only get grey. you have to remove the black and start over.

on a lighter (and perhaps saner) note:
I missed the weekend Field Day at Georgia Ladies Aside, but I hear it was a "really, fun, windy, time!" Aside, IMHO, is the only way to ride, if you are of the gentler persuasion, and a student of history as well. "life's too short not to ride aside."

And finally...

BBC Three's new show: Kill It, Cook It, Eat It This is so awesome. I don't know where to start. Why don't we have shows like this over here on the stupid side of the Atlantic? My dh is all over this --elbowing the vegans out of the way, he'd bark, "Thanks, I'll have your share!" This from a guy who names all the cows we pass on the highway: "Lunch, Filet, Au Jus..." and whose favorite Christmas gift one year was a genuine old-fashioned southern country ham. I thought he was going to take it to bed with us. Needless to say, he's a master with the chicken knife. I just get to pluck.

watersheds

well, girls (and guys).... drum roll, please!

Today I finished The Novel.

Well, ok, so I finished the First Draft. But, you've got to understand... it's only taken me since the fall of 1988.... that means it's been a whopping 18-1/2 years I've spent on this. So at least let me take a deep breath and say "whew."

Enny hoo. It's off to the primary editors, namely family and friends who've promised to sharpen their red pencils and give me good criticism. Hopefully it won't be another 18 years before I've worked thru all that.

Will keep you posted, as always.

checking on an old friend

My husband has an interesting habit of falling in love with trees. More than once he has phoned me to say, "Sorry, honey, you're being replaced. I've found the love of my life. Her name is Lucille (Martha, Diana et al). She's a fifty-foot tall Loblolly (Live Oak, Water Chestnut..). You get the picture.
Here is what he said when I showed him this:
"I have to see that Tree." (Click on the link to see the full view and then zoom in under the trunk. Those are people. One lady has a dog on a leash).




Yeah, he does. I miss Alabama. The Tree (note capitalization, no other name needed) is, depending upon what report you read, over 350 - 450 years old, perhaps older. It is the size of your average strip-mall shopping center, and vastly to be preferred in company. Here is what I wrote about it in my journal, c. 1986:

"I remember when I first met the Tree. ...it is one of the lasting friendships I have made in [Alabama] that I will never forsake.I remember being amazed at its girth. I had never seen, had never imagined a living thing so huge, stretching upwards to heaven, it seemed. I had the almost uncontrollable urge to climb it --to scamper up into its vastness like a child. On one side a great old branch leans down almost to the ground, like a cradle, the ends fanning out with lush foliage. The bark on this natural perch is rubbed smooth by innumerable humans who have seated themselves in this most perfect swing in the world and rocked gently. I think we need reminders like this on earth of the greatness of all creation that literally point the way to humility in ways that even the densest and most jaded among us cannot miss. It speaks of His love for us, that He plants signs here in His garden that are so strong that careworn adults feel safe in their presence."

It eventually made its way into a work in progress. I had to check and find out if it was still alive, still there, nearly twenty years later. It is. How life-affirming, how wonderful.

look ma, no profit

and how predictable was this? i can't believe last year i was still sweating over the tyranny of permits. tee-hee-hee....

When "For Sale" is A Sign of Hard Times

would probably wax silly over all this, but am up to my eyeballs in housing figures & poverty statistics. so will have to postpone all that fun. but until then, folks, just remember: how the mighty do fall. just make sure you aren't underneath the shadow when they do.

post-election day blessings to all.

the fate of prometheans

dunno why we are sometimes surprised at what is, after all, pretty predictable: people often attempt to shoot the messenger who brings ill news. when we are talking about development & hypocrisy, well, we are taking aim at some pretty deep pockets. and they aren't going to give up that wealth without a fight. they engender criticism from those who are merely pointing out the obvious, that the emperor is wearing nada, but this often merely gives them the opportunity to gather the support structure that they created around them, to point the finger back at us and yell, "bad, bad, attitude! shame on you for trying to make us see the truth when these good people have already told us what to believe! that rampant overgrowth pays for itself, and we like our megahouses and our clothes dryers and false hopes and family vacations! you would do better to come & get some yourself! and stop crying sour grapes!"

prometheus was a mortal who stole fire from the gods, and gave it to humans, to cook with, to keep warm, to smelt ore into metal. in payment he was hung upon a rock, and every day an eagle came and ate out his liver, which would grow back overnight so that he could only look forward to living in eternal agony for his pains to better mankind. his story is a metaphor for those who seize upon knowledge and cry out the truth, only to be shown the door, hung from a limb, crucified, or worse. for us, knowledge is power, truth is beauty, and we feel compelled to bring this all to the masses like so much warm milk, but for many we are only the harbingers of disaster, the reminders of the great unknown, and are unsettling in the extreme. we force people to see what they do not want to acknowledge, for to recognize a problem for what it is means you may have to change, to find a solution. prometheans do not understand what the big deal is, we are only trying to help. but the fact remains that most people just do not want our knowledge, they would rather live in continued ignorance, tacky bliss.

ah, none are so blind as they who refuse to see. and so, i recommend, in places and situations where the quiet truth cannot be pointed out verbally, work within your successes. success does beget more of same. one victory at a time. hard-won, perhaps, but valid nonetheless. save your energies, do not let them hang you off of that cliff and erroneously point out your errant virtues as a warning to all who would be like you. in other words, cast not thy pearls among swine.

the word for today at dictionary.com is "obfuscate." one of my favorite words, in fact. as in, the purpose of most diatribe is to obfuscate and confuse. it is one of the best ways to win control over the masses. point the finger at government. muddy the issues. emotionalize your stance. another favorite word is, "onus." as in, the onus is upon us. the onus of all this mush, this fuzzy lethargy of people who depend upon the status quo, and refuse to budge. it is true that those who depend upon a system are doomed by it. so let them go. concentrate, welcome help and assistance from whence it comes. do not condemn those who cannot see without a big, flashing neon sign pointing the way. i'd feel sorry for them, and am grateful that i'm not among them (i don't think).

being a beacon for those who are looking for a way out of this mess is far easier and more gratifying.

vote well today.

turbidity

interesting development on the no-oil power front:

Tidal energy companies stake claims

watch this space for more information as i find it. hopefully this type of power won't be as onerous as the wind turbine mess in appalachia.

it seems britain has already begun experiments with marine energy. a group in scotland is charged with exploring its potential, and a british group also performs research in this area. a new york times piece from august also sheds some light on the situation, which has apparently attracted investment from the big energy corporations like ge.

so. so far no greenpeace backlash, but maybe because there is no conclusive evidence yet for a technology still in its infancy. imho, future energy technologies & distribution will be downsized and regionalized depending upon geographic influences and availability. this may be just one of myriad ways people adapt in order to get work done. but we'll keep you posted.

elloree

this weekend i was honored to be asked to help out at the annual archaeology society of south carolina field day, held at santee state park, near the I-95 exit. this is an assemblage of archaeologists (duh), scientists, researchers, and modern-day practioners who demonstrate the very lifeskills the scientists write about, the researchers explore, and evidence of which the archaeologists dig up & catalogue. it is a unique event where children & their parents & other visitors can literally help to dig up, screen and examine point flakes and bits of pottery on one side of the park, and a short distance away, actually view and take part in the making of such objects along with a skilled demonstrator. there were also stations with crayons & coloring books, a video tent (showing excavations around the state & interviews with those involved), as well as opportunities to buy books, tee shirts, mugs, research papers, and also to sign up to attend one of the excellent university programs, volunteer opportunities, and other events this state has to offer in the field of self-examination of our own origins. the organization is duly supported and populated by its share of wealthy patrons predominantly residing on the coast, whose agenda of course includes environmental activism and historic preservation, worthy causes all. fascinating, especially when you consider the outsider's view of our measly existence, as evidenced by stereotypical presentations of the southern lifestyle on television and in the news media. i'll refrain from posting links to such uneducated, ethnocentric idiocy (i'm sure you can find plenty yourself, should you really need to), but i am actually a bit grateful for a recent slap in the face from someone i'd otherwise considered pretty knowledgeable on the subject of the downsliding of development trends into the murky waters of greed, deceit and overall tackiness.

sometimes we all need a wake-up call.

last year i felt inclined to start this blog, but without a clear focus as to what i would write about. up to now a bit of earth has had the expressed desire to talk about land use, but no clear purpose or direction as to how to talk about it. howsomever, after the aforementioned slap, and the run of yesterday’s experiences, i think i’ve figured it out.

as a planner, it has been my habit for the past 15 years at least to mentally analyze every settlement, small town, or rural habitat i’ve come across. as i approach such an area, i look for evidence of the inhabitants in such visible cues as signage, pedestrian paths, and architecture. sometimes i can see obvious caretaking such as fresh paint, colorfully vegetated vistas, and numerous happy, or at least contentedly pre-occupied, people. sometimes the evidence is not so obvious.

on the way home last evening my husband, the archaeologist, took me thru a by-way he said he’d long wanted to show me. it was the tiny town of elloree, “where agriculture is alive and well in south carolina, thank you.” according to him the downtown used to be a desolate, angry place with only one claim to fame: duke’s barbecue. he was devastated to discover that duke’s has been replaced by a chinese take-out place. i was delighted to discover that the visual evidence supports the conclusion that it is recently a recipient of main street funding. a planted median divides main street, and sidewalks and seating follow either side. there were plenty of people out, all walking about with apparent errands on their minds. from the visual evidence, the predominant income level seemed to be less than 20K per year, and probably averaged about half of that. also, i saw few white faces. several folks hung about the doorways of this or that eatery or bar, talking together or not, but none of the angry desolation he’d described from driving thru in former years was at all visible. we drove up and down the main quarter, and then retraced our steps back to the intersection with our homeward road. my husband seemed to be holding some happy bit of news to himself –and then he pointed out his secret: there, around the corner about a block off of main street, was a small converted wooden livery stable, the words, “elloree farm museum” painted neatly beside the door in big red letters. hah –so the people were smart, too, and proud of who and what they are. how very cool.

we drove north the short distance out of town, the landscaped yards bordering graceful, slightly shabby early 19th century edifices of the old money-wealth now occupied by silent, single daughters or perhaps a similarly small remnant of the family. none seemed empty yet. here and there were a very few new brick homes in the populist architecture that claims its roots in sprawlivisions. at least here they didn’t seem quite so ugly, but maybe that was the fault of the waning light. as i looked ahead and beyond the yards, there seemed to be a ghostly glow surrounding this north end of town. hubby started pointing, “look, look…” and lo and behold, i then beheld the source of this town’s continued existence: fields of cotton. the scent of defoliant teased our nostrils and we slowed to watch the harvester crawling among the plants, to count the truckloads of what had already been baled, to smile at the workers waving and directing each other there under the rising moon.

a field of mature cotton in moonlight is an awesome thing; its beauty literally takes your breath away. it looks like a coverlet of snowy ermine interspersed with intricate blackwork and bordered and interlaced with the tracery of thick rows of dark trees. the plants follow the curvature of the earth, and are rimmed and intersected by undisturbed areas which follow the local hydrography. while the rows can stretch for what seems like miles, they are carefully planted only in the adaptable soils, common sense prevailing and avoiding the myriad streams and wetlands that embroider and criss-cross like unto a quilt. while we can regret the fact that the fields are not planted (yet) organically, the fact is that it is still quite labour-intensive, although not nearly so much as even twenty years ago. many south Carolinians –black and white –even my age (mid-forties) have told me that they remember earning money in their teenage years picking cotton. we are grateful for the fact that crop rotation and no-till methods prevail, and we know that after the harvest, the dross will be sown in peanuts or soybeans, followed by corn or perhaps rye or winter wheat, and the cycle will continue at least into the foreseeable future, as long as people wear clothes, use hospitals, and write on paper.

so. what will we do when the oil runs out? we will adapt, and move on. as humans, that is what we do –best, i might add. here in the hinterlands, far from the rot and waste of the urban landscape, little will change. it is what is, and will be. as i said, not too long ago harvesting & planting was done by hand. it is still in recent memory.

work, in the end, is a prayer, or so says baha’u’llah. i think this is an apt observation. prayer goes a long way in negating the need for therapy. work negates the need for expensive exercise programs. books, conversation, handwork, and games all negate the need for television and other forms of electronic stimulation. the occupations of our minds and hands from previous days indicate that we already know this. we look forward to celebrating the fruits of honest labors: the candles that our friends made of deer tallow and beeswax light our path, we keep clean with the soap that we barter for sewing with other friends & neighbors, woolen garments ranging from the decades-old lovelies Jason brought back from ireland to the scarves, shawls & caps amazingly crafted by Rachael from her own drop-spindle & knitting needles. too, the doe in the freezer will be (among other things) Christmas dinner, through the winter we will dine on the turkeys from our woods and the chickens from the lower pasture, the pecans from the grove, jam from the grapes from the arbor, fat carolina road-stand peaches canned along with sweet memories from warmer days, sauce from the tomatoes that still abound in the greenhouse. rosemary, oregano, mint, and thyme hang drying in the herbary. from our field-roving hens we still collect at least a few eggs every other day, even as the days grow shorter and darker. winter sets in, and our activities lessen. it is time for rest, relaxation, contemplation, the enjoyment of the fruits of warm weather labors, and we will reflect and write about whatever comes to mind, as we await the turning of the seasons and the arrival of spring, when the cycle begins all over again.

so i think henceforth, this blog will catalog evidence of the fact that we are already ready for the future. in fact, we welcome it. we are thankful for what federal and private funds enable small localities to spruce up their appearance, but by and large, i see no evidence that any of these places are dependent upon the hand-outs, or upon the oil economy. they have a vitality complete unto themselves. many are too poor to have partaken of the glut of wealth from the past two decades. and still they flourish, in the simple, honest, and steadfast ways evidenced by time to be most enduring. fruit of the earth and the work of human hands. i see it much too often, and so instead of bemoaning the twilight of a bloated existence, i am singing and dancing. i am praising it to the skies, and my children and friends with me. amen.

even so come, lord jesus.

duality

i've been recently taking the time to review this blog and have realized that --aside from fixing the broken image links (now having been done!) there may be a bit of clarification in order.

i live in two houses, actually, and have for over 2 years now. this is necessitated by the rather complicated custody situation with my three youngest angels and the fact that my heart --and my husband --remain employed elsewhere. the two houses are located about 1 1/2 hours apart. neither, sad to say, is my full-time residence. this situation, a ridiculous one, really, isn't likely to change anytime soon. my children's school is in one state, my husband's work in another. so we have our "cottage" (also known as 'the hidden house,') and the caretaker's house on the "estate" --and i commute about 2-3 times a week between the two. on days i don't have my children, i am of course in south carolina. on days i do, i am in north carolina. i have a place to do my work at each, and in the words of one of my friends, i certainly am "quite adaptable." it helps that i have always considered home a place of the heart, and not really tied to any physical location.

i also refer from time to time to my small hometown in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, and also to a favorite past abode, located in Summerfield, NC, where I still maintain friendly ties.

also, traveling back and forth between our two houses has given me an opportunity to observe firsthand the revitalization --some might even call it rebirth --of commerce on at least two very small carolina backroads towns. i'll try to write about those in the context of southern development as a whole very soon. they do demonstrate some surprises, certainly... and perhaps are more indicative of the rebirth of southern culture as a whole, in spite of what some wise-assed yankees may think. there are dualities to be discussed in the realm of "the real south," and "the south that is visible from the casual vehicular vantage point." but as far as that goes, if what you see from the interstate keeps you assholes up nawth, so much the better.

but as to my home duality: i hope this helps to explain a bit about the actual situation of "home" as written about in "lawn no more," "backyard view," and "travelling mercies," vs. the location of the power outage i was writing about in "recommended reading." i realize i haven't actually written about the estate as "home," and yet, most of the writing in this blog has actually taken place there, and all of the pictures of scenery, trees, and landscape have come from there. the two are very different homes. both are rural, one much more so. and yet, the fact of this duality is not a bad place to call home --in itself it defines home as restful refuge, and not place. but to be more clear in the future i'll try to put a reference either to "the estate" or "the cottage," somewhere in the text.

more --and hopefully clearer --ruminations soon.

Your southern adventure

(An open letter to James Howard Kunstler, in response to a recent entry on his blog - to read, check archives here,) and scroll down to October 30, 2006).

Dear Mr. Kunstler:

Am trying to clear the calendar in order to make your visit to eastern NC on Nov. 6th. Your writings are always good for at least a giggle --if a somewhat exasperated belly laugh fails me. I appreciate your cutting insight and you do often hit the nail on the head regarding the glaring stupidity of many public policies & land use decisions.

As a land use planner by education & experience, and a native of the Commonwealth, and by that I mean Virginia-the-mother-of-all-states, I have always been somewhat mystified by the actions and tastes of our neighboring states. To be exact, I am from "southside Virginia," and not a native of that OTHER state, namely NOVA or Northern Virginia --which is actually a northern state and is not recognized as part of the Commonwealth by the rest of us. I began my planning career in the mid-80s in the most extreme southeast corner of Alabama, then worked my way thru rural Georgia to the Golden Isles, then up to the sprawling pock-marked metropolis that is Charlotte. Ugh. This city is certainly the apogee of Yankee-fed money-lust.

Although I share many of your opinions and some of your conclusions about southern culture, you really don't know what the bleep you are talking about. The myths and the reality are one here... Centuries of poverty gave us time to develop a deep and abiding love of the only thing we had: our inner and outer landscape. Most of us, you see, were very used to hard work. The smallest minority of us ever owned slaves or have ever been able to afford to pay someone to do our work for us. If we didn't work, we didn't eat. And believe it or not, many of us see the link between air conditioning and the influx of foreign culture --and in defiance we raise our cardboard paper fans with biblical sayings printed on the back and wave them silently in total bliss from the porch swing. The softness of a southern summer evening where the breeze is only a whisper is something too fine and ephemeral for most of you to ever even recognize, much less appreciate. What that does to one inside is akin to the deepening of the soul's ability to negotiate between money-based comfort and the control of one's own destiny. Whether you are talking about a shrimper out of Darien, GA or a tobacco farmer in Brown Summit, NC, you are talking about a culture that is steeped in tradition, a deep love of the satisfaction based in the fruits of labor, and an extreme distrust of outside influences. And you forget how much this was upended in the mid-19th century, and how you Yankees still tend to prove us right time after time. We see you, compared to us, as short-sighted, blighted individuals absolutely unconcerned for what you see around you. You cannot appreciate our scars and wounds and are too quick to point out our faults and foibles without a shred of concern or understanding as to what those scars and wounds stand for. If any of you would simply live anonymously among us for a time, you might come to see the subtler, substantial beauty that is the South. You might come to appreciate our deep concern and respect for our neighbors, that is entirely different from yours. Concern and respect do not even mean the same thing here as they apparently do "up Nawth." And so, again, I would offer that you just have to live here, silently, and observe. The south of William Faulker, Flannery O'Connor, Pat Conroy, Eudora Welty, and Lee Smith is not a vast, ugly, bank-supported empire. It is a natural landscape teeming with life and culture --and that is something you Yankees cannot change, not with all your money and your influence and your offers of "knowledge and assistance." I have gotten to where I would far rather see an honest 1970s era mobile home or concrete block farmhouse community out in the country than the cobbled-together false community of the subdivisions around Charlotte. God damn subdivisions after all --thank you so very much, Mr. Yankee. What a lovely idea those were!

Oh --and also, if you ate at any Mom & Pop diner out on the four-lane, you missed the point completely. Southerners do not reveal their secrets and their best selves to just anyone, even less to any Yankee with attitude who happens to drive into town. What makes you think you experienced anything in particular at that dive? Unless the town you visited is vastly different from most, no local eats there unless half-starved and against a wall, I assure you. First reason --they are too expensive and second, the food tastes terrible!! Those restaurants are for TRAVELERS, and they developed in the fifties by people like my great-grandparents who realized that hungry people from out-of-town on a long car trip to the beach or Florida will eat just about anything and pay lots of money for it. REAL home-cooked food is nearly always served waaaaaay out on on a dirt road in an old tumble-down shack or big Victorian whose last paint job was before the Depression, and is not accessible to anyone but the locals. Fact is, you got what you expected --and they got your money. That is the point. The cheap plastic icons of which you speak were put there after the advent of the automobile, but the south you saw was not the real South. You have to live here to know that.

One reason you see so many poor land use decisions here in the South, is that we still have lots and lots of land to waste --unfortunately for us planners. This isn't going to change for the foreseeable future --and yet, here in the South we have no city as ugly as Waterford, Connecticut --where my appalled southern eyes finally saw the truth of what rampant capitalism does to a landscape. God, what an ugly town --miles of concrete and dirty black asphalt --and not a tree or green blade of grass in sight. I high-tailed it back here as quick as I could fly, and have tried my best to warn my fellow southerners about what living conditions the Yankees are used to. They don't believe me. Here we still have trouble visualizing what our cities can and actually are turning into --where you can literally reach out your kitchen window and turn on the faucet in your neighbor's kitchen. Most southerners do not believe for an instant that these tract-home developments will abide for long. And correctly, many predict they will be "filled with 5 Mexican families each," before the next decade ends. Still, my frustrations are similar to yours --the love affair with quick fixes, the dirty old boys (and now women, too) in the smoky civic backroom making deals with developers so that Uncle Andy can retire in peace to the beach. While we may not be able to understand the cultural difference that you Yankees bring down here, namely, your absolute unawareness of how CROWDED you are --this, we sincerely believe, will be the downfall of the Yankee in the south. Eventually the market for living on top of one another will just dry up! Living so closely squashed together is anathema to our very culture --the Southern psyche must have room to breathe and shoot the neighbor's pigs to keep them from running rampant thru the garden --oh, and instead of going to therapists, we blow away the errant beer can or two on the fence with a .357 magnum. It is ultimately why TNDs and "urban planning" fail here. Having attended public hearing after town meeting after community information session for my past 18 years of public life, I see it over and over again. The locals see too many changes happening way too quickly and they rise up and say "No." No culture can assimilate the rapid changes that have taken place on the local level in even the past 5 years. I have seen that the locals do eventually realize what outsiders want to change --which is their very IDENTITY, and they do take back their towns and prevent any more change for a period of several years, until the locals have a chance to catch up. And then they do it on their own terms. They set up baseball diamonds, rejuvenate the canopies over the sidewalk on Main Street, plant trees and polish up the Confederate Memorial in front of the courthouse. In other words, we do get it. We just don't necessarily always do it the way you Yankees do. We like where we live, and in the end we'd rather remain an honest Third World Nation than subscribe to the soul's selling out offered by Yankee industrialists. While a few decision-makers at the top often can be bought, by and large the southern people themselves remain true to their culture. "Bloom where you are planted," pretty accurately describes our mindset. Not "Get thee to Dothan," or any other frame of mind involving leaving the place of your birth and going elsewhere to try to change what you really can't address in your neck of the woods. Because all in all, if you really liked it, you'd stay there.

No personal offense intended --and thank you for letting me get that off my chest. Looking forward to your next column, and perhaps I'll see you next Monday.

Best regards,
Susannah B. Smith, AICP
Principal Planner
Adair Fox Planning, Research, Advocacy & Design
www.adairfox.com

"We are only the trustees for those who come after us." --William Morris

recommended reading

we began the day at 5 a.m. with a power outage, that lasted until after 3 o'clock in the afternoon. apparently a car went off the road in the rain in the early hours of the morning, snapping a power pole in two and thus cutting power to two towns and a sizeable portion of this part of the county. i am ashamed at my unpreparedness; we had no firewood cut and laid by, no way to make coffee. i am not actually quite able to function without morning java, and so much of the day was, sad to say, wasted.

we made our way to the huddle house around noon, joining scores of others who'd no way to heat breakfast. we decided coffee was the only immediate necessity given the jocularity (or lack thereof) of the populace and wait staff. again, ashamed of our dependence on the power grid and inability to decide what to do with the day. on the way back, we noted the repair trucks were driving away from the scene of the crash and assumed the power would be back on soon. we were right, for about fifteen minutes. it came and went just long enough for me to (finally!) get a shower. well, thank goodness for at least that. i wouldn't have been fit to talk with otherwise. don't suppose i've mentioned that it was raining off & on on most of the day. much-needed, desperately needed rain. and still, we griped. unforgiveable, positively hedonist. we were tested & found wanting. ouch.

in sheer punishment and to remind myself what is important, i made myself sit on my bed and read the latest issue of Countryside magazine, all about people who have certainly quite a bit more get-up-and-go than either I or my husband this morning. it just happened on a day when we were both tired, wanted to rest, and yet be entertained. i wanted to work on my writing (requires a computer as my latest drafts have not yet been printed out); he wanted to watch Talladega. so much for our healthy, back-to-the-earth philosophies about life. finally the power came back on and my husband happily settled in to make heavenly chicken gumbo. i made more coffee and met my friend outside at our habitual outdoor sitting room for erudite conversation and comment on the state of the world at large. we were joined at length by her brother and the conversation turned to "what to do --what is happening to our world?"

as a planner, i can certainly comment on that, at length; and so in order to be helpful i recommended "anything by Jane Jacobs."
Cities and the Wealth of Nations certainly is an excellent beginning for laypersons to begin to understand how we literally shot ourselves in our economic feet decades ago, and why it is so critical that we stop buying from overseas or patronizing any company who outsources to the new Third World. buy locally whenever you can. eschew any retailer who lays claim to the pennies in your pocketbook while robbing your community of its identity and local economic strength --namely, the mega-retailers. buy small, who promise strength and stability for the long haul, and give you an honest product for reasonable (not "cheap") prices. and while we're making recommendations, use geese or sheep to mow your lawn, grow your own vegetables and/or patronize the local farmer's market, raise chickens for meat and eggs, barter with your neighbors, make it yourself, use it up, wear it out, and on, and on. until you do, you won't understand how simple it is. it's actually the lazy way. think how much simpler our day would have been with only a few minutes' preparation in the form of chopped wood stacked ready by the door. we have all the necessities for an 18th century life in the woods, including hand-ground coffee and all the cooking accoutrements... but no fire! instead we had to wait, get grumpy, and eventually saddle up the mule (ok, start the automobile), and mosey down to the local corner hangout where we were served up a mediocre substitution for the morning's necessity. for shame, for shame.

of course, we learned our lesson. firewood will be neatly stacked a couple of days from now. we just need to go down in the woods to get it. but most importantly, our mindset has been necessarily altered with the realization that we just aren't the know-it-alls we sometimes think we are. and too, how humiliating to realize our rumpled discontent all stemmed from the fact that, unlike the youthful steward pictured feeding the ducks above, we couldn't just accept what the day gave and found some joy in it. humility will season our next cool morning, to be sure.

plain as plain

and what, you may well ask, is plain? well, for starters, me. i am plain. i live plainly. plain keeps life "doable," so to speak. anymore when life starts to clutter up it lets me know that i'm not living plainly enough. so i look about for something to divest.

that latest divestiture is worry. worry about whether or not i'm doing the right thing, mainly. all i know is i really am doing the best that i can.

also, i'm concentrating on the planning work, and my writing. besides my children and my husband (and two houses!) that is enough. i'm not cut out to do manual labor for others, my family keeps me busy enough. recently we re-incorporated adair fox as a non-profit. it better fits our mission, and makes us able to work more closely with others aligned with the same tasks: that of bettering the world, instead of our own pocketbooks. in all honesty, i have never felt so free to do what i see that needs to be done in the world.

thank god, thank god.

i just like to be able to sleep at night, and my work must continue to enable me to do so. i quit the government sphere because my body told me "no more stress." i am honored to be seeing my work being fulfilled at last with love, honor, and truth. this is all that matters. so. onward and upward. when my children no longer need me there will still be this work. it continues to be the most important contribution i make aside from them. i am glad to be able to say it is all finally coming together, amen, and amen.

lawn no more

This past April, I had a similar epiphany to the one expressed by this writer:

The Lawn Racket, by Stan Cox

In the theme of keeping wildness, I neglected to do what my next-door and across-the-street neighbors were doing, namely going out every two days and running the noisy lawnmower, at times with dust flying in their wake. I wish they realized just how stupid they looked. Maybe it was in protest, maybe I just got fed up with the price of gasoline, maybe I decided it was high time I put theory into practice, but I refused to mow the lawn to shreds with a noisy, wasteful gas-powered engine. Instead, I went out and got a scythe. I go out about once a week or so and work for about 2 hours, sometimes I do it for a few days in a row, as I feel like it. I am not committed to making the lawn look manicured, just keeping the weeds at bay --and weeds, in my book, are not necessarily a bad thing if they have flowers and don't make me sneeze! Sometimes I pull out the reel mower if I'm feeling especially neat and orderly, but honestly, the yard looks happier, and I am proud to say not one molecule of gasoline exhaust has littered the air about the place this year.

Several summer months later, my upper arms are less flabby, my waist continues whittled, and I do not contribute to the unnecessary noise of the neighborhood. Much to be desired in the rural countryside, where bluebirds, warblers, and wrens flit in the trees and the sigh of the wind is music to the ears.

a 21 year reunion....

Go to the Image Gallery



has it been 21 years... really? since i rushed home after the store closed at hancocks fabrics in tampa to see the show that was to transform everything from network tv to crime dramas as we knew them?

well don... you haven't aged a bit. tonite was the airing of the first episode of miami vice. you looked like such a ***baby***!!! so young, so fresh, so immoral!!
when i remember my innocence of the years when miami vice first hit the screen --it makes my eyes tear up a bit. i remember how gratified i was that my favorite actor from "the rebel" had actually been rewarded with the type of fame due his talent. unbelievable, yet so gratified.

it wasn't the armani suits, the deep tans, or the testarossa. i promise you. it was the green eyes.... and the doubt, the betrayals, the agony that kept us tuning in week after week. it was watching you deal with things that made our miserable lives seem human again. it was seeing you come out of it and go on... again, and again. it was like nothing we'd seen before... how lovely to see you'd aged well. my 14-year old son could not believe this was the world before cell phones, before the internet... and it looked cool, and splendid. and i wanted it back, i did.

last night i watched "hot spot," "long hot summer," AND "word of honor," just to refresh my memory. you are just as fascinating as you always were. i don't care what anyone else says.... we'll see the new re-make as it appears to be a must-see, but nothing can change the fact that you were always my muse, my hero, and the one that caused me to take up my pen to write in the first place. it's high time i finished the novel i started way back then, don't you think?

simple gifts

it's been way too long, and i have no better excuse for not making any entries other than time, or the lack of it. here i'll share a photo made by a friend of myself and my youngest, enjoying a jaunt into an earlier, simpler time. all my life centers around my children and my work; i have little to share other than this. as it should be.

i will try to write more often.

keeping wildness

In Wildness is the preservation of the world... Our village life would stagnate if it were not for the unexplored forests and meadows which surround it. We need the tonic of wildness." --Thoreau, Walden, 1847

One doesn't normally think of Thoreau as a planner, but oh, he was. In his earnest adaptation and spiritual connection with the countryside surrounding the community in which he lived, he gave us the blueprint for interweaving the urban/suburban fabric with that of the rural. i submit here an image of the yard i had two houses ago, near greensboro, nc... it is still in a rural area, thanks to the non-availability of water & sewer service. it was a 4-acre 'old city lot,' in the downtown section of a town that was founded before the revolution. several of us kept farm animals in ancient barns and the slow timbre of life there was affected by its proximity to metropolitia only during the 5 p.m. traffic centipede that crawled down the main street, disappearing shortly after 6. to protect the habits of wildlife, it is against the law in that little burg to burn more than 160 watts of light after dark, cumulatively on any one property. Many of us used candles in the window so as to be able to view the night sky, the constellations, and the velvet blackness, virtually unchanged since the turn of the last century.

Small communities and rural towns comprise the bulk of the local community in the southern United States. Here it is a cultural reality that people live with spaces between them.... piling in cheek by jowl is anathema to us. Hence, there is an anxiety as we go forth in time that the future will be something so different that we will not recognize ourselves. What happened up North is now happening here, and none of us want to duplicate the mistakes that were made as the more populated areas of the country developed. And yet, few are willing to conserve, to protect, to eschew the monetary gain --sometimes much needed --in order to preserve the southern countryside. Those who are are usually not the ones with the land. And so it goes.... will we return to Walden a century from now and wonder what it was like, instead of going out of our own doors as we do today, and experience it?

bonne anniversaire

yesterday was my birthday and today is my wedding anniversary... two lovely, if cool, spring days in a row. i loved this picture of a doorway in a rural area of france... full of possibilities, therefore, an apt symbol for beginning another new year. i do feel a bit more introspective around birthdays & anniversaries, even more so than at the official 'new year' in january. each year around this time i cannot help but take stock, where i am all but too busy to think about such things as the old year dies and the new one begins. spring, too, brings thoughts of rebirth, and similarly, a gathering together of all that is good and meaningful in life. the earth is rebounding with good things, all in all i feel blessed and fortunate, and cannot imagine going thru life without dh... and also, looking forward to the day when we two can visit my ancestral country and i can hear his bemused, erudite comments on what we come across there.

molasses in winter

over the past year i have been getting a lesson in just how slowly the wheels of the legal system roll. most of us have absolutely no concept whatsoever of how excruciatingly sluggish things can be, how a mislaid file or the failure on the part of some courthouse employee to update a particular judge's calendar results in months of delay in getting justice.

i wish someone had told me it would take this long, because i wasted over 3 years in attempting to reason with the person in question before even consulting with several attorneys, all of whom were glad to take the case & encouraged me to take the person back to court. i finally agreed to do so in november of 2004 and hired an attorney. we have been through several mediated sessions and have been given no less than 6 court dates, all of which have been 'postponed' for one reason or another (see above). i am hopeful of getting a date for late march. i have no assurance this will happen, but am assured that 'this will be resolved and you will see justice done. yours is a special case and we just have to roll with it and be patient. these changes do not occur overnight.'

at this point i am just trying to keep my sanity. this blog started out as an attempt to do just that, to give me something else to do to distract me from the very problem of which i speak. at first it was a good distraction, but eventually i decided it wasn't a good idea to post my thoughts about what is happening in the world of land use online. the (unrelated) nature of my court case prevents me from being specific, but i need all the prayers and assistance i can get right now. i have little energy to do anything other than pray, and have for weeks. long ago i gave up trying to pursue a career because of the distractions and energy involved in pursuing the matter. but i must press on, i must continue to find the energy every day because there is absolutely nothing more important that the three little souls whose well-being depends upon it.

the unbroken circle

my sister sent the above picture to me with a reminder of how we really don't need to wear makeup.... and neither did she (who happens to be the wife of artist andrea del sarto, c. 1513 or so). don't you love the gentle way her head is crowned?

saw a fascinating movie the other night: 'iron jawed angels,' about the work of suffragettes and how women finally obtained the right to vote in america (after england and several other european nations had granted it decades before). highly recommended --and great hats!

another fascinating woman, recently the subject of a documentary on the sc public tv network: eleanor roosevelt. i was lucky enough to visit valkyll in hyde park, ny during the time it was being restored in the early 1980s. need to remember her lessons. i had always thought of her as rather dowdy but from all the original reels of news footage & photographs, that just isn't so. very often she was the only gracefully dressed person in the room, a veritable orchid surrounded by drab mens' suits. she also had some wonderful chapeaux.... whatever happened to us, that we don't dress completely anymore?

prometheus unbound

hear, hear....

http://www.usatoday.com/news/washington/2006-01-31-sotu-dems-text_x.htm

sometimes i'm really glad i'm a born-n-bred virginian.

backyard view

"Summer is over, autumn beckons. How wonderful to have that forced upon me when waking. How wealthy am I, not to be insulated from my world, to be aware of the activity of my neighbors who are different from me." --blog post from Sept. 06, 2005

Since that post I have wanted to share a photo of the view from my backyard. Here it is, and of course it does not do justice to the reality. It was taken during this past weeks' fine weather, when the sky told why in glorious terms it is called, "carolina blue," and the air laid soft upon my skin as I hung the morning's laundry. The light is always particularly golden, as it is so many places in the less populated areas of the south. The place is quite lively all on its own, it has no need of man's intervention to make it a "happening place." This morning, for instance, the particolored leaves are a veritable orchestra of sound as they continue to shower the earth with tickets to the show in gold, copper, and russet. The light glitters pure and shining upon them, ensuring none is slighted, each is picked out with its own special limelight, silhouetted against the shadows of the dark treetrunks. The stubble field, sown in rye, is as green as the course at Augusta, and the cloudless sky is a deep periwinkle blue.

None of which would translate to film, I imagine. I have neither the skill nor the patience of our dear friend Fred. And I am not sure even he could capture the sense of all the movement, which is what makes it so alive. So you will have to be content with words, or come for a visit.

about blogs

interesting! the politicos have found out about us:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/csm/20051027/ts_csm/ablog_1

it appears that those who make the rules by which society operates have discovered (again) the power of the truthfully-shared word --mountains are climbed, bibles translated, kingdoms will fall --and of course, it follows that they will attempt to assimilate our methods into their whole. well, good luck. i hope it's like trying to pick up spaghetti with their toes. they will be like a pack of penguins, swooping down upon a fish. in trying to suck out all the goodness --read "power" --from this big fish called the internet, a multitude of keening voices, flopping with life and abundance, they will struggle with it and attempt render it down to nothing more than the slimy residue of what it was. and then they will pronounce it "harmless," and move away, back to easier prey, from which they can again suck out goodness and power. the education system in america, for instance. your gas tank. non-corporate agriculture. hopefully that slimy residue will be more indicative of what was left in their pockets after we escaped back into the sea, and they are none the wiser.

a very old and dear friend of mine, whose youthful creativity was long ago assimilated first by the US Marines, and then by Corporate America, upon learning i had a blog, commented as to how he wouldn't attempt it. "too much potential downside from airing my non-work-related opinions!" and i quote. darb, 'twould serve thee right if i aired those lovely poems from 11th grade --paeons to coming of age in the 1970s all, they are the picture of the severe hormonal angst that will be recognized by any 16-year-old --right here for the world to see. i still have them, and did not throw them away as you directed so long ago. the reason, of course, is because i saw that youthful exuberance going away as you grew up; i would no sooner destroy a field of diamonds. one day you will thank me, but probably not before you are very old and very grey.

don't worry. they are safe in my writing chest. i'll give them back to you when i visit you at happy acres rest home for former corporate shmucks. until then, live happy, and do more of that bmw racing stuff --get out & see the world, breathe the fine air in a state south of the mason-dixon line once in awhile. it's good for you. and it will be good for the world, should you decide to share more of that fine, acerbic but perceptive wit with us again in the form of the printed word.

here is why we blog:

http://www.fragmentsfromfloyd.com/archives/004270.html#comments

it's a fine and frightening thing, blogging is. you wear your essence on your sleeve, so to speak, for the entire world to possibly see. thing is, most peeps don't see it. there really aren't that many of us in the scheme of things. plus, you have to read in order to get anything out of a blog. given the state of education today, that could certainly mean that over time, blogs will mean even less. so what? it's a powerful thing, that blank screen of light --much more so, even, than the printed page. i hope we are headed for some sort of shake-up, where we as a world will discover the value in communication, in honesty, in truth, in caring for what we are given. perhaps it is so that as one comment to the blog above-referenced mentions, you have to leave something alone for awhile in order to be able to see what it means to you. i've not blogged in over a month, my friends' erstwhile comment above giving me a bit of pause. is he right, after all? i'm not certain. i know for him it could be quite risky, corporate america being much more comfortable with the mind they give you than the mind you bring in the doors. but he's a smart guy, i think he'll figure it out. after all, it was one of those things he fought for, too: freedom of speech. freedom to share what you're thinking with someone else. ideas are born, they spread, they sometimes take on a life of their own. scary, scary stuff.

maybe we are getting ready to see "a new birth of freedom," again. how exciting! after the dregs of political disaster are dumped out on the ground for all to see, we get up, we move on. i cannot imagine that we could sink much lower than we are right now and still be called a civilized society. maybe that is the point --nature herself is quite uncivilized. the balance of civilization vs. rampant chaos. how can we assimilate all that? we can't, we mustn't. we learn to live, and let live, to learn, to teach, to sow. over and over again. the world is only in balance when there is a liberal amount of chaos interspersed with all attempts to control it. the boat, after all, works as a transportation device because it floats upon the ocean, not because it beats it into submission, or ignores the current.

where angels fear to tread

it has been difficult to look southward in the past few weeks, so i have been turning my head this way and that, averting my eyes, much as one would when the sun sinks below the top edge of the car window and starts to slant inwards, spearing the retinas. constantly adjusting my visor against the glare doesn't seem to be working. while i do have ears for, and have gotten to the point where my raw and somewhat tenderhearted nerves actually want to listen to the radio stories of the refugees: which is exactly what we should be doing, opening our ears to listen, sharing our hearts and doorways and pockets, lending our hands in whatever way we can... when the interviewer turns to those who would opine answers that involve eager rebuilding of the "new, new orleans," my blood runs absolutely cold.

we have no business thinking that way at this point. how can we speak of rushing in like absolute fools to speculate in still-watery real estate when there is so much need to be addressed? i am presently listening to parents in baton rouge, who are trying to handle the influx of 10,000 new school children in their parish parochial schools. why can these members of my own profession, along with the architects, landscape designers, financiers, politicians, and builders not find this challenge as attractive as 'building the new, new orleans'? i ask you. it is a waste of precious resources, that we simply can not afford and would be wrong to spend, and would much better be directed toward figuring out how houston will feed, house, and school the myriad needy for whom they now have responsibility.

school pix

these were taken recently for the school directory. so proud of these kids.

past precedents

Today through Saturday I have the unique opportunity to assist as a docent and guide at the re-enactment of the raids of Gen. Edward Potter at Spring Hill, near Stateburg (Sumter), South Carolina. Dr. David Decker, professor of history at USC-Sumter (SC), has over the past two years done a remarkable amount of work in preparation for the first re-enactment of the late April 1865 skirmishes between confederate and yankee around the Stateburg area.

Overview of Events this week for schools and the public:

http://www.uscsu.sc.edu/special/pottersraid.shtml

Official Potter's Raid Site:

www.pottersraid.com

In my own preparation for this event I have been brushing up my rusty knowledge of the roles that southern women played both before and during the War. Some recommended resources:

Books containing a significant amount of primary resources reprinted from journals, diaries, letters and period articles:

The War the Women Lived: Female Voices from the Confederate South, by Walter Sullivan

Motherhood in the Old South, by Sally G. McMillen

Within the Plantation Household, by Elizabeth Fox-Genovese

The Plantation Mistress, by Catherine Clinton

Mary's World, (studies of the journals and letters of Mary Motte Alston Pringle), by Richard N. Cote

Your Affectionate Daughter, Isabella (studies of the journals and letters of Isabella Torrance Reid), by Ann Williams

Journal of a Residence on a Southern Plantation (journal & letters with post-war commentary and memoirs), Fanny Kemble Butler

When I can Read my Title Clear, by Janet Duitsman Cornelius

Reprinted period journals, diaries, letters, with or without editor commentary:

Growing up in the 1850s: the Journal of Agnes Lee, Mary Custis Lee deButts, ed.

Diary from Dixie, by Mary Chesnut

A Blockaded Family, by Parthenia Hague

The Diary of Clarissa Adger Bowen

Sarah Morgan: the Civil War Diary of a Southern Woman, Charles East, ed.

Journal of a Secesh Lady: the Diary of Catherine Devereux Edmondston 1860-1866

Before Freedom, When I Can Just Remember: 27 Oral Histories of former South Carolina Slaves, Belinda Hurmence, ed.

Long Ago at Liberty Hill, by Mary Ellen Cunningham

Studying the ruminations and outpourings of heart in these pages paints an overwhelming picture of a society's reluctance to say goodbye, of holding on to the past, of carrying bits of remembered happiness forward into the future, and a reticence toward accepting blatantly necessary change, whether out of respect and love for what was good, or out of a lack of understanding of how to separate and preserve the good from the bad. Something we've been hearing alot of in the past week. Mayhap there is something to be learned here.... I'll be listening for it, this weekend.