midwest of the ocean

~ Friday, June 13, 2025

During 1967 heyday a group of minstrels performed in New Orleans. There was never a folk group quite like this. Two guitars and an Applachian bass with two very fine girls for back up vocals. This group took New Orleans by surprise. We had such verve. We were just 17 yrs old and naive about the music business. Susan and Mary Lou dressed in black split skirts with a visible red garter and berets that made them look exactly like French show girls from the bohemian left bank of Paris. Susan was 6'2' and could look Dave squarely in the eye. He was a tower. She was a tower. The twin towers of New Orleans. Susan went on to a solo career in New York singing torch songs for the elite in Greenwich Village. Frank was the band leader. Dave was the second guitar and I played the bass or the gut bucket that Joe built for the occasion. Actually, this was a superb instrument that laid down a good foundation thump frowned on by the Establishment simply because it was Appalachian. The poor are not respected.

I was all dressed up in denim and borrowed my brothers engineer boots. I was there mostly for visual atmosphere since the PA drowned out nearly everything. Being too poor to afford a guitar we relied on Frank to provide musical direction and the instruments since his father Joe Walsh was a music director and a gifted craftsman. We were bound for glory on a train that was going nowhere soon.
House of the Rising Sun, Frankie and Johnny plus renditions of Peter, Paul and Mary classics were all performed with the ease and earnestness of youth. We were smoldering hot. Yet no one was interested in helping this budding band along the path of success and professionalism partly because of the controversy surrounding the Vietnam War. We were dedicated to peace and justice. Since we were seeing nothing of either, we developed a deep cynicism caused by the huge social upheavals of the times.

Remember John Kennedy was shot

just a few years prior to Bobby and Martin. If you stood for something you were criticized and scorned. There was the always possibility of being shot, hanged or dragged by a truck until you are dead. These things happened in the backwoods of Mississippi and Louisiana while we were growing into men.
So what to do? Continue on with school as far as it would go was what we tried to do. Everyone kept saying education was the golden sword we should wield in the name of society. If it were ever to change, education could do it. Besides, it was the only way to get the coveted 2 S deferment which was critical to our survival. The military draft took guys from the inner city who had no skills. Not one of our classmates came back from that war unharmed. Most died outright in the harsh fighting.

One of our friends told the story of arriving in Vietnam. He watched the man in front of him fall to a sniper as they dismounted the plane. Frank managed a CO status that brought him nothing but grief. He was assigned to a hospital to drive the shuttle van. A mindless job that fulfilled the requirement for two years of service. He and Ellen lived in a shabby trailer by the railroad tracks. They were always ready to mount the train as hobos should the need arise. He never forgot San Francisco and the music scene out on the west coast.

So after a number of shows we disbanded. I went on to something else. Frank continued playing with the Cantrells' Raiders with songs of the civil war era complete with the Rebel whoops and the crack of whips. Every Time I go to Town was a personal favorite done in that down home style that Frank had. He sent us a tape of this music. This was the only song I remember. That too, disappeared along with all my worldly possessions when the van was stolen in Portland by a gem thief.
By this time, I had become jaded and somewhat sullen having made no progress in my life's mission. My girlfriend pulled the "I'm pregnant" trip which made him swear never to date someone so flaky. All sorts of temptations constantly bombarded this me as I continued on with my quest to present well written verse to my absentee audiences.

That's when he took up with Ricky sharing an apartment in the Vieux Carre'. Ricky also was in the same Scout Troop 87 and had developed his music parallel to our group. Ricky had the style and angst to write lyrics that stayed with you. Something like, "If I was traveling on, I'd stay and be your man" which was a swell hook. We tried to write songs together but his angst made me anxious. All of this is lost now.

We learned how to obtain fresh water from the many vines that climb around the trees in the Bonne Carre' Spillway that was dug to prevent the river from flooding the City. This effectively connected the river with Lake Pontchartrain. We learned how to survive in the unsurvivable. There are no pictures except one that Dave took while on a hunting trip to the Bonne' Carre' Spillway. We were dressed to the nines with the trademark felt hats which we individualized for the occasion.

So many songs were written that became lost either through theft or the simple soughing off of the unneeded burdens. They were lost in the stacks of papers, tossed out like yesterday's news. Such a golden time it was. I played my music and sang my haunting melodies that are now carried on the winds of time.

Never leave the Garden. Our music was the product of many campfire singalongs. We had the chance to harmonize and practice new material from the songbooks Frank managed to find during his many forays in music stores such as The Campo Music Store downtown.

Times were just getting tougher so no matter which way we turned, we were surrounded with despair and disappointment . I made a few recordings on the old reel to reel which is a family heirloom now held by my brother. Not much of a record but original pieces that could stand the test of time.
There is even a greater body of work on 8 mm film that documents many interesting things of our family, we being the only subjects of dads' desire to make films. Duke and I were the stars of many a homestyle movie. Living in LA will do that to anyone.

The early Mexico travels are showing the familiar face of a strain in those pictures of old. The old man would bring sacks of giveaway items such as cartons of cigarettes, chewing gum, toothbrushes, etc. We would be driving down the highway when suddenly he would roll down the window and reach for an item to throw to the grateful paisanos. Mardi Gras for Mexicans should have been the title of his movies.

Spending summer touring with your family does not make for happy occasions. Living high on the hog was something we could easily embrace. We were masters of the freebie. You give to get. Mamare, our grandmother of German Jewish lineage, came on one of these trips. Edna would sit quietly watching the passing wonders. She would collect rocks for some unknown reason. This is the same woman who tore up pictures of me when we were first introduced on S.Claiborne Ave. I remember it like yesterday. She is dead and gone now with only the bitter memories left. She finally accepted me as family. She was German blooded with German control issues. Her family were survivors of the Holocaust having escaped through the Netherlands to open shoe stores in New Orleans. Who woulda thought? I met those Hollanders who actually helped the Heckmanns escape Nazi Germany on Orcas Island where I lived in fear of being drafted for 10 yrs. They were great friends and acupuncturists who came to Camp Indralaya. This is a Theosophical camp based in Seattle. Madame Blavatsky wrote many books on her travels to Tibet. They were strict vegetarians who grew heirloom apples and plums on a 72 acre piece of land on the shore of Eastsound.

I spent many years there largely alone with as much food as I wanted. John and Dorothy were the managers. They would fly to Chicago for Theosophical meeting leaving me to caretaker the place.

posted by Jefferson at 9:59 PM

I get a lot of emails saying that it only costs a few dollars to get my bankcard. This is bullshit. Any bank in the world will give you a free bankcard simply because you asked for it if you have an account with them. Those who ask for money are called middle men that are trying toglean a profit from you for this service which is not a service but a scam.
I just got a message from sic John F Kelly in Chats through a breakin on a Sunday? WTF? this is his return address for all to see...reply-114936034746419505013@profiles.google.com
A government worker is supposed to use .gov email when conducting lawful US business...Already this guy has broken two rules of contact...I don't allow out of the blue contacts that are phishing me for information like this guy so screw him.... I reported this to the despicable and ineffective FBI. A puppet of Hillary. We will drain this swamp of criminals one day..
Once they get your email they will continue to bombard you with scams and promises that are never fulfilled. This is criminal in nature as they know they can never complete the mission.
Look out for John and Phillip Thomas in Benin arch criminals intent on embezzling bank accounts using various tactics.

posted by Jefferson at 9:27 PM

~ Thursday, June 12, 2025

After the hurricane blew away our summer fishing camp in Mississippi, we decided to build another camp. This is where I spent most of my youth, fishing for trout and other denizens of the deep. Snug Harbor which is right past the Rigolets bridge on Hwy 90 outside of East New Orleans.

We would go fishing for Great White Sharks that swim up at slack tide from the Gulf to feed on the spring spawn in Lake Pontchartrain Snug Harbors' claim to fame is near the place where Jayne Mansfield lost her life in a grinding collision with a mosquito spray truck. Reality strikes when you least expect it. Then I met someone who was her stepson by marriage in the Love Family.
Uncle Tony would take me with him to go catch speckled trout during the Spring run. I was a good boat handler and fisherman. We would literally fill the boat with specks and white trout. We were fishing for many families as well as ourselves. In between forays into the marsh. We would shrimp by throwing the cast net at night after chumming with dog food under the flood lights that lit the waters around the dock.

I caught many fish in my younger years in these bayous and marshes. Our favorite fishing was for the fabled Alligator Gar. We would use deep sea tackle and stainless steel leaders. Our bait was either live mullet or croakers. These Garfish are throwbacks to the dinosaur. They would prowl the bottom in search of food. One night, under the dock lights, I hooked something big. It took all my strength to crank this fish in. When it finally breached I was astounded to have hooked a five foot alligator gar. I asked my brother to get the single shot .22 because there was no way to land this thing while still alive. One shot between the eyes and slowly the monster subsided. It was 2 am. Someone took a picture of me holding this thing the next morning. It was as long as I was tall. Those days are gone. I am so glad I do not have those evenings anymore.
There was nothing special about this camp. The trucks roaring by would shake the building madly. We were constantly at the mercy of the highway. My Mother planted pine tress from Mississippi to serve as a windbreak and habitat for birds and animals. Many times people would stop their cars, come up the stairs knock on the door asking for water or directions which we were obliged to give. Fort Pike was just on the other side of the bridge.

We finally laid my parent's ashes at Fort Pike so they could continue to enjoy the peace of the marshes. My brother found an undisturbed spot for this small ceremony honoring the folks.

This bridge was built by the Huey P. Long Administration in the 1930's. The Fort was a marvel of history with its many ramparts and walkways and the cavernous chambers which were remarkably cooler than the blazing outdoors. This was the site of many high school parties with the typical drinking and carousing of that age group. You learned to survive at these over-the-top binges. I was there to chase girls since their boyfriends were busy rolling down the embankment completely drunk, oblivious to the consequences. At the bottom, they'd sit up and puke their guts out then go back to drinking. Life in the South was strange for the most part. I never really was a party boy since joining the Scouts.
My Mother had a pet gator she would feed stale slice bread at our dock. This critter grew to about ten feet before someone shot it for its skin. That's the way it goes in the swamp. You get big and then you are skinned alive. I chose to stay small and just observe what happens to others.

I rescued many critters from the marsh.

One day, I found a wild duck that had been wounded by hunters. The poor thing was so scared and disabled. I put her in a cardboard box to recover in the darkness and quiet of the deck. After a few days of rest and rations, I set the her free to live out her existence. She never looked back.
I would lie awake listening to the radio. The late night radio programs were colorful. The King Biscuit Radio Hour hosted by Dr Demento was certainly innovative.

I could only stay with the folks a few days before I was forced to leave. The old man always made it difficult for me to stay and heal my body. The arguments with him were legendary. I simply countered everything he said. I learned to do it my way. I came in one night and slammed the door many times which aggravated him to no end. A gun was pulled on me. I said f**k this and left on the Greyhound for the Pacific Northwest. My Mother was crying and hurt. I was sure he was going to kill me. Nobody knows the trouble I've seen goes the song....
Honey Island is truly a sportsman's paradise. To keep it that way, the locals invented a Bigfoot story to keep new comers at bay. There are many hummocks which are islands of trees that are pioneering these marshlands. To get to them you must slog through the muck and mire to reach solid ground. Once there a new paradise reveals itself. The birds are chattering away. The Oaks and Pine are fighting for sunlight as they suck the brackish water to survive.

John Mc Donough Senior High was an inner city High School from which I graduated. Some of those memories will haunt me forever. Forget air conditioning. There was none. It was hot all the time. They gave us an hour in the auditorium to study and do homework. That does not happen much. People are busy sweating and stinking. The worst smelling body in this auditorium was Zimmerman. How he got that way, no one knows. If a breeze wafted through, people would start gagging and moving away from this guy. Then there was the one armed student, his name is entirely forgettable. When it was time to applaud he would pound his chest like a baboon. We got used to the freak show. He was smart though and very proud. He probably owns a business now making lots of dough.

There were two groups in this school. The Frats and the Cats. Our music group was just us bystanders ...observers of the crazy cultural divides of humanity. I was a card carrying member of The International Gawkers Society. Folk music was the rage then for our group. We'd sing tight harmonies in the style of Peter, Paul and Mary. Three guys and two girls that sang backup and wore french split skirts and red garters made us look incredibly on the move.

The Viet Nam War changed all of that. We played talent shows and cafes in the French Quarter. Our music was very good but we never recorded any of it. I made a few private recordings on the old reel to reel but even that does not stand the test of time. I still can visualize many of these people struggling through life. High school was a trip we all wanted to miss.
I had a distant relative married to Nana called Sonny. Sonny was a shrimper. Nana was the only daughter of Abby and Irene owner of the Heckmann Shoe Store on St Phillip St right across from the Seven Seas Bar down in the French Market. The Heckman family escaped Nazi Germany by dropping one n that identifies them as Jews. They came to NYC then to New Orleans married a Cajon and started a new life selling shoes to the blacks. They became wealthy and prominent in the Big Easy.

We used to visit them, exploring the pigeon nests on the roof near the cooling towers which is the New Orleans style air conditioning of the 30's. Uncle Abby and his brothers ran a string of shoe stores in New Orleans. He kept a lot of money in the shoe boxes that were gathering dust in that old storefront. I wonder if it is still there....
Many times, Sonny invited us to go on the shrimp boat and help pull net and share in the bounty of the Gulf Coast. The deal was simple; you show up at the dock at midnight and help with the trawl net. The shrimp don't begin to rise to the surface until the moon goes down. They feed on plankton and other scavenged foods. They form what is called a baitball for protection. You chum dog food to being them to the surface.

This is the target of the trawler. One tows the net right through these huge balls of shrimp. You then lift the net over the hold and release the simple tie. The shrimp tumble into the ice laden hold. You shrimp until dawn. The mosquitoes are the absolute worst imaginable hindrance to shrimping. Sonny was completely oblivious as he captained the boat. His back was covered with a blanket of mosquitoes. I think I only went once and said enoug

Louisiana is on the Central Flyway for migratory birds making their way to warmer climes. Birding was my thing for most of my youth. I had bird identifier books galore. I once captured a young sparrowhawk in City Park. I took him home eventually giving him to my friend Frank. He perished as all animals do but on his own terms.

Living near the great exspanse of marsh was always a study in wildlife. During the Spring the Redfish spawn and do what is called tailing which is basically eating the bottom growth and tiny grass shrimp. I caught a 13 pounder one day with my very last shrimp of the day. What a monster.

There is always a breeze blowing in from the Gulf. One sultry morning, I got hooked up with a shark bigger than the 16 ft runabout. This is why you alway carry wire cutters when fishing for big animals. Never a dull moment as I cut the stainless steel leader.
One of my distant relatives had retriever dogs. We would toss rocks into the bayou. On signal, they would dive for those rocks for

hours. This was part of their conditioning.

We had dogs too. My Dad would go to the Pound and take the ugliest dog there and bring him home to a new cage with all the food and water he needed. Be kind to the animals.

My Mother had minature poodles. We were at Lake Pontchartrain one cold day and the poor thing ran off the end of the dock. I saved the critter with CPR. My Mother was so intent on growing bananas. She would plant the root stock and fertilize it. Then after the long drive from work, She would drag the hose out to water these budding plants until the grew into a family heirloom. Bananas are considered the first food of humans originating in Indonesia. They are the first food of infants around the world especially in the equatorial zones all the way into the temperate regions. I would come and go from this fishing camp on a regular basis remembering my connection with my Mother. She was the kindest and devoted Mother anyone could have.

posted by Jefferson at 7:44 PM

Weaverville held the assay office where the gold from gold claims is analysed, cataloged and verified. It is simply a way the State keeps track of gold and protects your claim. LOL. Since there were many Chinese in these goldfields back in the 1880's, it makes sense that there is a place for them to worship. This place is called the Joss House managed by the State as a historical record of the Taoists in California. It still has the same artifacts of a hundred and twenty years ago preserved for posterity. You can feel/see/hear the spiritual forces at work. The Ranger who gives tours is into Taoism. He acts out the scenarios and beliefs held by Taoists.

There is a screen covering the entrance that you must walk around to enter. We are told it is there because evil travels in a straight line. The covering blocks the simple altar from resident evil that the white man brings..
Taoism is a simple belief in the natural order of interconneced life. Once one becomes harmonious with nature, you can then have some effect on outcomes by simply just being. In short, we all have an effect whether it is good or evil or as the true Taoist believes, a neutral effect. A circular effect seems to be the best model of all possible worlds. We have no control over the weather or nature. Reliance on the Tao to protect us is the goal. The Taoist can influence outcomes in a good way. Even this does not explain what Taoism truly is. To know the Tao is to know nothing of the Tao. Lao Tzu the major proponent, explains Tao in a few brief passages. Tao de Ching can illustrate this belief as well.
There is so much to see at the Joss House, historically speaking. This is the best example of Taoist beliefs in North America. I once submitted a perfectly clean, blank paper for a term paper on Taoism which illustrated the concept of the uncarved block called Po. My professor was not pleased but gave me a week to submit my explanation of Taoist beliefs. I still think the blank paper was the best answer.
The poetic nature of Taoism inspires one to open his eyes to a peaceful reality which is one of stillness and timelessness. It creates purpose. It creates harmony. It leads one to be worshipful of nature. The hard journey home is rewarded simply by arriving at your destination to rest and reflect on your journey. The path has never easy. Be grateful there is a well traveled path home.

posted by Jefferson at 5:16 PM

The Scouts opened many new opportunities for me. My friend Bill B invited me to travel with his parents on the long drive to Washington State. I literally jumped for joy. I got to see much of the country on this car adventure. This is how I first came to the Pacific NW. The B family worked for Michoud that built the Saturn 5 booster rockets that got us to the Moon. His Dad was a Telemetry expert and was highly valued. We were going to pick up household items and pack the rest of their belongings for shipment. We toured the apple orchards where I first tasted cotlets and applets. We were invited to a family gathering on Hood Canal which is the deepest salt water inlet in North America. This is where subs hide during war. We were there to water ski. I am way too fragile for that sport.

The Beatles came to play in Seattle.. I did not go for some reason. I was sweet on a girl but could not find a way into her panties.. Shoulda Woulda Coulda but no date, no money, no clothes, no ideas. I wanted to go. Too stupid to be sucked into that circus anyway. It was just another road show. I missed the Beatles a few times more in my travels. I heard the rumours of their lascivious lifestyle. I met a girl. We hit it off. I got my first kiss from this vixen. Things were moving fast and furious. Nothing ever came of this quick and dirty action. Soon we were on the long drive home.

The whole trip was challenging, to say the least. The wife who shared the driving could not handle the blinding headlights of oncoming traffic and instinctively hit the brakes every time she was confronted with truck headlights. We finally got used to her screams of terror. If we die we die. We were trapped in this death mobile for the duration. I still can recall those desperate moments of panic. There was no calming her down. The husband had to do all the driving. Our first real stop was the Mormon Complex in SLC. We heard the Tabernacle choir. The acoustic demonstration was impressive. They dropped a pin clear on the other side. You could hear it hit and roll around. The tabernacle held many secrets. I would go back in an instant. Later in my career, I worked in SLC on the cancer unit at University Medical Center. I met some heroic people both patients and caregivers. Long shifts for little pay motivated me to catch the Greyhound to Rochester and eventually, the Mayo Clinic hired me. Hard work for 8 punishing years leaving the best part of me there. I was called on the carpet because during my rounds one morning, I found a patient swimming in shit. He begged me for help. My only failure was not calling for help. I did the best I could with this patient and still caught criticism. I left for the better world of the Mayo Clinic. I always join the float pool and always worked 3rd shift. There are fewer supervisors at night. The work is easier and you become your own man. I carried a pager. I would be summoned by different floors to render assistance. My trick was to take the service route below the hospital and sprint to the floor that needed help. You get used to the abuse for awhile trying to make money. Suddenly I was out on the streets again. I drice my SAAB all the way to San Diego I went to a bank and they transferred my money from the Mayo. I had saved nearly 108 k. I cannot hang on to money. San Diego was expensive with no work. I was living in hostels for a few months before finally moving to Mexico. I had 18k left.

It gets bizarre living in Mexico.

posted by Jefferson at 5:09 PM

~ Tuesday, June 10, 2025

The weekend came with the announcement we were sailing to the Big Island headed to New Krsnaloka. This farm held many new and boring things for me and the crew. Charlie called it New Potatoloka since every meal consisted of baked potatoes. Yum. Potatoes and altar sweets enough to kill a man in a few short weeks. The ship blew out the main sail during the transit from Honolulu due to novice sailors and big seas. There was nothing much to do but to limp into the Port of Hilo. We had to make repairs which involved sending the sail back to Honolulu. We waited at the Farm.
In the meantime, the two crazy Canadians really went really wild cutting down the great Ohia trees that filled the valley simply because they were viewed as a threat to the new temple site. This insane thinking was taking over the devotional atmosphere.

The Jaladuta is a solid teak, club footed ketch that is perfect for sunset cruises and inter island transits to train young men in the art of sailing. We were passing the coast of the Big Island in the Alenuihaha Channel. Yeah. it has a comical name but the body of water is supremely dangerous. The waves for one thing, are super compressed with huge periods between peaks. The oil tankers that transit these waters are awesome because the bow can be stuck in one wave and the stern in another. Occasionally you can see daylight beneath the hull. You get used to the extremes.

The wind never ceases and is compressed as well. It blows with a constant ferocity that signal problems if your ship is not quite ready for these bizarre conditions.
The Jaladuta was given to Narahari Maharaj by an Orcas Islander that I happened to know. I had installed a long run of copper tubing to carry hot water under his home. A difficult job to say the least, since one had to get the slope just right so the pipes would not burst in the winter freeze up. The trick was insulating the copper with foam. Unless you drain the tubes well before a freeze, the pipes will burst. I feared the worst but did the installation as requested. When working for hourly wage you have no time to fool around. However, you are never really finished until they say so.
One day, on a Sunset cruise filled with tourists, the Jaladuta diesel failed and we were forced to sail into the crowded marina with the jib only. As we came up to the finger dock, Charlie got ready with his lines to snub her to a stop using the pilings. As we made the turn to line her up, I doused the jib and she coasted into her berth. Charlie jumped onto the pier and hastily threw the rope around the the piling. Three wraps was all she needed to come to a full stop. The crowd on board burst into applause and cheers. I finally had enough of this charade. I found another ship going South. He called me for an interview. This is how I met Brian the Canadian skipper.

When I came back to Honolulu I found out Charlie had fallen while trying to install a masthead light. You do this in the bosun's chair and can be done solo but best with crew onboard.. He lay on the deck well into the following day until a security guard found him and called a rescue squad He was barely alive with crushed vertebrae that left him paralyzed from the waist down.

I saw him at a Sunday Feast and heard the story from this now embittered man with no future but a beautiful wife to care for him in his incapacitated state. Fate always seems to intervene in the most serene of times.

He still could play the best damned Flaminco guitar I have ever heard. Charlie the Sailboat Tuner will live forever in my memory.

posted by Jefferson at 10:44 PM

After graduating from the University of Hawaii I decided the mainland was where I should pursue my career. SLC Medical Center was my choice, working a 40 hr week for $8 an hour. This was really hard work. Taking care of sick and dying patients was heartbreaking and filled with despair. I took my days off to wander the streets of SLC.
One day, I came upon a scene of people staring with folded hands at a freshly cut tree limb wound that was bleeding purple sap. As I studied this wound, I became aware that this was not a normal occurrence as the tree was bleeding sap in the shape of Virgin Mary. As I stared at this phenomena, I was struck by the number of people placing flowers and lit candles underneath this limb that faced the street. Soon more and more people began arriving. Traffic was redirected and the area was cordoned off for safety. People were on their knees in supplication. The media showed up and started filming this obviously sacred phenomena to put on the 6 o'clock news.

When the scene was made public, the next day a mass of humanity was gathering to witness this Miracle. The tree kept on bleeding purple sap for three days then suddenly stopped. The city then removed the tree to prevent it from becoming a continuous impediment to traffic. The worshipers cried aloud for them to stop but to no avail. Mother Mary had inspired many people in those three days in SLC.
The cops had a special way of intimidating the criminals in SLC. At night, early in the morning they would form a phalanx with the squad cars curb to curb and slowly move up the street all the while the lights were pulsing. It was quite the sight. Most of criminals were asleep by then ya reckon?
I soon caught the Greyhound to Rochester, Minnesota where I began working for St Mary's Hospital associated with the Mayo Clinic I had a short hiatus with homecare that was fairly bizzare. I spent 7 years working the night shift in the Float pool.

St Mary or as we like to call her, the Holy Virgin is my favorite simply because of her purity and sacrifice. She is seldom honored as God intended. Sure, Jesus is worshipped by her. Mary was there at the beginning of Christs' appearance and was there at the very end. She brought the baby Jesus into this world and carried him along. She was the first to cultivate the God within Jesus. Thanks be to Mother Mary. The holiest of the holy...the humblest of all.
Many of the druggies learned to sell drugs from their windows. They cut a sliding glass window just like at the drive ups to sell their dope. I watched this phenomenon for many days. The police never showed up. American law protects a home from intrusion by the State. The police force is overworked and underpaid as most PD's in the USA.
On another occasion, I was at an intersection. A light blue sedan was screaming down the road making a wide turn. A blond haired man was leaning out the window waving a silver 44 magnum at the trailing officers. They wisely kept their distance. I found out later that SLC is a hotbed for bank robberies and the robbers are winning. The police are intimidated with all the crime and traffic violations.
I studied Salt Lake City intensely. I was interested in the reason it was such a haven for drug addicts. The theory is simple. Look at the map of North America. Mexico represents the Cornucopia of Life. Salt Lake City is one of the biggest metro areas in the west. It is a logical choice for migrants coming from the south who are traveling from desert landscape that continues to SLC. Once the illegal immigrants make it to the states, they continue on the northward journey. It looks like home. Soon these immigrants put down roots, staying in hiding until they look like everyone else. Trouble is they usually carry dope with them to finance the trip. You can tell there has been an insurgence when the ER is flooded with these folks. The Emergency Room speaks volumes about the community at large. If you really want to know about the demographics of your area, just volunteer at your local ER. But
One day at the hospital, the husband of a cancer patient we were treating asked if I was interested in going hiking. Does a bear shit in the woods? The hospital was right next to a wilderness area. We set off into the scrub and sagebrush. Soon we were seeing an abundance of wildlife. We saw hoof prints of the high plains Mule Deer. These animals are hard to see simply because they are hunted mercilessly. It was spring and the Grouse were doing their mating ritual dances which is a stomping kind of party. Pretty certain the Native Americans learned how to dance from these birds. The chest puffs out and two little sacks appear from under the feathers that look exactly like the human scrotum.

He took me to lunch afterwards at an all you can eat buffet. These types of restaurants are popular out west. One wonders, is this is how people get so overweight in America? The answer is probably. These unlimited feeds have a lot to do with the health crisis that is overwhelming American culture.

The Hispanics of those days, were selling drugs out of the apartment windows just like a fast food service counter does. Service with a smile usually on the weekends but many times 24/7 service. Just ring the bell. Salt Lake City has a reputation of being soft on drugs. Remember this is a Mormon town focused on their ancestry. They could care less about what goes on in the rest of SLC. The Mormon Tabernacle is about as good as it gets for any building enthusiast, carpenter or journeyman. The acoustics are phenomenal. The guide dropped a pin and you could hear it tinkle and roll clear from the other side. The balcony is built away from the walls so the continuity of the semi-hemisphere is complete. The museum is also marvelous. Makes you want to join the church until you get control of yourself. You can only join a study group. Boring till you are bored to tears for wasting so much of your time here on earth. It is all about ancestry anyway. Much of Mormonism is a fraud. Unlimited is the number of wives a man is allowed. This is the basis of Mormonism. Free sex. Study the bible with true believers in Christianity if you want to know the truth. Mormonism is an elitist form of a religion that has no basis in reality. Protectionism is what Mormonism is truly about. Belief in their ancestors is their basis of salvation.

posted by Jefferson at 9:42 PM

After graduating, I worked at many hospitals to gain experience. Some of the more memorable events that stay in one's memory are fairly startling.

A group of medical students entered a patients room to watch an MD take a bone marrow sample from the hip of a cancer patient. This is done with a boring tool that is turned by hand. I was standing outside the room acting as a doorman. The MD started turning the cutter.Suddenly, a young female med studentomes running out and does a head first face plant into the carpeted floor of the hallway. I almost caught her. Come to find out she had not eaten and had very little sleep. She said it was the grinding of the cutter that triggered her fainting spell. Doctors are a tough bunch of nuts to learn from. Just a carpet burn on her face. One of many incidents I saw.

One morning, I was making my rounds when I came across a patient literally swimming in feces. He asked me for help. I immediately got him up to a chair. The charge nurse walked in and saw this. She started yelling at me. Why didn't you call me was all she could say. I did, but no one was coming. The strange world of cancer patients is difficult to grasp. The hospital was super busy for the rest of the year. I did not stay long in SLC with so many people venting at me.

At the recommendation of an MD, I caught the greyhound to the Mayo Clinic. It took many weeks to finally get hired on. Same thing, different day. I stayed for 7 yrs at Mayo in the float pool which is about the safest with night shift being the easiest. Still hard, but the difference was no supervisors yelling at you. They wait until the next day to ruin your sleep. One learns to adapt and survive by avoiding angry people. It finally catches up to you. The first indication is your door card does not work. It only takes one complaint to end your career at Mayo. I was forced out by the powers that be. Hugh Smith was the CEO who ended my career. This was because I sent him email alerting him to stop the illicit drug trade at night by many nurses that pocket pills from the Pixus machine that dispense opiate drugs. The way this works is the MD orders meds as needed for pain. The nurse takes two out of the drawer one for the patient the other for the dealer. Difficult to track because they claim it rolled under the machine or some such incident. I used to roll those machines to clean behind them. The crap I found would interest any detective.

One nurse was dismissed for saving half empty bags of pain medication. Fentanyl can bring big bucks as it is considered synthetic heroin She was hiding it in her purse, then shooting up with easily obtained diabetic needles, usually in the bathroom stalls.

This was a common thing. Everybody is watching everybody for this activity. One complaint can send you packing. Such is the life of a PCA. It is hard not to be an informant at hospitals. I hated that role and was very happy to leave that miserably cold part of the country.

I soon was on my way to San Diego and Scripps Memorial Hospital. Not because of bad behavior but contacting the CEO made me a target to be eliminated. They despise snitches. It affects the bottom line. MD's are a greedy bunch.

The Cardiac Care Unit at Scripps Memorial hired me on the spot. Even Scripps was a challenge to work for. They floated me to the floor on slow nights. I was assigned to sit with an unruly patient that had rolled his truck. He was angry and filled with resentment. He constantly picked fights with me. I asked to go home. The supervisor said no. I was forced to stay the whole night.

. The next day, they called me in for a meeting. They gave me a choice resign or get fired. I resigned. Onto my next job as a homecare attendant with more angry people. After a few months of this torture, I left for Mexico.

My Mexican adventure started unfolding. I stayed at a campground for a few weeks living in my jungle hammock. I was there because of the pool. One day I noticed a baby rattlesnake was sunning itself as reptiles are apt to do. A bird of prey swept down on this critter and carried him aloft. This is the exact same image on almost every coin in Mexico. It was as if God was sending me guidance through the natural world. I rolled up my scene, paid my fees and started for Mexico. Best decision I ever made was to leave the US for other worlds. Immediately, I felt a wave of relief flow over me. Life was still hard. But somehow, I felt more in control of my fate. Applying for SSI was easier than I thought. Soon I could pay my rent and consider my other options. The world was now my Apple.

I got to Costa Rica in a round about way. I first drove to Panama via the Pan American highway fully intending to go all the way to Terra del Fuego. The road abruptly stops near the Colombian border. The Darian region is really difficult to cross. One must take the car ferry to Cartagena then find your way back onto the Pan American Highway. The wait time was prohibitive so I decided to visit Portobello where much of the movie was filmed starring Johnny Depp called Pirates of the Caribbean.

Portobello turned out to be loaded with history. The Spanish Aduana still stands built in th 15th century overlooking the anchorage where Spanish Galleons were loaded with sacks of Gold stolen from the Indians. I always thought one could run a vacuum at night a pull a great deal of gold dust out of the crevasses of paved stone. It being heavier it must have settled deeply. The local police would frown on that venture. You would be deported instantly.

The Aduana has full ballroom stairways that lead up to a balcony that opens onto the Seaport. There are two forts where the Spanish garrisoned many soldiers to guard the operation. Actually three.... the third being on the other side of the bay so any invading ships would be demolished in a withering crossfire of cannons.

I met a sailor who explored extensively these outposts around Panama City. When Henry Morgan invaded, the soldiers left their muskets leaning against the fortifications. He came upon this scene and hastily collected these muskets to be sold on the black market for a nifty profit. The guy was a master scrounger having come across bundles and bundles of 8 inch PVC water pipe washed up on the shore. This was in the aftermath of the frequent hurricanes that sweep through the region.

He carefully towed them to a spot where he sold them to a construction outfit looking for materials.

I was looking around the perimeter and noticed something at low tide. Curious I made my way to this little sand spit. It was a blue glass bottle that had the telltale taper of the 15th century. This item was worth many thousands of dollars. I spent the day uncovering many more artifacts. I left them only for a moment. I came back and they were all gone. Such is life. Thieves are everywhere. I stayed for three months repairing boats and drinking at the bars.

One night, crazy Evan attacked me because he thought I stole his two gallons of gas he left unattended. I am not a thief. He tackled me driving my shoulder into the cement floor.

I was hurt badly. I finally got him off me. I packed up and left the next morning for the hospital. They could not help me. I started the long drive back to the states with a few pain pills and nothing to show for my time.

It took many months of isolation to finally recover. I had been an excellent competitive swimmer. All that was history. So when life hands you lemons make lemonade...My lemonade was lousy and bitter.

posted by Jefferson at 3:08 AM

~ Sunday, June 08, 2025

I had seen the light and it was golden. A golden moment lives forever. Equating light with life is a problem though. No one can agree on the veracity, the truth of it all or is it just illusion? Oh, what the hell. One man's illusion is another man's reality. So I left it yet to be decided. What it would have led to, who knows? Where it would have placed me in the great greasy scheme of the golden light is lost. It was way too much to contemplate. Besides my teeth hurt. Not one. Not even one tried to help steady the great ship of fools named Nowhere Soon that was to be launched into history. A completed work yet to be completed. Leave it to the fools and you get fooled. And the fools rushed in to steal the void left by this great soul who had waited lifetimes to thrust his finger skyward and denounce the Great Wonder in person.
The experience was filled with visions. Jerry Garcia played and the coils of light descended in a show to his followers. As I looked for some escape I saw the great spools of energy developing around the Speedway. This was the great linkup of festivals of electric music. I saw Jerry as the devil with spaded tail and horns of light on his head. How is this happening? I noticed the girl with cone shaped Chinese hat focusing energy at my head. There were many guys surrounding the stage, who were all overweight forming a pool for the energy to collect in.

I was suddenly drawn into this circle. I found myself sitting on stage at the feet of Jorma the bassist of the Jefferson Airplane and the bizarre scene of West Coast rock. My tender kept me seated as Grace took the stage. After a few of the older tunes, the audience became restless wanting to hear White Rabbit again. Grace left the stage. The Grateful Dead took over. The tune was Let Yor Lovelght Shine. This was a long tune.

Alone now with the equipment manager busily surrounding me with amps to form a focus. I looked up to see a spiral of light making its way to my forehead. I looked down and it stopped descending. I called someone over who was watching in the wings to explain things but all he did was ask questions. It was the lamest question I ever heard. "How much do you know?" I was shocked that he assumed I knew anything.

I had come to this Festival to chase girls not recieve some light from the Queen of the

Universe. She danced away just as quickly as she had come. She looked like Anne. They displayed a giant image of a naked girl enthralled by it all. The light show was fantastic culminating in this inage.
The mood changed, the golden light retreated, the constant hum of the cosmos is humming somewhere else today. I had chanced upon a reflective thought. Yes, the sunsets of the South Pacific wandered into my memory. The reds, pinks, purples and oranges remind me of birth. The ending is the beginning is the ending. So be it. The movie never ends.Only begins again and again and again. You can edit but you can't add. You can cut and paste but you can't change the ending. It's always the same. Good or bad. Sad or Glad. Up or Down. Why even try? There will always be someone who dislikes you whom you can never please. A marriage made in hell withswell view of heaven with a small H.

We are stuck here until we learn how to get away. That, my friend, is never easy and takes knowing someone who knows how to. I knew but wasn't telling just yet. It is too simple to believe. Nobody would believe me anyway. And no one even asked.
I always said I would reveal the answer of answers, the question of questions, the solution of solutions, the mother of all sores in the brain, the pukey, acrid truth. Instant enlightenment is the solution. Ok, what does that mean? This is a great ah ha moment, this Eureka revelation of the creek thinkers? This is serious stuff and only for the dedicated and hard to persuade can understand this.
Get this thought straight. George Harrison devoted a magnificent three record set to the one and only complete and unabridged answer. One has to chant the names of the Lord.

Hare Krsna Hare Krsna

Krsna Krsna Hare.Hare

Hare Rama Hare Rama

Rama Rama Hare Hare.

If you chant sincerely at the time of your death or have someone else do it for you you will never ever have to be reincarnated in this place again. The spiritual world will be your home.

I stand at the crossroads of existence. The lingering golden-hued sunsets are only a taste of the upcoming spiritual world. All of the great religions point to the same answer. All of life stems from the same great munificent source. Why must this be so confusing? Why must we be so lost for so long? We mark our time becoming so enraptured with this material world that we forget. So life takes back its substance.

We plunge into the only source of light we know. Everything else is artificial. The light of electricity is nothing more than a replica of the light of Heaven. One does not even have to know it as Father or Mother. That is the only way children relate to their world. One can call it by a name or by an experience or a groove or whatever. Only know that it has always been here and always will be here with you whether you see it or not, care to know it or not, its your choice.
I stared long and hard at this solution that is too simple for people to see. Ask yourself for forgiveness and you will see that mending your relationships becomes easy. You will learn how to be with others and trusting in the Answer. What's so hard about that? The endless String Theory of existence. Just string along. you will be alright.
Charlie Tuna had been there and back. A die hard sailor and a Flamenco guitar player extraordinaire. A man of adroit skill and interesting memories. Someone I could relate with. The Maharaj had gotten a club footed ketch donated to the Temple by a wealthy patron in the San Juan Islands. I actually knew this patron. A rare solid teak yacht renamed Jaladuta staid and elegant, so dependable and roomy, excellent for touring Hawaiian waters.

Sunday afternoon was sailing day taking tourists on a sunset cruise off Ala Moana. Such perfection in Sunsets were the norm. Spinner dolphins and sea turtles were a bounding to get that last snack before the transition into darkness enjoying the fading sky show. Snorkeling with the vibrant ocean creatures was unsurpassed.

The weekend came with the announcement we were sailing to the Big Island headed to New Krsnaloka. The farm held many new and boring things for me and the crew. Charlie called it New Potatoloka since every meal consisted of baked potatoes. Yum. Potatoes and altar sweets enough to kill a man in a few short weeks.

The ship had blown out her main sail during the transit from Honolulu due to novice sailors and big seas. Charlie was sorrowed by this. Berating himself for no getting up in the middle of the night to install the preventer that's designed to prevent this sort of accident. A simple rope trick tying off the boom so it can't gybe violently.
There is so much more about these days but, alas, it will just have to wait until I hear back from the great Beyondananda. The relevance is lost for now. The present is all that really matters.. How long does it take for a man to fall after stepping on a banana peel? One bananosecond. Think that's funny? You really gotta lose that long face, hon. Think that its going to be OK and it will be OK. OK?
Life is a lot simpler when you are dirt poor and working for nothing. At the farm we quickly became builders of cabins and water engineers. Tractor driving and carpentry along with harvesting the ginger crop that a Kanva had planted was all we had to do besides forage for food. The guavas were in abundance. The avocados were ripe and only needed a climber. Francois served as the retriever of the Avocados. He'd toss them down as we waited to dodge these deadly missiles. Oh so good for a starving boy.
One night I decided to sleep under the cabin we were building in a small pup tent. A storm came up but was delightful. In fact, there was a double moon bow afterwards. This was not your ordinary night moon bow. It was milky white in the moonlight with faint colors visible. I was having wonderful dreams of Spiritual Masters that point to the same path over and over again.
The swami held the farm in high esteem. He had arranged to have two archaeopteryx delivered to the farm soon. These birds have gone extinct some time ago. This experiment involves injecting DNA of these ancient birds into their closest relative that are alive today and carefully harvesting the clutch of eggs, incubating them then hoping for the best. Shades of Jurassic Park. This actually worked!
So the days went on. The waterfall with the swans, the Yamuna River with the ancient swimming hole. The peacocks' constant calling and, of course, baked potatoes. It was the first time I put on the saffron robes of a devotee. The devotees had a way of dressing that was to say the least, unique.

Starched and ironed was the order of the day for the five hundredth year celebration of Caitanya Mahaprabhu, the last incarnation of Our God. This is probably not the God you are thinking of but this is the oldest and kindest of them all. Just the facts, man.
As suddenly as we had come we departed for the sail back to Honolulu. All of us had lost weight and stamina due to the unhealthy diet.moving on had become the way of life for these sailors. It soon became a trademark of.mine. The destination was No Where Soon.

posted by Jefferson at 10:53 PM

Extermination

Of all the possible ways to die this has to be the worst. Mega death on an unimaginable scale is taking place around the world. This is a designed virus by the Chinese. I caught my second bug with a mild sore throat and a little cough... Not enough to get worried but significant enough to take it easy for a few days. It could have turned serious. Gargling with Hydrogen Peroxide seems to knock down some of the throat infection. Tis my only medicine. Medicine is costly.
You must clean everything with bleach water. This means washing your dishes with a capful of bleach. The absolute filthiest is the fridge. Unplug the thing and prepare a sink full of hot soapy water and bleach. Start with the handles then remove the shelving and start scrubbing. By the time you finish that, the freezer should be defrosted enough to chip out the ice. I use a fork because you can lever up entire sheets of ice for easy removal to the sink. Time elapsed about 20 minutes. Now plug the thing in and start loading the perishables. This method gives you the opportunity to get rid of those half used jars of mayo.. Mustard never goes bad. I then mop the floor. You just never know what you will find by mopping.
This is the 6th month of lockdown with no end in sight. I know for a fact that UV light from the sun would help us turn the corner. We are entering the Solar Minimum which means a colder winter. It still is sensible to lay out in the sunshine to build your Vitamin D and B 12 stores.. These vitamins are very helpful to your immune system. They all are so take your vitamins and eat properly with an emphasis on good nutrition. Everything you do to protect yourself will go a long way to preserving your life.

Already through the first week in Sept. the heat is building. Hurricane season is in full swing now, disrupting ocean travel. Louisiana never seems to escape these storms. It is my belief that the Mississippi Delta acts as a giant funnel. Water attracts water. Do the experiment. Teach yourself. No one will do your work for you.

This Labor Day weekend which means the end of Summer, is heading into a bleak Fall because of this Plague. Living in Tijuana is challenging and dangerous.

Not much is happening that is good. I will go stateside tomorrow. Hopefully, the water will be turned back on. Then for the next few days it will be catching up on chores like laundry and dishwashing. Never a dull moment staying alive.

It is so hot right now. My method is to stick my head in the freezer to get some relief. The sun looks like an orange rubber ball at 30 degrees off the horizon. The fires are raging everywhere now. Even above the Arctic Circle the fires are consuming everything. Pity the poor critters that are fleeing. Many will not make it.

My method is to try and write something every day. I missed many days due to distractions. Occasionally, I can fulfill my promise to myself by forcing the issue like now....Nothing much is happening. I visit friends but seldom leave the house because I am either too tired or hungry.

We are now into almost a year with this plague. There has been more than 500,000 deaths in the US alone from this virus. The Vietnam war took 57,000 so there is no comparison. The research shows Vitamin D seems to be a preventative. Recall this vitamin is called the sunshine vitamin for good reason. Sunshine creates Vitamin D so get out in the sun for at least 20 minutes a day. Sit by a sun filled window if you cannot endure the outdoors. The absolute best place is the beach. Even inland lakes have an abundance of sunshine. Expose as much skin as possible to the direct rays. The best times are before 10 and after 2 to prevent sunburns.

You will feel better. Try to remember to drink plenty of fluids As we age, our thirst alarm is dampened. At least one gallon per day is recommended for healthy adults. Hardly anyone comes close to that number. This really means water. Sodas, beer and other alcoholic drinks count as food and will not rehydrate your cells.

Your nose will dry out. This morning, I was awakened by what I can only describe as a booger flapper. I took me quite awhile to come up with a solution for this thin piece of booger glued to nose hairs that rattle and flap with each breath you take. These tend to develop in the dry air of the desert. The booger flapper is an odd obstacle to proper inhalation.

Some of the ways I tried is twisting up two squares of toilet paper. Then you insert it into the offending nostril and begin rotating. With any luck the tissue will somehow dislodge the invading yet quite dry, former tenant that was causing such a disturbance in your head. The other way is simply shower. Tilt your head back then holding one nostril closed and with a mighty honk you are free at last, thank God, it's free at last.

posted by Jefferson at 9:58 PM

We loaded up the pirogues every Saturday to explore the new found waterways in the vast marshlands of Eastern New Orleans Parish. We were snake hunters. My Dad's family has a fishing camp along the tracks that run by the eastern shore of Lake Pontchartrain.

We hunted for arrowheads in the piles of shells thrown up by storms littering the shoreline that had never been touched. At first, I was taken there by the Durand family on an expedition to hunt for arrowheads on their cabin cruiser. We kedged the boat offshore and took the dinghy to the beach. You can bring some tool with you to move the piles of shells. That little 4 tine garden hand rake worked nicely. More about that later.

Dave and Frank shared one of those flat bottomed boats called pirogues pronounced 'peerog.' I've seen motorized pirogues that are propelled by a Briggs and Stratton with a through hull stuffing box to let the shaft of the propeller through the bottom. You really must have building skills to develop a powered pirogue like that. You stand up and steer with a long pole that is also used to move the boat into position. They make fittings today shaped like a ducks beak for the end of the pole since the muddy bottom is so sticky. These motorized boats have only one speed, on or off. You must have a clear waterway ahead of you.
I was in my old leaky pirogue that I repaired with tar gathered from street repair crews. They dribble tar into street cracks. I thought this would work on the one I salvaged from an old gator hole many months before.

It still leaked. It was like paddling another body around when it filled up with water. I was constantly in search of a place to pull her out and drain the water. Cypress does swell up so as the day wore on, it became a little easier. Dave and Frank were always way ahead of me. As long as I kept my trusty .22 across my knees, I could manage. It was just a wet and wild ride for the most part.

I finally was able to buy Alvin's single seat pirogue duck boat for a real deal of $50 dollars. Whatever happened to that very fine boat, I guess I will never know. Probably one of my brothers made it their own. We were drifting along looking for wildlife. The railroad had replaced cross ties and had bound up these throwaways and rolled them down the embankment. It was a scorching hot day to be on the water.
I saw the snake first, as long as the cross tie, resting in the cool of the shade of one of these bundles. I had never seen a snake that big before. It was the biggest cottonmouth water moccasin in the area, for sure. My rifle was a single shot. I had loaded it with long rifle ammunition. I had only the one shot. I leveled it in on this creature and squeezed the trigger. I was about 20 feet away. The snake erupted in a frenzy. I had placed the round right at the spine trying to sever the spinal cord. I missed by a mere hairs breath. Its head flew back with its mouth wide open and bit itself. The thing paused and those dark penetrating black eyes came to rest on me. I had only seconds to reload before this snake was in the boat. Either that or grab the paddle and start paddling as fast as I can. I still had my trusty machete if it became mano y mano with this viper as he slid into the water intent on me.
Dave open fired with his fully loaded semi automatic .22 his grandfather left him, quickly putting an end to the threat. Dave was a good shot.

We made sure this snake was finished by cutting off the head. They say even a dead snake can bite you as it still has muscular reflexes long after it has died. All reptiles have this reflex. This proved to be true as the mouth was wide open prepared to deliver venom to anything that touched it.

We took it home and placed on a fire ant mound. The ants cleaned that skull in a few days and gave Dave a nice trophy for his room. I gave the skin to Dave as well for saving my life that day. Donny his brother, dried it and made it into a hat band. That started Donny's career as a herpetologist that continues today. He even started raising the serpents in his basement much to the dismay of his landlord. These were harmless brown water snakes. Still the landlord freaked at the mere thought of a cage full of snakes. Shades of Crocodile Dundee, Louisiana style.
By watching these waterways, we discovered that the brown water snakes crawl onto the banks to recharge in the morning sun. Being the stealthy scouts we were, we took advantage by landing well away and creeping up on these critters. One swift motion with the machete relieved the snake of his head. Soon we had enough snake skins to make a hundreds of hat bands to sell in the French Quarter.
There were many abandoned fishing camps on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain. We would pull our pirogues over the tracks and relaunch in the saltwater then paddle along this mysterious shoreline. We came upon a old wreck of a fishing camp. These are summer fish camps built on piles out over the waters. It was derelict now after the hurricanes blew through leaving nothing but ruined dreams. We decided to go inside and look around since no one was within 5 miles of us.

These camps all follow the same pattern. Built in the 30 and 40's there is a huge veranda that is screened in. Mosquitoes are the absolute worst thing about these wilderness areas. Inside this 360 degree porch area were the bedrooms. I was interested in Louisiana architecture since I grew up here. These buildings had a central area bedroom so to speak, surrounded by a screened porch. Ah, the many Fais Do Do I went to when I was young. These are Cajun celebrations at night where you might get to kiss a cousin. The little kitchen area was nothing much but a place to fix breakfast and coffee for the fishermen. The toilet was just a long drop to the waters of the lake. Everyone fished. We would go floundering with a Coleman lantern and spear fish early in the evening always hoping to catch one of those monster fish. One night, I was stung by a stingray. My spearing days came to an abrupt end....This was a painful wound that took a long time to get over. The rays have a poison that is secreted on that awful barb that occasionally breaks off into the wound.

One of my Scouting buddies whom shall remain nameless for various reasons was also interested in everything Louisiana. His Dad knew this area well. He had taken all of us on an arrow hunting trip along the banks of the Eastern shore of Lake Pontchartrain. He needed to forget about his wife. She ran off with an British scout half her age. We learned the truth after the scout meeting. This changed their lives dramatically leaving this poor man to fend for himself and three boys. They never heard from her again, as far as I know. Anyway, life carries on no matter the situation.
These were huge piles of windblown seashells from centuries ago forming sort of an embankment that were rich in Choctaw arrow heads. In these vast stores of shells, we were able to find arrowheads and spear points from the days of the early hunters in this area.

These pieces are incredibly valuable since these flint types come from way up north in the Minnesota region. Flint is hard to find in the antediluvian areas simply because of sedimentary nature of the rocks. Flint comes from volcanic activity and is a type of glass formed millions of years ago when the earth was young.

These well shaped arrowheads were common among the plains Indians and were considered trade items among the tribes. Thus, their arrival in this region. The unfortunate loss of arrows while hunting is our fortunate gain. We moved about a ton of shells before spotting the dark colored arrowheads among the bleached shells. Each find was like looking into the past. During the early part of the 20th Century these items were collected and mounted on display boards hung in the Den of some rich man's domain. As Scouts we used our finds to intensify our knowledge of the First Americans who hunted in these waters.
We crossed back to the barrow pit and made our way further into the marshlands. We continued our explorations which eventually opened into a huge open body of water hidden from view. This was a duck hunters paradise with many duck blinds to target ducks wintering in Louisiana. The fish were in abundance. We went fishing in earnest. I soon had a stringer full of bluegills.

I had perfected catching fish on a fly rod and a little surface popper. I had consumed volumes of Field and Stream, Outdoor Life and other fishing journals. Roll casting was my specialty to bring the big bass to strike my frog lure. You really have to anticipate a large fish taking your enticement. I had a whole selection of surface poppers in my tackle box. I was always ready to try something new. Fish can be very picky so having a variety of plastic worms or live bait is the way to go in the swamps and bayous of the South.
After sitting for hours in the boats, we decided to haul out on one of the embankments of the canals feeding this shallow lake. We came upon a small pond that was drying out and soon would be no more. It was teeming with life.

Choupics are a type of fish that are very primitive. They can breathe air for a short time as they crawl from one body of water to the next in search of safety. This has been happening for millions of years. We were witnessing the demise of these 5 lb fish as they gasped for air in the mud pit that soon would be their grave. Frank was our expert on these fish and said the blacks harvest them, turning them into fish balls that are deep fried, kind of like corn fritters.
That was good enough for us to start the harvest. We soon had well over two hundred pounds of choupics to clean and freeze. Dave was cutting some brush with his razor sharp machete. I could tell something was wrong when he sat down and grabbed his shin. He had accidentally cut himself. A nice little slice that needed to be cleaned and bandaged. We called it a day after wrapping the wound to control the bleeding. It was a long drive home for us with much work left to do. Dave went home and did the right thing by washing the wound as any trained Scout is taught to do. His mother was very pissed at us for letting this happen,.. It took many hours of explanation for her to fully understand it was self inflicted and really was of no consequence. The protective Motherly instinct had kicked in. Accidents can and do happen even in the safest of circumstances. The fish balls weren't that good. Onward and Upward..... we're on the Scouting trail so the song goes.
Frank did a similar thing when he was sharpening his straight razor. As you strop the blade on leather you come very close to your arm. The blade barely touched his arm. It opened up a three inch slice. Frank used this opening to watch his muscles move before finally getting it sewn up. His family hardly acknowledged this accident. Growing up in Louisiana you kinda expect to get hurt somehow in some weird fashion.
I had another moccasin encounter when hiking alone in the LN swamp near Sweggmanns.. As I started to step over a downed tree something stopped me. I don't know if my angel was protecting me or my psychic powers were extended again. I carefully looked on the other side of the log. Sure enough, there was a huge Cottonmouth lying along the log staying cool from the heat. This was just another big snake with enough venom in those venom sacs to kill you in a New York minute. I could feel the hairs standing up on my neck. I beat a fast retreat out of this charming but dangerous swamp. Mulberry season was just starting. I was just looking for food not snakes. I gave up looking for muskydines which are kind of a wild grape. It's skin causes a rash. So in order to eat the sweetness you first must carefully skin them. The skills of the Lousiana swamplands were being perfected.
I had discovered a huge mulberry tree with three inch long fruit that consumed my attention for many days. Others knew of this tree so there was always the chance of an unwholesome encounter with the gangs of the area.
The South is famous for the many varieties of fruit. The figs are fabulous. The pears are dripping with juice and so satisfying. My Mother used to do a lot of canning of these types of fruits. Fig Preserves in the winter were the best. Pears boiled down to a sweet syrup filled with nutrients that made coming to Sunday breakfast very popular in our home. My Mother would fill countless Mason Jars with these treats and stow them all through the house and garage with don't open signs that held us at bay until you are told to get a jar by the Kitchen Boss.

She was always training us to be exceptionally polite and quiet. Being obedient was a very powerful way to persuade your parents to get something for you. Like taking out the garbage on a regular basis without being told or doing the evening's dishes without complaint brought you a special gift like a hug or snuggle.

As I got older and saw how other families insisted on these services, I considered myself lucky not to have been thrashed. My parents never struck us. They lectured us endlessly but no physical pain was delivered only emotional punishment and dissatisfied looks. Neither were of any help. By the time I reached 17 I was looking for any opportunity to run away. It finally came when I met Shelia one Christmas Eve at the restaurant I was a waiter. I will never forget that girl.

posted by Jefferson at 9:48 PM

This chapter is about one of my favorite pastimes in life. I like to visit great churches. Let me start with the absolute smallest chapel I have ever seen. On Orcas island, I made the acquaintance of one of the biggest landholders in San Juan County which incorporates all the islands of this delicate archipelago. I was there to do some work.

He loved his family more than anything in the world. As the children were growing up, he hand built a small wedding chapel for his daughter to be married in when she came of age. However, it was never used for that simply because it was now too small a venue for this giant wedding party. It stands today. This postcard perfect and charming cedar chapel with the tiny belfry and long cobbled walkway that leads to the double French doors They swing open in a welcoming fashion. The setting itself is perfect. He located it in one of the oldest groves in the islands. Every now and then, he goes to this chapel and does the maintenance himself despite being well off. His heart is still humble and his eyes tear up to thank the Lord for this sweet bounty and the graces bestowed.
In New Orleans, one of the more interesting tour types is visiting all the magnificent churches the city possesses including Saint Louis Cathedral near Jackson Square. As you walk in (after removing your chapeau of course) just sit down and engorge yourself on the history of this wonder. Ladies must cover the head with the delicate white cloth. A handkerchief will do. This is the very first Catholic church built in America by the French explorers who founded the city long ago. The marble floors are well worn. The cypress benches held some of most famous bottoms in history so be careful not to sit on a ghost.

Iberville and Bienville canoed down the Mississippi and pulled up at this exact spot planting the very first French flag at this site. New Orleans has seen many conquest flags. The English came, saw and tried to conquer but failed in the War of 1812. The Spanish also claimed the very same spot. America saw the value of having a shipping port at the mouth of the Mississippi defending this privilege until this day.

The Arcadians were the French separatists driven out of Canada. They made their way to New Orleans thus becoming the Cajuns that finally have a home in the many Parishes of Louisiana. This is the only state in the nation to have Parishes just like the Catholics of France. St Louis Cathedral was named after King Louis the 14th..... the Sun King of France.

The frescoes and ornate statues all have a story to tell. You can light a candle and say your novenas as the smoke curls under the little tin heat spreader above each flame. Do this carefully and with supervision since the old building is dry as a duck's feather. The statue of Jesus in the back garden has an interesting story to tell.

He is missing a pinkie finger from Katrina. One of my friend's Father actually sculpted many statues all over New Orleans. This was his finest. You can see them scattered in City Park close to the tennis courts. Truly astounding artisans live and work in New Orleans. He is now a picture framer somewhere in the uptown district of Carrollton.Durel is the family name.
Across St Charles Ave. from Audubon Park in another uptown region called the Garden District stands a replica of the Notre Dame Cathedral in France. The spire reaches high in the sky and the bells sound so sweet as they chime their way to through the day. On Sunday, the true power of the bells can be heard all over the uptown area. Nowadays, they simply play a recording so that the bells will last longer. The stillness of the sanctuary is awesome. Once you get the bug, you can see all the rest of these churches and other architectural marvels across the city. Some are easy to find, others require patience and a strong will. The rewards are immense.
Not only Catholic churches but all churches have significant architecture. In San Diego there is a splendid Mormon Temple that dwarfs many similar edifices. This masterpiece is continually lighted so that it glows brightly from a distance. The spire reaches high in the sky. It is a regional landmark that is overlooked by many of faith simply because the Mormon beliefs have never been updated to include more people.
When you go to Hawaii, be sure to see the Seventh Day Adventist Church that towers over many other religious centers there.

Don't stop with Christianity. Visit Temple Row on the Pali Highway. Many of the various sects of Buddhism built some of the most beautiful structures in Honolulu. Hinduism is also represented. They too are very welcoming in this great city of the Pacific.

Behind Jefferson Hall at the University of Hawaii at Manoa sits a quaint tea house that was shipped from Japan and reassembled in this well tended Japanese Garden that is perfect in every way. Not many know of this tiny tea house. It is certainly worth the effort to go exploring on the campus just above Honolulu in the upper Manoa Valley where many delights and wonders await.

Take your time to find the only Taoist Temple in the islands. It is on the upgrade to the Pali Hwy on the right, sheltered among the great Banyan trees that protect this delicate hand built place of Devotion. Then the Kuan Yin Temple is also a must see. It is located near the new Chinatown. This is the only woman Buddhist deity favored by history.

Dublin was another eye opener with many wonderful Cathedrals and Protestant edifices to see and embrace. Ultimately, these churches represent the milk of human kindness as the Bible says. It has not been easy to see these places. It has been a dangerous and an overwhelming mission to look for the unity within all religions.
The most famous in my mind and the most difficult to get to is the called "The Church of the Last Resort" It was once known as the Inner Sanctum. All the homeless know this church for it can be found everywhere. It is similar to St Anthony's in San Francisco where all humans can get something to eat for free. You walk right in, sit right down and the food is heaped on your stainless steel tray.

Sometimes, I can find this church when I am in the wilderness among the trees within the clouds. With the sunlight is streaming down in the various rainbow hues of God's great gift of wonder and innocenceyou become aware. . If you ever find this church, it is one where you can stay as long as you like, eating and sleeping to your body's needs.

posted by Jefferson at 12:53 AM

Orcas Island is a unique and magical place. It has the most wonderful topography of lakes and seaside scenery unsurpassed by the typical islands of San Juan. This is due to glacial carving of the east sound which almost bifurcated this Northwest wonder into two distinct parts.

Moran State Park is the place to be. You can drive up to the lookout tower at the highest elevation overlooking Puget Sound. It is foggy much of the time so plan well. It reminds me of an old Buddhist temple climbing into the mists of time.

This is a wonderland. At least, it was when I was there. There were the fairies that Dora Kuntz wrote about exactly like you see in the films and books of old England.

Now Dora was one of founding members of the Theosophical Society in the 20's. Without casting aspersions or calling people by unhelpful monikers, I did notice quite a few war era Germans living closely within this encampment of old time Nazi-like people. That being said (and I regret saying that) there was this aspect to much of the Theosophical body of work. That generation is dying off. You learn about Madam Blavatsky with her many books as she traveled to Tibet to uncover the mystery of Spiritual Life.

Henk who was an expert gardener was also a German with military background. He never talked much about that with me but I suspect with the intelligence he possessed he would have been a valuable asset to the Nazi Regime. He was 84 when I knew him living in Canada building a new quiet existence. The past is but a goodbye. TS is a benign organization bent on spiritual progress and nothing more. It follows the Indian pathway to enlightenment of Krishnamurti.

The teamwork was phenomenal. We built a beautiful library in one summer complete with an airtight vault to preserve the manuscripts of old that had been rotting away in storage. In the afternoons, I would sit and watch the dogfish swim around the edge of Eastsound. My brother came one year to visit with his wife and child. He wanted to go swimming. I tried to explain the water is extremely cold. He persisted. After the first shock he had enough. He did see the many orange and purple starfish that swarm over the bottom of this fridged body of water.

I had built a canvas covered kayak that I turned into a sailing kayak at Indralaya. I took it out into the town on a cruise. No pictures of this interesting ship with plastic sails and a jib.
There were other things that happened which were simply enchanting. After leaving Indralaya for Olga under duress, I accepted a caretakers position on Roehls Hill Rd. This land was 8 acres owned by restaurant mamagers in Portland. They never visited.

I was there for 10 yrs.

I started chanting the Mantra. The Vishnu expansion came to me. He doesn't come for any other reason but to save sincere people. It was all for naught since my situation did not allow for me to continue with the chanting. I had to work and work hard just to stay in one place.
At first, it seemed normal for me to hang out with everyone of similar age near the ferry landing when I first arrived. This was soon to change. That first spring with Cordia was interesting. She had two kids named Joey and Sacajawea which was unusual. One of the new acquaintances was a young woman who was short tempered. She was having trouble with her boyfriend. We motored away to Doe Bay whereupon we heard they were no longer together. What a relief. But this was a short lived relief because the family of the boyfriend had not heard from him for quite a few weeks. They became concerned enough to call the sheriffs office. It was a tragedy in the making.

The deputy made the perfunctory visit to his domicile only to hear the same story. He had left in a huff. This was his farm, though. Putting two and two together the officer naturally became suspicious and returned with a search warrant. Soon it was clear he had been murdered by this woman while he slept. She had sneaked up on him with a pistol and shot him to the head. This was all because of a trivial argument over nothing of consequence while drunk. She subsequently cut him up and put him in the freezer with some of him being buried beneath the house. The head was swarmed by ants. We heard about all of this and carefully distanced ourselves from these types of people. She is still in prison for this cold killing. Orcas was merciless and became a real challenge for us newbies. Orcas, if you look it up, means death in Roman mythology.

Moran State Park and its high lakes was our only solace for these times. The lotus grows in the shallow waters of the more distant Cedar Lake. The Lotus is the symbol for purity in Buddhism. What a way to begin a friendship.

Dwelling on this incident just gets sadder and makes one unable to function. We were young enough to put it out of our minds and get on with living the high life. Doe Bay was a new beginning. Cordia had taken up with Mark at his farm by now which was a few miles down the road from Paul and Judy's 1.5 acre place. Gb found a job with Sucia & Matia Marine State Park training young, troubled people on how to make a living digging latrines and hauling garbage. There were two Lummi Indian brothers as part of the crew.
These two Native Americans worked harder and longer than the spoiled whites ever did, asking for little and doing more. Gb asked them about their work ethic. He was told their parents counseled them every day to put their best effort into this training. Using chainsaws safely, the work truck with its winches and four wheeled drive became important to these young people. The State sprung for their work clothes and boots just like the military. It was the work ethic we were trying to instill.

Gb had to jump up at dawn, hitch to Moran State Park to meet the Ranger and the rest of the crew. Then he had to run the Boston Whaler with five or so young people across the channel that separated Orcas from Sucia, Matia and Patos. This 2 mile trip was sometimes through dense fog. Navigation by compass became important and total cooperation was essential. It was a thrill to be at the helm of something other than the blues. The Rangers busied themselves with the many yachts wanting to moor for the night at a premium cost. One afternoon on a particularly hard day Gb backed into a generator breaking off the carburetor with the massive truck. He was docked a week's wages for this oversight.
I found an old Smith Corona typewriter that I used for years to write stories of my adventures. I had to leave all that behind when the big earthquakes struck in San Francisco. I jumped for the South Pacific then, leaving that pile of writings to the elements. There were many instances of leaving without notice in my life. The world is always trying to separate you from your possessions.
After a day of this type of work the crew loaded the garbage onto the old front loading landing craft and shoved off returning to Orcas. We had to load the Boston Whaler on its trailer while also unloading the trash into the bed of the truck. Then we had to make the long drive back to Moran, stow the gear and grab a shower before hitching home to Doe Bay.

One day on Sucia, we were working the most distant campground when we came across a pile of abalone shells. It is illegal to harvest the species especially from a State Park. We had the radio and called Ranger Bill who showed up with his ticket book and cuffs. This sort of hectic life went on for the whole summer.
That's when Paul and Judy had their falling out about raising Peter properly who was merely 4 years old. Judy kicked Paul out for non support after Pete fell into the fire that was serving as the cook place for nearly ten people. His hands were burned and blistered making everyone feel responsible for this kids' welfare. Gb's girlfriend at this time was a wild child from Seattle. Krena had a huge German Shepard that obeyed her every command.

The two Shepherds would fight a massive battle right in front of Carlos who had ridden a motorcycle from Argentina. He owned a pure white German Shepard that would obey his every command. He could go no further since Canada requires a monetary deposit to cross its territory.

Carlos was the patriarch of this ragtag crew. Gb inherited a load of responsibility he was not intending but went along with since he was being fed regularly by Judy. He also was building for her under a verbal contract that gave him incentive to start a business on Orcas. He built a circular hay house for the candle making business, complete with a see through roof. He had plans to build the bigger house on the home site along with the others there. This was not to be. Judy was forced to sell to David subsequently moving to a small roadside cabin to set up her candle shop complete with a new sign. Another roadside attraction. The Orcas Candle Shop was born out of the need to have a respectable home life for Peter..
I worked for Dot B. who had a huge history with the US Navy. I felt right at home with this woman. She had many daughters who would come to check up on her and meet the hired hand which was me. I would do all the hard outside work she was just incapable of doing.

She enjoyed my company and stories. I was always invited to lunch and the coffee was always hot. After one of these hard days at work I drove a different route home for some reason. I passed by one of the pastures holding a herd of steers. I glanced over and they were standing in a circle mooing loudly. I stopped the car and got out. Only then did I notice one steer laying motionless in the middle of the circle. I surmised the fall harvest had begun. This was the first of many to die that Fall by the hand of the rancher. I was cold the rest of the day.

The Gypsy life had taken hold of me. I built a Gypsy caravan down in the grove of old stand of firs where the sun never reaches. Larry and Ella decided to built their garden in this exact sunless hole of a hollow. My Varda was a two wheeled affair. I had ordered two carriage wheels and an axle from the Mennonites in Canada. These wheels were built from scratch by those cloistered Germans who still cling to the old ways. That was easier than building a 4 wheeled job. The turning plate was beyond my skill level. The base of the cart was tongue and groove flooring that the Bond brothers cut especially for me. They even delivered the load for the geodesic dome I was also building.

This cart was very beautiful. It was eight feet tall. I had cut a window in the rear and fitted thermopane so you could see if someone is following. I used dimension 1\4 plywood and stringers of ripped 2x4s for the sides. I made a small door with an arch then cut it in half so I could leave the top half open when sleeping. Cabinet hinges worked well for this project. I fitted sheets of 2 inch styrofoam between the stringers that held the plywood thus creating a solid white interior that reflected heat well. The roof was 1\ 4 plywood painted with hot wax as a roof coating. I was determined on lightness as the way forward. I found a small cast iron stove at the junkyard where the rich throw away valuable stuff. I recycled everything from there. I cut small diameter firs for the rails. I should have used 2x4 for this but I was running out of money. I even had a tiny front porch to sit on while driving the cart. Now I could hitch a horse to pull it if I ever found one.

I coated the whole thing in wax since I had plenty of that left from the candle making business Judy and I ran for a few months. Hand-dipped tapers were my specialty. I had learned this craft from the Love Family some years ago. The only thing I had left to do was form an overhang above the door and rear to shed the torrential rains I knew were coming.
Rolf E. the Contractor lent me the use of his wood shop to cut everything out. He helped me perfect the pure curve I needed for the roof line. Rolf is another character connected to Indralaya. He was adopted by John A. which kept him out of prison. I was similarly adopted by John and Dorothy. John and I had disagreements which led me to leaving the camp. Thus I was homeless on Orcas for a few months which convinced me the gypsy life was for me. I even dressed in a gypsy style. I had bought a basket case of a violin in Honolulu. I was able to restore it to near perfect on one of my sea voyages to the South Pacific. I had gotten really proficient at the fiddle.
With only one road leading to Eastsound, it was a given fact you would inevitably pass one of your neighbors on the road. The one finger lift was the way you said hello to everyone since getting excited at these daily encounters would exhaust you and be trying to your neighbors. There is a steep curve as you round the sound on your way to Olga. At this dangerous curve, Irmagard lost control of her antique Mercedes and slid off the road and down the embankment. She spent the night in this situation waiting for help. John, her husband, finally put the scenario together and mobilized the volunteer fire department to mount up a rescue. Everyone was relieved at her good fortune and harrowing escape. She was uninjured but pissed at the wrecked car.
This dangerous turn has taken a toll on other drivers like big Dan who was driving the VW bus for Jack and rolled the van, ejecting Dan. Road rash does not heal very fast unless you have a healing situation waiting for you. It fell to Jack to shelter this victim sailor for the healing process to take place. Catherine came to live with me but she was head over heels for Dan the man. I must like being used and abused since this is the status quo for me. I am the proverbial stepping stone.
That winter, we nearly starved since we had no transportation and the only market was miles away. Judy sewed a blanket into her sub-par overcoat to keep busy and stay warm. Paul came back and wanted to make their marriage work. Interesting how that didn't work with Judy. Gb suddenly was on the outs anyway.

He bought an old Rambler from a Shaw Island nun and found a caretaking position at Camp Indralaya. This was fine for a few seasons. However, it was necessary to leave because of John the manager suddenly didn't like the way Gb could work harder than him. He found an abandoned cabin on the shore of Eastsound close to the old commune that had seen the death of one of the group a few years hence. He walked by the hastily made grave site daily. He began building the gypsy varda in the woods. He was siphoning water from a capped well and used Rolf's shop to cut the walls and roof line of the caravan. He was living near the old commune that had been abandoned some years ago. We investigated the story of a death there. The guy was buried under rocks that were still intact. No telling how this guy died though. It is the nature of the poor to die abandoned somewhere. He soon found another caretaker's position in Olga. Winter was coming on strong.
This situation was 8 acres of rough terrain adjacent to Moran State Park. One huge catch though. No water again except for a stream that dried up in the summer. The owner had sunk a dry well. The owner was caught up in the hotel business and lost interest in this property. All the Bear had to do was feed the ten cats for these folks. This was fortuitous for Gb since he was but a breath away from homelessness. He hauled water in blue barrels from Moran State Park which was alright since he knew everybody there. He finished his gypsy caravan and bought a VW van of vintage safari style. Things were looking up for the moment. I towed my half finished varda or gypsy wagon with the old rambler. I parked it down by the overgrown garden. I cut windows and set foam insulation which turned the walls into luminescent warmth. The small wood stove made for a home scene I was missing.

My intention was to eventually open a popcorn stand at the ferry landing in Anacortes. My plan was to make popcorn balls out of caramel spiced with cayenne and sea salt. A dream too far once again. I finally gave it to my old friends Pat and Dorothy with the need for housing for their girls.
After Indralaya I was determined to build a tofu shop and sell Tofu just like in Japan. I obtained a giant kettle that was a double boiler. It was wood fired and a plumbing nightmare. I built the geodesic shop and installed the kettle. There was no water developed on this land so I was hoping for a solution which never came. I traded the kitchen for a motorcycle. The 250 BSA was also a nightmare since getting parts and service was hard. There is a organization called Worldwide Motorcycles that will ship anywhere. I got this machine running but there was another problem. This thing stalls a lot. The hill is the problem. Even if I got a good run the motor would come to a halt halfway up. I figured it was water in the fuel so I put a in line filter which helped. I dropped this motorcycle more than once in this situation which was so frustrating. No wonder I was angry all the time. I turned to the Park for solace.

It was great hiking to the far reaches of the park. One day I found a small meadow overlooking the President's Channel on the eastern edge of the park. It was the most isolated patch of heaven you could ever imagine. This is where animals come to die. The many skulls of deer were caught in the season's new growth of wire grass and fennel. Interesting that they chose the most beautiful of meadows to silently pass away. It was cold on Orcas all the time. The cold is merciful for the dying.

These days were the best since I could dream about wandering the Canadian islands to the North in my Gypsy caravan for the whole year. Only if I would have been born fifty years earlier it would have been possible. The sad reality was you'd be stopped by obstacles and the local police. Things like this are not allowed. I was faced with that longing for that freedom for some time. It is like a broken heart. Sure, it heals but it never feels the same way. So there she sat near the garden. My gypsy varda waiting for that day which never comes. It was a fun project to think about though.
My closest neighbor was another park ranger which made for a friendly neighborhood. This was all about to change again. During this period of productivity I worked over on Blakely Island for Gordon building for wealthy clients like the Runstadts. They were some of the more influential people in the Puget Sound region. Gb was paid a mere $5/hr for all the hard labor he performed for this wannabe builder with no sense of fair play.
Soon after that, Mark M. arrived looking for someone to land on. It was sort of strange how he met Gb. He was driving a 3/4 ton truck mounted with a hot tub. He was looking for a water supply to fill the thing. It was kinda odd but this was Orcas the land of odd dreams. Mark was a dreamer and fisherman from Alaska. His family had a fishing boat for Alaskan waters in Seattle. So far so good. Mark was a somewhat financially stable individual. I decided to rent the mobile home to Mark for $60/month which is an unheard of rent on Orcas. It soon became clear that this guy wanted more than what Gb was offering. He wanted to take over the land. It became a power struggle with this problematic human which turned into a mess for everyone. We all had to leave.
The drama with people preceded the Mark escapade. There was a young couple that were phone psychics who took phone calls from all over America. Michael M. was channeling his grandmother who would offer advice to emotionally disturbed young women, all for a price per minute. These folks were doing a land office kind of business until Michael dropped dead from a heart attack in Seattle. He could have taken Gb's advice but he was stubborn as so many are. He left Rebecca and a small boy to founder in this strange environment. They soon departed.

It was great fun and just about the right size to handle at 250 cc. This BSA was entertaining but dangerous. On the day Indira Gandhi was assassinated he high sided the curve in Olga winding up in the blackberry bushes. His hand was broken again in the same damn place as before. He struggled into Eastsound and Dr Stanley who put him in another 6 month cast. This changed everything again. He now had to sit and wait for the hand to heal. He was hiking in Moran State Park when he had another fall upon the rocks which broke his Ulna bone in the other arm. And you thought you had bad luck?
Working for George K. was unique mainly because he is a full on Greek. George told me of his days as a seaman. He told of his ship being attacked in WW II. He jumped for his life into a flaming sea. By carefully swimming underwater he made his way to the edge of the inferno. I couldn't tell if he was telling stories but it sure changed my opinion of merchant mariners being escapees from the war. I would meet up with George to finish carpentry jobs that got handed down to him from people who ran out of time and money. We would step in and save the day.

On one occasion we took on a remodeling job which required a complete gutting of the insides of the cabin. This is dirty and vile work that somehow, I got to do since George ran the business in the only way possible which is his way. I took to this with relish armed with a crowbar and wrecking hammer. Smashing walls and windows as a job was satisfying. We called it getting your Yang out. After a morning of this activity, he shows up and starts measuring for custom made counters and cupboards with me to build a small deck for the barbecue outback. Filthy and dirty work became my specialty. I hated it, though. I soon opened my own business. When you are the sole proprietor, worker and bookkeeper you must have some friends who will back you up. I tried hiring help but that turned into a management issue. Everybody wants a free ride.
I was soon offered a job to build the projector booth in the new Community Theater which also serves as a meeting place for county management. This was an awesome project complete with a big budget and interesting work. I was proud of this. The things I did to establish a working theater on Orcas. Some of the most famous actors in the region came to perform Shakespearean plays and new works at this marvelous performance house with the red velvet curtain. The projector booth was state of the art. The building budget allowed me to explore many different configurations for this booth including slanted windows to cut glare flares. The sound system was awesome as well with many hanging speakers and monitors. The theater was the toast of the island for many seasons. Then turning into a auditorium for town meetings during the off season. We were trying for the best. I think we succeeded with the stage having the greatest thrust in the Northwest. It was as if the actors were part of the audience.
Melissa was the daughter of David W. She is loved by everyone. One night I attended one of those school plays as she was plying the actress trade. As I entered I waved to her. She broke character to wave back at me. I made her very self conscious. Her Dad was David who played violin. We were good friends. I asked him to teach me some violin moves now that I had the one and only instrument I truly loved. I met up with him at his place one cold night. He could actually play the violin with gloves on which I truly marveled at. As I tried to mimic him we heard a loud boom. We thought nothing of it. We soon heard a helicopter landing in the field across the road. It turned out to be a neighbor who was putting up a wall with a boat trailer winch. This was not really well thought out. He died that night probably listening to my only concert on Orcas. I felt really bad and decided not to play anymore.
Gb busied himself with more projects like roofing and building a novel sailing kayak out of canvas and wax. This kayak had everything. Two masts rigged fore and aft with a clear plastic jib and sails. He built outriggers out of foam. Foot steering for the rudder and solid steel keel mounted in the keel stringer balanced this ship nicely. This toy was trimmed out in cedar and turned out to be very fast on the waters of Puget Sound. At the time of his departure he passed this micro yacht to a homeowner whom he had worked for installing the plumbing main stack in a three story home for a clean $1000. Never enough. The homeowner promptly sank the micro yacht. The joke was how do you become a millionaire? Come to Orcas with 2 million. He soon abandoned Orcas for the South Seas and Tonga.
This became possible through the Hare' Krsna Temple in Burnaby, Vancouver. This was a regular getaway for Gb. The temple in Suva was burned by Christian arsonists. He flew to Fiji with a letter of introduction which was not enough to get the job. When he finally arrived all the work had been completed. Now what?
A young Scotsman was sitting on the staircase and introduced himself as a representative of the Aukland Temple. They were planning a huge project and needed a builder to organize it since devotees are not known for their skills in the building trades. This guy paid for the flight over to Aukland and the return trip as well. However, absolutely nothing was there to organize. Just but a dream of a new temple. The old temple was no more than a ranch house from the war years. The kitchen was covered with about 3 inches with gee and other debris too unmentionable to remember. This then was the first thing he was asked to do was put in a new kitchen floor. He realized he had been had by this Scotsman. One morning, he came to where Gb was sleeping and tried to make him go to work. After a long night with that floor Gb was in no mood to be told anything. It was just too much to be pushed by this unfortunate liar. When the guy said he was going to the leader, Gb took the opportunity to kick him in the butt. This started a free for all which Gb won by grabbing his shirt and twirling him around and around. He let him go flying face down into the mud of the last nights' rain. It was not long before he was packing his bags for Seattle. He had seen enough of New Zealand and having lived with the Kiwis for awhile but it was over. He felt used and abused by society in general so this was just a continuation of the abuse he suffered everywhere he went. The destination was no where soon.

I returned to Orcas after visiting Hawaii with my reconstructed violin that I obtained at the thrift store for $5 dollars. I was determined to learn to play and play well. I started the rebuild it on my way to the South Seas via yacht. I finished the project on coming back to Orcas. Bruce showed me how to set the bridge correctly. I practiced and practiced.

I studied many techniques but could not master the vibrato which is essential to gypsy violin. There is the first position the second position and the nearly impossible third position on the violin One night, in one of my now famous waking dreams a man came to me who appeared to be a 17th century violin master with blond hair. Since my violin was made in West Germany, I thought he might be from there. He spoke not a word but demonstrated the basics of the violin such as how to hold it and bowing techniques. I still can't do a decent vibrato though.

The night Steve Jobs died and I believe he came to me and smiled saying nothing but sort of reassuring me that things are OK. I wish he would have brought some cash with him to finance my life. This is all I ever asked from anyone. We all need money, even me.

I had may visitors to my little refuge. One night I had another waking dream of this man with a mohawk. This is not your well kept mohawk but a huge one that looks fabulous. I recognized him as a heroin addict in Seattle. Why he came to me is unknown. He probably wanted to form a band. I left that game some time ago so that was a non starter for me. Junkies always have some scheme to get ahead usually involving an innocent bystander.

One day, I was in my kayak fishing just South of the island. I was bottom fishing for halibut that frequently come down from the Northern waters. My line started spooling very fast too fast for any know fish species I knew about.

I hooked a submarine that was patrolling offshore. I figured it to be American but was never sure. It took all my line. I slowly paddled back to shore and reported what happened. They told me the US navy frequently uses this area for training submariners. We had a good laugh over the sub I caught.

posted by Jefferson at 12:48 AM