A Call to Wings

New Home

2012-01-25T09:20:00.002-09:00

Thank you for your patience everyone.

The next chapter has started at -
HedgeRoot.com

Turning the page - a love letter.

2011-12-25T21:19:00.003-09:00

Four and a half years ago, I moved to Alaska.

Since then, I have had the adventures of a lifetime.

I've felt the stillness of a snow-shrouded day, the only sound the hiss of snow under my runners and the loping of dogs in front of me. I've looked down from the window of a tiny plane alone in the sky, and saw wave after wave of mountains receding beneath us - most of them even now without a name or a human footprint.

I've stood in awe of moose towering over me, and laughed with otters dancing in the bay. I've read outside in the midnight sun, and gotten entirely too intimate with our state bird. I've cherished hot coffee in the dim dusk of a winter afternoon, and been hypnotized by the glowing white haze of a foggy winter night.

I know the knotted dread that comes with with seeing fireweed climb the stalk, the long peaceful calm of winter, and the giddy delight that comes from splashing in the year's first wet puddle.

This is a land without equal.

More than that - here I have met some of the best friends of my life.

Some have gone before me, others remain behind - but one and all they were Alaskan.

I love this land more than any place I have ever lived.
I love these people and this culture more than words can tell.

But I've found something - someone - I love more.
And so I'm leaving my home.

I think then that it's best to end this record here.

Time permitting (as way leads on to way...) I'll come back and fill in some missing details here or there, replace those images lost with my old domain a couple years back - maybe even wrap up a couple of those "to be continued" multi-part threads I've left hanging.

But this chapter of life is over.
Call to Wings is done.

Thank you all for coming along on this journey with me.

And don't worry y'all.
The next chapter will pick up at a new location along about the middle of January.
You don't get rid of me that easy!

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

PS... this is gonna be AWESOME.

Blessed Day!

2011-12-25T10:16:00.001-09:00

Whether this day finds you well or ill, whether you are with family loving and infuriating, or alone and feeling dark in the brightness of celebration - whether you are home, called to work, or looking towards your loved ones from a distant desert -

You are loved.
You are remembered.
You are treasured.

Merry Christmas!

Glória in excélsis Deo...

2011-12-23T22:53:00.000-09:00

Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good will toward men

Merry Christmas, y'all.
*sniff*

Gresham's purse.(II of II)

2011-12-12T21:33:00.001-09:00

... so why did that little packing incident come to mind?

It was a result of the book I've been picking at since my last stay in TJICistan - Adrian Goldsworthy's How Rome Fell.

The whole Roman history thing is slowly starting to come together in my head, after a year or two of books, podcasts, and lecture series. I won't say I feel comfortable with it yet, but at least the broad sweep of the narrative is starting to feel familiar.

Anyhow, I just got to this section on Emperor Diocletion's price controls. Once upon a time, a denarius was a silver coin about the size of a nickel. By the time of Diocletion the coin itself is out of use, though it remains a unit of account.

Now "a law some months earlier had set the value of a silver coin at 100 denarii and the silver-washed copper nummus at 25 and 4 denarri depending on its size."* Tracing back to Goldsworthy's source, it looks like even more importantly, "[Diocletian] continued to issue vast quantities of coper coins, particularly of the smaller denomination, where were not even plated with silver" (Jones, p.438)

For some reason, prices have started climbing. And so we get price controls. Mysteriously, people seem to be ignoring them:

The only literary source to mention the price edict derides it as an utter failure, ignored by merchants who knew that they could charge more for their goods. Papyri from Egypt do suggest that prices soon rose far beyond the supposed maximums established by the emperor. As far as we can tell it was abandoned fairly quickly, but at least one copy was maintained long enough for a few of the prices to be altered. In his long introduction to the edict, Diocletian reminded his audience of the stability and success his rule had brought, and claimed to be expressly concerned that his brave soldiers were being overcharged. There may also have been a desire to set rates at which the state would pay for goods and services regardless of the market price.

Diocletian's government lacked the machinery to enforce such a rigid pricing system on a day-to-day basis. Perhaps the most striking thing about the edict was its ambition - even if it was economically naive. Combined with the objective of profound change is the highly moral rhetoric. Talk of 'the peaceful state of the world' now that the 'seething ravages of barbarians peoples' have been restrained by great effort, is followed by outrage at a new evil attacking the soldiers. `There burns a raging greed, which hastens to its own growth and increase without respect for human kind.' A little later the emperor compared this greed to a religion. The tone is typical of the other legislative activity of the tetrarchs and of their recorded rescripts - replies issued to legal questions and appeals sent to the emperor. The sense of outrage was accompanied by savage and often inventively cruel punishments.

How Rome Fell
Adrian Goldsworthy
pp 170-171

Hunh....devalue the currency, print bushels of devalued money, then scream and yell that anyone who tries to keep up with your devaluation is greedy and mean spirited. Don't see that much anymore. ;)

Also? I found a new piece of ~~clutter~~ memorobia I want for the history room:

A copy of denarius issued by Brutus. One hint - "EID MAR" refers to "The Ides of March." That's also an early Libery Cap there between the pugiones on the reverse. Cool, hunh?

As an aside, just like "favorite founding fathers," I'm starting to get "favorite Romans." So far I think Brutus the Younger is far and away leading the pack**. Torn between duty to his country and loyalty to his friend - to say nothing of the weight of his familial heritage and social pressure - the guy went through a firestorm and rode it to the end.

Anyhow - on with the packing!

======================
* Goldsworthy p.170, referencing p.438 of
The later Roman Empire, 284-602: a social economic and administrative survey by Arnold Hugh Martin Jones

** Though OKAY I admit it. I have lust in my heart for Purefoy's portrayal of Antony. Shut up. ;)

Interstitial - day of rest

2011-12-12T01:41:00.003-09:00

Oh that was nice!

I had a fun afternoon in with History Friends. They were nicely set up with a stove and chicken coop, so they inherited my firewood stack and all the corn I had leftover from my parched corn endeavor of - gah! - last year already!

Anyhow, one of 'em's starting to get crazy into the longhunter thing, so we put on some parched corn in the woodstove -

The pot wasn't quite what I'd normally use - a deep pot instead of a spider or skillet, but it worked alright. And between the bacon grease and extra salt was soooo good.

I've been trying to learn Little Miss B on the Three Southern Food Groups - Hawg, and Cohn, and Weeds.

She especially liked the bacon.

Alright Miss B, I'm gonna teach you what my daddy taught me - repeat after me...

This hawg....
"this hog..."

"Na- this hawg...."
"this hog..."

*sigh*

"diyid not..."
"did not..."

"... dah in vayne."
"...die in vain"

Close enough! :)

A bit more hanging around, lots of talk of all sorts of things - then dinner and playing with the house chicken. Pretty good afternoon all told - hope yours was fine. Happy Sabbath, y'all.

Gresham's purse.(I of II)

2011-12-11T12:12:00.003-09:00

Once upon a time, my Daddy handed me a quarter. He told me to look at the date.

"All the ones on or before 1964," he told me, "are silver. They're worth a lot more than 25 cents! If you see one of those, pick it out!"

For a few years with the avarice only a child can muster I checked the date of every quarter, dime, and the occasional 50 cent piece I came across. Needless to say, I never did see a single one of those precious magical super-special quarters in my change, and eventually stopped looking. The pony would have to wait.

Years later I find myself packing up my Alaskan cottage, and come across a homemade leather purse filled with four years of my pocket change. Obviously I'm not expecting silver, but since in the last couple years I've taken to collecting those smooshed pennies from the "here I am" tourist machines, I thought I'd spend a bit of time and pick out the pennies that were actually copper for the next time I was downtown. It would be nice to have an "Alaska" one since I've lived here so long.

Whoosh! went the purse to the bag, and I commenced to picking:

I did see one wheat penny, which was kinda cool. I also found one of the subway tokens the mint is turning out now. In pictures there's not much difference - the new shiny almost looks attractive. In the hand, the super-light subway token feel of the newer penny is just incredibly offputting.

Once upon a time, I remember laughing when Tam read some PJ O'Roarke poke at the Europeans and their "comic book money."

... it ain't so funny anymore.

Anyhow - sometimes, I act utterly illogically in a fit of pique.
This was one of those times.

On my errands that day, I dumped that whole bag of now-sorted leftover token coinage into the machine at my bank, then on the way home stopped by the little coin shop in town.

Tra-la!

I'm not the coin expert my daddy is, and couldn't care a fig for rare date this or special mint that. But pocket change did use to be a lot prettier back when they made 'em out of real silver with nicely sculpted images.

Incidentally, see that head? The stylized image of Liberty in a Phrygian cap? That used to be the norm - almost all of our early coinage featured stylized images of Liberty in one pose or another. It wasn't until the first part of the 20th century that we actually started putting dead presidents on our money.

Now personally, I think once the images of real people start going on your coins, your republic is on thin ice. Once the images of real living people start showing up - it's time to turn out the lights and hang the Dear Leader posters - the Republic is done.

Evil Brown R...

2011-12-06T09:38:00.000-09:00

New toy happy dance - I got a Brown Bess musket!

From poking around the Lexington and Concord area museums, this one looks a little early for what the British brought that day - most of those I've seen on display have much simpler lines to the wood and more businesslike furniture. Still, it strikes me as entirely plausible that some colonial might have been carrying something much like this old lady to the Concord fight - they were apparently quite the motley crew-

Via David Hackett Fischer's Paul Revere's Ride and the wonders of Google book search, here's a description of the colonials on that day -

"To a man they wore small clothes, coming down and fastening just below the knee, and long stockings, with cowhide shoes ornamented with large buckles, while not a pair of boots graced the whole company.

'The coats and waistcoats were loose and of large dimensions, with colors as various as the barks of oaks, sumach and other trees of our hills and swamps could make them, and their shirts were all made of flax, and like every other part of the dress were home made.

"On their heads was worn a large round-topped and broadbrimmed hat.

"Their arms were as various as their costumes. Here an old soldier carried a heavy Queens' arm with which he had done service at the Conquest of Canada twenty years before, while by his side walked a stripling boy, with a Spanish-fusee not half its weight or calibre, which his grandfather may have taken at Havana, while a few had old French pieces, that dated back to the reduction of Louisburg.

"Instead of the cartridge box, a large powder horn was slung under the arm, and occasionally a bayonet might be seen bristling in the rank.

"Some of the swords of the officers had been made by our own blacksmiths, perhaps from some farming utensils; they looked serviceable but heavy and uncouth."

Such was the appearance and equipment of the Continentals, to whom so often and finally, so completely, the well armed, disciplined and uniformed soldiers of "His Majesty" were compelled to surrender.

Colonial Amherst:
the early history, customs and homes; geography and geology, of Amherst...
by Warren Upham

At some point this coming year I intend to sew up an Appeal to Heaven flag to wrap it all up in for a wall decoration. Maybe frame that broadside to hang up with it to and make a nice Colonial Menotomy themed history corner.

And oh yes, it's an Eeeevil Brown weapon - it even has a bayonet lug!

Now I just need me some redcoats. ;)

Thanks lady

2011-11-23T06:53:00.000-09:00

Thanks for the memories.

You made 13 right fun.

Dream Dinner Guest

2011-11-19T23:51:00.001-09:00

One of the "get to know you" questions Travis and I have passed back and forth a couple times now is "If you could pick anyone in the world to have over for dinner, who would it be?"

Limiting it to mortals presently alive - lots of folks have come to mind - historians, musicians, commentators, heroes - maybe the occasional statesman... but in the long view of things, I think it's the geeks that really have groundbreaking unique stories of their own - and who end up passing the most to posterity.

Case in point - Peter Thiel.

This guy keeps coming on my radar, and each time I'm more impressed. I mean...lots of folks once they'd founded a bajillion-dollar business might call it good.

Not him. No -founding a new school paper, getting all lawyery, and then helping start paypal weren't enough. Angeling all kinds of web companies wasn't enough.

This guy doesn't think for next month or next year - he's aiming to help humanity decades if not centuries out - spaceships! biotech! Floating cities!

He not only can think big, not only goes out and does it - he encourages other people to go out and make the world awesome-er.

Twenty under Twenty

(wow - read the bios of some of those kids. Oh my good God. At best, you'll feel like Ceasar to Alexander's bust, I promise. :p)

Anyhow - I'm sure I wouldn't agree with him on everything - but what a mind!
This is a guy I would love to have over for dinner.

(pssst - Hey Peter? Whatcha doing next fall? Wanna go caribou huntin'? I know folks that know folks... and an awesome cook. :p )

Morning Visitors

2011-11-16T11:12:00.000-09:00

The cavaliers are at it again, doing touch-and-goes at Elmendorf. The way their flight path is running, the house is getting buzzed at just a few hundred feet AGL by Raptors.

These guys are AWESOME. :)

(And an extra thanks to all y'all keepin' 'em in the sky. You know who you are. :) )

"... except for all the others."

2011-11-13T18:27:00.001-09:00

This story was just too fun not to share.

I'd *like* to think it weren't true, but um... yeah. :p

THE WAY CROCKETT BEAT HUNTSMAN.

Adam Huntsman opposed Crockett in his two last canvasses for Congress. In the first he failed, but succeeded in the second, and it is thought would have triumphed in the former, but for the following trick of Crockett's: They stopped one night on their rounds at a well-to-do farmer's, who was a great Jackson man, and of course for Huntsman, though he did not admire his rakish propensities. Crockett and Peg-leg, as Huntsman was called, in consequence of having a wooden leg, were put in the same room to sleep. The house was of the ordinary country kind of that day — two log-cabins, with a passage between, and a porch extending the whole length in the rear, with shed-rooms at each end, in one of which the two candidates were placed, while the farmer's daughter occupied the other. After all had retired Huntsman went to sleep and Crockett to planning. An idea occurred to him which he carried out in this way. Getting up quietly, he opened the door, taking a chair, and walking stealthily across to the young lady's room, made an apparent effort to force her door, which awoke the girl, who uttered a scream, when Crockett, hastily catching the chair by the back, and placing his foot on the lower round, using it as a leg, hurried back to his room, dropped the chair, hopped into bed and went to hard snoring. The next moment the farmer rushed in, and was about to kill Huntsman, whose protestations of innocence he paid no attention to. "Oh you can't fool me," he exclaimed, " I know you too well, and heard that darned old peg leg of your'n too plain." The consequence was that the farmer, with numbers of others, changed their votes, and Crockett was triumphantly elected. Huntsman would never have ventured to stand another canvass had not Crockett considered the joke too good to keep.

James Davis History of Memphis

(The next story on in that book's even better, though a tad long to relate here. Worth the couple minutes it'll take though. :) )

The red shirts weren't enough of a giveaway?

2011-11-13T00:09:00.000-09:00

I've been re-listening to Dan Carlin's "Death Throes of the Republic" series (again, highly recommended) and just finished the bit on the Punic Wars.

Ick.

But anyhow - the things you find on Google Image Search - the account's suspended, but still in cache is this little gem - Apparently someone decided to name their toy Enterprise the U.S.S. Cannae.

I think that's a ship I'd pretty much never want to set foot on.

(Unless it's a really backhanded Mr. Rasczak reference, which is just incredibly geeky enough it almost comes right around back to cool. :) )

This modern age....

2011-11-12T10:36:00.000-09:00

Gosh it feels weird to be looking at the incoming link stats and finding you've had a visitor by way of a friend-unmet who's recently passed on.

Bless you, William. I'm sorry we never had the chance to meet in person.

Also - this internet thing is weird.

A Little Something for Keith

2011-11-11T18:52:00.002-09:00

While listening to lectures a few weeks back, I accidently ran across Horrible Histories on youTube.
So *incredibly* fun.

Yes, it's a kid show. Shut up. :p

My favorites so far are this'n, the Celtic "Boast Battle," the English Civil War bit, aaaaaand.... oh yeah.
The dude in the Cleopatra song playing Ceasar just *rocks* the whole smugly hot bit. Nice. :)

Whole Again

2011-11-11T18:34:00.002-09:00

Today I met with Friend Paul and had a wonderful chat over coffee. Being Veteran's Day, the conversation veered into his time on the water, then swung through (of course) Roman history and ended up in Alaskan oil policy. Fun!

The ostensible reason for the meetup though was that he was returning a piece of leather Tough Chick Mel had borrowed after her first Appleseed so she could practice with her new rifle. Now that her own stuff has come in the mail, I got mine back.

After putting the groceries away, I put it back in its rightful place. And I have to say, it felt *really* good to have everything together again. Baby just doesn't feel right without that ol' piece of cowhide hangin' off her.:)

Baby was a birthday present some years ago, but for the last several years has been living with my dear brother M.. Once I started planning some more out-there walks up here - not to mention started getting midnight knocks again - he loaned her back to me so I'd have *some* respectable boomstick in the house.

She's one of those family posessions that doesn't really feel like *mine* though so much as something to get passed down to a son or daughter or niece or nephew someday. But in the meantime, having the modern iteration of Dan'l Boone's Ol' Betsy around is kinda cool.

(And ain't that Gadsden patch awesome? Dear Friend TJIC and I found it at North Bridge in Concord. I couldn't think of a more appropriate place to put it. :) )

But the scars remain

2011-11-11T10:42:00.000-09:00

Friend Peter has got some just striking pictures from Over There.
Likewise Friend Paul some rememberences from his time on the line.

So thanks all of y'all who took up the spear. You done earned your day.

Thanks grampa!

That said I'd like to offer an extra thanks for you Korea and Viet Nam guys especially. The one forgotten, the other slandered - y'all shouldn't have had to wait over a generation for your welcome home.

You done good.
And I have to say - of all my elders, it's been the Viet Nam guys who've been my favorite. When we were stupid kids, you stuck by us to the end. Thank you.

Making Do

2011-11-11T01:38:00.003-09:00

Yay! In packing up the house, I finally ran across the USB cable for my camera. Which means over the next few days you'll get some of the bits and pieces for the last month or so of life.

First off, here's what I worked on tonight when I got sick of looking at a computer - homemade buttons!

I stuck a piece of firewood in my kitchen drawer as an impromptu shaving horse, and planed out the end to just over button-thickness. Then I sawed off a chunk, and took to carving two button-shaped discs.

Wrapped them in scrap fabric, sewed them down, and voila! Old-timey buttons!

Truth be told, now that I've tried it I think I'll stick with ties - I just think they're prettier - and a lot easier to those of us that'd rather sew than carve! But more on that in a day or so. :)

PS - the view from work just before signing off and going home -

Radical Means

2011-11-09T21:20:00.000-09:00

Oh, Woodsrunner Keith is on a roll today!

He's got two posts on Lexington and Concord, both with different video interpretations of the event. The History Channel one is decidedly meh, but the scene from the dramatization April Morning is pretty close to recorded events, and very nicely done.

As an aside - one of the things that still troubles me about visiting Battle Road is that it is not just suburbia now - it was suburbia then.

In the movie The Patriot Mel Gibson's character explains his vote against armed rebellion by saying "mark my words: this war will be fought not on the frontier or on some distant battlefield. But amongst us, among our homes. Our children will learn it with their own eyes. And the innocent will die with the rest of us."

Fictional as the movie was, that reality was dreadfully true. And it was never more true than in Lexington, in Concord - but most especially Menotomy, modern-day Arlington.

For a moment, imagine with me that you are standing on the main street of your hometown.

.. Now imagine an armored column rolling down that road. Everything else around is just like it always has been - there's the gas station you always visit, there's the bank, there's the Starbucks.... excepting that this time - today - a patrol of US Marines just ran inside the coffee shop and shot two men having a drink.

The same uniform you may have stood shoulder to shoulder with a decade ago - maybe wore not long ago - you now see on the back of the men shooting your neighbors.

... And your neighbors are fighting to, screaming and firing out their windows and from their porches.

I've tried time and again while standing on that road to imagine that day - seeing my nation's army and my own neighbors slaughtering each other, right in the middle of downtown in front of God and everybody.

I still can't quite manage it - and for that I think I'm grateful.

But that is what was April 19, 1775.

=====

Keith also shares a pretty infamous scene from the John Adams miniseries (highly recommended by the way)

Since it's an issue that comes up fairly often in conversation about the event, I'll echo my comment here -

The real John Malcom was indeed tarred and feathered - but because he beat a boy in the street with his cane.

Which ain't to say Sam Adams and his Sons of Liberty were angels - I daresay I'd have been fed up with them myself if I were a 1775 Bostonian.

That said, it wasn't "for the price of tea" - the price actually went *down* with the tea acts. The sticking point was that it was a Crown monopoly, and a tax levied by a body we had no say in.

A decent modern analogy might be if the UN security council said you could only buy some ubiquitous product - say gasoline - from a supplier *they* designated, with funds from that supplier going back to them.

As you might imagine, that got more than a few people hot and bothered, even if they didn't all think bringing out the torches was a good idea.

Hrmm.. trapped between an overzealous mob and a self-serving crony-capitalist elite. Good thing that never happens anymore, eh?

Ave, Populares

2011-11-06T22:15:00.002-09:00

The Founders reading inevitably led me back to Rome.

All roads do lead there eventually I guess - it's pretty much impossible to read our own Founders without being drawn back time and again. Gibbon's work of 1776, Joseph Addison's play Cato (beloved by G. Washington), the pseudonyms dotting the pages of the Federalist Papers.. it's in the air.

So I've been detouring into Classical history, and I have to say - once you start to catch the allusions of 18th (and 19th!) century writing a whole new world opens up. The texture of their world just fills out in an a startling way.

... and I've got to confess some of that fascination's started to rub off.

I've made some headway in the (translated I'm afraid) originals - Livy, Tacitus - I'm just starting Virgil's Aenid*. Add to that scads of secondary sources** ... it's a fascinating story.

And a sadly familiar one.

It's no surprise, really. You build a similar ratmaze of rewards and punishments in society, you should hardly be surprised if some of the same problems crop up.

And Lord is it familiar.

It's no new thing of course for the citizens of a republic to see kings and tyrants in every corner. Hardly new to split into factions and see the threat of a new Ceasar and cancelled elections whenever the other faction is in power. (In fact, I had this very conversation with a friend today, and he was certain GWB had been trying for a third round himself)

Caesar however was not of the Optimates.

Caesar was a Populares. It would be a little misleading to call him a Democrat in today's terms, but perhaps Andrew Jackson makes a decent comparison for the modern American mind - certainly Jackson was called so at the time. Military adventurer (arguably extra legally so!), and a self-styled champion of the common man - the poor and underprivileged. A man of the people, who would spank the elites and bring justice to the masses.

Or to be more blunt - when the dictator came - when you do see a Republic crash down and a Caesar, a Napoleon, a Stalin rise to become the strongman - it's with the applause of "the people" - the democratical element of society. (As only makes sense really - as one of our own bewigged gentlemen observed, the aristocratical element have no reason to rock the boat.)

That is - when dictatorship has come, it's come generally from the Populares.

BUT.

That day came for a reason. The Optimates had overstepped reason and decency. They had abused their position. They had created an environment when a man could answer the call of his country, then come home to find in doing so he'd lost his land, becoming a tenant on his own fields. Where imported slaves did drive down the cost of labor to the point a free citizen was reduced to scraps.

And that I think is why reading over and over the last days of the Republic is so hard.

It inspires the most claustrophobic feeling - of being trapped between those who've abused their freedom and fellow citizens for self interest, and those who willingly hand power to a tyrant, killing mankind's liberty for over a thousand years.

Blood may indeed buy liberty.
But it will not keep it. That is the place of virtue.

=====================================
* Between that and the Illiad I see now where so much of the Dawn Treader story I loved as a kid came from. But the Aenid is dense as heck unless the Illiad's fresh in your mind, fair warning. For added texture, make certain you know some about Augustus and the Julii before wading in.

*mad props to Dan Carlin's Death Throes of the Republic by the way. Awesomely done!

Exceptionalism

2011-11-02T23:36:00.001-08:00

My first exposure to Victor Davis Hanson was on a visit to The Porch.

Poking around the Incredibly Awesome Museum and Library that was Tam's place on the lake, just underneath the bookcase with the British pith helmet, I found this curious book. As I started poking through it, she looked up from the computer with something like -

"You know that book I was talking about writing?" Better Killing, Incorporated? That's a good stab at it."

Now, having recently finished Jared Diamond's Guns Germs and Steel, it looked like a good rejoinder. Since then I've come to really like VDH, and alongside David Hackett Fischer he's one of my favorite contemporary popular historical authors. Every now and again then I'll pull up a lecture on youTube while puttering about the house.

... which is where I found out a good ten years ago there was a time VDH and JD went head to head and debated the point publicly. Hardly front page news anymore I guess, but it's still worth a listen I think.

It sounds to me like VDH totally destroys JD anytime they disagree. Well.. he would if JD didn't all but cede the better part of the ground in the first ten minutes. And for a real cringe-inducing moment - you get to hear a caller explain Hoplites and Thermopylae to VDH.

Back to packin' I reckon.

PS - how's the book comin' Tam? :)

Afternoon out

2011-10-30T22:19:00.000-08:00

Today I had the good grace to be invited along as a dear friend took her sweetheart daughter out trick or treating downtown. Daughter's costume was fantabulous, and she came home a nice haul.

Funniest part of the day though was the town emergency services folks. The cops and firefighters were encamped on opposite corners. The firefighters took a great delight in getting a little boy to walk up to the police officers and say -

"when I grow up, I want to be a fireman."

:)

Good Neighbors

2011-10-30T10:40:00.000-08:00

This exchange via OldNFO just made my morning. Most of y'all have likely already seen it, but for those outside that particular corner of the Venn Diagram of Crazy that makes up the folks I love - enjoy - :)

I am having an issue with noise that is generated by aircraft based at NAS Lemoore (and elsewhere), specifically, with their use of a low level military training route that your command is the controlling authority for. Rather than deal with mere underlings, I thought it best to go directly to the source of "where the buck stops". That would be you...

Love those guys. :)

I had been making other plans...

2011-10-27T23:32:00.000-08:00

You know, I'd intended to write something all serious about these crazy times, but just can't settle down to focus on it lately.

So I'll stick to the funnies. Last night was a grand time visiting with my sewing/history friend. I got lots of lessons on the right way to make stays - it's still a pretty intimidating project, but I think I can prolly pull it off eventually. Can't look like a backwoods Scots-Irish tramp all the time. :)

I also heard the most wonderful story - apparently among the 16th c. Italian Humanists there was a little group not unlike our modern day SCA - excepting that they got all gussied up as Romans.

The SCA folks sewing friend knew just loved the idea, and promptly seized on it for their personas.

But the meta is just too good to stop there.
Imagine if you will, if some variant of the Simulation Argument was true.,,

Far-future posthuman playing at being a twentieth century American portraying a 16th century Italian pretending to be a first century Roman.

.. Roman actor that is.
Who's playing a fourth century BC Greek.

Some hobbies are just too weird for words. :p

On a less good note, and in somewhat related news to the "can't really concentrate" - "Gloves" is back. He's been by a couple times in the last few months, and keeps coming back after being run off. Formal police report filed, and other precautions taken. AK crew, Dear Friend - thank you for your support.

Backcountry pests

2011-10-24T09:11:00.001-08:00

While on the phone last night with TJIC, I mentioned I was working on completing a second knapsack - it was a half done early attempt, but I thought since it was mostly there I'd go ahead and finish it - maybe sell it off or trade for som'n.

"But I had this great big pile of materials left," I say, "so before moving I'm kinda going all Whisky Rebellion on it." Being the nut he is, he got the reference immediately.

All of that is why it was so cool seeing this post this morning from Mark in Ulster on a tale of the Western Insurrection - the Whiskey Rebellion as I've always heard it called.

Skimming through it some on Google Books, it looks right fun. Sorta reads like Cooper. Neat stuff - thank you Mark!

Contentment

2011-10-22T23:18:00.001-08:00

Oh my. This has been one of those "why can't every day be like today?" days. :)

The day started by crawling out of bed at a somewhat decent hour to join the Rev. Paul clan at the rifle range. As he noted, the gals did awesome, and Mel (and Dad!) are quite pleased with their new toys. :)

I didn't have a sling today, so played the knapsack game instead... Fred's "how you're screwing up" chart says I'm alternating between a couple variations of muscling the shot, but I'm still inside the 4MOA standard even with irons. Not awesome, but not ashamed of myself today at least. :)

More importantly, MEL BROUGHT HARVEY. (Or at least his Deerish Cousin SO COOL!!!)

After that,

., then off to OMG COFFEE. Wonderful chatting with the good Reverend's family. Thank y'all!

Afterwards I picked up my harp he'd been kind enough to hold for me while I was in Boston, then stopped by home to drop everything off. I played a little bit to get reaquainted, then off to the woods!

Most of my woodsy stuff is together now. I'm still minus some kind of moccassins and a few other bits and bobs, but once off the trails and deep in the woods I changed to deerskin leggins, a linen hunting shirt, and packed up for a few hours in the wild.

I was walking over some of the odd little hills when I ran across a very inquistive squirrel.

He just sat their chirping at me, and I was chirping back, when I start feeling this odd vibration from my knapsack... ahh!

It's Darling Travis calling!

There is something odd yet so incredibly cool about being able to sit in the woods surrounded by a whole lotta nothing, all done up like the old frontier days (mostly) ..... while talking with a guy on the other side of the continent.

Eventually we say our goodnights, and I get back to the woods for a while. The woods were chilly, but not bad. I'm liking the knapsack I just finished, though it throws everything off with my bedroll, which I'd taken to mostly wearing tump-style over my shoulders. The bulk of the pack makes the roll too tight, and if I loosen the cords it starts flopping about and getting in the way. Ah well.. I'll figure something out.

Eventually I get tired and pack it in. Call Mom and chat about gardens, wander the used book store a bit, then do the grocery run I've not done since I got back. *So* spoiled myself this time out. I don't claim to be anything like the ~~fdb~~fine cook TJIC or Miss D are, but I flatter myself to think I can do simple homestyle all right.

Blue cheese stuffed hamburger, green beans, mashed taters, and baked tomato with more blue cheese.
SO GOOD.

A little cleaning, a diary entry... and now prolly to finish Agricola and have a hot bath.

AWESOME day. This First World Living thing is pretty sweet. :)

Love y'all! I hope your Saturday was so good. :)

Green Shoots

2011-10-17T14:48:00.001-08:00

I mentioned how whooped I was after Appleseed last weekend. But I had it easy. I was just walking in the rain. There's another gal I know I want to brag on a bit.

Mel, Paul's daughter came out last weekend to her first Appleseed.

Let me tell you something about Mel.

She's a young gal just starting out. She wants to work in IT, but hasn't had the chance to get much paying experience down yet, so she's working one of those barely-make-it, minimum wage jobs while saving for school to better herself.

She does not have the money or the time to waste frivolously.

Nonetheless, Mel took vacation and spent money that's hard for her to come by in order to stand out in a cold Alaskan rain all weekend. I saw that girl fighting a rifle that constantly jammed up on her - for a while it was so bad she was keeping tools beside her to clear failures to extract in the middle of timed strings. She laid down in cold and wet and tracked-in gravel on that mat time after time.

She soldiered on 'till her fingers were shaking so bad she couldn't keep that sight on the target, and kept coming back for more.

And after all that cold and pain and frustration, what did she do?
She ponied up her own money for an ROC card to come back and do it again.

..in April.
...in Alaska.

I am very, very proud of Mel.

This generation coming up now stands to hold I think America's best - and worst - people it's seen in at least half a century. It's an honor to say I think Mel is solidly going to be in the first half.

Well done girl - PERSISTENCE!

Now get on back and practice for next trip out. I'm wanna see that patch on you. :)

Washed only by the rain

2011-10-16T21:41:00.001-08:00

.. just got done of day two of my second Appleseed - this time helping out full time.
Got rained on. Lots. Saw some familiar faces, made some new friends.

so tired.

sleepytime soon, finally . :)

"I am the Vine..."

2011-10-08T06:27:00.000-08:00

Wandering a farmers market just a few miles from Concord Mass.... found someone selling buckets of Concord grapes.

... just like my folks used to grow.

SOOO good.

Hope some of the seeds sprout come spring. :)

MHI Alaska :: A Dish Served Cold Pt III

2011-10-02T16:27:00.002-08:00

The world exploded in thunder and fire, then went dark.

Something stabbed at Buck's neck. A cold icy pain, creeping down his spine.

It felt like...snow.

Buck was buried in snow.

Gingerly, he pulled himself up.

Laid out before him was a holy terror of blackened, shredded tundra, tossed snow, and cooked rancid dog.

Oh GOD what a smell...

Something flashed at the edge of his vision.

Buck looked up to see the double wings of Lucas' Stearman pulling up into the sky. The airplane did a quick low circle around him, and Buck could see a passenger wave down to him. The aircraft waggled it's wings, and started back for camp.

Buck bent to pick up his rifle, then started the long trudge back to join them.

****

“Dynamite?! You dropped DYNAMITE on me?!”

The pale dusk of an Alaskan midnight filtered through the tiny window of the small hunting cabin, barely large enough for the three men. Lucas McKinney grinned wide as he filled the small dirty glass and set on the table in front of the young hunter.

Buck was still pacing the narrow confines of the cabin - the ten mile walk back hadn't done much to ease his nerves. He glared down at the older man seated at the table.

“Of course I didn't drop dynamite on you," purred the man a thick Boer accent. "... I dropped dynamite in front of you.“

".. Where did you get DYNAMITE?!" Buck's nerves were starting to coalesce into anger.

Lucas broke in quickly, picking the glass back off the table and forcing it into Buck's hand. "Road crew had some cached up by the Copper. We didn't think they'd miss it." He nodded as Buck tossed back the whiskey. "Lucky we caught up to you. You find that lost trapper Mae was talkin' about?"

Buck sighed, and held out his empty glass for a second shot.
“Found him alright. His dogs went Zulu. Team tore him to pieces up by Baker’s Creek.”

“Damn. Anything else?”

Buck’s face darkened.

“Yeah...do we have any more of that dynamite? I think we’re gonna need it.”

… to be continued.

Next installment

2011-10-01T18:12:00.000-08:00

is written, but needs copyediting. Sorry for the holdup y'all - it'll be up this time tomorrow night.

MHI Alaska :: A Dish Served Cold Pt II

2011-09-30T17:45:00.000-08:00

NOVEMBER 14, 1934
ONE WEEK FROM MCCARTHY
WRANGELL MOUNTAINS, ALASKA

Too close!

Buck hunkered lower into the snow, trying not to mind the colt wet that slowly seeped through the elbows of his woolen jacket.

Three hundred fifty yards away, the remains of the sled team sniffed around what was left of the old miner. The dogs’ flesh hung off their bones in raggedy strips - the warm fall had really done a number on them.

He hated it when the Zulu bug got loose on sled teams - there wasn’t a more sorrowful sight in nature than once-friendly pups dripping their guts out and dragging down anything that moved.

Not many things more dangerous either. They were used to men. Men had always meant food.
… they still did.

Buck thought he'd be okay though, as long as the wind didn’t shift...

…. shit.

The first dog raised its gnarled head, sniffing the air.

Don’t howl don’t howl don’t....

The dog somehow still had enough air in its cracked and tattered chest to let out a howl. The cry echowed eerily around the broad canyon, and the rest of the team rasied their heads.

shit shit shit....

Buck raised his 1903 NRA Sporter, pulling it tight to his shoulder. Wind was quartering away, range 350, a little downhill, and....

The rifle jumped, and almost in the same instant the lead dog rolled into the dirt.

Other heads raised to sniff the air, and the pack broke towards him.

This is such a bad day.

Buck worked the bolt fast, and leaned against his sling for the next shot.

Hit.

Three rounds left. Seven more dogs. Now two hundred odd yards, at a run.

This wasn’t going to end well.

Damn! His next shot went into the dirt, two yards shy of his target.

Two rounds left. A hundred and fifty yards. God those things could run fast.

Focus...focus...

Hit!

Seventy-five yards. One more shot.

Briefly, Buck wished he’d thought fast enough to unsling first so he could swallow that last pill himself. The next half hour wasn’t likely to be over quickly.

Make it count, make it count...

*click*

Oh hell no.
no no no no...

oh god look at that dog his teeth are cracked and I think I see his heart and is that a .. oh shit this is going to hurt ....

…. to be continued.

MHI Alaska :: A Dish Served Cold

2011-09-29T20:01:00.003-08:00

So Friend Paul has been our resident MHI guy, and mentioned wanting to enter Larry's Patch contest. Figuring that anything worth doing is worth doing well, I present to you -

MIDNIGHT, OCT 30, 2011
PETE'S LANDING, CHITINA RIVER
WRANGELL MOUNTAINS, ALASKA

The mountains loomed high over the glacial river. Their sheer cold mass dwarfed the scratched airstrip off one bank, where one old Cessna ticked and popped in the cooling air. Nearby, the orange glow of a single window shone out alone in the night.

The wind seemed to slice right through the walls of the old homesteader's cabin, cold and wet off the glacier. Snow had been falling on and off for the last couple weeks - winter was going to set in hard this year, and soon.

Jake hunched over the old iron stove, stirring the fire inside to brighter life. He pulled off his old Carhartt work coat and tossed it to the table.

His niece Jamie reached out and picked it out of the air, grabbing it to her lap.
Her finger traced the patch on the shoulder, and for a moment stared into those evil red eyes looking back at her. Now the stitched figure of a skeletal moose seemed almost family - but she remembered how as a girl she'd close her eyes and run past her father's pack in the closet, terrified those eyes might see her.

Shaking off the memory, she looked up.
"So Uncle J - tell me about the moose here."

"What moo... oh, Harvey? Sweetie, you've heard that story a hundred times!"

"Sure - but I think Rick would like to hear it."
She grinned back at the new addition to the team, a PI fresh from Outside.

Rick looked up from the .454 he was cleaning, and raised a dubious eyebrow.
"... Harvey?"

"Yup. He's real. Well, was. Big ol' guy." Jake leaned over to peek out the tiny window, checking the moon's crescent.

"I reckon we've got some time yet.."

He leaned back, kicking up his feet to rest on the log wall.

"So there was this little dustup in my Daddy's time, back in the territory days...."

To be continued...

Frontier Pasgetti

2011-09-28T21:28:00.000-08:00

... While eating down the pantry, I just discovered that if you heat it enough to drain off most of the fat, pemmican makes for a right nice base for a spaghetti sauce. Took a little getting used to - but it was actually good. Very "steak-y" texture. Good thing to remember - a decent ground beef substitute that can sit for weeks or months on the shelf is kinda cool.

I mentioned it to a friend of mine, and promptly got gushing praise for biltong. Guess I'll have to try it sometime soon. She's sending recipes. :)

Fish in a barrel

2011-09-24T01:15:00.001-08:00

So after last year's visit to Colonial Williamsburg with my Dad, I've been on their mailing list.

Usually that amounts to a sale flyer or the like popping up in my email box. Every now and again a survey.

Yesterday, though, I came home to find a DVD from them sitting in my mailbox! Seems they'd just finished a restoration of the 1957 film "Williamsburg: the Story of a Patriot." As a particularly impressive fundraising direct mail piece, they'd send copies of it out to their mailing list.

I put it on while relaxing with a bit of sewing this evening. Very 50's. But fun.

The best bit of trivia? When they were filming the movie in the late 50's, they used locals for extras. Now women and children were easy to find, but who could they get to fill out the state house? Who could play all the politicians in town, and yell and posturing while Patrick Henry gave his speeches? All the men of the town were at work, and could hardly spare the time to play movie actor for weeks on end.

There was however a state mental hospital in town...

... you know, I don't think I even need to finish that post. :p

Kitchen knife

2011-09-21T10:03:00.000-08:00

Since everyone has been showing off their sharp and pointys, I figure this is a good time to post a birthday present we all got together for a friend of mine up here.

See, she's a brilliant cook - even translating her own recipies out of a medieval cooking book! A..um... medieval Dutch cooking book if I recall right. Smart cookie.

For years she's been going far out of her way to help everyone with everything, often to great personal cost. So we all figured it was time to make her a little token of appreciation:

The knife is by Blacksmith Chris. Sharp sharp!

The sheath I made - the design I poked out mostly with an awl made by Dear Friend Travis (that man is *such* a handy piece of work). Former SCADians will recognize the device at the bottom. It seemed appropriate.

The finish though is what was fun. I'd been playing with an old finishing technique I was pointed to in some old book or another - a mix of neatfoot oil and beeswax. It's all in the ratio - more oil and you get nice soft supple leather. More wax - especially if you heat it - and you get a stiff piece not unlike modern leather finishes. The neat thing is how that wax just seeps through the leather, so the surface buffs up *nice* and pretty.

Anyhow, off to work. Happy Wednesday all!

The neighborhood, again.

2011-09-19T00:22:00.001-08:00

The last few weeks had been hard. Lots of work. Little pay, and that late. Terrible combination. But I'd done all that I could, and if it wouldn't prove quite enough, well.. that's the way it would be. Thank God for full cupboards to eat down anyway.

Anyhow, I'd spent *far* too much time in front of a computer screen lately. It was time for another woodswalk.

First - the stuff. I was in mostly modern clothes, but once off the trails and out of sight, I pulled on a hunting shirt, leather pouch, and a sash from my gypsy days. No fiddle this time, but the satchel and bedroll were same as last time. This time it all handled quite well - The cape of the hunting shirt captured the pouch strap quite well and kept it off my neck, and the "bedroll hanging over knapsack" model was quite comfortable (thanks Loup!)... It's still on it's own strap though, and I did sling it off to one side now and again as comfort dictated. And I was very careful on the hills. :)

To the trip itself - LOTS of fun stuff. These little berries were all over the place:

I saw a couple rose hips here and there, but really needed a good forager like Miss D around to know what was safe to bring home or nibble on in the field.

This close in to town, it's hard not to run into signs of people. This shelter's been there for at least the last year I think. It's fairly clean though, so I'm thinking "kids having fun" instead of the sadly common in Anchorage (especially last year) sight of - "alcoholics living in the woods."

Back to the walk though!

I'm proceeding along a ridge, and come close to a public trail. Then I see this little surprise - a geocaching station! How cool! It looks like it was put together by a younger lady - all full of stickers and neat kiddo stuff. Had to leave a note, of course.

Speaking of human habitation - here's the airfield. Once upon a time it was buried back quite aways from town - since then "town" has started to catch up, but this area is off limits to more building. In fact, parts seem to be getting swallowed back up - Mother Nature never rests. Here and there in the woods you'll still trip over the concrete remains of WWII era Army airfield infrastructure.

Seems once upon a time *another* outpost of the US had everything smashed at once by a surprise attack, so the powers that be thought it would be a good idea to scatter the assets at Elmendorf across the countryside. This airfield - still in use - is one of the fruits of that decision.

This was just weird - far back from the trails, a little black parachute hanging in a tree. It's not too far off the airfield, so I'm assuming someone dropped it as a part of some game or another once upon a time. I'm assuming no one told the FAA. :)

A bit further on, cross the dogmushing trails:

After that, the walk really got good. Saw a rabbit, saw a mouse... didn't see any bear, but lots of moose scat.

Mostly though was the quiet. I had to force myself to whistle or sing occasionally so as not to unpleasantly surprise them that don't take well to surprises. As it was.. my feet just slipped into that quiet deliberate walk of the woodlands, taking in every sound and every smell. Watching the approach of wind through the trees, waiting for the first brush of it to arrive on your face. The occasional spatter of rain - and an utter obliviousness to it beyond quiet acceptance of that which is.

I'm not a hunter - but I see why those of you that are like it so much.

There is no mediation like the timeless, ever-aware yet ego-absent zen of the woods. I so need more of that.

What a sweet day. :)

Alaskan Saturdays...

2011-09-11T01:01:00.001-08:00

Even in town are awesome.

The morning and early afternoon was spent with IA guy at his shop, and I learned how to drill and tap a hole in metal. For when...um... the right screws for a given application.. um.. disappear*. Wonderful day for learning new things!

After that I went to visit with one of my blacksmith friends, asking about reparing a set of (original, far as I can tell) sewing shears I came into. They were a lot more buggered up that I was expecting - but given the damage has been done, we're not thinking it'd be much of a sin to get them back in working order. Fun!

Finally, on the way home from getting dinner fixings**, there was a backup on the exit back to home.
This is why:

Not pictured is the crowd all around and the Fish and Game guy standing there with a big ol' shotgun making sure we don't molest the critters, and vice versa. Poor guy seemed a little frazzled at the todo. So did Momma, actually. But the cubs were *adorable*.

... from a distance.

(Incidentally, remember that walk I took a few months back? Momma and baby were right on it. A little less than a mile from home, actually.)

Finally, home for the evening and a bit of sewing while listening to some King's Mountain stories. (Good Lord skirts take forever to hem!)

To add to my "did not know this morning" list -
1. Via a podcast - always cut down dead trees immediately. Something about living next door to tons of dried hardwood standing all up like a chimney being a bad idea or something.
2. My cauldron really doesn't like being used in the oven to bake beans. Sucked the seasoning right out in the food area it seems like. Might have to reseason it - bother. But at least it's a good excuse for a genuine Boston beanpot. If only I had a good excuse to visit and get one. :p

Wonderful day!

Tomorrow?
Well, it'll definitely have some highlights but I'm not expecting it to be quite so happy.

Ten years already. Woof.
Blessings, y;all.

==============
* Don't worry Mr. FAA guy. It was a frickin' vacuum cleaner. Nothing airborne. :)

** Wild salmon, fresh spinach, and brie. Sometimes living well is on sale. :)

What has she got on her shelvseses?

2011-09-07T22:53:00.002-08:00

Oh fun!

I confess, I'm one of Those People that always wonders to the bookshelves in a friend's house to get to know 'em better, so this is a fun meme. I'll play!

Here's at least the ones that made it to my (tiny) Alaska cottage, or been acquired since. Most of my library is in storage or otherwise scattered to the winds I'm afraid. But I'll at least show you the front room my guests see. :)

Living Room shelf one. This is the "working shelf" stuff where most of what I'm reading lives on.

Bookshelf top: Antique writing box, quills, and inkwell - I still need a ponce pot and a document tube to keep all those papers in so I don't keep knocking them off the bookshelf every time I walk by. Those are mostly reprints of 18th c. Virginia Gazettes, along with copies of the Mayflower Compact, Washington's Inaugural Address, miscellaneous broadsides, a Concord militia roster, and chapbooks of Common Sense, A Summary View of the Rights of British America, and an Edinburgh Shorter Catechism.

On the wall above is a (still unframed) copy of Revere's Boston Massacre engraving, and modern paintings/photos from Concord Bridge and Bennington VT. I'd like to add that with some more Southern stuff at some point, and some of the pretty map reprints of New England and the Virginia colonies that Williamsburg sells - that in due course.
Top row: Mostly Southern Mountain frontier region and Scots-Irish history. A couple historical novels by Cameron Judd. Foxfire and Eric Sloan (beautiful work!). Guides to Colonial Williamsburg and the Virginia Frontier Culture Museum.
Middle row: Mostly more generic early American history - right side is more overview/politically oriented (I have Schweikart/Allen I got when our Borders closed but still haven't read - I still need my own copy of Zinn). Towards the left of the shelf is mostly primary source (my nice copies of De Toqueville and Locke moved here from the kitchen shelf, along with the Montesquieu from last night). Also a couple books of archaeological finds and backcountry store records.
Bottom row: Mark Baker's books, a little on frontier riflemen, a couple more Fischer books (Albion's Seed and Liberty and Freedom), a book of Diderot plates, an old textbook-bound book of American folktales, a year-by-year US chronology, my embroidery/sewing books and costuming books, and the start of my Classical studies - Herodotus, Livy, and Virgil's Aeneid.

Living Room shelf two (older picture)
Geneva Bible reprint, Blackstone's Commentaries, Adams-Jefferson letters (not shown), a copy of a Revolutionary War documentary (now on loan to a friend) and some misc. philosophy.
And mah cookin' stuff. :)

Tomorrow night if I'm up for it - the back room.

--Maslow's-- Montesquieu's Hierarchy of Needs

2011-09-06T23:26:00.000-08:00

Pulled out the books again some tonight - it had been too long.

Finally starting to wade into Montesquieu

So far? It's amazing how little the debate has changed.

Book One, First Section: The universe oberervationally follows fixed rules of operation. F=ma today, tomorrow, and in 2000 BC. From this we infer that there is such a thing as universal laws, for without them, the universe is not physically possible.

Mankind also has laws of our own making, but we're not so good at the "fixed" part and less good at obeying them. Which doesn't mean we're not still very subject to the universal laws. F also equals ma at the bottom of a lunar crater. ;)

Book One, Second Section: While a moral law to obey our Creator might be most important, it is not the first to emerge. Montesquieu suggests the following order

1. Peace, via avoiding of danger. He contests this point with (English) Hobbes, who had stated the natural state of mankind is war - or rather, conflict. Montequeiu believed earliest humanity would flee rather than fight their neighbors. And anything else, really.
Feel free to make French jokes, but remember in about nineteen years a wee little lad named Napoleon will be born. :)

2. Food.

3. Companionship. Most particularly of the ... um.... friendly variety.

4. Community.

That might sound a little familiar to anyone who's sat through a Psych 101 class in undergrad. :p

So far really familiar ground - but what an interesting time. More later - no more monitors tonight.

Also... my jury number still hasn't come up this week. Looking like they won't need me after all. Oh well. :)

Sunday miscellany

2011-09-04T11:15:00.001-08:00

I think it's about time for a slow day.

I woke up this morning to a small cauldron full of baked Boston beans that had been going all night (sometimes eating down the pantry is fun) - and stopped to drool over the goodies at Circa 1820.

May give some friends a shout this afternoon, but for the most of today - a bit of long-needed sewing, long-neglected harping, and lots of chai.

Laters, yall. Happy Sabbath. :)

Edit - hunh.
Listening to a DVD from SmartFlix, I went on a youTube search for examples of the Great Vowel Shift.
Wherein you will find within a couple clicks a whole sub genre of folks rapping Chaucer. Something about learning the accent patterns in Middle English.

hunh. The things you learn in school these days. :)

Me and My .30-06

2011-09-03T15:24:00.003-08:00

So like Paul said, we headed out to the range today.
My brother let me borrow back the .30-06 Winchester from daddy, so I purchased a sling for it and a little notebook to see how much I could remember from that Appleseed a while back.

Not too terrible - I only did prone today, and not much of that to be honest. But I'm already finding half a box of ammunition paying attention and taking notes is a heck of a lot more brain-buirning and tiring than an hour or two spent plinking with a .22.

It's kinda like the fiddle that way I guess. Just playing is the fun part and will keep you from rusting up too much - but it's the monotonous "perfect as you can" scales that make you better.

< whine > self-improvement is hard < /whine > :)

skill problems (the "known unknowns")

My inexperience at getting/keeping a good position where the rifle actually jumps and moves and makes loud noises, and I need to keep moving to work the bolt, reload it, so forth and so on. With a lower recoil semi-auto a "zen" state came pretty easy last month. This was work the whole time.
I get tired easy. Some of that may be recoil, but I think the greater part is just plain frustration because of my position problems.

Equipment problems/frustrations:

Biggest was eye protection. It fogged up so much, so fast that I was having real problems seeing the target. Pulling them down my nose a touch for more airflow helped a touch - I could at least get one or two shots off before I couldn't see any more. The weird thing is that I can wear eye protection in a workshop for hours and not notice it - but put me behind a rifle and I'm staring through a cloud bank inside a couple seconds. Solution - no idea.
I think my sling loop wasn't tight enough at fist - under recoil and my movement it started creeping down my arm until it was useless. Solution - just hork the keeper down more, maybe move things around so the second keeper can lock it somehow? Dunno.
Even the rubber pad on the stock was slipping around some, making keeping a consistent position hard. Solution - maybe some kind of friction tape on the butt? Or maybe I'm just not pulling it in tight enough?

Results? I started at around 3MOA, and as I got tired and frustrated opened up to 6MOA. Not horrid, but not good. Paul was patient enough to let me stop for a little bit the .22 side, which helped at least end the day on a happy one-raggedy-hole note.

The best part though was prolly coffee at a swank "globally conscious" coffee place Paul knew of not far away (Travis, we are SO going next time you're in town!) It was especially fun pulling out the notebook of range notes, throwing a bunch of targets of the table, along with the "what are you doing wrong" diagnosis notesheets from Appleseed, and reviewing everything over coffee.

Fun day - thanks Paul!

Anyhow... someday. :)

Specialization is for insects

2011-08-30T23:51:00.000-08:00

So a week or so ago, I went in for my regular oil change. When I got back, the service guy was giving me the stinkeye.

"You didn't come in for your regular maintenance." he says.

"Um... no.." (It was over six hundred dollars, and I'd been a flighty idgit and not budgeted for it)

"Your differential gearbox is seriously overdue for service. There's a leak in one of the seals, cack on the bottom, and your gears are swimming in sludge. You drive any more on it and you'll be buying new axles."

...crap.

And I still didn't have six hundred dollars.

However. I did have an internet connection, a wrench, and lots of smart friends.
One of 'em even owned a garage.

Well ... hangar. But close enough.

A bit of googling found several how-tos from the guys who do this for fun, so with a parts list in hand I hopped down to the parts store, got (almost) everything I needed, and scheduled a morning off from work to play mechanic.

First, open the fill bolt, then remove the bolts around the differential. This was the hardest part actually - those top bolts from "noon" to "two" were hiding behind the front steering (rods?) assembly - and since I was on drive-up jacks I couldn't turn the wheels to see if I could get a better angle.

Airplane mechanics have lots of tricksy tools for the funny angles though, and eventually everything worked out.

Crack the seal, and out pours the sludge. No metal flakes - yay!

You don't have to see the long goopy step of sopping out all the old oil and wiping down the parts. IA Guy checks the gears with me - all good! (Incidentally, I wasn't impressed with the last person in there - they left toolmarks on the mating surface even I knew to avoid - the "someone else's car" thing I guess)

Back goes the cover. (Turns out I didn't need a gasket and RTV, but one of the guys in the shop suggested stick with the gasket. So I did.) In goes the gearbox oil.

Put the plug back in, and all done! I can drive to work! One more "I didn't know *that* this morning" to add to the list, and I can still pay my rent tomorrow.

The really cool thing though?

Once again, Alaskans prove just how awesome they are. Everyone from my computer geek boss to the spiffy blonde lady who dropped by in a business suit said "oh, changing the oil in a differential. No problem, just be sure to do such and such."

Best neighbors ever. Alaskans are so cool.

And that's that!

Also - thanks y'all for your patience with the delay while I was in Boston visiting Dearest Friend.
It went very well, thank you. :)

Paul Revere's Ride, Pt II

2011-08-11T10:54:00.001-08:00

So - I promised the "moral" of Paul Revere's Ride was timely.

Boy howdy.

First- the underlying theme of the book - Revere was no lone rider. He wasn't just some guy who spontaneously got on his horse when things started going sour.

Rather, the man had been hooked in for years. In one of his appendices, Fischer gives a table of lists - patriot groups, the Tea Party participants, the Boston Committee of Correspondence - even an enemies list put together by the crown. Of all those people, just two names were on every list -

Paul Revere and Doctor Warren.

In other words - if something was going down - Paul Revere knew about it. He also knew who needed to know. He knew whose doors to knock on. Most of all - they knew and trusted him.

If anything then, that is the lesson for the coming hard times I think.

Know people.

Not just the movers and the shakers, but everyone you can.
The stocker at the grocery. The police officer who rides your neighborhood. The guy at the gas station. The pastor who knows who needs help. The shadetree mechanic who could use some work.

And perhaps more importantly - be worth knowing. :)

Finally of course - be honorable. You never know which of your letters will end up in the hands of a Benjamin Church.

Gosh did those guys and gals back then set a tough act to follow.
Whoof.

To it, I guess.

Book Report, Paul Revere's Ride

2011-08-10T00:20:00.001-08:00

clever readers will have noticed long since this blog thing is more than half commonplace book. Please pardon one more installment before I get back to the real world doings. :)

So - Paul Revere's Ride - this one came heartily recommended by the Appleseed folks - the copy they had at their shindig a couple weeks ago was filled with placeholder tabs and handwritten margin notes.

Now I see why. :)

When my own copy gets here (this was a library copy - couldn't wait!) - I'll be transferring those notes over and doing some marginalia of my own.

As for the book -

First off, let me confess to my total crush on David Hackett Fischer. He's the same guy who wrote Albion's Seed that I'm constantly harping about*. Paul Revere's Ride is just as incredibly well done.

Now - the narrative. It sets the stage c. 1770 in Boston, and walks fairly quickly through the rising tensions of that half decade. The story starts picking up in greater detail with the 1774 Powder Alarms (i.e, the first two times the military governor sent soldiers on arms confiscations in the surrounding area). Then it gets into almost hour-by-hour detail from the moment the Lexington/Concord mission starts, through to when the Regulars straggle back into Charleston. Finally a brief nod to the impending siege of Boston by the Yankee militia, and a farewell "what happened to who" for most of the major players.

Now, here's is where Fischer gets awesome. Aside from the narrative itself, we get an extraordinarily good set of appendices - family trees, timelines, patriot group membership lists, British Army and Royal Navy lists, on and on. All those nit-pickety details.

Then we get historiography - he traces how different generations have framed the Revere tale, from early Patriot rabble-rousing through 19th c. legend-making, VietNam era slandering, and right back around again. Finally, a 28 page categorized annotated bibliography (for finding original sources in Google Books!) and over forty pages of end notes (the only gripe I have is I'd have preferred 'em as footnotes).

So - that's the book. Obviously - loved it.

Big things I learned -

*Yet more reasons to love Doctor Joseph Warren. The more I read, the more amazed I am how little space he gets in our popular images of the Revolution. Guy was amazing - I definitely have to make time for a biography of him soon.

* An even greater appreciation for just how personal it got. The Concord fight started as a military engagement. By the time the regulars straggled back through Concord, they were getting picked apart by old men and housewives shooting practically (sometimes literally) out their front doors.

* most of all...well - We'll tackle that tomorrow. It's worth a topic of it's own - and frightfully timely.

=====
* For serious. That's still my "if you're only going to read ONE American history book ever" favorite
You might not get the long continuous narrative of a textbook - you'll even miss whole important swaths of the story - but what you *will* get is a deeper appreciate for how all those little parts of American got their flavor and quirks in the first place.

Walls and Mirrors.

2011-08-09T09:47:00.000-08:00

I was talking recently with Dear Friend about the constraints of life.

More specifically - the mercy of having the walls of other people's needs hemming in about us. Whenever a one of us is given totally free reign, surrounded with sycophants, shielded from the consequences of our actions - the result is hardly ever good. Our most graphic modern example to come to my mind is Michael Jackson, but it's a universal story.

Recent events in London couldn't help but be (another) reminder of old Rome - the Imperial era, this time.

See, for some time Rome had been developing something of a "thug culture" and as a young man ol' Nero (yes, that Nero) wanted in on the fun -

Although at first his acts of wantonness, lust, extravagance, avarice and cruelty were gradual and secret, and might be condoned as follies of youth, yet even then their nature was such that no one doubted that they were defects of his character and not due to his time of life. No sooner was twilight over than he would catch up a cap or a wig and go to the taverns or range about the streets playing pranks, which however were very far from harmless; for he used to beat men as they came home from dinner, stabbing any who resisted him and throwing them into the sewers. He would even break into shops and rob them, setting up a market in the Palace, where he divided the booty which he took, sold it at auction, and then squandered the proceeds. In the strife which resulted he often ran the risk of losing his eyes or even his life, for he was beaten almost to death by a man of the senatorial order, whose wife he had maltreated. Warned by this, he never afterwards ventured to appear in public at that hour without having tribunes follow him at a distance and unobserved.

Now it's not in this account, but I've also seen references to the fallout of that beating up the Senator "youthful prank." From that point on, Romans were terrified to resist when accosted in the street, afraid it might be the young emperor.

Three guesses what happened to the frequency of muggings in Rome after that.
Yeah... yeah, pretty much what you'd expect.

Davy, Davy Crockett!

2011-08-02T23:25:00.010-08:00

This post from Loup rang a few bells for me. I'd never seen the movie in all it's 50's cheesy glory, but the song was still floating around a generation or two later when I was little. So it was neat to finally see where it came from!

Here's the fun thing - my Daddy grew up maybe a half hour's walk from where Davy Crockett hisownself was born! The last time I was down visiting him, he took me for a drive around his old haunts as a kid, and we got to see the site as it stands now.

First, the monument - according to legend the foundation stone of the original Crockett cabin. It's seen some years, and is in pretty sorry shape, I'm sad to say. I think a large part of that is a century or more of tourists chipping off a piece to take home. Funny way to show your respects, that.

The really cool thing these days is that on the site they've rebuilt a copy of his folks' cabin. Now I use the term "copy" fairly loosely here - it's not like anyone was registering floorplans along the Nolichucky in the 1780's.

But that said, this here is a pretty typical cabin for the Southern Appalachians in the late 18th/early 19th century. Excepting the nicely mowed grass, plastic trash can, and ADA-mandated ramp up to the front porch, that is. :)

First, note that there's two doors, each in the middle of the cabin, opposite each other. In the hot sticky Tennessee summers, that breezeway is a godsend, I'm telling you. However, you'll also note there's not a lot of windows. Two small ones on either side of the front door, and a very small one well above ground level on the wall opposite the chimney. That cabin can be holed up tight.

Next - you see those square spots above the door in back? Those are the supports for the loft. In this cabin the loft goes clear across the lower floor. That's the more common type I've seen, but occasionally you also see a half-loft, where the other half is left open across both "stories" of the cabin. That's usually where the kids sleep.

The foundation is just river rock to keep the floor supports off the ground - it's at least as common to have a full stone foundation though. The walls are dovetailed together in a really clever self-locking way. I think the squared-log/dovetailed corners thing was originally a practice of the Germans, but it caught on with the Scots Irish and English immigrants right quick. The original chinking between the logs was mostly mud and (I think) straw... when I was growing up you still saw the remains of some horrid preservation attempts using brick mortar from the early-mid 20th c.. These days it looks like they've mastered a "best of both worlds" approach that still looks pretty traditional.

Now let's look inside. Here's the far wall, opposite the hearth. You're looking towards the back door, and see the narrow walkway up to the loft. A fairly nice rope bed for Ma and Pa there - the bedspread looks like a linen or linsey-woolsey coverlet.

Those are *not* warm. I bet the black bear pelt would help a little on a chilly night though.

On the other side of the room, we see the hearth. Now this is a really nice one - lots of nice cut stone, and they even have fire irons! This is not a "just walked over the mountains" cabin - there's some real luxuries here.
Oh, and see that string of something hanging down by the left side? Them's "leather britches" - dried beans!

So there you go - Appalachian Homes and Gardens. It's actually quite cozy - I'd miss my hot baths and indoor plumbing, but minus that, I'd be fair comfortable setting up housekeeping in one to this day. :)

Honey, I ain't cookin' tonight.

2011-07-30T21:46:00.002-08:00

Now that was a good day.

Courtesy of Project Appleseed and a couple devoted local hosts who got the ball rolling up here in the Last Frontier, I got a chance to see what all the fuss was about. And it was awesome.

I splurged and went in my trekking clothes, and spent the first fifteen minutes geeking out with a reenactor from Yankee country. Soon though we get started. After orientation and safety lectures we settle into lessons - starting with prone shooting, then sight adjustment - then

Biggest thing I learned - how to use a sling right. What an AMAZING difference!

seated and offhand rapid fire.

I was told beforehand that the .22 CZ I had wasn't really suited to the course, and once we got into it I saw how true that was - I might have pulled it off okay if I'd been serious and already purchased 10-round magazines for it, but with the one factory 5-round magazine it just wasn't going to happen. So thanks again to the kindness of ~~strangers~~ Alaskans I was able to shoot the course with a borrowed .22 (Marlin, right T?). I did have some problems from just plain technical unfamiliarity, but once I got settled in things went pretty well.

Next - I want to say the instruction was VERY good. For one thing, the instructors had a great sense of learning psych - little things like being asked to repeat the safety rules out loud were a telling touch. More importantly, they all knew the body mechanics of what they were asking for, and could explain how to get the results wanted.

That is, you wouldn't typically be told "you're doing X, stop it" but rather "this is happening because this bone is resting here and that muscle is unsupported, move this here and that there and..."

After each course of fire, there was lots of "gather round the targets" time, going over the causes of this or that error pattern.

Very very very good teachers.
And frankly, good students. I really didn't see anyone pulling the "I already know what I'm doing" self-puffery that could get in the way of learning.

Finally - the history session. When we broke for lunch, there was a three-part lecture on the events of Patriot's Day. And um... they had it down. After reading fairly extensively on the era and the engagements - and touring Battle Road itself this year - I wasn't expecting to hear much new.

I am not ashamed to say I'd underestimated the amount of historical context they'd have on what's - less be honest - a fairly romanticized part of our history. But among the lecturers were people who could rattle off things about 18th c. trade policy, church politics, even comparatively minor participant biographies -- all from memory.

I was really impressed.

So yeah - highly recommended if you get the chance. They do give gals (or people in period attire!) a discount yes - but it's definately very good instruction for anyone. The class ranged from a pro-level guy banging it down with a battle rifle to whole families with mom and kids on the line.

Afterwards, we broke up and chatted a bit while getting things ready to go home. Looking around the crowd as we were getting ready to leave, one of the instructors who'd come up from Southern California said - "you meet the best people at a rifle range."

And you know? I think he was right. That was an awesome bunch of folks to meet.
Wonderful day.

... but I still ain't cookin. :)

Leading Lady

2011-07-27T23:36:00.000-08:00

Since friend Paul has been on something of a history kick lately, here's one I found recently.
I'd been looking for a counterpoint to Peter Oliver's Origin and Progress of the American Rebellion: A Tory View and found it in Mercy Otis Warren's History of the Rise, Progress, and Termination of the American Revolution. [In Google Books]

Mrs. Warren is an interesting character - very much a part of the Massachusetts Patriot scene back in the day, and very much of the Anti-Federalist persuasion. Apparently she even got in a tiff with John Adams once upon a time, when he complained her history of the Revolution didn't give him a big enough part. :)

Anyhow, this is one of the gems I've found from her (p.302) -

"The dread of slavery in free nations, has at all times produced more virtues than the principles of their political institutions."* This dread hung heavily on the most sober and judicious, the most wise and virtuous part of the inhabitants of America. They were sensible that both public and private virtue sink with the loss of liberty, and that the nobler emulations which are drawn out and adorn the soul of man, when not fettered by servility, frequently hide themselves in the shade, or shrink into littleness at the frown of a despot. They felt too much for themselves, and feared too much for posterity, longer to balance between either complete or partial submission, or an unreserved and entire claim to absolute independence.
* quoting from Travels of Anarchsis

One for your list, Paul. :)

Cradle of Liberty, Pt III

2011-07-27T21:50:00.003-08:00

After the Armory, we all stop in at Old Sturbridge Village.

I'd made the mistake of not scouting things out enough ahead of time - in retrospect it would have been a much better place for a daytrip with the kids in tow. Still, despite running low on time we had a chance to poke around the bookstore at the village. All sorts of neat toys, especially the stuff they make on site. Definitely on the list for next trip back. I have an eye on one of those bean pots for another cooking day with Dear Mr. T. :)

So - the next day was mostly sedate. I managed an interview with a local guy (awesome!) that will be appearing in other pages before too much longer. Afterwards, we splurged and had lunch at The Green Dragon.

Oh wait no!

Wrong Green Dragon.

I mean THIS Green Dragon.

The original "headquarters of the revolution" might be gone, but its latter day namesake was still a nice place to get out of the sun for a bit.

Once inside, it's a pretty typical Irish-American pub, with a good dose of Revolutionary themed decor here and there. We sat down under a shadow box of ~~revolutionary era~~ early 19th century bits and bobs, and -- ooh!

I think I'd first heard of an "Irish Breakfast" via Mr. Thompson at Bloggin' fae the 'Burn - and here one was. Since I didn't know when I'd get another chance - let's try that!

Ooof! Heavy! But tasty.

The black pudding was quite..um... savory-dense in an almost painful way. Reminds me of haggis, actually. I could probably develop a taste for it eventually I think.

Anyhow, enough lolling around!

We have groceries to buy and errands to run, but first - one final detour before heading home.

We have some stairs to climb.

Cradle of Liberty, Pt II

2011-07-25T23:54:00.000-08:00

So - back to Boston.

On the Gunny's recommendation, we found our way to Springfield Armory, accompanied by family friends.

The first thing you notice is that although the armory isn't in operation anymore, it's still has something of a "company town" feel. Many of the buildings have been repurposed into a college, and the museum itself is tucked back in one corner of the facility. You walk through a glass door into a tower, where once upon a time crates of arms were hoisted onto a waiting horse-drawn wagon.

You pass under the crate, go through a second door (ironically enough, with a sticker reminding you to leave your own piece in the car) - and settle into to see an orientation film. You see Henry Knox leaning over a map, explaining the decision to plant two armouries in the new US. The Northern States have Springfield - the Southern States have Harper's Ferry. That's just a *little* foreboding.

From there you're set to walk through the museum proper. It's divided into two bays - on the right is the manufacturing exhibits, including an early stock duplication machine that's a beauty of simplicity - it's like a iron swingset! There's also a toolchest to make any craftsman sigh, and all manner of old hand tools.

In the other bay is the arms exhibit. Mostly you'll see US longarms, especially of the WWI-WWII era. There's also captured collections from a Native-owned rifle covered in tacks and rawhide to Nazi and Soviet pieces.

You'll also see some fairly rare curiosities - even a real live Liberator. That one makes for a sober story to explain to little ones. "So the people in France were occupied by Nazis. And then..."

The big eye catcher in the room though is the "Organ of Muskets"- a store of hundreds of Civil War era rifle-muskets, all mounted on their original arms room rack. They tell the story of Longfellow and his 1845 "peace poem" Arsenal at Springfield.

As an aside?

I love the history of New England, and I confess that Yankee charm is growing on me. Saltbox houses all lined up behind the meandering stone walls. There's a hominess in New England that's just indescribably nice. And as confining as Yankee culture feels when it chafes my independent edges, I do sense the appeal.

But we are human animals, and I am still a Southern girl. I can see an M1 and not think much on it. It's a fairly clever bit of engineering for the day, it's iconic for the era - but that's all. They were pointed at Nazis, at Imperial Japanese - enemies over the sea.

But when I look at that "organ" of rifle-muskets, I know those were pointed at my mountain kin once upon a time. More, I know the time. I know not a few of the hands making those guns knew in their bones exactly how they'd be used.

It's over. It's done. But I'll admit to some little bit of ambivalent melancholy at the sight.

Just as I'm sure there's no shortage of black Southerners who think the same thing looking at a romantic statue of a Confederate Cavalier back home.

Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the death-angel touches those swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal Miserere
Will mingle with their awful symphonies!

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,
The cries of agony, the endless groan,
Which, through the ages that have gone before us,
In long reverberations reach our own.

We've all had a hard road together, us Americans.
Thank God we've only seriously come to blows once so far.

The tour has some more sedate tools towards the end as well that aren't full of the same horrid memories - match pieces pulled off the line for target shooting, and a hunting rifle presented to President Teddy Roosevelt.

The day is done, and we spend a little time in the bookstore before heading home - there's lots of technical manuals for the dedicated hobbyists that must come by - I find a reprint of an1850's book that's just awesome - Marco Paul's Voyages and Travels: Springfield Armory.

It's part of an old "this is how the world works" kids book series, and it looks quite detailed for a children's book! (check out the economics of production section, starting p.121)

Next stop - back to Boston proper. More tomorrow. :)

Cradle of Liberty, Pt I

2011-07-24T17:14:00.009-08:00

Sorry for the unannounced outtage y'all - I was off to see Dear Friend up on Battle Road. (yes, such an appropriate home site, don't you think?)

Anyhow, Boston is an interesting place. Stories are piled there four centuries deep. I know that's not much to y'all on the other side of the pond, but here it's simply amazing. Especially if you're used to the great wide open of the American West or Alaska.

Our first day out, we went to one of my favorite spots in Boston ever - the Harvard bookstore, the COOP. The bottom couple stories are pretty much what you expect from any modern SWPL bookstore - less toys and picturebooks and such, but by and large it's pretty familiar if you've gotten yourself lost in a Barnes and Noble for an afternoon.

The upstairs though - oh. Oh my. Go past the coffee shop, and climb the stairs. And beside the stairs, there is a bookshelf. And on that bookshelf, you will be greeted by the Loeb Classical Library.

All those old funny "-ius" and "-icles" and "-ides" authors you've seen referenced for ages but never sat down and actually read? There they are. All the green is Greek, the red is Roman - and not visible at the foot is some Humanist stuff in blue. Original text on the left pages, English translations on the right, they're a great way to make up a botched education.

Last time I got the first volume of Livy that's come walking with me now and again - that's where the story of Gaius Mucius Scaevola (Lefty) we were talking about came from.

(Livy was an Augustan-era historian compiling a history of Rome. Machiavelli wrote a commentary on his works, and Jefferson recommended him as a historical source. So that's why he was the first name to stand out the first time I got all agog at the Red and Green Wall.)

Anyhow - this trip - the Aenid! Professor Thomas F. X. Noble has described that work as a contemporary self-conscious exemplar of Roman virtues, so it seemed the perfect next stop in the reading list.

(As an side - another curious thing about Boston - you see evidence of the late 18th/early 19th century Classical fascination all over the architecture there. Neat! )

Later in the week, on the suggestion of The Gunny, we went by Springfield Armory. If your interests cross history and arms - you WANT to see the exhibits at Springfield Armory.
More on that tomorrow.

Traveller's Advisory

2011-07-24T17:11:00.003-08:00

The TSA is now asking about "recording devices" when you travel. Even if it's off and cased, there's a goodly chance they'll take it out and f* with it before your regularly scheduled molestation. Back up your files before traveling, close your eyes, and ..well....

There she goes...

2011-07-06T00:59:00.000-08:00

For those who've been following Miss D and her travails getting her plane ready to fly back - she's finally on her way!

She's camping out tonight with her little yellow plane, and in the morning will be winging her way towards home. Here's her goodbye moments to Alaska -

Y'all treat her good down there, hear?

And Miss D - um.. yeah. If it's any consolation, you could hear Gunny's curse all the way across the airfield when he found your oil in the back seat. That man's got some lungs in him. :)

Family Tradition, contd.

2011-07-04T22:45:00.005-08:00

So as I was saying... not raised in a particularly patriotic household.

Let me diverge for a moment.

Once during a visit with friends - all of whom happened to be both history geeks and sword nuts - the conversation turned to blades that were so distinctive they'd become almost national emblems.

Knife and hatchet the work of Curt Lyles

If you have SCAdian type friends, I'm sure you've heard similar wanking.

The Japanese with their katanas, the Scots and their claymores, so forth and so on. I can't remember the conversation exactly, but as I recall there was a little bit of wistfulness that America had come of age after firearms took hold, and so our nation really didn't have a similar legacy.

The closest we have - as I recall the conversation - is the tomahawk. Sometimes gussied up for the native fur trade, but as often as not, just a plain ol' hatchet.

And you know what?

I think that is awesome.

I wouldn't trade that legacy for any thousand-layered piece of peasant-slicing smithcraft, made for some silk-clad noble to go to war with - or for that matter, any of the varied people-choppers from the European kingdoms.

No - I like coming from the country that just has a little ol' hatchet to its name. 'Cause you know why?

You build things with them.

Sure they'll crack open a skull if it comes right down to it, but that's not what they're for. They're for chopping up kindling for a hearth fire, they're for quartering venison - turn 'em around and they're for driving in the finishing pegs on your back country cabin's window frame.

They're tools of creation.

And that's the America I know and love. Not safe exactly - no easy pushover - but ultimately a nation of builders. A people who can face hardship and want with a few simple tools and a whole lot of determination - and just plain make it through. Make a home. Make a family. Make a country.

And so that's why I started a new family tradition of my own this Independence Day.

I picked up my old hatchet, just like the ones my ancestors made their homes with two hundred years ago. And I walked into the woodlands, found a fallen tree still strong enough to bear the weight and wind, and I brought it home.

I cleaned it off, I tied my old flag to it, and stuck it in the ground for the day.

Just one old dry pole, a reminder of what we did once. And what we can do again.

And from this year on, long as I'm able, I hope to continue that tradition.
Maybe you'll join me next year?

Happy Independence Day, y'all. Hope your day was swell.

Family Tradition

2011-07-04T12:31:00.000-08:00

I did not grow up in a patriotic family.

It's not like we were raging deconstructionists or anything - it's just that America was... a background. Independence Day was for sparklers and barbecues and fireworks... we really didn't dwell on the why of it that much.

For me, personally, that started to change about.. oh, twelve years or so ago. I started seriously reading our history. I started meeting more military guys and hearing their stories. Slowly, I started to realize just how big of a chance we were taking in 1776... and just how big of a gift we were given.

... and how expensive it's been to keep.

My epiphany, as it were, was in 2001. Not 9/11, actually - but earlier that year. The flag I flew with my neighbors on *that* September day was one I'd requested earlier that year from my Senator - it had flown over our capitol July 4, 2001.

Ten years later, it flies outside my little cottage in Alaska, fastened with a couple linen ties to a pole pulled from the nearby forest. It's been an interesting ten years.

Time to run off to hear the DoI read - to be continued!

edit... just heard from my beloved brother in Afghanistan this morning. Thankfully, he's fine.

Walk in Grace, M. I love you.

Trip around the neighboorhood

2011-06-22T22:05:00.000-08:00

There's something kind of neat about flying over your home country.

Not like in a jetliner though - those are too high, too insulated, too distracting.

No, it has to be a little plane. Just fabric and tube and one purring prop dragging you through the air.
Low enough to be still be a part of the earth below you, even as you're travelling above it. There's an intimacy and an odd sense of context that just... has to be experienced.

So when last weekend, Miss D called me up and asked if I wanted to collect on that ride she'd been promising me, the answer was SOOOO very much yes!

From the bouncing geek dice tied to the frame to the beautifully open cockpit, her plane is a joy.

So fun. :)

Off to Palmer!

There's one ripply mountainface that always stands out to me whenever I pass it.

My... was it my second summer here? ... I attended a traditional music camp on the lake at the base of it. From the camp, that mountain was a gentle presence always with us whereever we walked. From above, the lake that was such a quiet comfort to canoe on seems a puddle.

Eventually we made it to Palmer, and had a wonderful chat with the lady running the radios. We briefly considered the use of their ginourmous orange 70's loaner car to get into town (I gotta car that's as big as a whale...) but decided to just walk.

Poked about town a little, had coffee, than back to the strip. On taking off, we saw a few more wonderful creations of human ingenuity lined up on the ground. Ain't these cool?

After that, we swung over to the glacier for some flightseeing before going home. The colors... again, I fear I and my camera have failed to get anything close to the color of those glaciers below us. The ice cracks into thousands of ridges and crevasses - and inside those crevasses the ice takes on an almost... neon blue. Sometimes they're covered with fresh snow and it just looks like an undulating field. These crevasses were mostly open. Either way.... you do not want to have engine trouble over country like this.

At the base of the glacier, it calves off chunks into water. Those chunks float on the glacial melt lake, collecting against the mountain base like giant bath toys.

One of the things about Alaska is the scale the sights you'll see. Remember a couple years ago almost to the day I mentioned a trip where we "listen[ed] to the cascade of waterfalls miles distant - themselves hundreds of feet high, but only distant white scratches in [our] binoculars"

Well this is that waterfall. I ..um... think. It looks like a tiny little rivulet in the picture. Trust me... it's not. :)

The weather kept us from continuing and and cutting over, so when we'd had our fill of the sights we turned back for home.

As we got near, running in that familiar corrider between the front range of mountains and the highway, I started looking for the spot I'd pooped out last week on my walk. I'd made it surprisingly close to my final "best case" destination I saw, and was honestly surprised by just how much ground that route looked like.... but yeah - making it to the river's not quite in my limits yet.

It sure brought home the old Alaskan bush pilot advertisement though - "Fly an hour or walk a week."
That sounds about right, 'cause just a few minutes later we were rolling into final for the airport near home.

INCREDIBLE day.

So yeah. If you get a chance to fly on Air D - definately take her up on it.

If you're nowhere near Miss D though, you have another option. Call up your local flight schools and arrange an orientation flight. I won't say it's cheap hiring a flight instructor for an hour or two, but it's less that you might think, and you'll experience your hometown in a way you simply can't imagine from the ground. As life experiences go, it's a couple hours you'll never forget.

And you'll be doing your little part to keep civil aviation going.

Careful though.. you might find out you like it. ;)

Alaskan Summers

2011-06-19T12:38:00.000-08:00

A dear friend once passed on to me the observation that "every city tells you what it expects of you."

The infrastructure, the businesses, the community celebrations - all come together to tell a story, and ask you to be a part of it. "Some places tell you to be smart," he says, "others to be successful, or innovative..."

And Anchorage? Anchorage I think tells you to be outside. The wild is relished here.

And so - outside we went.

A friend and I have been way too long since our last chat, so we took it on a hike up the side of one of the hills facing the inlet down south of town. Gorgeous day, and amazingly beautiful scenery.

This time I was taught to recognize columbine and yarrow. The latter was particularly interesting. I'd heard of its usefulness as a poultice or cuts and such before, but hearing it called "our echinancea" opened up a whole other aspect to its use I hadn't heard of.

More particularly - some things just can't be learned from books, I think. No matter how many herbals you might look at, no matter how good the photos - there is simply no substitute for a friend setting you down on the ground and saying "touch this. It is such-and-such." The touch, the small, the essence of it just doesn't fit in pages well.

What a treasure good friends are.

On with the day. I hope yours is well.

Oh - the trip back? The inlet was breathtaking. The sun shone the clouds onto the water to make a glowing silver pool in the inlet. The tops of the clouds were a luminescent creamy orange, like the first glow of iron in a forge as the metal comes to life.

I knew I couldn't hope to capture that with a camera, but I could at least make a hook for my memory to latch onto in some future day, so that someday when I remember my summers in Alaska I remember this.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

2011-06-16T11:13:00.001-08:00

that is all. :)

Give me a child until ...

2011-06-14T08:33:00.002-08:00

So in the midst of an otherwise delightful little book from the early 20th c. on storytelling, I find this gem. Context is thus - snake is out for some sun, and slithers into the palace. Courtiers freak. The prince kills the snake. Snake's wife comes to find her husband, and sees his body. She declares blood for blood, and that night slithers around the Prince's neck, insisting on her right to make the Princess a widow, as the Prince has widowed her.

The king, seeking a just solution, calls in the wise men of the court, and our storyteller continues -

They asked all the judges, but none of them could tell the law of the matter. They shook their heads, and said they would look up all their law-books, and see whether anything of the sort had ever happened before, and if so, how it had been decided. That is the way judges used to decide cases in that country, though I dare say it sounds to you a very funny way. It looked as if they had not much sense in their own heads, and perhaps that was true.
p. 218, The Art of Storytelling,
Marie L. Shedlock. text

Notice the technique there?

Pick something you don't like in your culture - in this case, equity under a uniform law - and just call it funny. Don't bother to explain why it's been around three thousand years, if you've even bothered to think it out. Just call it silly. And most of all, make certain to frame the sentence in such a way that it says - "look at this silly thing. Why, you're so much smarter than those silly grownups doing that, aren't you? You're such bright children."

Note this is a piece designed to be orally performed, so you're also adding social pressure to nod and say "yes, teacher!"

Exemplars and legends I get - we need our heroes. But this technique just seems so.... snidely underhanded it gives me the squicks.

I swear... if I'm ever graced with kids, I'll eat dandelions and squirrels before I leave 'em in the hands of strangers for eight hours a day.

grrrr.

The Road Goes Ever on and on...

2011-06-13T22:44:00.001-08:00

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

So time had come to at least give the walk thing a try. I wasn't ready for a full historical type trek, so what I carried was a mix of old and modern. The end effect was probably a woebegotten soul fallen out of the 1960's... but if I waited until I had everything perfect, I'd never step out the front door.

Onward!

So. Stuff. No firelock, but as my role models tend more to Alan a Dale than Natty Bumpo, the fiddle wasn't *not* coming. I didn't have any period carriage, so I just tied a sash around the case I had. Certainly heavier than I'd like, but the fabric was wide enough it worked okay. The bedroll with a single oilcloth, a leather satchel holding my water, an overshirt if I needed it, and a notebook. All the various necessaries for an emergency overnight went in the little leather shoulder pouch.

The route... well I didn't quite make the best-case end point I was hoping for, but... looking at the map I'm thinking about 9 miles each way.

Yeah, misjudged things a *little*. It's been a (far too long) while since I've done any serious walking, and I wanted to find my "comfortable" and "pressing hard, but okay" range.

I um.... found them.

I thought I was doing pretty well at my turnaround point, but my "okay I can stop now I've had my fun" moment came when I was about halfway home. The next three miles were unfun but not bad - the last two fair torturous.

A Marian Mule I am not.Was so not up to building a fort when I got home - much less hauling three times as much weight! :)

Still.. very educational.

Lessons in no particular order -
1. Hat. I had a modern bush hat, but would have loved an extra few inches of brim to keep the sun off. Under woods it wouldn't have mattered so much, but in high sun even what I had was a godsend.

2. The "high and close shot pouch" model of necessary bag doesn't work so well with a woman's blouse. I didn't notice it at first, but by about mile 7 it was digging into the skin of my neck enough to be uncomfortable. I suspect hunters wearing such things over collared men's shirts wouldn't notice it at all. I haven't decided how to resolve this.

3. The inch-wide braided leather straps on my book satchel weren't *nearly* as bad as I was afraid, so far as cutting into my shoulders went. Granted that bag had hardly any weight in it for all its bulk, but it still worked much better than I would have guessed. Still, the construction of it's heavy enough I think I'll be replacing it eventually - at least for this purpose.

4. I had one bundle too many. Some kind of consolidation is in order. I don't know what yet. That said, some kind of "easy to drop things in" bag for forage and tinder would have been handy a couple times.

5. The bedroll rode surprisingly comfy. It makes a nice armrest slung over one shoulder, and being able to draw those ties in or let them out for different carriage positions makes it easier to stay balanced and rested over the course of the day. By about mile ten, I'd adjusted it so that the strap was over one shoulder, on the outside of my arm, so instead of pulling down it was pulling into my shoulder from the side. That worked pretty well.

6. One of the things I tossed for weight reasons when I set out was food. That wouldn't have been a problem on a day trip, but there was a point it looked like the weather might turn and I'd have to settle in for a bit - or possibly the night. That would have sucked without dinner. Bad bad walker!

7. As above, re cordage. Could have improvised okay with the oilcloth, but it would have been a pain.

8. If you're along a road, and you're a redhead with a fiddle under your arm - always always smile and wave to tour buses and military convoys. The former get another quirky Alaskan story to take home, and the latter, well.. anything to break the monotony, right? :)

Was fun. Would do again.

... after I heal up a bit more. You folks who marched like this all the time? I am so impressed with you. :)

Mea Culpa - and Civics 101

2011-06-11T11:24:00.005-08:00

So earlier this week I said "One party might have drawn the lesson from Thucydides, another from William James, but..."

Well I was wrong. I'm still very much a sophomore in all this, and grabbed the wrong name out the jumble in my cranial attic. It wasn't Thucydides I wanted, it was Polybius.

Now, so... that's fixed.

But why Polybius?
What was important about that guy?

Well - here we go. Remedial Classics for those of us who didn't get it in school and are just now taking the time to learn it ourselves -

So. Remember Thermopolae? Molon Labe, Hot Gates, 300, all that?
Well yeah, as you know, it happened. Minus Gerard Butler in a leather speedo (*sigh*) - but it happened, more or less. So anyhow, the Persians keep coming after that. Big war. Athens destroyed, eventually lots of little city states band together and kick out Persia.

At this point, we have a sort of "Greek NATO." Over the next generation or two, Athens sort of morphs from a "first among equals" member of a mutual defensive pact to a de facto imperial power.

(Why are you looking at me like that? What?)

So, enter Herodotus. "Father of History" - he's one of those "tell us who we are" guys. Think Athenian Mark Twain. Herodotus goes off on this tour all around to dig into just who these Persians they've been fighting *are*, and where they come from, and what made them who they are. Not incidentally, he warns the Athenians to be careful about expanding so much in their own defense they become an empire like one they just fought off, and in so doing lose the freedoms they just fought so hard for.

(What?!!)

Anyhow, Herodotus. We're at about mid 400's BC.*

He repeats a story attributed to the old Persian king, c, 520 BC. After some power squabble, the leaders of the winning faction are sitting around on horses, talking about what sort of government to institute. One says democracy. One says aristocracy. One says monarchy. They all give their reasons.

Remember, this is a time where this sort of question is seriously talked about.

"the nature of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, and the advantages and inconveniences of each," says our own John Adams, "were as well understood at the time of the neighing of the horse of Darius as they are at this hour..**"

Democracy leads to mob rule, implicitly violating the rights of the minority - not to mention wild instability. Aristocracy is more stable, but prone to power grabs as aristocrats elbow for the primo spot. Monarchy is the most stable of all, assuming a good monarch - but a bad monarch is a nightmare.

So... the Persian cabal decides monarchy.
(Then they decide who gets to be king. Another story for another time.)

Eventually they become an empire, start knocking on the Hot Gates, and we pick up our thread with the Greeks.

Now.

Let's advance the clock a bit, through the end of the 400s and the 300s BC.

The Greek experiment in democracy has risen spectacularly, but has sputtered out in the wake of the Peloponnesian War. (Remember that part about Athens becoming a de facto Imperial power? Sparta didn't take that too well. The war was long, and devastating. )

Democracy got a seriously bad name, Phillip of Macedon comes to power, his son Alexander just ranged over the whole wide world, and now it's pretty common to think something along the lines of "well... I guess I'm sitting fair pretty now... but I don't really have a voice anymore. Is that good or bad?"

If you've ever heard Victor Davis Hanson talk about "therapeudic" drama or instruction instead of deep responsible Issue Talk - this is the period he's riffing off of. Think living on a diet of sitcoms, but knowing your grandparents or great-great grandparents used to listen to PBS and go to town meetings and have elections that actually mattered.

Now - the Roman star is rising about the time the Greek/Macedonian one was going to hell. We're coming up on 200 BC.

The Romans have just spanked Carthage, effectively taken control of the western Mediterranean, and the Greeks are saying "What happened? Who are these guys?"

Enter Polybius - a Greek hostage staying with a Roman family. He grows up in the culture of just-post "Carthago Delenda Est" Rome, so he sits down to write Histories.

Polybius says basically "hey, these Romans are on to something. They've managed to work out a way to get the best parts of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy all working together in a single system.

They have a monarch in the consuls.... an aristocracy of old Patrician families in the Senate... and a democratic voice in the Tribunes. It's messy.... but it looks like it's working pretty well."

If that sounds vaguely familiar, well... there's a reason for that. :)

And that's why Polybius came up last week.

Okay, time to go play. Happy weekend!

=============
* You can take your "Common Era" PC BS and shove it. We ride unreconstructed in these parts. :)

** John Adams, "A Defense of the American Constitutions" 1787

Beyond the Beyond

2011-06-11T09:47:00.005-08:00

American geeks of a certain age may remember a certain science fiction television show.

It had everything.

It had nazis. It had robots. It had rock and roll. It had furry barbarians on motorcycles. It had a fairy tale, and it had a dangerous tropical paradise.

As a kid, it struck me as a science fictiony version of Narnia, and I loved it.

Like so many treasures from childhood though, it's one that should be approached with care. Some things really are best left wrapped in fuzzy memories instead of being dragged back into the light.

Still, a dear friend who shared those vague memories with me was willing to sit through a couple bootlegged episodes of it last weekend.

O
M
G

It is so horrifically bad it is awesome.
There's even fanfic of it out there...so very, very wrong. :)

On a completely unrelated note, here's your 1980's brainworm for the day -

I think they must have used this song prior to figuring out water boards. It just.... hangs there. In your brain. Over and over. Driving you mad... so... so mad.

.... though Trace and Gina did it better. ;)

Context

2011-06-08T09:16:00.005-08:00

Time is a slippery thing.

I can't speak for you, but I know when I'm reading a history I sometimes have to force myself to remember that then was not now. To my modern eye, a Hogarth or Singleton painting looks sweet and romantic.

I squee over a kettle, tease out details of a fiddle bow or apron, admire the ornamentation. But if I'm not careful, I find myself slipping into the Ren Faire approach - underneath the costume simply must be another 21st century American mind.

I might know perfectly well that it's not true, but the human mind I think tends to assume its own experience is universal.

And so I get to assume all the stable comforts of my modern life, colored with an overlay of green fields and pre-industrial villages. It seems so quaint and simple - so romantic.

A simpler world. A simpler time. Simpler problems than this modern world.

That's how it was, right?

Right?

Recently, I ran across this piece of modern wisdom in a comment section -

What seems true is this: 9/11 changed the way we must interpret our Constitutional guarantees. While we need to relearn how to live dangerously ..., we collectively have a responsibility to ensure public transportation is safe. We must engage in it just to do business anymore ....

Ah. Yes.

Pretend with me if you will, that it is 1791.

The ink is drying on the Bill of Rights. It was a tough fight to get the Constitution ratified - not a few folks vehemently rejected it as an aristocratic power grab. As - lets be honest - in many ways it was. It took those twelve (really) amendments to get the compromise through.

So.

1791.

According to the last census, the population of our squabbling former colonies is confined to a fairly narrow band along the Eastern seaboard. Population density in most of that area is less than that of modern Idaho. The last war was so exhausting that large parts of our militia were "entirely disarmed" according to Jefferson, weapons becoming so scarce they were requisitioned for the regulars.

The economy was shattered during the war. The Continental Congress had authorized the printing of so much money the dollar had become practically worthless.

Seven years ago, the Treaty of Paris was ratified. Among the conditions was that the British evacuate their fortifications along the back country.

They have not done so.

Over the next decade, the new Federal government will careen back and forth between uneasy alliances and quasi-wars with the two dominant superpowers of the North Atlantic, France and England. We are still weak from the Revolution, and open war with either will crush our experiment before the eagle's feathers are even dry. All the monarchies of Europe have a vested interest in seeing that happen.

All the while, the settlers on the far side of the Appalachians naturally find themselves trading down the Mississippi, and are being drawn farther into the Spanish orbit. This dominance lasts so long that a full fifteen years later the spectre of intrigues - some Spanish-funded - in the old southwest is still a credible threat.

Hemmed in on all sides, in the midst of all these existential crises, we fight each other.

Four years ago a Revolutionary War veteran managed to raise a plebian army over a thousand strong, and marched on a Federal arsenal.

This year Hamilton's Whiskey Excise tax is passed. On 9/11 of this year, we'll see the tar and feathers come out again. Another rebellion is brewing as we speak.

Now.

That is the world in which the Founders wrote

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

Amidst an array of existential threats within and without, the Founders held tightly to all those Enlightenment Whiggish ideals - local militia, constrained search powers, decentralized power.

WHY?

This is what I think.

Some was the power of tradition of course - but that was not all.

Contrary to some modern punditry, I think the Founders were in one way very much like the Fabians of the last century. One party might have drawn the lesson from Polybius, another from William James, but the fundamental understanding was the same -

Rules make Men.

The entire rat cage of rewards and punishments in which we live our lives shape us. We are all creatures of habit, the animal portion of our nature every bit as inclined to stick to a beaten bare path as any whitetail. What we are allowed to do, and what we are compelled to do, become a part of our being.

Let us take an example.

These men? These men - like their fathers and grandfathers - were required by the law of their state to assemble their arms and drill with their neighbors for militia service.

They were not professional soldiers. They were not - at least at first - good soldiers. They were inefficient and unreliable. They could be cantankerous and hard to discipline. The professional's disdain for the amateur had as much cause here as in any other field of human endeavor.

But.

So long as they had something they could call their own, and the impetus to defend it, these men had a stake.They were taught from their youth that the power of life and death held by the State is ultimately in their hands, because it is through their hands that it would be exercised.They simply did not have the option of leaving it to the professionals.

Now. Look at these men and women.

They do leave it to the professionals.

Unless they have a loved one in harms way, this is what "war" means - standing in a cattle chute where they will be expected to open their belts, remove their shoes, throw away not just pocket knives, but key chains, water, and children's toys. Even joking about the absurdity of it has been made a crime. And everyone knows it won't stop when the shooting's moved on to a new theater. There no longer are any "temporary" war measures.

These people are not being taught to have a stake. They are not being taught to take responsibility and solve problems. They are being taught to follow patently absurd rules without complaint.

They are being taught to be obedient slaves.

A free people can rebuild a shattered economy, resupply a spent homeland, throw off the weight of not only one but three superpowers, and then go on to win a continent.

A nation of slaves?
Well... they can hope for a better master one day.

Rules make men.

Letters from home

2011-06-07T22:33:00.000-08:00

So I get home from work today to see a strange box on the step.

I don't remember ordering anything that should be here now I think... then see the return address - Daddy!

Once I get inside, behold the treasure:

I have again COUNTRY HAM!!

Now... for those of you who have suffered the tragic fate of growing up outside of Dixie, let me explain the proof of God's love that is country ham.

First, imagine bacon.

....no rush, I can wait...

... okay, now. Bacon.

Except it's the smokiest, richest, saltiest slice of bacon you ever had.

And now, it's a whole steak of the meaty part of that bacon.

And now, if you're really lucky, you get a slice of legbone - and if you take that bone and pop it in your mouth, you'll melt out a rich salty marrow that'll curl your toes it's so savory.

Now, if I was cooler, I'd be able to go on a tear of bloggy culture jokes about bacon and Chuck Norris and Assam tea and and and...

But I'm not that cool, so you'll just have to make up your own.
In the mean time, I'll just tell you it's serious noms.

Best served with collard or mustard greens, cornbread, and buttermilk or sweet iced tea. If company's comin' on, you might want to scare up some sliced maters and pickles.

Any of y'all Anchorage folk up for a picnic? :)

Accents

2011-06-02T09:52:00.004-08:00

Oh, this is delightful.

So you prolly saw Professor Elemental over at Breda's the other day. Which means you may well have followed the trail from this diss of Mr. B to Mr. B himself.

Here's where it gets awesome.

"Sold out to Coca-Cola / Used for a trend" means that this man -

Is this man -

Edit - drat! They blocked embedding on this one. Here's the link

... And that is just totally awesome. I mean, it makes sense that once you have the basics down fairly well at some point genre hopping can get to just be fun.

(It also drives home just how important post production is.
Yeesh. Sound people work magic. )

Here's another more vivid example. Omnia's "Fenian Men" as normally performed -

And as performed for giggles -

Ahh! All my childhood I was lied to!
What do you mean you can't base an identity off your favorite band?
How can they possibly break that veneer?

:)

People are just so fun.
... no word yet on when Enya's gonna be doing a duet with Eminem.

(but wouldn't it be cool? :P )

Fundamental Seriousness

2011-05-31T22:17:00.009-08:00

So I'm about halfway through the second book of Livy, and am really starting to grok just how different the early Romans are from the silk-covered brats stumbling out of the vomitorium we're shown in popular images of the Empire.

No, this is the early Rome.

To set the stage - they've just said "enough of this 'king' horsepuckey," kicked out their king, and set up a Republic.

Said king goes and shacks up with some of the city's old enemies, and eventually said old enemies and their king come knocking at the Romans' door to make them proper royal subjects again. Bad example for the neighborhood, you see.

Now, the royals get spanked trying to take the city, but are too powerful to be driven off entirely. Stalemate. So they settle in for a siege, hostages are taken, and negotiations ensue.

Enter The Kid.

Kid goes to the city fathers and says "I'm just telling you this now so you don't kill me for deserting, but I'm about to leave the city. I'm going down there to kick butt. Bye!"

Kid walks right into the royals' camp, pulls out a sword, and stabs the best dressed guy there.

....crap.

Turns out that wasn't the enemy king.
That was just some well-dressed flunky.

So the kid gets himself captured, and is brought up in front of the real king.

Kid tells the king - "oh, it's not the armies you have worry about. You're a dead man."

King says he'll have the Kid killed if he doesn't spit out the plot.
Painful-like. Burned alive in the fire.

Fire?

Gaius Mucius Scaevola

Kid says "F-U", and sticks his hand in the fire himself.

... and leaves it there.

... while he's staring down the king.

Eventually the king jumps out of his seat, and has the Kid pulled away from the flames.

Impressed with his bravery, lets him go free, noble sacrifice, yadda yadda.

Kid says "Well. Now that we've proven you can't scare me, I'll tell you what you wanted to know. I'm the first of three hundred. We're coming for you. Personally. One at a time until you're dead. You won't know where. You won't know when. And every one of them is just as determined as I am."

...let's just say the negotiations went a wee bit better after that.

And that ethic, my dear friends and neighbors, is why whereever you go in this wide world today, two and a half thousand years later - you will still find some legacy of that little band of outcasts in the Italian countryside.

"What we do in life..."

Practice

2011-05-31T15:14:00.004-08:00

So I ran into a fellow student of my fiddle teacher at lunch today, and we got to swappin' stories about playing some of the harder upper-position tunes. He said his "technique practice" tune was Sally Goodin, and repeated the instructions he was given - "always play it every day."

You skip one day, he says, you can tell.

You skip a couple of days - your friends can tell.

He didn't say what happened after that, but it didn't sound good. :)

Alaskan evening, take II

2011-05-30T01:36:00.004-08:00

Good weekend. :)

Friday I got home early enough to do a woodswalk before it got too late. I brought along the Little Red Book which I've been picking through on and off this weekend - the first volume of Livy's history of Rome. I've just wrapped up the pre-Republic monarchic period - it's odd to think of Rome as young frontiering culture, all full of boisterous excitement and energy, but it was. A curious time.

It's also not hard to see where our Founders got the notion that it was virtue and the nobility of character that made a people strong.

In one of the lectures I've listened to lately, Professor Noble describes a Scholastic/Humanist era writer*, who had hoped that a people steeped in the deeds of the great characters of antiquity would come to emulate them.

I can't help but think he was right. Looking at our Founders and their writings, the influence is striking.

Defeat a monarchy, build a Republic... one rat maze of rewards and punishments modeled on the older - given the constancy of human nature, should it a surprise we face so many of the same problems?

-----------

Saturday we finished that outdoor oven - or at least got it closed up. We dragged in one of the guys from another group on the field, and the four of us squished mud and straw for hours. Once again - the work is in preparing the parts, not in the assmbly. Lesson learned - Build the oven entrance first. Trying to adapt to the various courses of brick after the fact is a pain in the butt. It still needs the insulating layer of mud over the top, but the base of it's done:

The conversation was likewise awesome - more Hippocrates and Galen and Aurelius and and and.. I so need to find a Classics professor to chat with so this swimming mass of lectures and reading can come into some kind of order.

-----------

Sunday, while doing housework and doing some sewing (more on that soon), I let some of Prarie Wolf's videos play in the background. Particularly "Naked into the Wilderness" and "Primitive Shelters." Major lessons learned or reinforced:

Teamwork, teamwork, teamwork. A small band of folks that can get on well together makes everything easier. Loup talked about this not long ago. The friends you have make a world of difference.

Yeah, I feel pretty lucky on that front, by the way. :)
How to open up a fresh spring in a swampy area,so as to get fresh water. I so need to find a spot to try this up here soon. Also, I can't help but wonder how many of those mystic wells in old Britain were improved by some Neolithic (or earlier!) hand in a time now past all memory.
After a heavy rain, all is not lost on the fire front. Crack open a larger piece of wood to get to a part that may not have been soaked through.
Thatch roofs will let smoke out through the thatching, though it holds it up a bit. A high roof lets that smoke collect well above head height, so it doesn't bother anyone in the home. All of a sudden those high-roofed old Irish cottages make sense - the pattern must predate chimneys and hearths, I'm thinking.

About dinner time, Miss D comes rolling up with SWAT Guy (is this town cool or what?) - and after chatting a bit we go out for dinner. I've et like hardly a thing all day, so it's hamburger time.

SO noms.

On a whim we go to check on that Devil's Club we saw on our last outing. Most of it looks to have been picked over, but we got a few pieces, along with some spruce tips for tea. Also a chunk of that horse-hoof looking tree fungus to try out as tinder. Thanks Loup!

We also saw those fiddleheads were starting to grow tall. It's always cool to have a regular spot to come back to over and over, and watch how it changes through the weeks. Lots of moose-munched browse this time!

Oh yeah, the Devil's Club? It's going into chocolate. :)

======================
* I fear I forget his name, I'll update this post when I come across it again

Edit - found it!!

Guarino da Verona

"..Guarino had a kind of a deep faith in the idea that if people read and read and read again Classical literature they would almost as if by habit emulate the values they found there. It's as if this literature and the values that permeated it would permeate the character and quality of individual people They would become like the people about whom they read... "
Disc 21, Track 10.
Prof. Thomas Noble, The Foundations of Western Civilization

I can't recommend Professor Noble's "Foundations of Western Civ" class highly enough. He is a superb communicator and really brings the long legacy to life.

City lights

2011-05-26T01:37:00.001-08:00

The water is warm on our hands.

"I've done this before," she laughs.

I can imagine. The chore of mixing clay from the inlet with straw into a squishy muddy daub would have been torture in cold water, especially as the Alaska evening drew on. There are three of us working in the evening light, preparing a brick oven for her wood-fired baking demonstration coming up. It's some time after nine, and the sky is still bright. A beautiful soft blue, with a few clouds streaked across the northern sky.

We're in town proper still.. not the center of town, but a commercial district nonetheless. However, someone had seen a young bear sniffing about the camp at one point during the week.And where kiddo is, momma might not be far behind.

Anchorage is a funny place.

We live alongside each other, the city and the wild. Usually without more incident than a moose darting across the traffic corridors.

Usually.

Our companion is wearing a pistol.

These are good companions - the work goes swiftly as the conversation meanders from local gossip to medieval surgery.Yes, people were just as gadget happy six hundred years ago. No, you wouldn't have wanted to be on the receiving end of those gadgets. (ouch!)

By midnight, we've mixed a good batch of daub and gotten the first few courses laid. There will be time enough to finish it soon.

The bread is gonna be extra good this year I think.

Cultural marker

2011-05-24T07:55:00.000-08:00

On the one hand, I'm a little surprised that at the coffee place w/Paul last Saturday, for the first time ever that I can recall, amongst all the generally-leftish flyers and posters and books and newsletters one expects at a coffee shop, there was a little twelve-page newsletter entirely based on Randian Objectism.

Hunh.
Sign of the times I guess.

.....though I'd probably feel better about that if it didn't have an ad for a book on how to run one's love life "inspired by the ideas of Ayn Rand."

Fiddles of the Forest

2011-05-21T01:13:00.002-08:00

So Miss D is back in town to polish up her baby and take it home.

In the mean time, her friends up here get to waylay her for company, and tonight after work - Goat Coffee! As we're sitting and chatting, she up and says "I have a present for you."

Present?! *hop hop*

And out of her awesomely cool canvas Cessna airplane bag, she pulls a plastic grocery bag of...

little...curled...up..plant....things.

"Fiddle heads!" she says. "Good eating!"

And so the conversation turns to foraging for wild foods.

Now here is where I stop for a moment to explain one of the reasons I love Miss D so very much. She is almost always up for a neat adventure.

"Cool! Let's go do it now!"

"Well it is still gonna be light for hours...."

A bit of route planning, and soon enough we're tromping along the moose paths through Undisclosed Location.

"So start by looking for this," she says, "and track it back to its source, and you'll see..."

The lesson goes on bit by bit, some piece of identification advice or herbalism lore intermixed with gabbing about airplanes and flying weather and sweethearts and gossip and whatallelse.

The human mind is an interesting thing. At first I could look out over the tangle of green and brown, not seeing a thing and knowing I must be looking right past the little things. Within an hour or so of hunting and chatting, your eyes start being drawn to where you just know they'll be. This curve of the land, that stump, in the sun at such and such a way.... and presto! There they were!

Neat!

No wonder she finds this fun. :)

Eventually the day starts to wear on - though it doesn't look like home time yet, we know it's starting to get late. Time for home!

I'd been planning on saving our little catch, but by the time I get back I realize I actually am getting kind of hungry, so - no time like the present!

Upend the bag, and go to town.

Oh - in case you're wondering why they're called fiddle heads -

I quickly see what Miss D was talking about - there is a sweet spot in their development. Too young and the "paper" doesn't easily rub off the stalk. Too old and...well, we didn't get any of those, but she says they're kinda nasty.

Anyhow - preparation.

The first part was getting the "paper" off. Miss D said the best way was to rinse them and just rub them clean - I ended up just floating the mess of fiddleheads in a pot and cleaning them that way.

Once that was done, I gave them a quick boil, and stir-fried them up with a tomato in the last of my sesame oil.

I like!

They definately taste.... wilder than green beans. But good.

Thanks for the trip Miss D!

Now... what's out there next? :)

Givin' the Yankees their due

2011-05-19T09:58:00.000-08:00

I know I've pushed Albion's Seed before, but I'm doing it again. It remains the singularly most comprehensive yet digestible book I've yet come across for puzzling out what made us who we are.

So, apropros of nothing, here's another little distinction that came to mind of late.

See, the founding lights of the New England colonies back once upon a time were the religious nutjobs that wouldn't shut up - a goodly number of them also being also the "yuppies" of their day. Craftsmen and professionals, sometimes quite well educated - but of no great means or estate.

Contrariwise, the grand folks in the Chesapeake and points south tended to be of the noble caste - younger sons that wouldn't inherit the family estate and so forth. They uprooted for America so as to continue the grand life of nobility on fresh soil.

So ... yeah. It's a gross generalization, but broadly speaking the religious nutjob rabidly dour Puritan Roundheads went north and the Royalist Cavaliers went south. The latter even made a point of importing people from Africa so as to have the requisite number of forelock tuggers and ego polishers so as to befit their proper station.*

Fast forward a century or two, and amongst the other...um.... highlights of the southern aristocratic class comes this pleasant distinction from their northern neighbors - the entitlement of nobility.

The diaries and commonplace books of Anglo-American gentlemen often recorded a complaisant and even jocular attitude toward rape that differed very much from prevailing mores in Puritan New England. The founders of New England made rape a hanging crime. In the courts of the Chesapeake colonies, it was sometimes punished less severely that petty theft..."
Albion's Seed, p. 304

In that odd time between the Founding and the Civil War, deTouqueville wrote his meditations on the comparative natures of an aristocracy as opposed to democracy. In that era, the unquestioned superiority of the one over the other was hardly the received wisdom it had become in our own era. The defenders of the former - with some justification, it must be said - maintained that an aristocracy allowed the cultivation and full flourishing of the higher arts in a way democracy did not. It allowed the grooming of people to handle the important affairs of the body politic from birth - a caste dedicated to the mind. It allowed the best to serve for the good of all.

At least, that was the idea.

Those dour Calvinists up yonder tended to be a bit less harder to convince that man's nature was so easily groomed into paternalistic love - and harder still to restrain from its base nature, given the opportunity to treat human beings as chattel.

They held I think that there is nothing quite so perverting to the human soul, so appealing to our worst natures, so easily setting us up to consume the lives of others and cripple ourselves - as to be one of the Only Ones.

Of course, a New Englander would probably put all that much more succintly. Something like..oh....

.... Rope!

;)

=============
*That's right - while he may have been stretching the question by laying the mess at George's feet, ol' TJ wasn't entirely offbase blaming the crown when he tried to slip that little anti-slavery charge into the DoI. Fischer also mentions that in the early days the enslavers made a decent effort to teach the enslavees how to act like properly subservient English peasants, down to clothes and speech patterns.

yawn

2011-05-19T03:10:00.001-08:00

.. back in after dozing a few hours outside.

I'd done a couple hours of fiddle practice, was terribly tired, and figured "nothing like being about ready to drop off anyway to make the night comfy" - so I picked up my blankie and a piece of canvas and trotted out to the back yard.

So far... just flopping outside with nothing more than that is tolerably comfy, even up here. But I'm seeing why bedmaking - and timing - is so important. Mostly spring blooms triggering a bit of asthma, along with a hard spot of ground making it hard to breathe. So next time, bring medicine. And maybe gather a few boughs to soften the spot.

Still... not terrible. Slept a couple hours anyhow. I'll work up to making it to morning some not-work-night soon, wussy ol' me. :)

After a nice 2AM bath, I poked through Aurelius' Meditations some more - it makes a wonderful bathroom book, being just little bits of ol' man HardKnocks giving you a sentence or two at a time.

What's most curious from a vantage point on the far side of almost two thousand years of Christendom from a pagan Roman is how many much of the... I want to say "zeitgeist" of what became Christian thought was very much in the cultural water already. Forbearance, forgiveness... all those Sunday School virtues - sometimes expressed in nearly the same language - coming from a man who did his share of supressing the early Church is worth reading for a dose of humility.

I don't expect to be jumping on the Sol Invictus bandwagon anytime soon, but I'll not pretend the ground wasn't well watered by the time Jerusalem arrived in Rome.

On the other hand, there is that most striking of differences - there is no promise of a Happily Ever After. The term "stoic" is well deserved. Paraphrasing from tonight's bit -

"Hey, why complain? God made you strong enough to handle whatever you have to bear. And if He didn't, well... it won't be a problem after it kills you, now will it?"

whoof. They made 'em tough in those days.

*yawn*

time for the comfy bed. :)

Memory lane.

2011-05-15T23:44:00.025-08:00

It's the couple blocks in between that's odd.

My little cottage is filled with books and instruments and quaint little toys - not far away, a little patch of forest on the edge of town stands calm and inviting. And in between - a gas station, a restaurant - kids dressed in what looks to my eye like SoCal gangland chic. Side by side, we all live in different worlds. What a time and place this is.

The calm comes back as I duck into the trees, abandoning the paths for the little game trails. There's not much undergrowth, so the walking's easy.

Note to self - look up what kind of mushroom that is on the trees, they are all over...

A friend of mine has excitedly called to tell me of her neighbor in the woodlands, offering to rent a plot there for... well frankly an incredibly low rent. It would mean digging in and going primitive for a season, but I could do that, I think. It wouldn't be my first choice for my next step into the future, but it is an idea with its own charm, and she'd make a good neighbor.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood..."

Is it true that every possible outcome exists somewhere?

That in some distant whispered corner of reality I'm heaving a tired kiddo onto my hip, in another I'm some long forgotten traffic fatality - and here in the middle, alone in the woods, I'm passing by a stand of subarctic conifer? These trees here would make nice lodgepoles...

"... as way leads on to way."

I come upon a poor birch, viciously girdled, and look up - I'm a little surprised to see it coming into bud right alongside its neighbors. Good, I think.. not so deep... still alive.

I continue my walk through the little stretch of forest, and find several more likewise cut - a girdle a foot or two high, and a long vertical gash. Someone collecting the sap for syrup, I assume.

Birch syrup.. milk, and fresh-fallen powder... the best snow ice cream you'll ever have.

But the trees look savaged.

...Everything costs.

I can't find my little evergreen bough nest of last week, but do come across the remains of an old fire. This year's already? It doesn't look like it's spent a season under the snow - but the summer's encampment of human cast-offs hasn't moved in yet. Curious.

Moving on, I shift the weight of my bedroll on my shoulder. I still don't intend to stay here myself, but it's a nice easy walk to get used to the weight and feel for what works. My meal bag rides alongside a leather pouch strapped over one shoulder, and my bedroll rides over the other. It's comfortable enough, but I feel rather garish, my breasts framed between the two crossed straps. At least I've my shawl over it, I find myself thinking .. and maybe Loup was right about a knapsack. The mental catalog of evaluations goes on for a bit..

..I need to replace that buckle on my pouch strap with a lace, or just sew it. I don't think I'll be adjusting it, and there's no reason leaving something there to gall me or wear the leather , and ...

Ah! A place to stop.

I settle in against a little rise in the earth. After sitting a while, I pull out my old wooden recorder. It was a gift ages ago from my grandmother.. once upon a time you could read "Made in West Germany" right above the thumbhole, but that wore away years ago. I treasured it in my "all things medieval and fantasy" phase once upon a time. The SCA romance had faded before I even left my middle school years, and my grandmother herself has since passed on - but that recorder has been a constant companion whereever I've moved. In hard times especially, it's always been a comfort.

For a moment, I was back in the morning mists by the lake at college, off near the patch of woods I called home in those distant years. I was entranced with R Carlos Nakai at the time, as I remember - and not being able to afford a real native flute to play with, I just learned to mimic the sound with what I had.

... it works much better than you'd think.

Maybe I should make a little case for this, I think. It's nice to have with me.

Ah! The mosquitoes have woken up. Our state bird come out to play - Ouch!

I wasn't much in a reading mood anyhow, so I start to pick up for home. I pass another little abandoned firepit on my way back out - this one frightfully amateurish. Amazing how even a short season of fireside cooking makes such things stand out. Airplanes and cookpots, I've learned so much here.

Ahead, I see the light of the world outside.

I emerge from the canopy, and remember another exit from another wall of trees - years ago and hundreds of miles away. I was steps behind my first teacher of the old ways, wandering the north Idaho woods. Sometimes he let me take respite in those hills with just his sweet ladydog for company and a called warning to look out for bears. This time he was leading the way himself, his old flintlock riding easy in his hand.

Across the little clearing, my dear hippy friend looked up. She'd been waiting for us to get back, resting near the house. I remember her describing us like a scene from film, shadowy figures breaking from the cover of trees.

Is that always what it looks like? A normal homecoming shaped into something archetypal, just by virtue of the framing? Or are some moments just... special that way?

It's been a long time since those Idaho woods. Longer still since that Southern lake.

Lots of faces between then and now. Lots of friends made, lots of country seen, lots learned. Laughter and tears.

You play gypsy enough in one lifetime, and you get to where you can hear the wind when it calls. Cool on your face, like a promised rain moving in.

I can't say as when. Or where.
Too many roads in this little wood to say for certain sure.

But those little leaves are starting to flutter.

Lay me down

2011-05-13T21:48:00.003-08:00

Mark Thompson at Bloggin fae the 'Burn just put up a post on Settle Beds. And I knew I'd seen one before....

Last summer my father and I had the chance to visit the Frontier Culture Museum in Staunton Virgina, where they have not only restored American cabins, but bits of our respective heritage countries shipped over as well!

As homey as the 1820's farmhouse was, I have to admit falling in love with the Ulster farm. It was shipped over here, reassembled, and fitted out the way it was once upon a time - to include the chickens!

(Don't worry too much guys - I think you have one of our old houses to. Lordy, the 30th c. archeologists are going to have fits!)

So anyhow - Settle Beds. Really neat little things - sort of the hide-away guest beds of once upon a time, as our guides explained. We didn't get a chance to see the one they had open though, like the one Mark found:

image from Mark's site - thank you!

hunh... neat!
.. though now I'm wondering if they were used as playpens as well. It seems the perfect place to set a ~~wee bairn~~ l'il rugrat or two in to keep out of trouble while you're working at the hearth. Mark, any idea?

Now that wasn't the only bed of course - there was a another set up right by the hearth - I'm afraid I can't recall if it was meant for granny or mom and dad -

Likewise, in the back room by the loom was another bed - I want to say they figured for an elder son or hired hand. All of these beds look to be the standard frame and rope construction that goes back ages.

Someone, of course, will always find the best place in the house:

Food Quiver, Take II

2011-05-11T01:46:00.000-08:00

So after sitting with my last go round making a victuals carrying pouch, I decided I'd entirely missed the point. It was just way too big. Don't get me wrong, it's still something I'd be quite happy to toss in with the other goodies on a trip to Valdez as a "just in case" thing, but for a quick walk of a day or so it started to seem overkill.

So back to the original idea - a long pouch about 4x14 or so, with a strap on either end. Mr Baker spends some time on the construction on his Longhunter Series (vol III) [buy][rent], and I followed a similar idea, albeit a little more "seamstressy" what with a proper lining and cleaner stitching.

First, a simple size comparison:

Top is the new bag, bottom the abbreviated "snap sack," mostly filled at the moment with dried peas and rice. Both are made from rough natural linen shells, with a lighter linen pillow ticking lining, flat felled together. (Note - start sewing at the bottom, and do the flat fell seam as you move up, otherwise you'll never have room to work way down in the bottom once the first backstitch is done to the rim. No, don't ask how I know this. :p)

For the new bag, I used some strips of leather I had left over from a previous project, treated simply with that same neatsfoot oil and beeswax mix. I'm really starting to like that approach!

The tail end I finished more or less as Mr. Baker did, albeit with a bit more quilting to tidy it up, and since the leather was comparatively thin a second piece "sandwiching" the fabric tail. I imagine back in the day if someone had made something similar they'd have used an old piece of bridle or rein or other harness-weight leather, but I used what I had, and honestly rather like the lighter weight.

Presently it just ties around the waist (or wherever). Eventually I might find a little buckle for it, but for now it works just fine as is. As I mentioned though, with a blanket roll tossed over the shoulder it tends to be forced down,so I think next time out I'll wear it cross-ways.

Mr. Baker didn't go into how he secured the top so as to prevent its pulling out under use, but this is how I tackled the problem - I tacked a folded-up pad of linen inside the mouth of the pouch, and the stitches holding the strap on go all the way though it - effectively through five layers of fabric (the outer body, the liner, and the rolled under edges of the pad.)

You'll also see a folded up linen napkin down in there. That's partially to serve as a bit of padding to make sure the corn meal don't start running out the edges once it's all tied up, but it's also nice to have in its own right. I might one day need to find a red and white checked kerchief instead, so I can have a proper tablecloth. :)

On the back, I left a channel in my stitching to run a leather tie through - this just ties around the mouth of the bag a few times to keep everything tied up. If there's a failure point, this is it - once this weight of leather gets that thin it can snap. I prolly should at least have a spare tie, or just braid a cord of some kind. The other bag uses linen "apron string" ties, which while not as pretty looking are probably sturdier.

Tucked in under that folded up kerchief linen is a small wooden spoon, just a few inches long so as to not be a bother* - you don't even notice it when everything is packed up. The bag is mostly full of ~~polenta~~ yaller grits. Since of late that's my normal breakfast, it's fair homey. Not to mention if I'm lazy about getting to the grocery store, having several days of breakfast hanging decoratively on the wall is nice to have.

I'm thinking the next step is to try drying out some cheese to stir into the mix, along with some salt and such. Something that will melt into a bit of fat when it's boiled, but not be prone to spoilage if it sits for a while. It wouldn't be quite the same thing as grits dripping with fresh butter, salt, and pepper, but it'd help**

Oh - did I say several days of breakfasts? Funny thing, yes - for such a little bag, it holds a surprising amount of victuals:

#include Williamsburg tavern joke. ;)

Oh, and fair warning- this is nice and rustic and old-timey, but farby as all heck. Use with discretion, and only if you don't mind the proper folk pointing and laughing. Still it seems fun to play with a bit and see how it works. :p

=====================
* Presently just a whitewood one from a sutler house. One of these days I need to find a friend to make me one from fruitwood I think. Pretties are good, but pretties made by friends are better. It's like having company whereever you go!

** I hear tell some heathens take sugar in their grits. That's an abomination unto the Lord, I'm telling you. It's in the King James somewhere. Really.

Backyard ramble

2011-05-08T22:32:00.001-08:00

In case a didn't mention it, the six months of "outside is painfully cold" tend to make at least those of us transplants awful stir crazy come spring. I'd already been out a bit this morning, but I was itching to be outside a bit before dinner. On a whim I picked up my blanket roll, leather satchel, and meal bag before heading out the door. I'm still a month or so out from my first real overnight with old-timey stuff, but I thought I'd at least see how everything carried while I was close to home before actually trying it somewhere it mattered.

Woobie was surprisingly comfy, settling into the curve of my lower back, all soft and fuzzy. Everything else was okay, but the meal bag tied bumroll-style around my hips was getting shoved down by the blanket and satchel. That's gonna take some adjustment I think.

The walk itself was kinda neat - normally on evening walks I'll stick to the regular trails, but this time I just cut into the woods themselves to see what was what. It was a good time of year for it - the weather's warmed up enough to be cool but comfortable, and yet the place hadn't yet filled up with mosquitos or the now-regular seasonal homeless camp. Ugh.

Anyhow, a couple game trails meander through the woods, so I was mostly just exploring those. I saw a bit of fresh moose poop, and - oddly enough - in a couple spots, dead center of the trail - a shiny new 1" hex nut. Weird, hunh? I figure maybe a raven though "ooh shiny!" and stole them, but you never know. Maybe the robots were playing Hansel and Gretel after all. ;)

I didn't intend to spend the night, but wanted to sharpen my eye for places that would be good for a stay. The birch and evergreen are all too narrow around here for a fallen tree to make a good windbreak, but every now and again you'll come across a nice rise in the earth. Or - as luck would have it - I came across a pile of pine boughs left over from trail clearing the city had done.

Neat!

It wasn't a place I'd spend the night it (city park and strangers and all after all) - but it was a dandy place to lay out my shawl and settle in with a book for a while. I'm leaning back against the bedroll, looking around at the trees and am starting to think about heading back when .... God I love the early 21st century ... in the middle of all these Alaska woods my telephone rings.

The next thing I know I'm cuddled up in my woobie, laying on the pine boughs - lazily watching tree tops sway back and forth in the evening breeze. There's a brief spit of not-quite-rain, and I cuddle in deeper. The birds have settled in for the night, and a single moth flutters about overhead.

What a world - when you can be settled into wild space, surrounded somewhere in the dusky gloom by moose and whatallelse - all in the nominal borders of a city, and having a conversation with a friend hundreds of miles away.

What a curious juncture of time we find ourselves in.

Eventually we say our goodbyes, and I gather myself for the walk back through the soft gloom to a late dinner. The blanket roll nestles against my hip again as I find the trail back home.

These woods are starting to feel different, I found myself thinking. I don't know whether it was the comfortable bough bed, the pleasant conversation, or if just sticking to the very basics just forces you to watch out for those homey spots along the way, but for whatever reason, it felt surprisingly like ..well... home. It was nice. A good evening.

.... of course, now it's time for a bit of hot stir fry and a bath. I don't feel like trading in a proper home yet. :p

Anchorage Ramblings

2011-05-07T17:40:00.003-08:00

Pretty pleasant day all things considered. Friends were off on their own errands happy and mournful*, so it was a day on my lonesome. One I really needed, I think.

This last couple weeks have had Anchorageites out in full force, now that it's finally blue skies and outside weather. One of the curious juxtapositions in town you'll find in town is that our one surviving big chain bookstore is right next to a gym. Makes for a fun combination.

Anyhow, driving into town proper for coffee afternoon I saw a tent up in their parking lot, along with a couple Humvees and a big inflatable National Guard dog. "Hrm, this should be interesting," I think, deciding on a whim to stop in and see what the fuss is.

Turns out there was a contest the gym is putting on. Some of their guys are heaving weighted kegs to a plywood shelf in a contest of strength, each apparently heaver than the last. "That heaviest keg is 270 pounds, just so you know.." says the sweet-faced blonde MC.

"Make [your girl] proud!" she yells, as the crown cheers on a buff young man straining to pull the heavy keg onto the rack. He lifts every one, and the crown gives him a yell and applause. Grinning, he pulls off his weight belt, going to chat with the other men waiting their turn.

It was just so delightfully human. Beautiful. :)

After that little stop and some coffee, it was off to the greenbelt.

If you ever fly into Anchorage, you may get to see an interesting little spit of land between the Int'l airport runways and the inlet. Once upon a time there were houses and such there - that was, until the earthquake.

A goodly part of a neighborhood fell into the sea, and was never rebuilt. Today it's a park. It's a surreal landscape even now - forty-odd years have weathered the rent earth into the strangest ridges and grooves, as if some giant fourth grader had just reached down and just pinched it into being. The hollows have filled up a bit at the bottom with water, and the ridges have faint paths stamped into them here and there where creatures on four legs and two have tromped over the weird landscape. Moose pellets sit in piles here and there, and as I settle in, over one little branch I find a single blonde hair. Hrmm.. interesting. :)

I sit with a book of rhetoric and my tinwhistle, every now and again pulling out an old rusty tune, trying to remember this piece or that. Cessnas and the occasional Cub zoom by barely a hundred yards overhead every now and again to break the solitude.

Eventually it was time to head home, and the few tasks I'd promised myself I'd do that evening.

So yeah... good Saturday I think. Hope y'alls was well.

=============

*If you've not spared a prayer for Paul and his family, I'd sure he'd appreciate it. :(

off to the races...

2011-04-29T13:05:00.003-08:00

For Paul -

Government by Kings was first introduced into the world by the Heathens, from whom the children of Israel copied the custom. It was the most prosperous invention of the Devil ever set on foot for the promotion of idolatry. The Heathens paid divine honours to their deceased Kings, and the Christian World hath improved in the plan by doing the same to their living ones.

Thomas Paine, Common Sense. p.13

happy weekend.

Fiddlin' talk...

2011-04-28T09:03:00.003-08:00

Every now and again a neat article is reprinted in Appalachian History -

The language is all high-fancy "not quite over Victoria" early 20th c, but it's still a neat look -

During the 1870s, William Murphy of Greenville, S. C., wandered through these mountains making music every day. He, like Stephen Foster, was regarded as a half-vagabond, but he was tolerated for the pleasure his enchanted violin gave whenever he drew his magic bow across its strings....

More immediately though, it's time to stop looking backwards and enjoy today for a bit. Time for a long weekend in our Alaskan backyard! :)

Later, y'all.

Woobie

2011-04-24T18:21:00.013-08:00

So I mentioned finding a blanket not long back to try out the whole old-time camping thing with, right? Well I finally managed to make a tumpline for it last week. Step by step I'm slowly getting all the goodies together.

Simple enough even I can manage it, working mostly from an article here and related stuff online. The leather is plain ol' tooling leather I had left as scrap from... some project or another - treated oldschool style with a mix of neatsfoot oil and beeswax.

First lay the inner cords across the tail end of the folded blankie...

.. rolled into a sausage and tied with extra straps...

.. then the two ends of the inner straps thread through the holes of the keeper on the far side. And...

Voila! One snuggly woobie, ready for carrying (or tossing in the jeep for a road trip.. it's a LONG way between towns up here).

I know it's not as fancy as Loup does it, but I confess to consciously recapitulating the early stages of what those guys who've been doing this old-time woodswalking for the last twenty years used to do.

This more romantic - if less practical - way is kind of appealing, I have to admit. I reckon I'll find out soon enough why these went out of fashion.

Oh, speaking of romantic -

I know, incurable. :p

DAR

2011-04-19T17:49:00.006-08:00

Some of you may remember this scene -

It should probably come as no surprise that once upon a time something very similar happened*.

... excepting that at least on this occasion, it was from a house right along Battle Road.

... and it was a chick.

There was a remarkable Heroine, who stood at an House Door firing at the Kings Troops; there being Men within who loaded Guns for her to fire. She was desired to withdraw, but she answered, only by Insults from her own Mouth, & by Balls from the Mouths of her Muskets. This brought on her own Death, & the Deaths of those who were within Doors.

"Origin and Progress of the American Rebellion", Peter Oliver

So um Tams.... family of your'n? :p

==============
*actually, I'm sure it happened lots of times, arms of the period being what they were. But this story is still an interesting example.

By the way - Bellesiles, you're still a putz.

Produce of the Field

2011-04-18T22:52:00.011-08:00

Once upon a time in the not so very distant past, a dear friend was kind enough to take me on a tour of a very special place.

He was more patient than I had any right to expect, not raising a bit of complaint as some new sight or another would catch my eye, and I'd scamper off to go get a closer look. Then I caught sight of this scene, and it was irresistible.

This was it. This, here.

It doesn't look like much, does it? I was reminded of nothing so much as a Robert Frost poem, the low line of rock receding into the distance. I hunkered down close, smelling the cool stone and peered over the edge.

I sense movement to the side, and look up to see my guide smiling at me from across the brush I'd hopped over. I grin back - and raise my arms to mimic the weight of a musket at my shoulder. Sighting down that imaginary barrel, I imagine dirt where now is asphalt. Scarlet wool and buff leather and sulpher-tinged air instead of the crisp air and passing cars.

.. for that's where we were.

Battle Road, they call it.

Two hundred thirty six years ago, that last bridge had been crossed. We had raised our hand against our Sovereign. That final irrevocable step was taken.

This was no mob in the streets, some civil offense for a courthouse trial. No few criminals for the gibbet. This was a road filling up with armed men, firing as a body on the uniform that scarcely a generation ago had meant safety, and honour, and the defense of our British liberties.

For a bit of perspective.... there is now less time separating us from 9/11, than there was between the end of that last great war with France in 1763, and 1770 - when the hated lobsterbacks opened fire in Boston.

Things had deteriorated that quickly, and that completely.

Now, in 1775, that "Clash of Resounding Arms" that Patrick Henry had recently only prophesied would indeed soon by carried on the winds south to Virginia.

But for now, this was a Yankee fight.

On the drive home, my host repeated a story he had heard growing up, wherin a southern planter had met a Yankee farmer. This is butchered I'm sure, but I recall the gist of it.

"This soil, it's so thin, and the weather so chill - surely you can't manage a large plantation here."

"Nope"

"And these stones you're constantly pulling from the earth just to plow - you must be spend half your time carting rock."

"Yep."

"And your season must be so short. Tell me - what is it exactly that you grow here in these fields?"

".... Men."

Y'all are an interesting bunch up yonder.
(Well, down yonder now I guess. :p )

Sweet tea.

2011-04-15T22:36:00.011-08:00

Via a message from Paul, Arctic Patriot has a Request for Perspective.

I would like to once again ask for your help and input. This goes out primarily to those who live in the former CSA...
What is it like? Really?

What is it like what is is like to have met, been defeated by, and then to have been razed by a relentless, materially superior enemy that is interested only in obtaining the submission of its foes?

What is it like to be "part of the good 'ole US of A, when you know that the "U" was obtained only after your kinsmen and ancestors were murdered to make it so? After the US government applied "scorched earth" to your lands in a manner that would've made any despoiler throughout history proud?

...

What is it like to be demonized and villified in the way that you have been by the US government?

I cannot imagine.

I say I'm a Southerner in spirit, but I'm not presumptuous enough to pretend I can really understand the way you do. I'm sure many from the former CSA don't give it a second thought. I know for a fact that many do.

I don't care much for the official version. Help me learn your story, if you would.

Hrmm...

Well first, a recap of my background.
I was born in Dixie, grew up in the mountain south, and at least from a heritage standpoint self-identify as Southern Appalachian. My father, while never a reenactor or professional historian, was a Civil War nut as a boy and we all got a lot of stories growing up. I remember on my high school exam writing out the lyrics to both the CSA and USA versions of "Battle Cry of Freedom" on the back, burned into my memory from the Johnny Horton tapes he often played in the car.

The past was always pretty close you might say.

So that's that.

Second, let's get the obvious off the table.
Among the dead, there are plenty of Cherokee moms and African dads with their own bones to pick from the other side of the table. I'll not deny them their dignity by saying they weren't done wrong. They were. So were the people their ancestors whooped on in their time. Plenty of evil in this ol' world to go around.

So those we hurt have their stories, but I don't think they're mine to tell. So I'll leave those tales with those to a right to them, and speak to what I've been given.

Now. So.
What's it like growing up Southern a century and change after the Late Unpleasantness?

First, the brutal part of it. When and where I grew up, the following sentiment a previous poster left was not uncommon, though I don't think I'd go so far as to say it really haunted daily life for most people. -

And here's what's sadly ironic.

My ancestors, the poor whites of the mountain South, mostly favored the Union and fought for the Union during The Civil War in large numbers.

There was no reason for my ancestors to fight and die to preserve an aristocratic class of landed gentry that kept my people poor by using slaves instead of hiring employees.

Hell, some of my ancestors freakin' created West Virginia when they seceded from Virginia after Virginia seceded from the Union.

But you arrogant, ignorant Damn Yankees are so damn arrogant and ignorant and smugly superior that not many groups of Southerners hate you all more than those of us in the mountain South, whose ancestors probably favored the Union back then.

150 years of oppression and hate and derision aimed at us will cause that, you know?

Anon, 7:59PM

I'd be lying if I didn't say my uncensored gut reaction on a bad day isn't fair similar, even if I try to be all polite and remember that whole "do unto others" thing.

There's folk from north of the Mason-Dixon I truly like to no end, but to my mind, "Yankee" still carries the connotation of "smug bastard just aching to beat you to death with the beam in his eye for the sake of his perfect world, then count himself righteous for doing it."

I don't like the sight of Yankee blue.

HOWEVER

It is for the dead to bury the dead.

There is not a Yankee alive that killed a kinsman of mine, or burned a Southern farm, or starved out a Southern family. It is finished, it is done, and all have gone to their rest.

So yeah, I might still keep a momento or two about the house. I'll definitely smile and wave at the proud old gentleman riding by in gray and gold, and seeing an underfed teenage kid in butternut clutching an old Enfield just about melts my heart. Heck, I'll even sing "Good ol' Rebel" now and again, bitter and dire as it is.

The history of my old homeland is important to me because it's a part of me - it's one little thread of that great tapestry, that piece that l was entrusted with. And it's a pretty rich one to have. I like it. I treasure it.

But if I'm not allowed to bear a grudge against the living, I sure ain't gonna bear one against the dead. There's more than enough hatred in this world I don't need to be adding to it for the sake of wrongs done a century before I was born.

it is finished

... well, at least till round two. ;)

Reflections on the day

2011-04-13T08:54:00.003-08:00

... The last week or so for some reason the 150th has been gnawing at me.

What love I have for our nation's story is undoubtedly very much the product of my father. He was a great Civil War student, and some of my fondest memories of growing up are being all cuddled up with family watching the Ken Burns special on TV, or getting carted off to this cow pasture or that and shivering to feel the ghosts march across the grass.

Anyhow, the last week or two I've come repeatedly across one reminder or another of the period - here's a couple interesting podcasts about Lincoln I'll recommend* -

Lincoln on Slavery, Race, and Civil Liberties, Michael Burlingame
Part One
Part Two

It'a a much more balanced impression than the American Lenin flavor of states rights apologia, but nonetheless a journey. Good thing to have playing while you go about your day if you can.

At about the same time, I came across this jaunty tune.

Now, I love the music, but the fourth verse has haunted me since I first heard it.

And if our southern cause is lost
and southern rights denied us
we'll be ground beneath the tyrant's heel
for our demands of justice
for our demands of justice
We'll be ground beneath the tyrants heel
for our demands of justice

To paraphrase the old saw.... when you're feeling put upon by the Almighty.... never demand justice.

*shiver*

Addendum... I know I poke my own sacred cows sometimes, but to defuse the "I love it so I'll always talk about how bad we are" syndrome - I grew up seeing the rebel battle flag a flyin' everywhere, and if you put me, even the me of TODAY, right back in 1861, I'd still - not without regrets - go make my home amongst the gray.

If a disagreement's bad enough for folk to start shootin' at each other, it's fair to say both sides may have a point. But ultimately..

" ... because you're down here Billy..."

=======================
*(As an aside, the whole array of American history podcasts on offer is amazing. Sometimes the sound quality is low, being recorded in a classroom environment, but they very much reward casual listening).

It's all fun and games...

2011-04-12T19:28:00.003-08:00

... till the talkin' stops.

Century and a half.. has it been so long?

... sleep well boys. :(

Friends like these.

2011-04-07T09:43:00.007-08:00

To continue with the trekking meanderings - as I slowly trade out one piece of modern backcountry gear or another for its antiquated counterpart, a few themes keep recurring -

Sustainability - the crude could stop coming out of the ground tomorrow, and people - well, what people were left - would still be painting oilcloth and knitting wool socks for centuries to come. Try that with Goretex and Vibram.

Human scale - with a couple exceptions, most all of it can be fabricated oneself with a minimum of tools - even the tools to make the tools are a bare step or two away from raw trees and rocks.

Simplicity - There just isn't a toy for every little need. Some stuff is improvised on an ad hoc basis - many many others dispensed with entirely.

It really is a fascinating hobby - most important I think for how it focuses the mind on just how little is necessary to live... and how much is required for our lives as we know them.

Down in Oz, Loup is working on an interesting series of posts [one two three four] tying together the living history side of things with the whole ~~survivalist~~... ~~preparedness~~ ... whatever it's being called now.

It really does seem to scratch some of the same itch I think - I doubt there's much coincidence that at least in America the historical hobbies seemed to blossom when we were in the midst of a decades-long ideological conflict that forced us not just to plumb our own national identity, but also face the possibility of it all burning down if the missiles started to fly.

Add to that, well - it was the first generation or two where most folks started living off the farm and getting homesick for it. (Of course, some folks had the good sense to just not leave in the first place. ;) )

All that together, I think it's no surprise that undercurrent of rootedness and self/clannish reliance runs through both cultures.

Now - all that comes with a boatload of caveats. I think in an age of FLIR and radar imagery and whatever else the Better Killing Inc** folks have come up with in the last several decades, the days of encamped Wolverines in the mountains are probably pretty much done. Add to that there's a world of difference between a nice week or three in the bush, and building a new home from the trees.

On a more practical scale though, I can't deny it's a nice cozy feeling having a full larder at home, basics that are easy to move, and standing invitations with friends in several different parts of the country.

It's nice to be useful. :p

... Which brings me back around to Loup's talks, and why the hobby itself has some neat side benefits. You do stuff.... know it in a way you just can't from a book.

Recently in conversation those same Foxfire books came up again - the idea being how useful they'd be if things soured for us in the first world.

Now, all credit due to the folks who said that- they know and have done a heck of a lot more than I ever have. I am but an egg!...

And yet, the old bardic instinct comes back...

Knowledge between pages is useless. Worse than useless, for it leads to false confidence.

It's the knowledge in your head and in your hands what makes the difference.

So keep talkin' y'all. Thanks for the lectures... there is an audience out here on the other side of the lights. ;)

Next on the project list - fiddle bag and shoes!! :)

* One of the more curious splits I've seen amongst those in this hobby is the cultural/political one across timelines of interest. It's hardly a universal, but broadly speaking it seems to me the more right- and libertarian- types tend to gravitate to the post-gun powder era, roughly F&I to just post US Civil War, and the more left of center types to the medieval period. Why that may be is a discussion for another day. :p

** So when's that book coming out, Tams?

Easing into it...

2011-04-06T01:06:00.002-08:00

So when visiting with a friend last weekend, we hit the local junkshop, and I found a very lightly used Whitney blanket. On a whim before bed tonight, I picked the thing up, intending to doze an hour or so in the yard to see what it was like.

And you know what?

... for no ground pad, no tent, no fire (no socks!) - just dozing on the one person-sized spot of bare ground peeking through the (hopefully) last of Alaskan snows this season - that had surprisingly little suckage. Coming inside was less a "thank God" than an "oh, I guess I'd better.. I have work tomorrow and still need to bathe."

Hunh. I might actually manage a walk this summer after all.

This is fun! :)

Private papers...

2011-04-05T08:56:00.005-08:00

".... and I came home with a Foxfire book! The one with bark tanning and banjos!"

"Awesome! I've got a complete set. Funny story about buying them mail order from some lunatic in Idaho who gave a 10% discount for paying "specie metal", so.."

"Wait - is he still a lunatic if the silver you sent him held its value, while the dollars you *would* have sent him have tanked?

...

Shut up, you!

Can you believe that Noah? He insists on being paid in pitch and nails! What a maroon! ...... I hope it's not still raining tomorrow, I want to go to a picnic. :)

.. better to beg forgiveness. ;)

Question for the cooks....

2011-04-04T20:30:00.008-08:00

New toy!!

Cooks with a little spare time to share your expertise - I would very much appreciate your expertise if you have a minute.

If you're in a rush, the question's at the bottom.. feel free to skip to the end. :)

For everyone else, here's the story.

So the most of you I've told that this summer I'm planning to try the whole 18th c.-ish hiking/camping thing. As such, I've been slowly assembling the pieces to try it with.

Enter this. It's ahistoric as all heck, but it was such an interesting idea I wanted to try it:

Essentially, it's a skinny snapsack, meant to carry dried food for the trail. Seems someone in the 16th c. mentioned seeing a native carrying his corn meal in a bag "like a bow case" tied about his waist, and so apparently in the 1990's the "food quiver" had a brief surge of popularity amongst the trekking crowd before being abandoned as a farberism and sold off as junk.

..... but imaginary or not, it still seemed like a neat idea to experiment with.* And I confess, having an easy-to-grab, easy-to-carry sack with a week's worth of eatables hanging by the door still strikes me as a good idea for some reason.

So... last weekend I finally managed to get the thing sewn, cooked up a batch of parched corn, and carried it about today, munching out of it for lunch.

On the practicality, I'll withhold judgment until I get to try it on a longer hike - but so far I'm liking it - if for no other use than as a quick-and-easy supplement to toss in the car for road trips - planned or no.

On the contents... whuff.

Now I've talked about parched corn before, and I guess I could live on it a while if I had to. But between smelling like a bag of corn nuts all day, and the "lunch was a bag of corn chips" tummy feeling, I think as long as I'm throwing historicity to the wind, I'd like to change up the mix.

farby goodness

The Question.

So - I want to fill this bag with a mix of dried foodstuffs that can boiled into a decent pottage, with a quart or so of water at a single setting. Thus as much as I'd like "rice and beans" - I think the needing to pre-soak the beans scratches that idea, at least for those varieties I've played with.

Nutritionally, I'd like as balanced as I can get, so as to avoid the "craving green" or "craving fat" feelings... assume a day of fair gentle walking under a moderate load on a cool day, nothing exhausting.

Finally, I'd like to avoid the spendy camping specialty store freeze-dried stuff and stick to the grocery store aisle.

I'm thinking some mix of split peas, maybe barley or rice for carbs, maybe with some dried peppers, onion, and dried-to-crispy jerky. But before I start with the hit-and-miss experimentation - can any of y'all offer some advice?

What have y'all tried that works well?

* Cool! Some neat guy just did the same thing. Can't be that bad an idea then. :p

les Voyaguers

2011-04-02T20:26:00.006-08:00

I haven't a guldurned clue what they're saying, but check this out -

We live in the most amazing age of cultural fragmentation and cross-fertilization. Things like this make me think we actually see something akin to Neal Stephenson's "'claves" in another generation or two.

Gosh this modern age is a fun ride. :)

From twelve days after Christmas until Ash Wednesday there is little but Dancing Fiddling - Drinking going on here... Each Couple dance five Minuets - & as Tag rag & Bob Tail come without being played as they call it dress'd in their best Bibs - Tuckers Some with Tom Hawkes in their Hands & others in their Mouths smoking of Tobacco. It is the most tiresome Sight I ever beheld."

George Morgan, speaking of French settlers in the Ohio country c. 1768-69, via Mark Baker's "Sons of a Trackless Forest" p. 348

Gratitude....

2011-04-02T17:50:00.003-08:00

Most every day this side of the earth is a blessing.

But some days - some days are just especially awesome, because they remind you of just how many cool people you can run into in one lifetime.

In the last eight hours, I've dropped by the friendly neighborhood blacksmith to look at a neat project coming along and talk medieval surgery tools*, wandered an Alaskan airfield looking at the most awesome airplanes ever made,** had the most delightful conversation with the good Reverend and IA guy,*** and then trundled home to a box of gen-u-ine Boston tea****.

Yeah... yeah, it's been a good day.

Thanks to the all of you for making it so. Y'all just rock. :)

* eek!
** That would be the Piper Super Cub and the DHC Beaver. No, no if you have another opinion you're just wrong. The Beaver's the coolest ever. ;)
*** Miss D, your baby is looking beautamous!
**** SO COOL!!! Thank you. :)

Material Culture

2011-03-23T01:08:00.011-08:00

This is a patch of flax.

My ~~Scotch-Irish~~ ~~Scots-Irish~~ - Ulster Scot forbears had been looking at that plant for centuries. Ever since the English crown banned the Plantation settlers from growing wool to protect the English woolen trade, and one of the muckety-mucks in charge of Ireland imported flax seeds to keep everyone going in exchange.

Let that plant get high, harvest it, soak it a while, let it dry out all nice and crackly, smack it around a bit to break the outer shell, scrape off the crud - and you get a nice long fiber.

Spin that fiber, set it to a loom (KITTY!!!!).... and eventually you get linen cloth. Just the thing for keeping your skin from the rough of life on this ol' earth.

Now remember what I said about "scraping off the crud?"

This is the kind of stuff that's left over.

It's called "tow"

(pronounced like the things at the end of your feet, not anime characters misnamed from Chinese philosophy).

Now, there's lots of stuff you can do with tow, but one of the things the old frontiersmen used it for was cleaning.

This is a tow worm.

You wind your tow around that corkscrew lookin' thing, and with the help of some boiling water you get all the powder residue out of the barrel of your rifle gun.

That's what a tow worm is for. Just a plain, simple tool.

Unless you happen to be Jonathan Baker, and it's 1794 in the Ohio country.

In that case, a tow worm is the last thing you ever see before that little metal hook gets wrapped around your optic nerve by an angry Shawnee. Hopefully things don't go on for too long after that.

.... Hopefully.

So I just finished Mark Baker's Sons of a Trackless Forest. Very much worth reading if you can find a copy (L of VA, your ILL copy is on its way back soon, I swear!) A couple things really really struck home.

What immediately struck me was how self-limiting - indeed, self-destroying - the raw frontier era really was. "The frontier was not a place, it was a wave" as I've heard it said, and Mr. Baker's book makes that all painfully clear... and may shatter a few other precious poetic illusions along the way as well.

More on that another time.

But for now, since I just finished it along about the same time as Nathanial Philbrick's Mayflower covering through the end of King Phillip's War, and another biography of Andy Jackson, it's back to the elephant in the room when it comes to modern frontier fiction.

The settler side of our family tree did not call those of our native side "savages" for nothing. Sure the 50's westerns were absolutely one sided. But the ones these days - leastwise those I've seen - seem less a rightening of the scales that a switching of polarity.

Back to 1794.

.... you did not want to get taken alive. In the past three weeks, I've read more historical accounts ending with "... and then they were tortured to death" than I think I ever care to see again. Most of the time with just enough detail to give you nightmares.

*shiver*

There's an ongoing theme there to... the natives would attack the leaves, attempting victory often as not through sheer terror and horror. The settlers would use the same tactics used on their ancestors centuries or millenia earlier - attacking the root of the native infrastructure, pursuing a deliberate stick and carrot policy of destruction, then domination, then eventually acculturation and some degree of assimilation.

Leviathan's stomp through the ages, father of us all indeed.

I kinda think sometimes Tacitus and James Fenimore Cooper might have themselves some interesting conversations if they could ever meet.

hunh... learn something new every day.

2011-03-20T18:23:00.002-08:00

Remember that big fuss ten or so years ago about "ohmyGod, all the honeybees are dying!" and the subsequent worries about what might happen if they did? How without bees to carry the pollen, the ecosystem would crash?

There were then no bees in Kentucky, and so our hunters generally would have had no wild honey; for bees generally keep pace with, and not much precede, the advancing settlements. Hence originated the name of English flies bestowed upon them by the Indians, who used to say to each other, when they saw a swarm of bees in the woods, "Well, brothers, it is time for us to decamp, for the white people are coming."
(Draper: 2B 184; 6 S 92-93)

(Source - The Draper Manuscripts)

I had no idea honeybees were an Old World thing. Neat. :)

clearing skies

2011-03-20T01:22:00.003-08:00

First, like Paul mentioned. It's finally breakup.

I LOVE BREAKUP!

For the first time in almost half the year it feels like, you can walk outside, and the streets aren't covered in ice. There's lots of puddles to splash in and (if no one happens to be walking by) drive through and make BIG splashes. And best of all, the sky takes on that lovely soft blue.

Breakup is awesome.

In more mundane news... finally got the last of my packages of promised projects mailed off, and am feeling SO much lighter. Did some shopping, and stopped by one of the local hide-and-hair places.

Turns out they started selling real braintan hides - neat! Spendy as heck, but neat. I've done the process once on a little critter to see what it was like, but I've never before actually had the chance to handle *proper* braintan. Anyhow, I ended up buying a little scrap piece to bring home to play with. Interesting stuff - the texture's surprisingly different from regular critter hides, at least on a thicker piece of elk. It's got that "skin over fluffy" feel some modern packing material or....well, there's grosser analogies, but let's not go there. Anyway, interesting stuff. And it smells sooo smoky and nice.

Finally, finished Nathaniel Philbrick's Mayflower. good overview of the early MA years from the leadup to the Plymouth landing to end of King Phillip's war, with a bit of an epilogue running through the Revolution and notable looks back on the period afterwards.

Mostly I liked it... though I have to admit one thing really struck me as the author was wrapping up. See, he looks back a little wistfully on the half century between settlement as a sort of innocence lost, a diversity in how we could have been. (And I can't blame him to be honest, 'cause I've occasionally wondered what it was like in that post-war, pre-removal Cherokee period in my own old neck of the woods. )

Thing is though, he was describing it as a time of peaceful resolution of differences, and most importantly the compromise of living alongside one another.

The thing is, this notion of "compromise" seemed to be "give me half of what I want now, that's a compromise." And ten years later "give me half of what I want now, that's a compromise." And ten years later....

.. well you get the idea.

What is it about you Yankees with this "compromise" business, anyhow?
"You keep on'a using that'a word.....
;)

love much y'all.
bed time.

The Created reflects the Creator

2011-03-07T08:55:00.005-09:00

The next time you get frustrated with something not working right online.... remember it was probably built by a hyper-caffeinated twenty something who pressed "publish" at four in the morning.

(And by the way.... if you're still using IE6, you're making web folks everywhere curl up under their desks and cry trying to make the New Shinies everyone wants not go horribly wrong for you. Please upgrade. It's for the children.)

Catching Up

2011-03-06T23:07:00.006-09:00

First, I must apologize to y'all. Not much interesting coming from these pages of late I know.

So first, the "what's going on" update. Well, leaving aside the work hours (ugh) - like Rev. Paul mentions, we got to see the doggies run yesterday. SO FUN! I didn't make it up to Willow this year, but the Anchorage version - if not quite as deliciously Alaska - is still quite fun. And the DOGGIES are so sweet! This year we were settled up near someone who brought along their own... (was it a malmute Paul?) named Hunter who was just SO adorable. I miss living with dogs. Might need to remedy that soon.

Incidentally, for those non-Alaskans, take a closer look at those dogs pulling the sleds. They're almost universally rangier than the classic "sled dog" image. Not scrawny by any means, and certainly not grayhound - but they're hardly husky in build.

.. runners to the core. :)

In more prosaic things... I'm finally starting to see the light at the end of the "promised projects" backlog. Most of my weekends in the last month or more have been iterations of "get up, put on an audiobook or lecture, and work through the pile... then take a couple hours in the afternoon to meet friends, get some fresh air, or otherwise not go back - come home, and do it some more." I've managed since Christmas.. let's see.... a pair of pockets, a petticoat, two dolls with shifts, dresses, and aprons (still need bonnets, and to figure out how to close the dresses - possibly bead buttons), several pieces of native (ish) beadwork [don't typically do that out respect, but will for a few friends and family], and and and....

So if you (or your darling daughters. ;) ) are waiting on something from me... it's almost done.

In the mean time, may I please recommend to you The Teaching Company. Our local library has been filling the shelves with a lot of their stuff lately, and it's for the most part of good to amazing quality.

Presently, I'm in the middle of the audio version of History of Ancient Rome, and it's exceptional. The professor is quite good at spelling out which sources back up which statement, where he hits areas still under debate, and most of all - it's the first narrative I've come across that actually does a halfway decent job of spelling out the whole thing. Gibbon was interesting, but necessarily a "highlights" version that left you swimming in "wait... who is this guy, and why is he important?" moments. The History Channel thing was absysmal. (Note to video producers... if you can only score fifty reenactors, please don't even bother trying to do Cannae. You'll only embarass yourself. And them. ) But the "Great Courses" series - lots of meat on the bone.

Also highly recommended - Professor Fears' A History of Freedom. It is a narrative. It is - I think - fair, but it is not dispassionate. And I confess, I just love Professor Fears. You know That Kid? The one who sat in the corner all recess with a book? The one who played with toy soldiers well into his adulthood, loved Churchill, and just picked and picked and picked through the "soldiers of such-and-such" books?

Yeah, this is him all grown up. Nerdy, but fun.

Explicitly not recommended - A History of the US, 2nd Edition. Maybe I'll give it another go at some point, but having just gotten done with one Federalist love fest with Ron Chernow's Alexander Hamilton, I was in no mood to put up with another. Meh.

I've tried a couple of the Ancient - Ancient world courses, and... woof. Only so many times you can hear about "people X beat up people Y" before it just gets *really* repetitive. It's also difficult because there's just not many mental hooks for me to "hang" all those facts on. Some is vaguely familiar from Sunday school, a little more from the "first three thousand years in three minutes" in public school... but not much.

Sometime we'll have to chat about that, but for now....

"According to a story in Herodotus [5th c. BC], the nature of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, and the advantages and inconveniences of each, were as well understood the the time of the neighing of the horse of Darius [6th c. BC] as they are at this hour."

A Defence of the constitutions of government of the United States of America (1778)

'tain't much new under the sun, eh?

later y'all. Love much. :)

And Paul'n'Brigid - THANK YOU!
Promise I haven't forgotten or ignored you. Will write more this week for y'all. :)

Surprisingly Unsurprising

2011-02-24T18:24:00.002-09:00

Hunh. Continuing with the "history of Western thought" I pinged Google's ngram viewer on a whim.

You see there the trend lines in English for "Republic" vs. "Democracy."

The big surge in the former is c. 1790. The lines cross around about 1910, and the latter spikes during WWII.

It's pretty much exactly what you'd expect, but still... seeing it all mapped out like that is just ... well... illuminating.

Hunh.

Bitter Clinger Birthdays

2011-02-24T09:34:00.004-09:00

Okay, so I knew about this special birthday (what with the year being in the name, it's kinda hard to miss).

But I confess I'd completely spaced on this one* from 1611.*

To my Tennessee bitter clinger kindred... happy anniversaries, y'all.

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* I was raised with the RSV, and am picking a little through the Geneva version. KJV sure is pretty through, and runs straight through our language like no other single work ever I think.

Also, if you're Scots-Irish/Scotch Irish/whatever the word is today descent - you owe it yourself to follow Mr. Thompson's blog. Aside from his actual professional work, the blog itself is a cool look at distant cousins who aren't quite so distant. Neat. :)