Scott had raced ahead to get the underground oven heated up. A few days ago he trapped a marauding black bear in his log deadfall. He had made a huge amount of bear jerky just for this occasion.   He gave me bear claws which I turned into jewelry at my first opportunity.   I was accepted by this group as a brother to be taught the ways of the Redwoods. Scott planted trees all over the western United States. He invited me to join him on these expeditions.  I was still weak and unable to keep up having tried tree planting for a few days on the coast. It almost killed me.
   One day, Patrica and I went for a walk to check out someone who lived close by.  Close by is less than 5 miles. We stopped on the trail for a rest before climbing some more.  Suddenly the ground began swaying. The needles from the evergreens began falling like rain. It soon passed with only our nerves rattled. This is what it is like in the Trinity Mountains. If it is not the tremendous snowfall, it is the earthquakes and lightning. There are bears and elk as well as mountain lions and rattlers to watch for.  Never a dull moment when you are with Patricia the Mountain Girl.
     I spent the winters in Arcata since that was a University town. Intellectualism became a way of life. I was undefeatable in chess. I once went to see the flock of rare egrets in the wetlands up close and personal but without permission. Glad I did this when no one cared much. I was practicing my stealthy Indian moves.
      Eureka turned out to be a town for the homeless since it held the most rescue missions I've ever seen in California.  These centers held a great number of people. Most of these guys had substance abuse problems. I could only eat so many duck eggs for breakfast before I found a small apt. overlooking the fishing docks.  Bad things happen to good people for a reason.  There was no way to avoid run ins with strangers. I was constantly on my guard. These rooms are easily broken into. People would invite me to go to parties that turned into nothing more than drug smoking sessions.  I was baffled by this. I was young and full of piss and vinegar.  I was intimidated by no one.
     The night life was the bars and taverns that showcased local bands.  I'd go dancing in my logging boots that lace all the way up the leg. I'd hoot and holler.  I was alone again.     As if by circumstance, the set ended and the musicians put away their toys. There was no place left to go but back to the woods. The woods and forests are the last sanctuary for the misplaced of the world.
     Dara picked me up  on the highway to the goldfields.  She invited me to a party that evening with the Good Dog Band playing dance music. It was hard to turn down since this was a chance to talk with other like minded people about the many things of the area.   Dara also had her mother living at this makeshift dance hall who really took a liking to me. They danced way into the night until the very last tune sent everyone looking for home. It was not too long afterwards I heard the sad news.  Dara and her boyfriend were in an accident that took both their lives as they flew down the Hwy 299 early one morning.  It was a grinding crash into a redwood. The over sized dually pickup barely fit the roadbed. One must drive this road precisely. Many miners live the hard and fast life since the future is bleak and under threat by law enforcement.  Dara was caught up in this lifestyle. The redwood they hit still has the scars.
   There is a bar called Simon Legree near the road to the upgrade. For all intents and purposes, this is a roadhouse of ill repute. This is where we would meet up to discuss the back country trips. On the night I arrived, we came upon a fight in the parking lot.  The white loggers were beating up this Hoopa Indian. It was hardly a fair fight. Once they got this poor guy on the ground they surrounded him and proceeded to kick him in the head with those steel toe worker's boots. This was the most dastardly fight I have ever seen. I could not jump in to help this guy being skinny and small. I managed to say I think he has had enough whereupon they quit the kicking. What drunks find interesting   I find distasteful.
     I was meeting many new people. One night, someone invited me to a poker game  I declined simply because I do not gamble.  These guys were too serious and they probably drank while gambling. They carried weapons.  It was a full moon. All this made for a bad night for someone.        The next day, I heard about the gunfight. The long hair who had invited me wound up dead.   Shot right through the heart.  That was the last straw. I left that night, sleeping under a bridge until the sun broke through the morning fog. Nowhere Soon was the destination once again.   
      I started back north hoping to distance myself from more troubles.  I stayed at a roadside campground deserted for the season.   I heard the telltale snort of a bear as he sniffed the air and finding a human in his nostrils.  I was forced to play ring around the rosy for a few rounds before breaking off into a dead run to the bath house  Luckily the rangers did not lock the door.  I slept on the cold concrete waiting for first light.
        I was in Banff because of bears.  I was hitching my way to Alaska on my way to join a trawler working the Barents Sea.  It was nightfall so I decided to camp close to the Trans Canadian Highway for safety.   Little did I realize that bears prowl this area looking for castoffs from cars.              The moon was full as I crawled into my sleeping bag.  I dropped off.  I awoke to a bear cub rustling my provision bag at my feet.  I knew instantly the sow was not far away.  Her muzzle was suddenly on me through the tent.  I darted out past the cub.  The sow was close behind.  I had left my pack frame standing next to a tree. I reached for it as I ran past.  Slinging it at her feet.  It worked like a giant bear trap tangling her claws causing her to stumble.  She broke off the attack.  I spent the rest of the night huddled under the street lamp listening to them destroying all my possessions. At day break, it was finally safe to rerurn to the campsite and assess the damage. I lost everything.  I hiked into Banff looking for some help.
     One of the guys lent me his Social Insurance card so I was able to work as a dishwasher for the rest of the season until I was able to hitch back to Cody where Nadine was having her baby.  After seeing her for the last time I camped near the Shoshone River.  Again this was a mistake because the bears prowl the river at night.                      Practically the same thing happened.  I was awakened by the low grunting of a big brown bear.  I knew immediately to run and allow him to destroy my encampment.  Such is the life of the traveler to Nowhere soon.

       I always felt safer on the road.   North it was for no good reason.  This is when Beryl picked me up and I first heard of the World Symposium for Humanity.  What a Godsend.  Her little girl took a liking to me and we had endless conversations about life.  I love to teach young people.                        She is such a knowledgable girl to be going to this marvelous event in Vancouver Canada.  I am always amazed how things seem to fall together without much effort.  I was swept along like the tumbleweeds of Scotch broom..

      I traveled with the Rainbows to Oklahoma which was far enough to realize that this sort of travel suited me. I made one last attempt in Fayetteville then I was off to meet up with the Rainbows in Oregon in a roundabout way.   Flying over the snow covered mountains of the Sierras gave me a feeling of joy.
I had been there before.  S.F. never really changes.   There is the City Lights Bookstore that is a must see.  The Haight-Ashbury district is still there but has slowly gone back to the staid neighborhood it used to be,  It still has that feeling of change. Not far away is the Golden Gate Park which is the most poetic park in the nation.  Great souls have come here. You can feel their presence.  I had been stationed in S.F. during his DLM days and knew my way around. This was not home, though.
       The park is fascinating in every aspect.  Not only is it huge and varied in it accommodation of people but the history is awesome as well.  There is not one unkempt area of this park. It is all well manicured and cared for like the jewel it is.
       I started north to Eureka and the mountains of Northern California. I spent a night in a Chinese hotel just to remind me of how tough life can get.  All Chinese smoke.  I knew the Chinese were egar to buy my gold.  They use it to buy their realatives out of China.  

    After looking around and prowling for books in City Lights Bookstore, I soon was on my way by thumb to the Redwoods. 

     Arcata is a college town.  The intellect is so much better there than the alcoholics of Eureka.  I soon found myself at the Plaza more and more eating hot pastrami sandwiches for a dollar. That is when I met Patricia and the kids. My fate was set. I was off to the mountains again.
        Trinity County is the poorest in California.  There is nothing there that one could misconstrue as an economy.   People live hand to mouth and party when they can.  After all, when you have nothing you have nothing to lose.  I had nothing whatsoever except a real nice personality and some intelligence which he had garnered from his hard knock early years in New Orleans.

         New River was the place to be if you were interested in the goldfields. Many had tried their hand at finding gold only to be driven away by the reality of the hard life of miners. Mining gold is not easy or pleasant. After awhile, the miners will tell you what tools you need and where to look.  It may sound peculiar but a giant screwdriver and turkey baster were the most efficient tools of the modern gold miner. 

     Using the screwdriver to pry open crevices in submerged rocks, then plunging the turkey baster into this opened portal can give you a few flakes to pan.  One then squeezes the bulb many times to agitate the sediment and get down to where the gold has settled.  On the last squeeze you pull up as much of this sediment as possible. Then you squirt the stuff into your trusty gold pan.  Sit down and begin the process of swirling the soil out. The shiny gold is caught in the riffles and corners of the pan.    You then take your tweezers and carefully pick the shiny pieces out. Drop them into a small vial filled with mineral oil. 

      Gold is being washed out of those mountains continually.  It takes time and patience to be productive. After a big storm with lots of rainfall the river swells and the gold moves around ever so slightly. The dry season one can see the low places where the heavier gold will collect.  Good luck with that. You will need all the luck you possess and more. Gold mining is never easy.

    Once Gb was hiking out to take his gold to the assay office. He placed the gold in the toe of his boot for safe keeping. Good thing too, because at the trailhead he was accosted by a man in a cabover camper with a wanted poster of himself. Wanted for claim jumping.. On his hip was a six shooter in a low slung holster straight out of those dime novels one reads when bored to death.    You got to think fast and play super dumb. Silence ruled with the shrug of the shoulders and a fast getaway. GB disappeared into the trees as the long shadows of the looming darkness covered his trail. The absolute best place to sell your gold is in Chinatown. The Chinese use gold to get their relatives out of China. Bribing officials is easier with gold. The road led north to nowhere soon.

     Frank and Ellen travelled to SF during the Summer of Love in 1967.  I heard many stories about living communally with the rest of the unwashed and discarded hippies in the Haight Asbury District that was the focal point near Golden Gate Park.

    The one story that enlivened me was the story about the girl with the purple pussy.   Not what you think.  In the free clinics that were sprouting up on the west coast,  volunteer doctors were treating many cases of venereal disease.  In one such instance, a girl presented with a pussy infection caused by uncleanliness.  The cheapest medicine was gentomyicin which turns a bluish purple.  

     She walked around naked and laid in the sunshine in an attempt to get this infection under control. She also had to undergo a morning shave which is a challenge when you are stoned.  

    Many of the males offered their skills but few kept up with the rigors of shaving preferring to let the beard grow out.  Thus, this flower child was left on her own to solve the purple pussy intrigue.

 The poor child finally left for home one afternoon where her parents were obligated to help her.

      There are small communities of these folks all over the region.  White Thorn is a small community near the Russian River.  Many are living out their days there, waiting for the grim reaper to make an appearance.  Life is hard then you die 

      The thing about it was the color of the sap as it oxidizes in the air. It turns a beautiful lavender hue that darkens to a reddish proceeding to an almost golden color.  For days and days, this tree was adorned with flowers as the Hispanic women made the daily visit to care for the Virgins' image.
  This went on with the news media taking up the story which meant even more people coming to see this vision for themselves. Finally, the city sought to end this by cutting down the tree entirely which was an ill planned affair since there was a disconnect between City Hall and the people of Faith. 

    Salt Lake City is a Mormon town. I remember clearly going to midnight mass on Christmas Eve at Magdalena Church and speaking to one of the brothers about this sighting.   His comment was something along the lines of heretical.   What fools believe.
Will it be OK? Just getting older now. When will wisdom be given? Maybe never. Maybe shut up and listen to the wind. It always has the right message.

I had other encounters with God.

I got in the habit of praying alot. Especially in Arkansas when I joined the Mission Ave Baptist Church.  This is a breakaway sect of Independent Baptists.  The way I was induced to join was one night the spiritual world opened up.  A 

robed man appeared. His race was as bright as the sun.  Just as the bible says God appears to 5he faithful.  He took a look at me went away for a second to make sure he had my attention.  He fame hafk and lifted his arm and pointed. At the same time words came streaming forth Mission Ave Baptist Church.  Apparently he wantedcke to study the bible.  I did this for a few years.  I even worked for University Baptist Church for awhile until I could jo longer continue.  The fist fight with Larry the Elder made staying impossible. I caught a plane to SF and never looked back.  

       We had two weeks to teach and preach safety, swimming, craft skills and teamwork through sports before the next bunch of ruffians showed up. We fed them three square meals a day, clothed them and listened to their impromptu drumming sessions that included drawers and sticks on plastic buckets. The syncopated rhythms go back to the tribal days of these young men.
     It was a stressful affair, though. One night, while sleeping with these kids nearby, they surrounded my bed and produced a butcher knife. This turned out to be some sort of joke but this 'joke' brought repercussions the next day.  It was sad to see them depart for home banished from the program.

       These were hostile times with the Viet Nam raging and the planet reeling from pollution of all types.  The Symposium brought together peaceful people of like minds bent on reshaping their understanding of what they could do to heal the Earth.  Beral soon met a Chippawa Chieftain and was spirited away for a round of big dick lovemking.  I was on my own in this vast sea of humanity with her daughter Darcy to accompany me in this meaningful exploration of knowledge.
I ran into Steve Gaskin from the Farm who was there to lecture.  I had a solid bronze whale on a shoelace.
      I carefully placed it over his head for him to wear.  There were many groups like 3HO which stands for Health, Happy and Holy Organization.  These folks did all the work to get the Symposium working. It was their project.

         I was on the make. I found another girl from NYC recovering from some ailment. I thimk it was from too much fun.  We had hot sex in her hotel room. We were looking for that elusive thing called mutual admiration. It was fun but she needed to rest.  She asked me to wait on the beach which is saying 'leave me alone' in a nice way.  I stayed at a cheaper place as usual, built lower than the road. It was quiet.

     Too quiet for my tastes since I was the reviewer of rock acts.   I was the premier writer, writing for the NOLA EXPRESS and IN YOUR EAR. These were street rags handed out to passersby in the French Quarter of New Orleans. I would frequent the hotel in the hopes of encountering the band or their girlfriends.  I wanted a story to publish about the band exploits. Every human being has a story to tell.  Some are more interesting than others.
        I fell asleep on the salon coach exhausted from the day.  I was awakened suddenly by the slap of steel on my butt.  It was the night watchman with a bolo machete popping me on my ass.  I jumped up.... alert as a rabbit now.  He began backing me down a long hall which led to a balcony overlooking Montego Bay with jagged rocks below.  I tried to explain he was dealing with someone important; a newspaper man on assignment.  His threats were in English with a bone chilling, murderous smile:  'I'm going to cut you and bruise you' was all I heard.  I saw my chance as he lifted his arm to strike.  I ducked under the outstretched arm pushing him into the wall.  

       I made a run for it down the darkened streets of Montego Bay leaving my guitar for him to grab.  I made my way to the room of a friend I met earlier at another hotel.   I breathlessly pounded on the door to let me in.  He woke up groggily and slowly opened it.  I pushed my way in and shut the door motioning for silence as the shadow of this killer crossed the threshold.  The night watchman was close on my tail.
       The danger had passed for the moment. I slept on the floor.  The next morning, I went to the Police Station and told them the story of my guitar being stolen by Buster Crabb. They knew the guy well and promptly arrested him.  It took a lot of effort to finally calm down after such an assault. I got my guitar back in one piece as they laid this instrument at my feet and backed away apologizing. The pen is a mighty weapon in the hands of a skilled writer.  At least he won't do that again was how I thought.  One needs to be under lock and key in a foreign country....  learning this the hard way is my style.
        I settled down from that incident vowing to wait for the next available jet back home.  I was safer in the states.  The Jamaican boys came knocking...This was a different kind of vibe.  These guys were nice and wanted to make up for the day's events.  Word travels fast in a small community especially about a white boy in Jamaica.  They said they would protect and take me places like the cockpit country of the Blue Mountains nearby. I thought to myself 'might as well' since these guys wanted to correct things.
    On the way out of town we stopped at a tourist attraction.  The owner had on display in an enclosed cage, a twenty-three foot crocodile.  Crocs usually don't get this big but reptiles that are fed well and given safe habitat can grow to unlimited size. This is true for many species including fish which are also cold blooded.  This fact is often overlooked in schools. Remember how large dinosaurs were? This is a direct descendant from that period of the earth's history.
     He began the presentation by showing us interesting things about this seemingly tranquil beast. His jaws for instance, are stronger when closing than opening.  The size of the teeth were extraordinary.  He wore one around his neck on a gold chain.  He picked up a long pole. Just to scare the living willys out of everyone as he poked the croc in the side....Instantly the arena exploded in a spray of water as the croc whipped his head and tail simultaneously to absolutely destroy the pole in one massive expression of reptilian reflex.  I had never seen an animal so large move with such speed and agility to defend itself.  In short, it was the most breathtaking and awesome show I saw in Jamaica.  We were left dumb struck and giggling as we continued into the cockpit country. We were near the river, searching for some hidden trail leading upward.

       My new friends led me into a clearing with a thached hut where a group of native Ethiopians were squatting with their knees touching around the little campfire. As these men stood up and continued to stretch I could see their full height of over seven feet closer to 8.   All were dressed in loincloths of leather. These guys were fearsome in every way with full Afros.

       I was led into the hut. One of the men unrolled a burlap sack full of refined marijuana.  He took a metallic camp cup and a butter knife. He carefully scooped out a cup and leveled it with the knife. He said .60 I gave him a dollar and his face lit up in a smile of pearly white teeth as he poured the cup of manicured marijuana into a small brown paper bag. I didn't ask for change.  I know how poor these folks live to enjoy smoking. Soon we were making our way to the river far below us.
     On a log by the river the boys were busy forming what's called a spliff made from the ubiquitous bread wrapper similar to brown wrapping paper.  This is a giant cone in which they carefully poured the entire contents of that bag of marijuana.  They twisted both ends and fired up this giant cigar of mary jane. Not wanting to seem clumsy, I took a few puffs.  I am a musician after all and an adventurer.  Suddenly, I wanted to take a walk uphill alone.   I was having an intense realization.  I was seeing how God works in this world.  Remember how important baptizing is to become a Christian?   Well, the real thing about that is the water.  I was seeing water as the tool God uses to instruct mankind.  The storms on the oceans, the spring rains that create new life as well as the vast storehouse behind dams all play a role in these expressions of God. Water is easily translated into energy.  Not many see the truth in this.  Marijuana is all about insight. Granted it seems unimportant now but to a stoner it was impressive.
     I quickly ran back to the group who took me home to meet the family.  I was invited to have that simple dinner of rice and plantain.  I soon fell asleep in the back seat of a junk car.  I awoke to a beautifully warm sunrise with smiling children beckoning me to play football.  The tropical birds were singing their morning song as I arose and assessed my situation. For the longest time, I thought the Rastas were worshiping the High Celeste.  Only later did I understand about Haili Salisi the ruling king of Ethiopia at that time. What one hears is different from what one perceives to be reality.   I still think the High Celeste sounds better.
     I was feeling much better.  I met a Brit who had deep roots in Jamaica.  He took me for a drive around the island talking about the history of slavery that made the island so black.  He recounted how sugar cane was grown for the express purpose of making Rum. The sugar was the product and to the production of 'kill devil' as the British would call rum. 

     Slavery was also the product of this massive cultivation.  In those days of the 1600's, slavery was a form of unpaid labor.  They lived a productive life under this bondage.  People will argue otherwise until the day they die.   I am not saying this type of indentured servitude is ever good.  One must realize many people including the Irish also fell under this kind of bondage.   It was the Portuguese and Spanish that began the trade in human flesh.  The English joined in the slave trade as they were interested in agricultural workers to raise the Southern cotton which fed those linen mills of London.
       He also took me to see the typical jail.  A stoutly built room with a dirt floor and one bucket. This is your food and water bucket as well as your toilet.  It has been that way for many years. No one but the prisoners know how hard it is to survive under such conditions.  One does not want to be in that situation long.  I saw the same type of jail in Costa Rica in Puerto Jimenez and again in Old Town in San Diego.  This is the style of the Spanish Conquistadors.
   So I didn't learn slack key. All I came back with was a cane made from driftwood.  I was detained and released for some unknown reason on my return to New Orleans. I had done nothing wrong except enjoy myself flying to Jamaica. This changed me for life. Being placed in a holding cell then moved to another filthy cell is too much for anyone in his right mind or left mind for that matter.  Your initial fear is a beating because you look nice and ready to party.  I quit the music business.  I was trying to be a band leader.  I slowly became a hermit that was withdrawn and morose.  One day, my brother said go to Arkansas and work for John in his Tree Service.   I had no way to get there except by thumb.   I was on my way to Nowhere Soon and super tired of sitting on my thumbs. I decided to use it as my only tool.  My guess is I will die in frustration having accomplished nothing...except a few blogs that are completely disjointed and unbelievable.  Say la vie
      I continued writing mu music columns and interviewing musicians.  I heard that Jerry Jeff Walker was living in Coconut Grove in Miami.  He was giving a concert at the old theatre that hosted these kinds of events.  The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band was the opening gig. I had a shot at a two fer one. 

      Monkey Hill is an interesting playground for children. There are no hills in New Orleans. One was built to demonstrate to the children what a hill actually looks like. The favorite game was King of the Hill. The many deep furrows are caused by bikes racing down the face of the hill. 
  The sea lion exhibit was a favorite since I was a swimmer and lifeguard. Their pool was the most refreshing in the hot summers of New Orleans.  These sea lions would race around the pool always alert for the stray popcorn or sandwich that happened to be lost in the pool.  The scene was in the Greek style with columns and benches.   You could spend the whole day listening to their endless conversations.  The wonderful family life of New Orleans can be seen at this park.
     The horse stables are interesting.   It is best to go very early in the morning when the horses are eing fed. What is remarkable is the bloodlines that are represented. To stable there you must be grandfathered in . There is a trotting lane to exercise your mount.  

       The whole of the park is resplendent with Live Oak trees.  These giants were planted by the French as a way to create a woodlot for sailboats that would normally be built of oak.  These Live Oaks are poetically perfect in every way. The trees are now a squirrel haven with many generations of squirrels inhabiting them . Gather ye acorns while ye may.  These are some of the oldest trees in the South. So beautiful in their majesty.
      My friend Carl decided to pick a fight with me one day by the lagoon.   He didn't like where I was going in the music world and the fight was his displeasure over that aspect of my life.  It was a horrible fight with kicking and gouging. I told him if I get him into the water, I'd drown him.  So much for fair weather friends.  The music business is very dangerous and filled with many wanna be's. Never saw him again after that.  I even showed him the St Benedict Monastery across Lake Pontchartrain. He is a sad character who womanizes willingly.

      We rode the BSA there one weekend looking for my old friends who were monks.   One of them was killed while on a fire drill riding the old fire engine hanging on the side.   A visiting truck suddenly appeared head on.  The fire engine was side swiped and as fate would have it, the young monk was hanging on that side of the engine on the running board.  Death was instant and very disturbing to the other monks.   No one ever fully recovers from those incidents. No amount of prayer or liquor will ever take away the memory of that tragic day out in the woods of the Abbey. The Knights of Columbus Abbey Youth Camp was changed forever.
   Back in those days, I was into Indian lore.  I performed the sacred torch dance at the council fire with two torches made of sawed off mop handles and a leather loop so I could twirl them.  You wrap a piece of towel held on with wire soaked in kerosene. It made for some real drama. The campers were strangely silent during those performances. Maybe because of the fire who really know what goes through the minds of young boys?   At the end of the dance, I would spin the torches into the lake and slowly walk away.

      We all contributed something to these affairs. Fuzzy put dry flour in his mouth then spewed it out onto a lighter. The cloud of flour would erupt into a blue flame. How he came up with that no one knows. I thought it was kerosene but that would be really dangerous since it is poisonous tyour system. You develop kidney troubles and die a horrible death.
       Audubon has so many novel features and quiet spots for meditation.  One could study squirrel biology and write a thesis on this habitat.       Then there are the flowers.  When you find the Orchid House you will have found an exceptional exhibit.  It is not easy to find.   It is closer to Magazine Street than St Charles so if interested you could ride the Magazine bus line to Audubon getting off at the first stop in the Park. Then you are relatively close. You will be looking for greenhouses which blend into the surroundings. The hunt is well worth it.  Photography is allowed for these rare blooms and intriguing flora. Plan well and you won't be disappointed.          

       Be sure to look around Magazine St. for some of the most interesting shops in New Orleans are there.  You might notice the many night clubs in this area that hosted famous stars like Irma Thomas, Deacon John and the Ivories, Ben E. King and Professor Longhair just to name a few.  Deacon John played at our prom night that I didn't go to because I had no date, no wheels and no excuse to go. The no show proverbial wallflower if there ever was one.
      The outdoor band shell was the site I chose for a festival called Mayfair.   It is the stuff of dreams.   I was never able to complete this organization of the festival as the City was not allowing such things because of the liability.  The bands chose to hold outdoor concerts on the levee which is adjacent to the Mississippi as close to Audubon Park as is possible   Every Sunday there was a rock festival attended by thousands until the police put an end to it. There was a guy who was called Crazy Horse.  He was instrumental with these mini festivals on the levee.   I watched him get arrested one Sunday for nothing except for liking rock music a little too much.  Nowadays, this is now another levee park that University students use to play Frisbee. 
    There were many impromptu gatherings happening. The one I remember was at a small park on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain near Covington.  There was only the music of the guys banging beer cans together in the syncopated rhythms of youthful enthusiasm.   I had a young girl following me around.   I finally asked her age.  She was all of 15 years old.  She was well fucked and had no muscular control of the Keigels of her puss. I said goodbye with a farewell kiss.  This is jail bait which means a 20 year sentence if you are caught with underage girls.   All I wanted was a career and a home life. A prison sentence to Angola was in store if you were caught rocking the cradle.  No wonder so many men turned gay in those days.  

      The city was a magnet for the gay crowd who loved the bar scene.  New Orleans was the gay paradise until the aids epidemic. All we could do was laugh at them and their stupidity. Cool Hand Luke illustrates the prison life of Angola.
   I thought I was a special soul.  The only thing that was special about me was the color of my skin and my very Southern name.  This is a two edged sword.  By being named after the second and third president, it sealed my fate as an oddball player anywhere in the world.  People could not relate to me without thinking of those US presidents.  I am just not Presidential.  Although I read about each and every President compliments of my Grandmother Edna. I was headed to nowhere soon.

        Coming back from the Celebration of Life Festival the cops pulled us over   I spent three days in Parish Prison   They guys I was riding with had magic mushrooms and peyote under the front seat. They found LSD.  I was just hitching a ride. I went to the slammer for looking hip.  Nasty memories.  

        The paper I was writing for was a part of A Warehouse.   I reviewed acts and wrote exposes about performances.  After that horrible experience, I decided enough of New Orleans and left by the magic thumb for the West Coast and a new start.  It took years to forget that experience. 

       Suzi Quattro and Jimi Hendrix as well as the Moody Blues were appearing in City Park one famous weekend.  I was determined to get an interview with these folks.  I found Quattro's tour bus and quietly knocked hoping to get a rise but    to no avail.  I finally gave up and went to see the show concentrating on a written review of the music. This was the closest we came to opening the parks to outdoor concerts. Soon after, the NOPD made it known there would be no more outdoor rock concerts within the City.  We were heartbroken. My dream of holding a Mother's Day concert in Audubon Park was in shambles.

In the morning, you roll into Union Station. 

    The history of this railroad track is remarkable. Being the only roadbed from the north, the Union commandeered this line during the Civil War.  Many ex-slaves escaped northward on this railway line. Nowadays, the security is intense with the railroad Dicks constantly clearing the rods beneath the cars of free riders. This is done by brute force. If they catch you, you are beaten. If they grab you by the collar simply turn round and round under his arm so that your collar tightens around his fingers. Most let go immediately. You then make a quick exit into the brush and lay low until dark.
    The train from Chicago to New Orleans is called the City of New Orleans.  You take your life in your  hands riding this train.  She flys down the tracks rocking back and forth but never reducing speed from the standard of 90 miles an hour. As she passes many crossings in these small rural towns, you get just a glimpse of these Southern enclaves. When you see a pickup at 3 in the morning at these crossings you can assume its being driven by a drunken, impatient redneck who is inclined to try to drive around the barrier.  I've seen people cross themselves as the Catholics do at these crossings. Such is life in the South.  The place to be is the observation car at the very end of the train as I said previously.  There you can watch the sky and feel the speed as the train barrels home to New Orleans.

    I went to John Mc Donough Senior High and graduated 1967.  One year Gene Pitney visited the school and gave a concert during regular school hours.   Most of us knew nothing about why this was important.  I barely remember his tunes but it was really my first exposure to live music. Oh to be young again.

    By this time, everyone was sleeping in army surplus jungle hammocks since this was the only way to survive the hoards of mosquitoes that constantly ravaged you. We were prime candidates for Vietnam via the draft but passive resistance was our strategy. It worked for Gandhi. It could work for us.
       During this era, I started a journalistic career writing for the various street rags that proliferated in the French Quarter. The NOLA Express was just one avenue of expression I used as an artist to illustrate the human condition. In Your Ear was another which reviewed music acts that came to town at what was then called A Warehouse. Record companies would send LP recordings first then tickets to the big shows such as CCR at the Municipal Auditorium.  There were many other acts I reviewed but with no money coming in, I soon had to look for paying work. 

       This was not easy in New Orleans. Unless you knew somebody with money, it was best to live at home which created its own version of tension. Working as a waiter just barely made ends meet. Eventually, I chose the road again. A job was being offered by a colleague in Arkansas.                      Trimming trees was not something that was going to put me back in the spotlight.  However, iit was getting me away from New Orleans and into something different. Being eloquent, I could talk my way backstage at concerts like Leonard Skinard.     Still not the road to success but a good time was had by all.  Leonard Skinards' plane was shot down by some punk in Mississippi.  Time to move on.
   After another unfortunate incident, I caught a plane to the West Coast. San Francisco was intense and hardly survivable so I started north to Eureka and Arcata.       My fortunes were changing, or so I thought.  Even though it was brutally hard, I was determined to survive. The hand was still broken. I met Patricia and her kids at the Plaza in Arcata.  Being somewhat special by being born in 1949, I felt a kinship with the gold miners of 1849. The rest is history recorded somewhere else in these stories.

    Roland gave me a claim to a placer gold mine on the North Fork of the Trinity River. After spending many days supplying myself with the accouterments of a gold miner I began the journey of a lifetime to the back woods of 6 Rivers National Forest alone.  

       Some of the oldest groves of redwoods grow there. It was a truly sacred experience to stand among these trees in the clouds. Listening to the miners about how to and when to start gold panning was essential to being successful with this new enterprise. The Stellars Jays were as big as the Western Ravens that came to visit in the summer. Golden Eagles circled overhead on rising thermal columns looking for carrion as many do in the natural world.

After many trips back and forth to Arcata, I caught a ride heading north  to Washington. The apple season was just getting underway. It was May. The blossoms need thinning or the fruit won't develop properly. This is done by hand and is labor intensive. All the nimble handed fingers sign here. There was money to be made in agriculture if you just applied for the job you would get it. It never pays much and the work is hard. The workers are usually poor whites, Mexicans and others, both legal and illegal. Many were fresh out of prison looking for a new start. For many, it is their last stand. Staying anonymous is a practical method of dealing with what the world hands you. Tree planting is the other option but you need to be able to carry thousands of seedlings in side bags and be very fast with the dibble. All the while tramping, through rough and burned terrain. I lasted two days.  3 cents a tree means a lot of trekking.

Just knowing you are able to survive in the wilderness is very freeing.  No longer do you see yourself as a failure in life just because you have no job. Your job is your life. Your life is your job. Live the best you can with what you have. You become something of a phenomena by just attempting to survive rather than giving up and dying cold and lonely as most do. Someone will get inspiration from your life, so live boldly. Don't live dumb and blind. There are so many beautiful things to see and do with your life. Wake up early while you still can. Soon things might happen to you like marriage and family. You'll not have time for yourself anymore.  Life moves at an incredible speed.  Before you know it you are facing those waning years getting grey and wondering where did it all go?

     The truly distrubing reality is that it picks up speed as you reach the end of life scenes. Your parents passing away, your friends have all vanished and suddenly you wake up to a new reality.

        I was seeing many doctors now. They isolated me for the hepatitis and tucked me away for many weeks in a Nursing Home.  Slowly, I made a recovery that lasted.  Can't keep a good immune system down. All this took place while I was carrying 23 hours per semester. Life is never easy for a guy like me.  I had friends come to look afor me to see where I got off to from the Healing Gathering in Eastern Washington.  Once a friend always a friend.  They helped me in many ways. I am always grateful for anyone's sincere help.  Yet it does nothing for your well being to have a bunch of poor friends. 

        I had to find some income or at least some government money.  I applied for work study and got my tuition paid in full which to me, was a miracle in itself.  I knew if one just applied you would get the Pell Grant. They took everything. I was the school bitch because the grant was paying the school not me.  This was figured to the dollar.  Nothing left but pennies each semester.  In spite of what they say, you need to eat well in a cold climate.  That means regular hot meals, showers and supplies none of which the Feds paid for.  Situation wanted.  Poor student looking for a place to live. Will work for food.
    Bellingham has the Weyerhaeuser Paper Mill.  It stinks to high heaven on most days when the breeze blows inland.   There is a host of other ill conceived businesses that teeter between success and failure.  Ultimately they all fail.  The University of Western Washington is famous because it is one of the remaining schools that educates teachers.  But all that has changed.  This is the history of the school.  Presently, there is nothing to advance the educational process.            A few new buildings like the Environmental Center had the potential to change the direction of education but without support from the Feds it  is doomed to fail..  This is another political construct based on the old science given a new lease on life.  Having a degree from Huxley is a death sentence in this society just like a Oceanography degree will swamp you with details and minutiae. It will never support you no matter if you discovered something intriguing and new like a new power source made from seawater or Manganese balls on the ocean floor..  Hard to sell an unproven idea to scientists who are struggling with other realities like who is sleeping with their girlfriend.  You know, normal stuff and everyday problems like, is there enough toilet paper at home? Ah living the life is hard on you .
       I went to the Admissions Office. I applied for as many grants and scholarships as I could.  I had no money which is typical.   In order to survive, I had to find some living arrangement.  I tried various rooms within houses but was never accepted as a roomie only as a house guest subject to eviction at a moment's notice.  My first room was caretaking a house for a few students. The thing is I knew nothing about draining the water lines prior to a freeze.  This led to exploding pipes and angry people. This how I became a plumber.  I fixed every broken joint and learned how to choose the correct solder. It must have Antimony in it. I joined the Outback Farm Project as part of Fairhaven College This was out of desperation mostly, since it was a communist stronghold from the Dirty Thirties.

      The Outback provided a place to eat, sleep and study while I pursued higher education that I so cy ofaved. I was finally away from the noise of the big city and the insult of poverty.  Everyone there was dirt poor showing signs of wear and tear. Dignity was in short supply.  Plenty of marijuana though, for all the lackys who just needed some head space.  I wanted to farm.  I wanted to grow rice and have sex with beautiful woman.  I lived in a pup tent for awhile. Then in the hay lift of the goat barn where Susan and I had sex many times. She would come visit me after hours when my classes were over. I was still in a cast as my broken bone was not healing. Rice growing was my goal.
       This was my project at Outback designed with the Pacific Northwest in mind. Fairhaven College is one of the very best schools in North America according to Fairhaven College.   It has one of the highest ratings for Academia.  This is because of the alternative nature and wide variety of people.  I met many Russians as well as other folks from Asia and Europe all with the social acuity of saintly communists.  This means leftist leaning students that also includes neutral types like me who only wanted to make a real difference in school.

        Poor is as poor does. They stewed up a few Roosters which is not what I would call living high on the hog.   I showed them how to build nice windows out visclean.  It had been so dark previously.  Everyone watched me like a jailer and the chatter behind my back was overwhelming. Phil the Administrator of the school brought us to the rabbit hutch.  He selected the biggest male. Holding him by the rear legs he finally got it to relax. They handed him a shirt piece of steel pipe. With one swift motion he delivered the death blow to the next of the poor thing. The eyes popped out of their sockets. He was gone in an instant. He then showed how to skin and gut the thing while the heart was still beating frantically.

   Such cruelty is the normal around the farm animals. Death is a certainty for all animals raised on a farm.  There was a goose that used to Honolulu loudly at night. The dorms close by complained and just like that the ax fell on this beautiful bird with blue eyes. Tears fell from this critter as she passed away.
       I took some old planks 20" wide and nailed them together forming a box about 8 X 8 in size.  I then draped heavy black plastic inside forming the garden.  I then filled it with very good Skagit Valley soil.  I built a pyramid over the box and covered it with clear plastic.  Not airtight but to keep the heat inside during those cold nights.  I had gotten a full pound of # 33 type brown rice from the Agricultural Extension that operates in Skagit Valley, the richest farmland in the world.  I carefully filled the box with water similar to a rice field with its periodic flooding and kept the hose to a slow trickle.  I sprouted my rice in the small nursery I had built over the summer. Any brown rice will sprout.

      These folks knew nothing about real farming.  I had to teach them what gardening was all about.  They simply raised goats thinking that was farming.....that's animal husbandry. Gardening is hard work and an applied science.   They were stubborn to the end.  No one enjoys the hard labor of double digging a garden each season.  By the end of my stay, they were hauling manure and stacking hay just like the rest of the poor who farm the land.

    The rice sprouted much to everyone's surprise.  They were going to boil it for food.  I made sure that did not happen.  Then ever so gently, I planted these sprouts inside my greenhouse pyramid garden.  With each passing day of the 120 day growing season, I nurtured these plants to demonstrate that rice could be grown in these latitudes of the USA.  It was a fun project that led nowhere.  A few of the students noticed but nothing ever came of my research.  

      I was back to school increasing my knowledge base.  The winter winds shredded the plastic.  The ghost of the Chinese Masters growing rice in America will live on in these memories.  Lundberg Farms in California is where I hoped to work one day. They grow the absolute best short grain brown rice anywhere in the world.
       I was pursuing a communications intensive.  I decided to join the fledgling radio station of 5 watts on campus.  I had known for some time radio was not being fully utilized as an educational tool.  I started designing Children's Programs that exposed the kids to a different kind of education.  Good music is essential for mental development.  This type of thinking was well received by the higher ups.  The station was given a new and better facility with a sound stage for live performances.    

      It is the premier NW station with the increase of wattage.  I was a hero to the women of Fairhaven with many offers of unlimited sex that petered out after awhile.  Nothing ever came ofall that sex.  No marriage or even proposals of marriage only more hard work.  However, I got the job of presenting many groups to the radio audience.  I was burning out.  I could not keep up the pace and complete my studies in a timely manner. 

        One thing led to another and I was soon replaced as presenter.  I was summarily kicked out of school for nothing more than presenting new ideas that had merit.  Strange people do strange things to strangers.  I fought many battles with these strangers who wanted to control me. They wanted my skills. I wanted my freedom. I abandoned the University. You are only sanctioned. 
        Fairhaven College had a different approach to education. You sign up for what's called Concentrations. There are no limits on what you study or where you study but at the end you make a lengthy presentation to a panel who then reviews and makes suggestions that will influence when you graduate.  It was always a challenge because the panel freely criticizes everything about you and your course of studies.  Many are called few are chosen   I did not complete my studies in Communications.  I only came away with vast experiences in media that were hard to translate into a worthwhile job.   In the early 80's it was incredibly hard to find work.  I was lucky to find a worthwhile situation on Orcas.  How I got there is remarkable.
      I packed my few things and fled to the San Juan Islands. I could see the islands from the plate glass windows of the radio station. Always the islander, always the isolationist surrounded by water is the safest for me.   Heartbroken and discouraged, I found myself walking towards Anacortes on the one railroad line.  Anacortes is what's called a ferry town with absolutely nothing going on save a few Alaskan trawlers that call Anacortes home.   I met Liz and Scott trying to survive as Irish immigrants in the Pacific Northwest. It was not easy for any man to do, especially for the Irish. I am one of those Gaelic people.  Liz was playing Irish music at various venues like the Sons of Norway Hall and other odd small gatherings.  She was nursing one child and had another on the way.  This is typical of Irish girls to want big families who will take care of them in old age. I joined her band to lend a hand and was given a place to sleep at her house on the floor near the dining room table. 

    There was a 4 yr old child called Angus.  This kid was one of the meanest kids I have ever known.  He would wake me by kicking me in the head which is a shock you never get over.     

     At least, I was out of the elements for the moment but knew it would not last.   I met Cordia and her two kids....Sacajawea and Joey. True to the hippy mentality, the kids were named uniquely.  She lived on Guemes Island and was planning on going to Orcas in the Spring.  Would I like to go with her?  Next thing I knew, I was off to Orcas and my ten year hiatus on this piece of rock that the Lummis used as hunting grounds for deer before the white man cometh. They always returned to the mainland which indicates a sensible way of looking at Orcas.  It is an easy 10 miles to Eastsound from the ferry landing.  Orcas is shaped like a giant horseshoe.  The only thing is when the horseshoe points down all the luck spills out.  Still laughing at that observation.  Orcas is beautiful in its own way.
      Anacortes was not easy to get to.  However there are train tracks you can walk that will take you almost to downtown.   I camped in a old duck blind for a few days waiting for the weather to clear.  Was not bothered at all by this situation.  I had a blond, winged fairy with the cute bottom land on my chest.  She bent over for me to smell her flowery butt.  Charmed, but I knew it was nothing but another phantasmagoria in my psyche.  

    I did find a lost bunny the next day as I continued into Anacortes.  I returned it to the safety of the tall grass hoping the mother would come and collect her baby. The baby bunnies mew like kittens. The danger for these critters comes from above.
        Fairhaven College is now just a memory soon to be forgotten.  I felt like I had accomplished a great deal.   I made my presence known. I still had nothing to show for all my effort.   No one even offered me a job..... not that there were any jobs available except the apple orchards.   

   The Mount St Helen's eruption really took the initiative out of the business world.   Everyone was getting ready for the Apocalypse. I was back on the road to Nowhere Soon. I organized an expedition to Eastern Washington taking a few hardy souls to learn the ropes of apple bonking.          Lake Chelan turned out to be an incredible experience.  There are many musicians who work apples to give their fingers needed exercise.  I play music so I fit right in. Americans consider music a contact sport.  There are few who actually see the spiritual worth of good music.  A long way to go and a short time to get there is how I see performed music these days. Rock and Roll is a phenomena.  Short lived but exciting until you see how hard it is to travel and set up and travel then set up again and again with all that equipment. Jeez
     One year, I set off to walk the Stehekin Path of the native Americans of old which means the Way. They came over the Cascade Mountains from the North to enjoy Lake Chelan in the summers.  You catch the Lady of the Lake ferry headed north to the last stop and last outpost you will see until you make it across the Stehekin. It was the most enchanting to see Rainbow Falls with its circular rainbow curling in the haze. A rare treat for anyone.

         I competed with the bears for the berries along the trail.  You must be careful with these bears as they are always grumpy and will chase you for your food.   Drop the pack and find a tree fast...It takes two days to cross Stehekin.  I did it in one simply because I was super healthy and scared shitless. I crossed right at Thanksgiving.  I found a Roadhouse serving a royal Turkey Dinner on the cheap.  It was the best dinner I have ever enjoyed.  Along the tributary river I saw the aftermath of the salmon run.  They all die after spawning.  The banks are covered in carcasses.  Some of these Salmon are huge. For humans it is inedible for the most part so it is considered bear food.  It was really dramatic to see this up close and personal. 

     There are many species of Salmon.  The dams have eroded this migration to such an extent that it has become a trickle.   The Indians who fish can tell stories of the past and how wonderful the fishing was and how big the catch was. it is government fry released into the wild.  These are not wild salmon. Even though the can says wild caught.
      The warm evenings under the trees with the long twilight is special. The pretty gypsy girls dancing in the moonlight made me forget my troubles as I settled into the routine of early to rise work ethic of orchard life.   The little town of Manson on the shore of Lake Chelan held a community of Baba Hari Das followers living in a storefront.  I was befriended by these folks sometime before.  I helped them put on the Healing Gatherings with the joy of pure intent.  There was an entrance fee they collected.  $10 dollars a person with roughly 10 thousand participants over the three day event brought in a lot of cash.  One of the female organizers asked me to help launder this wealth of money.  This is not what you think.  She told me she wanted to clean all the bad karma from this sack of cash. She had researched it.  We soon loaded the sack of bills into a washing machine with baking soda and other cleaning products at the local laundromat on a Sunday morning, long before it got busy.  One of my fondest memories is watching 100 grand tumble dry.  The bills came out fresh and clean.  She was soon ironing the bills so they stack nicely.  Just me and her all morning, playing with money and laughing while doing the chore.  Spiritual life has its charms and being dedicated to a principle makes things alright. Luckily, Manson is too small to support a law enforcement office.  So we had nothing to fear but fear itself.
   One of the girls was very pregnant.  Nadine was an outspoken young lady of whom I took an interest.  We started making plans together to travel the Northwest. We went everywhere including the Olympic Peninsula.  We finally landed in Arcata and preparing to make it to my gold claim in the Trinity Alps. We forgot the violin she had been carrying all this time which was the most unfortunate thing ever to happen in all my hitching days. We carried on bravely facing every obstacle that got in our way.  The baby could not wait until I built the cabin.  Nadine started to crown. I put her in the hospital.  I waited for her many days. I only got to see her once in the hospital. They called her parents in Wyoming. She flew home to have the baby.  I was to follow with Buddy the German Shepherd Wolf mix that was the most intelligent dog I've ever known. She really needed the help. Baffled and befuddled by this, all I could do was hitch to Wyoming.
    I arrived in Cody and called her.  By that time, she was up and walking all slim again after the baby's birth. She came to town to meet us.  I was walking down the sidewalk when two Federal agents took an interest in me.  I could sense trouble brewing.  Nadine suddenly appeared.  Buddy took off running for her.  The agents backed off and let me be seeing my connection to Cody was clear.  They always appear at the worst time.

       Nadine had no interest in me anymore as nature was dictating she return to the father of the child.  My last night in Cody was near the Shoshone River. Another bear incident made me leave immediately in the dark and cold back to the insecure security of my mining claim. Back to Nowhere Soon.
       I also crossed Montana during one of these trips.  I was picked up by brothers all armed with rifles and fishing gear.  They asked me along to go fishing. We stopped at this tiny brook filled with brown trout.  It does not take but a few minutes to catch enough for the entire household.  Back in the truck we spied a herd of pronghorn antelopes making their way to the night stand.  The guy leveled his rifle and took a few shots at the critters never hitting any of them.  Glad I was not part of that killing.  

       You haven't lived until you catch a ride with drunken Indians. The moment I set foot in this truck, I knew it was going to be harrowing.  Darkness and the cold dictated I find shelter that night. I even offered to drive.  He offered me a place to rest. His sister fed me. I love my Indian friends although they are bit crazy when drunk.
       Whatcom County is an interesting place home to Bellingham.  In the north of the county were towers that reached way up into the sky.  These are called bird towers ostensibly for bird watching.  That was funny in itself since the starlings ruled the airways and most of the Eagles had left for safer climes like Canada and Alaska.  One could see for miles and miles from the towers that were free to the public.                          Observation platforms was my best guess.   They were built to see the majesty of the State.  Turn to the west and the Puget Sound was visible in all its glory.  Turn to the East to see the Cascades rippling in the distance.  It gave the family a day's outing on Sunday after Church.  You could see all kinds of people.  Youth groups and Senior Centers mingled. This was something people do in every community whether organized or not.   Group socialization is something we as humans cherish.  Our group came from the Outback Farm Project and was paid for by WWU and Fairhaven College.  These outings made University life bearable.  Group dating was the thing.  This was group dating at its best.
         Don't get me wrong.  Fairhaven was a good experience. However, there were no job offers. Nothing in the way of permanence.  That is the one thing a University or College should do for their students.  Job placement is a very important service.  There was none of that. Once you left school you were on your own with no place to go and a lot of new educational debt.  No wonder there is resentment.  No wonder there are shootings in schools and Universities.  The system is flawed.   Employment is the goal.