Emerald Triangle Blowout

Acid bath on Halloween night in Arcada California. I took three Altoids from the tin and dropped the clear liquid, one on each, in the palms of my two friends and myself. We looked each other in the eyes, commotion all around us, the madness of Humboldt County in trim season bustling in the town square. Spearmint hit my tung, we stood and started moving and everything went with us. The night was a blur, with the tequila and psychedelics just tossing the chaos into a great whirlwind of colors and sounds, I do remember a woman who really looked dead staggering wide eyed in the rain, drenched in blood and a parking lot sometime around three when, against my better judgement I stuck out my tung, still fizzy from guzzling a Mickeys and that second drop of mind fuck hitting me. We laid beneath a barren tree blowing in the breeze with a light sprinkle falling on our faces, feeling like pools of electric liquid. Then at some point I opened my eyes and a spliff was thrust into my mouth, a man with shock pink hair was playing cumbia in the farmhouse living room. Then the hard jab of a seatbelt in my side, waking up after two hours sleep in the cab of my truck to a pale foggy morning.
My friends and I had been logging ridiculous hours in a half finished house in the boondocks East of Garberville, gunshots in the woods at random hours, tattooed women talking about the bad drugs and pitbulls, always pitbulls. Tedious trim work in a plywood box, one old couch, fold out chairs, a tangle of cables and hanging lights all over. Bins upon bins of dried weed, some of it molding or too scrappy to be worth your time. This was how I was earning extra money for a trip I had been dreaming of for years. I worked during those years that I dreamt but it still wasn't quite enough to pull it off. So this is what somewhat well connected Californians do and for that matter everyone else who wants fast cash in the Fall. It's risky, often shitty work and many people who come from all over the world hoping to make a bunch of money and smoke a bunch of weed just end up doing the latter and spending the former.
After my mind bender on Halloween which was followed by a day in the redwoods trying to see something other than a thousand screaming faces on the back of my eyelids, we went back for another marathon week and I walked away with thousands of dollars in my socks.
My heart sailed when I finally ripped the various packets of money duck taped to the inside of my truck and deposited in the bank. The teller looked at me with a smirk, he knew what time of year it was and I didn't look like a professional of any sort. My mind slowed time down as the cash hit the electric counter, savoring the flitting noise, each flit another day on the road.

Eat Pie!

   While pickling and canning at Happy Girl Kitchen I had the chance to meet alot of the local farmers as they stopped by with loads of precariously loaded produce in dust coated trucks. Or in the case of David, a neat little hatchback. David was the cook/ reluctant educator at Pie Ranch who lived in sunny Bonny Doon and worked in a big beautiful outdoor kitchen, I thought to myself "that guy has a sweet job" and the thought stuck with me. So when it was nearing the end of our one year lease in PG I decided to sign up for the internship offered at the ranch. A few months later I found myself fingers locked around the teets of a moody goat milking away.
   The summer interns stayed in a little cleared out patch beneath a walnut tree in what ever shelters we brought. The first night it drizzled a bit and a stocky, hardy chap by the name of Coal hadn't brought anything but a Mexican blanket. he just rolled up in it and passed out near the trunk of the tree, sleeping better than anyone else. He was half Native American and half country badass, wearing a thick cross made of stone on a necklace and a cowboy hat that shaded his dusty face, wide grin and squinty knowing eyes. He had a way with the animals, they skipped and pranced when he came to the pasture. He also devised a way to corral the unruly adolescent chickens into the coup for the night rather than grabbing them by the legs and tossing them in which had been the practice. The other summer intern was Li, a lovely intelligent woman who had graduated from UC Berkeley and decided to play in the dirt instead. Li was from Monterey, a town I had, for one reason or another, come to know very well. She played the cello and sung folk songs on a steel string. Looking back we all seemed pretty country, down to Earth kind of kids. At first there was a clear division between us and the apprentices. Some amount of camaraderie is innate just from sleeping outdoors together rather than in the ancient farm house with the year round apprentices. There was a certain amount of disenchantment within the year round group, maybe too much work, too little time. The second year apprentices were frustrated with the plaintive nature of the group and were hoping for the golden times that must have been a big part of last years crew. As the summer progressed we started to meld together and as we bonded through the hard labor of  harvest, riding on the back of jostling trucks packed over full of radish, tomato, kale, carrots and everything you could ever want to eat.
   The animals were a whole new layer of life that I hadn't experienced at all before. Zelda our stubborn lady goat, the only one who had survived repeated cougar attacks on the herd, was a real chore. Hard to get into the stanchion and moody once in place, she would often kick the bucket while you milked, tossing the whole thing to the ground or flinging a flake of poop into the perfect frothy white. She was also a diligent escape artist. backing up and kicking at the ground before leaping over the four foot fence. She wanted to be with the cows and would run baaing over to where they were grazing and munch defiantly on the stubble. Dulce, by name and manner was the sweetest of the cows, the only true jersey, her offspring and granddaughter were a hot headed mix of beef cow and jersey, an error from the AI guy. Dulce was easy to milk and only kicked the bucket when she wanted a little more alfalfa in her feed. Her milk was prolific and fatty, golden in color and rich with flavor. She let you come up and pat her large horned head as she glanced at you somewhat suspiciously but with resignation. Soon it became apparent that she was pregnant. How this was a surprise to the farmers is a mystery to me. You think that you would have remembered something like impregnating your star cow. When she gave birth she was already taking care of her daughter Ginger's calf who was neglected by her angry mother. So now Dulce was mothering two calves and we couldn't milk her anymore. Naturally this left us to milk moody Ginger who had to have her legs tied tight so that she wouldnt kick your hand with full cow fury, but nothing was stopping her shit covered tail from wipping you in the eyes while you tried to suction her teets to the machine. Yes, no hand milking for this one, she wouldn't allow it. She would get so crazy that she would break free from the rope and kick the skin off your hand or take a shit on your legs or break from free from the stanchion and go bucking around in angry circles. Needless to say, when it was your turn to milk her your early morning was a solemn march to the barn because you knew you were in for a beating.

"This Is An Uprising" the most important book to read right now.

This book is dense but at the very end in a chapter titled "Conclusion" the key points of successful non-violent resistance are summarized as such:

"Momentum driven organizing uses tools of civil resistance to consciously spark, amplify, and harness mass protest. It highlights the importance of hybrid organizations... which can build decentralized networks to sustain protest mobilizations through multiple waves of activity. It goes beyond transactional goals by also advancing a transformational agenda, and it wins by swaying public opinion and pulling the pillars of support. It is attentive to the symbolic properties of campaigns, showing how these can sometimes be just as important as instrumental demands, if not more so. It uses disruption, sacrifice, and escalation to build tension and bring overlooked issues into the public spotlight. It aspires, at its peak, to create moments of the whirlwind, when outbreaks of decentralized action extend far outside the institutional limits of any one organization. It is willing to polarize public opinion and risk controversy with bold protest, but it maintains non-violent discipline to ensure that it does not undermine broad-based support for its cause. And it is conscious of the need to work with other organizing traditions in order to institutionalize gains and foster alternative communities that can sustain resistance over the long term."

Got that? Good, now lets bring down Big Oil!

Summer of 2012

I had returned to California after the long trip across country and was feeling, well, a bit randy. It was a hot summer and Big Sur was charged as ever with energy that drew me in. Celebrating my 27th birthday aboard the Raindancer with my Dad, brother Forrest and great friend Sam. We smoked and joked on the calm seas as we cut along, three sails in the wind. Later Sam and I found ourselves buzzed to our boots in the dark wood of a Big Sur bar. I was smoking my lungs off, laughing, drinking, cackling, birthday stuff. The next weekend found us dancing and drumming beneath the full blue moon wild and free. We were on our way to Oakland to play a show with our new outfit 'Nature Fortress', a name we came to in the hulk of a large driftwood shelter on the soft sand out at the Cove. We woke in the morning feeling fresh, having slept a little by the river and using its cold water to splash the sleep from our faces. The venue in the city was small, attended by the local activist crowd. We played our short set of technical chanty melodies and never missed a beet. At least one guy was really impressed. That night we drove all the way back to Big Sur and hurled ourselves into a crowd who gathered electrified, jostling at the foot of some space-time traveling band from Tokyo. I worked my way to the front with my double sided wolf sweatshirt and danced like a lunatic. I had a charge going that drew in the eyes of the curious and before long I was sitting by a lovely lady getting a little touchy feely. Out of the blur and on to the road we went, south to Esalen. Miraculously the gate guard just let us in, no charge no questions. We went straight for the pools and it being three in the morning found ourselves alone, bonded at the lips, really enjoying the night. We made our way back to the valley in the pale dawn and slept maybe an hour tangled on the car seat. I found Sam sleeping in his Honda in the morning and I closed the door as I sat down beside him feeling like I had just stepped off of a carnival ride of carnal bliss.

Low Tom Strap On

Booyakatran!

Woodland Camouflage

When passing through the forest you may find peace of mind through silence and care of motion. If you sit in stillness for some time you may notice that other animals are unaware of your existence. However, your scent on the wind is enough to alarm most mammals, and off colors can easily be seen by the birds. It is best then to mask your scent with dry pitch or plant material. Clay can be used to break up your skin-tone and obscure the transitions from one feature to the next; the sharpness of your bodies shape can alert any watchful creature. This practice allows for deeper observations of nature and the means to merge with your surroundings. 

Wild Blackberry Elixir

Yes my friends, the summer fruit is ripe. My fingers and lips are stained by the abundant blackberries that grow dark and sweet on the trail side.  A little while ago I was up the coast at a bar in Gualala, the owner was a slick old bachelor who appeared to be generously sampling his own stock. He strolled over and after flipping a glass high in the air Vegas-style, poured me a shot of cranberry infused vodka, I was impressed by it's simple but rich flavor.  It gave me the idea to do the same with wild blackberries. The process is simple enough; pick a jar full of berries and steep them in vodka, but this elixir has a special ingredient. While tearing the highly invasive Cape Ivy from a rose bush outside my Mom's house I stopped to smell the small pink flowers. The scent reminded me of the taste of a perfectly ripe blackberry. So i picked some, added it to the jar and gave it another day to fully absorb the flavors.

The berries were picked on the first quarter of a late July moon. A spiraling pressure system off the coast cast bands of negative ions through the wooded valley.

                                                                    A connoisseur 

 

The look of a ripe berry. 

                                                                  A jar full of berries

 

Bounty!

 

Rinse and strain

                                       Fill jar until berries are covered with vodka (I used Tito's)

 

After two days of infusion I picked rose petals to add.

                                         A handful at the top and another day of infusion.

                                                                     Pour and filter

                                                                      Ruby Elixir

                                                                    The first taste

                                                                           Cheers

Sammy and I agreed that it was the finest spirits we had ever tasted. That being said, I believe another batch is in the works.