Jack of all trades

Springsteen's latest sings to my soul:

The Harbinger

Upon the advice of my brother Bill, I bought and read a book called The Harbinger

The story is fiction, but the subject matter deals with real events and ties them back to ancient prophecy first delivered by Isiah to ancient Israel.

The book has its detractors. I wasn't crazy about everything I read; the author picks easy prey when identifying our nation's ills--focusing on the kind of people that don't shoot your ass or put you in jail, while ignoring some mainstream evil (in my opinion), but he does raise intersting issues.

Did you know for instance, that the site of 9-11 was the very ground where George Washington was innaugurated?

That a sycamore tree was destroyed in the 9-11 attack and later replaced by a cedar at that site? That this was foretold as a sign of the destruction of ancient Israel, thousands of years ago?

That 9-11 and the stock market collapse of 2008 occurred on exactly the same day by the lunar Jewish calendar 7 years apart?

That the market lost exactly 7% of its value and fell 777 points?

There is a rythym to what happens in this world.

I read the book in a single sitting.

Another note: while the author fails to make predictions on the future, if the cadence of events continues as it has, we'll see continued failed attempts to revive the old paradigm until another catastrophic event in the fall of 2015.


For what it's worth.

Bruce is back

I bought Springsteen's Wrecking Ball sometime back but just got around to listening.

The man is back.

All is not well

Saturday, May 12, 2012


I sit. Home. Alone. Leah has gone to see the redwoods in the company of her two sisters, her 87 year old mother and my brother-in-law, God save his soul.

I say alone, but in reality I am surrounded by creatures, among them a pack of dogs, a fair number of horses, goats, chickens of all stripes and sizes, cats, hogs and a even a couple of obnoxious geese. We’ve had rain of late, which, I suppose is a good thing, however, having been conceived and raised in desert regions of West Texas and New Mexico, wet, nice and green makes me feel out of my element.

With Leah’s absence, I inherited her chores atop my own. I now seem to have so many chores there’s no time left for work.

A trip through the garden this afternoon sent me back to the house feeling overwhelmed. Everything is getting ready at the same time. I plant enough to feed a small army. There’s just too damn much. But I tell myself that too damn much won’t be near enough when the shit hits the fan and I remain convinced that shit will, in fact, hit the fan. The only question remains when and in what form it is manifest.

In the meantime, the hogs look at me from the mud of their pen like I am crazy as I haul and dump one bucket after another of excess produce for them to eat. Pretty bad when even the hogs think I plant too much.

The hogs haven’t been to the nearby Buc-ees convenience store some twelve miles from here on Interstate – 10. On any given day, there are cars waiting in line for gas despite fifty or more pumps in the parking lot. Food, (if you can it that), barrels of soft drinks, coffee, beer and ice pours through big doors in the back by the semi-load and out through automatic doors in the front at a maniacal pace. There’s probably enough toilet water flowing out of underground pipes in the restrooms to keep a small creek flowing.

As I survey the people packing all this shit out the door, I consider how tenuous the system that keeps them fueled and fed. Most seem terribly ill prepared for the hardship that is already a fact of life for about half of the world at this very moment. I wonder if any notice the horror-stricken look on my face as I contemplate having to feed such a hoard.

I know. I sound like a broken record, stuck on the same verse, over and over, but I just can’t shake this feeling.

Get prepared, folks. All is not well.

Not even close.

PS. Sunday morning

Leah calls to say gas is 4.99.9 a gallon at the California/Arizona border. The RV gets 8 miles to the gallon.

I'd bet there's some dude watching the stream of people that my wife is part of, shaking his head and wondering.

I read people like Kunstler, Ruppert, Guy McPherson, peak oil prophets, if you will, only to learn that they too can't sit still.

There is no new frontier. We have to make it work here, wherever here is, or fail.

No other option remains.

Mexican Immigrants Become Emigrants

From zerohedge, a report signaling a reversal in the flow of migrants from Mexico to the US.

Granted, much of this exodus is involuntary, a result of stepped up border surveillance, deportations and harassment by local authorities in some communities.

Nevertheless, those using the wetback invasion as the excuse for all our ills here in the US may soon have to find another scapegoat.

Spring update

Sabbath eve, April 20, 2012


A front just blew through, dry, again. We had decent rain over the winter but since April 1st, nothing. The forecast calls for dry weather the remainder of the month. I’m not surprised that the drought resumes; I was surprised by the respite we had over the winter.

Fortunately, we planted oats and rye in the fall which provided winter grazing and have been cutting and baling hay from those same fields over the last two weeks. The hay is low quality, relative to the coastal Bermuda normally grown in these parts, but any hay beats none. None is what we had last year outside that produced from a few small patches of irrigated ground.

Winter rain and green grass created a false sense of security among neighbors. Best I can tell, prolonged drought of the past couple of years killed a lot of perennial pastures. As the rye dies, this will become apparent. Corn crops look good, but corn must have rain at critical stages of growth and the moisture in the soil won’t be enough to sustain it through the hot months ahead.

Winter rains caused fungal problems in oats and wheat, also in my onion crop. Bugs are ferocious; any hopes of going totally organic in our garden were dashed by the reality of corn root worms and the adult version of the same (cucumber beetles).

You can tell the true organic farmers in these parts. They’re the ones with a hard luck story and nothing to sell. Most of the rest selling produce claiming to be organic are liars. I know it’s not the same everywhere. I grew entirely organic produce in Oregon and have on occasion managed to do so even here in Texas, but there are times when grasshoppers, army worms, and or cucumber beetles present quite the challenge. All of the above can decimate a crop in a matter of days.

I hear people talking about how they’re going to run to some refuge and start growing their own food when the shit hits the fan. I got news for them. If you’re not actively practicing the art of producing and storing your own food, you aren’t likely to succeed when it’s forced upon you. I have been studying this stuff most of my life and routinely encounter new obstacles, some seemingly insurmountable. Despite years of preparation, I am woefully ill-prepared should there be an interruption in the fuel supply or a break in the production of electricity.

Time after time government and corporate responses to potential crises are opposite of that required—they opt for bigger more centralized models when we should be diversifying and downsizing—spreading risk instead of putting all risk into a single model.

I see this on almost every front, as heirloom seed and livestock are eliminated to make way for industrial strains, diverse crops sacrificed for huge monocultures. Manufacturing, energy production, banks, countries--you name it: small entities are sacrificed by hundreds or thousands to make way for the one big megapoly.

On the other hand, the recent death of a brother-in-law reminds to live in the moment. There are challenges enough today without spending all my time worrying about what might happen tomorrow.

So we milk the wrong kind of cows, feed and water the wrong chickens, goats, hogs and horses; plant, water and cultivate garden soil the wrong way, harvest the wrong crops when ready, store what we can, and hopefully live another day.

And hope like hell that at least some of our neighbors will do the same.

The trouble with money

Once again, Chris Martenson hits the nail on the head.