Sunrise

Unseen above clouds,

The morning sunrise sings

in unbroken calm.

A Few (More) Words From...Demosthenes

"'Well', some you may say, 'why tell us this now?'  Because, men of Athens, I want you to know and realize two things:  first, what an expensive game it is to squander your interests one by one; and secondly, the restless activity which is ingrained in Philip's nature (Philip II of Macedon, 382-336 B.C.), and which makes it impossible for him ever to rest on his laurels.  But if Philip adopts the principle that he ought always to be improving his position, and you the principle of never facing your difficulties resolutely, just reflect what is likely to be the end of it all.  Seriously, is anyone here so foolish as not to see that our negligence will transfer the war for Chalcidice to Attica?  Yet, if that comes to pass, I am afraid, men of Athens, that just as men who borrow money recklessly at high interest enjoy a temporary accommodation only to forfeit their estates in the end, so we may find that we have paid a heavy price for indolence, and because we consult our own pleasure in everything, may hereafter come to be forced to do many of the difficult things for which we had no liking, and may finally endanger our possessions in Athens itself."  - First Olynthic

"You cannot, I suppose, have a proud and chivalrous spirit, if your conduct is mean and paltry, any more than your spirit can be mean and humble, if your conduct is honourable and glorious; for whatever a man's pursuits are, such must be his spirit." - On Organization

"For there would have been no changes for better or worse in the fortune of states, had it not been that a nation in peril is guided to safety by good policy, good laws, and good citizens and by the observance of order in all things, but in the case of a nation that seems established in perfect prosperity, all these things, being neglected, slip away little by little.  For most men achieve prosperity by planning soundly and by despising nothing; but they do not take the trouble to guard it by the same means.  Let not this mistake be yours today, and do not think that you ought to ratify a law which will taint the reputation of our city in the time of her prosperity and, if ever a crisis comes, will leave her destitute of those who would be willing to do her service." - Against Leptines

"It is not right, Athenians, to cite the laws of the Lacedaemonians or of the Thebans in order to undermine the laws established here; it is not right that you should want to put a man to death for transplanting to Athens any of the institutions that have made those nations great, and yet lend a willing ear to those who propose to destroy the institutions under which our democracy has flourished."              - Against Leptines

Prayer of St. Philaret, Metropolitan of Moscow

 My Lord, I know now what I ought to ask of Thee.

Thou and Thou alone knowest my needs.

Thou lovest me more than I am able to love Thee.

O Father, grant unto me, Thy servant, all which I cannot ask.

For a cross I dare not ask, nor for consolation; I dare only to stand in Thy presence.

My heart is open to Thee.

Thou seest my needs of which I myself am unaware.

Behold and lift me up!

In Thy presence I stand, awed and silenced by Thy will and Thy judgements, into which my mind cannot penetrate.

To Thee I offer myself as a sacrifice.

No other desire is mine to to fulfill Thy will.

Teach me how to pray.

Do Thyself pray within me.

Amen.

St. Philaret

The Collapse LXIII Inventory

 22 January 20XX +1

My Dear Lucilius:

Today was one of those days in the Winter here where there is simply nothing for it but to remain inside. One makes a quick trip out to the quail to take care of them, then rushes back inside, bearing whatever consumables one intends to use for the day.

Once back inside, of course, it becomes inventory and cleaning day.

One of the great curses – and blessings – of living in such a small location is that there is not a great deal of storage space. With only a few cabinets, a small closet, and a wardrobe with a single drawer for storage, one is limited in the space one has to store things. With that in mind, an inventory becomes less daunting.

It is an old habit now, one that I established years ago when I moved here as a trip to anywhere worth going was at least a 30 mile round trip and more likely 160 miles. And while small things could be gotten nearby, forgetting the bulk oats or actual good cuts of meat meant either doing without, paying more, or turning back around. A regular sense of what one has on hand became a necessity.

There are those, I suppose, that might see this as the actions of a “paranoid hoarder” (how long since we have heard that phrase?), someone who simply cannot go without knowing each and every item they own. It is odd to me, as industry did this all the time and no-one blinked an eye or decried industry as “hoarding”; it was called “inventory management” and millions were spent on systems to inform a company what amount of what they had, down to the last screw and block of cheese. Only individuals, it seemed, are not allowed to know their own holdings and manage them.

The binder I use to hold my lists is one that actually predates me, the one that my parents used to keep their own finances in once upon a time. It is old, the corners are worn and exposed. I still used the very old organizers (circa 1960’s) that were placed in the binder; on one or two there are still scribbles from when I was a child. It is a good reminder of the frugality my parents practiced that got them to where they were – and be extension, allowed me to be here.

The inventory itself does not take more than two hours at this point; I have become quite skilled at flipping open cupboards and boxes and taking stock (the shed, which I would normally do as well, will have to wait. There is no way I am standing out there today to do this, although to be fair, I also know I have not used a great deal from there in Winter). The food supplies are lower of course, but that is to be expected given where we are (it does mean I will have to work harder this Spring and Summer as the pre-packaged/preserved supplies will become very precious indeed). The accouterments of having a house – cooking items, sheets, blankets – almost never change anymore, as does the clothing (although again, that is something to think about. Socks and underwear tend to go first, but even shirts and pants develop holes. I am not a tailor and have never been one; something to trade for again).

Counting ammunition is relatively easy – unopened boxes are taped to indicate full, with only the opened ones to give a physical count to. It is pleasing to see that my supply is still there, although it worries me that it will go down all too quickly.

The other concern, of course, is food for the rabbits and quail. The rabbits still have plenty of pellets, but they will not last forever. I will need to work on growing some kind of hay this summer or at least harvesting grasses – but there are enough cattle ranches around here I may still be able to trade for a full bale, which is perhaps a bit more than I need but can be spread out is protected and used for other things as garden mulch and excitement for the quail. Quail are easier to feed, although I do not generate enough scraps myself to sustain their diet. This will also have to be thought through.

But overall, I am still in good shape.

I have lived here long enough that I have records in this binder for several years, enough data to constitute a data set to derive trends from. I can clearly see over time what I use, when I began to run out, and when I went to the store to replenish. The downwards trend of usage in my manual is very clear for the last 9 months.

My ability to refill, given the present conditions, seems a bit more clouded.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

A Cozy Sort of Disaster

 As I am writing this right now, the world is quietly coming apart.

I can sit here in my newly acquired sitting chair that The Ravishing Mrs. TB decreed we needed as our furniture was years old (to be fair, it was and it is comfortable) and watch, as if I were watching a video game, pictures from Israel of missiles falling and missiles rising - sort of live action "Missile Command" (if you are old enough to remember such things).  They appear like giant fireflies rising and falling; with the sound off, it really is almost like a video game or fan fiction movie.

I take a sip from my lime flavored unsweetened Sparkling water (Yes, I know, regular water does the same thing.  We all allow ourselves certain little luxuries in life).  I read of gas lines stretching out or fuel simply being unavailable in some locations.  I take another sip.

The news is like that now, as I sit and sip.  A death or two here on the Russian/Ukrainian border complete with shelling (yet no-one knows who it is); death tolls rising in India from The Plague while Baja Canada's government wrings its hands about falling vaccination rates and starts offering free "things" to entice people; reports of growing homelessness and poverty while job creation was at an apparent low and colloquially millions of jobs go wanting for people to do them while millions of others cannot apparently be bothered to find a job when provision of income from the government is present.

All filled with disasters, all incongruously highlighting stark different realities almost existing side by side.  And all of this, seemingly unreal for many people.

There is a subcategory of dystopian novels known as The Cozy Disaster Novel.  The context of such things is that there is a disaster that causes a dystopia but is a quiet, understated sort of thing.  John Christopher (the pen name of Samuel Youd) wrote a number of these as young adult novels (looking back, this was probably one of my first introductions to the concept of end of the world scenarios and dystopian futures).  They make for quiet reading, good for rainy days or for quiet ponderings about what ifs.

The problem, of course, is that in the real world disasters are not nearly so cozy.

This is the danger of disasters such as these, of course:  they are just as dangerous and deadly and disruptive as the less cozy variety, or perhaps even more so by virtue of the fact that for most, as they seem unreal, they are less likely to believe that it will ever impact them or create in them a need to actually take action to mitigate such things.

I am aware that this is not the first time this has happened nor, most likely (and hopefully) the last, and that more likely than not I will sit here in some future time, at the same chair with the same water, and think the same.

But this I hold as a difference:  I can at least recognize a matter of concern, even from my chair and water, and take some sort of action.  For millions of others, it will simply seem another television show or video game or online article - right until the time, as it has always been said in legends, that the sun rises and suddenly all are turned to stone.

Clay Pot Watering: Round Two

 As you may remember from last month, I am working on the concept of Clay Pot Watering (using Clay Pots as a storage reservoir for water).  

These were the two I used last month.  I have tried to push away the mulch to show much more damp it was than soil farther away (but foiled by a bad camera angle):

Both plants are doing well.  Other than a good dose of rain - 4.5" about a week ago - they have only been watered by the ollas):

Now that I knew what I was doing, it became much more of an assembly line operation (complete with adult beverage):

    Installation is the same as before:

And the work goes rather quickly.  One thing I will note is that more pots, there is more variety in how the plug fits into the wholes.  Quality control appears to be not as much as I could have desired, but then again, at $0.98 a pot, I do not have much to complain about:

One supports my thriving pepper and tomato bushes:

A third one between the mint and rosemary for some yet undetermined plant:

Laying out down the Center. I obviously do not have enough pots (the offset pattern seems to be the best way to get coverage):

Some at the other end of the garden too:

The basil plant is on the end, the most dry part.  This will be my field test:

From having used them for a bit now (and refilled them at least once), I can tell the following:

1)  A filled pot lasts about two days.

2)  Why did I not get bigger pots?  The pots were available, but not the base - and paying $4.00 per a "bulb" base seemed like a waste of money.

3)  Coverage seems to be about 2-3 inches from the pot.

4) In some cases upon refilling them,  I found where the stoppers were not a precise fit.  I inverted some, which seems to have taken care of the problem.  For others, I will have to seal them.

5)  It is making a difference.  I did a planting of potatoes today and the soil around the ollas was noticeable more moist than farther away.

6)  Cost remains at about $3.25 per olla. They are reusable - but, if they break, I will hardly lose too much sleep over it (I am betting I can reuse the stoppers, however).

I have to confess that I am more excited than usual about my gardening this year!

Scholars and Warriors

 

Mother's Day 2021

This is a different sort of Mother's Day this year in that for the first time in my life, I will not be seeing or speaking to my mother on this day.

Oh, she is still alive.  And I will see her in a week when I head back.  Calling her is...difficult. The phone confuses her now, let alone speaking with someone with whom she has no idea who she is talking to.  It is just easier to speak in person.

As I found out during my last visit from one of her very long time friends (75 years +), she does not really remember that either I or my sister are her children.  We are her own brother and sister.

This is an odd place to be in.

I can physically go and see my mother. I can talk to her. I can recognize her face, the tonal quality of her voice, the facts that she still brings up about people and things that I know.  At the same time, in a meaningful sense, my mother is no longer there.

I cannot bring up things that we did when I was growing up:  She does not recall any vacations that we took.  She does not recall the time when - on a whim - I asked her if I could drive home from the store and she gave me the keys; it was my first time post permit driving and we barely survived.  She likely does not recall any of the activities I did when I was growing up or places we went to church.  And she surely does not recall what I consider my multiplicity of failures over the years.

A lifetime of memories, now a blank field with occasional bright points of recalls, like wildflowers.

This is different than death, as far as I can understand it.  In death, the person is gone - truly gone - with nothing but memories and a gravestone.  Here, the person is here, but the bulk of what made them up as a person to you is gone.

We signed a card and sent it to my sister's (to make sure that it gets there). I am sure she will enjoy it and will thank my sister for it when she brings it (she has not lost her kindly nature).  And hopefully it will sit somewhere in her room, a physical reminder of us even if "us" does not really exist to her anymore.

This, as the hackneyed saying goes, was not the way this was all supposed to work out.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Morning Prayer Of The Optina Elders

O Lord, grant that I may meet all that this coming day brings to me with spiritual tranquility. Grant that I may fully surrender myself to Thy holy Will.

At every hour of this day, direct and support me in all things. Whatsoever news may reach me in the course of the day, teach me to accept it with a calm soul and the firm conviction that all is subject to Thy holy Will.

Direct my thoughts and feelings in all my words and actions. In all unexpected occurrences, do not let me forget that all is sent down from Thee.

Grant that I may deal straightforwardly and wisely with every member of my family, neither embarrassing nor saddening anyone.

O Lord, grant me the strength to endure the fatigue of the coming day and all the events that take place during it. Direct my will and teach me to pray, to believe, to hope, to be patient, to forgive, and to love.

Amen.

Optina Monastary

Past Bricks

 

The Collapse LXII: Yellow And Red

18 January 20XX +1

My Dear Lucilius:

Young Xerxes was as good as his word: two cans of unopened coffee. I gave him not only the 4 lbs of honey promised, but an additional 2 lbs. They do me no good here, but they very well may get me some additional something in the future.

The cans are a brand that I recognize from long ago – in real honest to goodness metal cans, mind you, not those silly plastic containers that were so commonly available. The plastic wrapper around the can is two toned, yellow and red, and bi-lingual in English and Spanish. “Café Espresso Molido” (Expresso Ground Coffee) it proclaims proudly; “Siempre puro y pleno de sabor, como ningún otro” (Always pure and flavorful, like no other). Roasted in Florida.

Sunny Florida seems a long way from a cold, wintry day here. As, frankly, does roasting.

I pull back the yellow plastic cap. The inside is (thankfully) sealed with a removable foil seal instead of the metal lid; I had misaligned more coffee cans with a can opener than opening them successfully that way. In an extravagance of effort, I pull open the seal (and set it to the side, of course – almost everything now has a potential use or value, even if I do not see what it is at the moment).

I am assaulted with the slightly acrid, almost burnt smell of the roasted coffee. For one brief shining instant, the world of cold and wind and Collapse disappears.

What? Well, of course I made some – after all, it was now open and should taste the fruit of my trading, should I not?

Was it a coffee “like no other”? I cannot accurately tell you that as – since it has been a bit of time since I have had coffee, any coffee was destined to be “like no other”. But it was hot and tasted like coffee.

Yes, I know – I will have to be prudent and frugal in the use of it. For all I know, these may be the last two cans in this entire state. And while I think (and fear) that we will go through a period of scarcity for such things, followed by a period of abundance as such things or traded (or more tragically, they are found in places where people did not survive), ultimately it will revert to being unavailable at all. They are, I doubt, roasting coffee in Florida anymore – and even if they could, who would get the beans from South America or Africa there to roast them anymore?

The open can goes on the shelf, the unopened can goes into the back along with the valuable supplies. And then I sit in front of the fire, luxuriating in my cup and thinking on happier times when such things flowed freely and we had not a care in the world where the next cup was coming from. Odd, as the saying used to go, what a difference a year makes.

I would offer a sip to the rabbits of course, but they are notorious abstainers from coffee so I drink their share as well.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

Beware The Fury...

 (Hat Tip:  Glen)

On Moles And Leading A Double Life

One of the lesser known songs to come from the Styx album Kilroy Was Here (1983; arguably one of the best albums ever in the fact that there is not a bad song on it) was entitled "Double Life" in which the underground hero of the Rock Opera, Jonathan Chance (Tommy Shaw), laments the life he has to lead as a rebel opposing the then all controlling "MMM - Majority for Musical Morality", in trying to bring back rock music:

"Leading a double life

Friends in the daytime, strangers at night

Leading a double life,

Can it be wrong when you know that it's right?"

Claire Wolfe ponders the question from a different angle in her article "Outlaw Moles:  Now More Important Than Ever".

The article (I am summarizing, you would do so much better to read it fully yourself) posits that there are four sorts of "Freedom Outlaws", those who seek to restore freedoms instead of bind them:  The Ghost, who is so far off the grid and buried that they are not visible; the Agitator, who actively works to re-establish them publicly (and not necessarily in the "violent" fashion that the title suggests; agitators can work through the system as well - but they are public); the Cockapoo, those who are effectively beaten down by the system and so choose to live off the system to bring it down the faster; and the Mole, those who essentially live double lives:  appearing on the outside to buy in to and conform to every aspect of the system, but passively preparing, protesting, or even supporting the other three models.

"In the dark so all alone

Slowly reach for the telephone

A message waits just for you

A secret place, another rendezvous

It's not always honesty

That is the best policy

But little lies can give you away

Though you'll deny it if they say maybe you're just 

Leading a double life..."

In reading the article, I (re)discovered the fact that I am a mole.

I am not terribly brave. There are those that might argue that simply posting as I do, under a nom de guerre, at least makes me suspect if not guilty.  True, perhaps - although to be fair, given the world we live in today I am neither rich enough, isolated enough, or connected enough to be "protected" from idiots who believe their right and privilege is to squash all that disagree with them.  And besides that, being in a sense "impersonal" allows me a persona of sorts to discuss and debate things which in real life would only end in shouting, tears, and slammed doors.

But even without that, I am not terribly brave.  I will avoid confrontation wherever possible.  Whenever I called on do something, I will like do it, even though it might be something I partially disagree with (Not completely though.  Even I have my limits).  I do not argue.  I certainly do not fight.  I go along to get along.  I (to paraphrase Claire's article) pay my taxes, cross in the cross walks, drive the speed limit, and to the greatest extent possible, conform to the law (to the extent it drives others crazy sometimes).

And work diligently in the background.

"The other side of the Berlin wall is

Not far enough to avoid the call

Somebody knows, somebody's seen

Somebody knows right where you've been

And that you're just 

Leading a double life..."

I have friends here that are brave.  Glen is brave (although arguably, almost foolhardily so).  STxAR is brave, as Claire.  Leigh and Ed are quietly brave.  Reverend Paul is brave, unapologetically so.  And my dear friend, quiet, artistic friend Rain is probably the quietest and bravest of us all.  

And yet - loud or not, they are all doing what they can to live their lives and quietly (or less so, in Glen's case) living lives contrary to the dominant paradigms, both real and imagined.

"Nowhere to hide, though we both might try

I'm schizophrenic, and so am I

Double life, a double life, a masquerade,

You know we all live a masquerade

I know you're out there!"

Two points that deserve consideration:

1)  Being a mole in this circumstance is an "evil" thing.  Merely by living a life which in some way, form, or fashion does not conform to the existing paradigms is not an "evil" thing - although it may be a rebellious things, as those raising chickens or openly gardening in their front yards might tell you.  One can be a mole without intending anything than living a life differently that what is demanded by a society that seeks to effectively control a great deal - the simple act of not living that way or questioning makes you a mole, a potential threat to the system.

2)  Being a mole - "Leading a Double Life", as the song says - sounds like it would be hard.  But if your are someone (like me) that is used to introspection, having interests that no-one else in your immediate group shares, and are an introvert, it really does not feel like a task at all.  Effectively, you have done this all your life:  learned to not speak about that which interests no-one but you, quietly gone about your life even in the midst of people, enjoyed a rich inner thought life (complete with arguments and debates in some cases.  It is just a logical extension to what you have already done.  Add to that a healthy dose of learning to be the proverbial "grey man" (Toirdhealbheach Beucail's Cardinal Rule:  Do Not Draw Attention To Yourself), and it actually interrupts your lifestyle very little.

There was a meme making the rounds some years ago that I used (reused here) that expresses it perfectly.  Be quiet, meet all your requirements and obligations - and go about in your own quiet way, preparing.

The Ranch: A Primer

The Ranch - subject of many of my posts and a rather great deal of my plotting - is an approximately 90 acre property located in <undisclosed location>.  It is a smaller subsection of a larger piece of property that was purchased by my great aunt and uncle and used (then) as a working cattle ranch. The land, or at least the portion of the land, has now been in our family for approximately 75 years.

The property itself is a mix of woods (oak, pine, cedar, madrone) and an open series of pastures that run down the effective middle of the property and are somewhat unoriginally known as the Upper, Middle, and Lower Pastures.  They have been called this longer than I can remember.

The property itself is somewhat removed from the nearest mid sized town by 15 miles and is outside the limits of a much smaller community.  In terms of neighbors, there are few:  my aunt and uncle who live above the property in the original ranch house and a more recent (20 years +) home at the end of the driveway.  Other than that, it is essentially surrounded in a bit of a bubble.

My parents have lived there for almost 20 years, having built a home there (deck above) as well as the barn (seen in the picture above).  My father spent a good many years clearing the property of smaller scrub brush and trees, doing his best to reduce the risk of fire in the area.

There are cattle there again, kept by The Cowboy and his son, who have been keeping them there for 16 years or more along with horses - so in a sense it is a working ranch again, which always made my father happy.  

That we know of, the property is either the home or traversing point for deer, jack rabbits, turkeys, kildeer, quail (although much less frequent than they used to be), hawk,  bear, bobcat, fox, coyote,  mountain lion (I have never seen one, but the Cowboy's son has), frogs, turtles, gophers, moles, rattlesnakes,  skunks, and a bevy of lizards.

 This place is the center of my universe.  This is a place where - still - one can walk and hear nothing but the wind through the trees all day.  If God were to speak, he would speak in such a place.

We do not live there now, having had to move in The Great Hammerfall of 2009, but I have been able to return more frequently during the last year due to working arrangements from The Plague.

If you were to ask me my one purpose in live, it is to steward this property.  Not, ultimately, for myself.  Because places like this are becoming rarer and rarer as we buy up and build up the natural world around us in hopes of spending "more time in nature" and bending nature to our will.

How I will do this, when this will become the full time gig - all of this is in the air at this point.  For now, I go when I can and try to do the best to manage the legacy now passed on to me from my Great Aunt and Uncle and my parents.

The Madman

 

An April Walk In The Lower Meadow

I realized, as part of my visit back to The Ranch this week, that I have not been here is in Spring since we moved in 2009.  I had forgotten how green everything can be.

The Lower Pasture.  Three species:  Horses, Turkeys, Geese.

Looking back.  The Cattle have been moved over to the Middle Pasture.

In Canada, are they just called geese?

Looking back up towards the Upper Meadow.  The Bees have been brought in for the Spring.  The air is redolent with the sound of bees flying.

Back towards the Lower Meadow:

Spring is the time of love for Turkeys.  I have seen well over a dozen gathered in one place.  Kind of awkward, watching a pick up scene...

The manzanita is starting to make a comeback.  This will need to be rooted out.

The seasonal rill that runs at the bottom of the Meadows is already starting to dry up:

However, that has not kept at least one inhabitant from still using it:

The pond is back:

And the eggs we saw in March have hatched:

The horses are enjoying the green:

Sigh.  Blackberries are making an appearance.  I like blackberries, just not in the pastures.  Another project:

Looking back up the Lower Meadow: