Greenwood/Elk columns

August 2 ~ October 25, 1990

August 2nd.

The Greenwood Watershed Association now has T-shirts for sale as a fund raiser. They are $10.00 apiece. The design is in three colors consisting of a circle with a dragon across the center. The dragon shape actually represents our watershed, coming down out of the hills between Greenwood Ridge and Clift Ridge. They look quite swell but then, I designed and printed them myself. If you would like to buy one give me a call at 877-03216 and talk to my interesting phone message. Oh yeah, specify size, S, M, L, XL or XXL.

And now...The continuing account of Ninetta Eames and her travels along the Mendocino Coast in the year 1892.

"Seven miles south of Mendocino City we crossed the Albion River, a pretty stream, averaging a width of a hundred yards for a mile or two up its abrupt, wood banks. The immediate coast line is bare of trees, its sharply indented wall bordered for miles by outlying rocks. In the shoal ground off the south point of the little harbor, is Pinnacle Rock, standing in range of the smokestack of the saw mill. In the throat of the inner cove Mooring Rock is seen, girdled by a rusty mooring chain. Vessels of ninety tons burden, and drawing six and a half feet of water, are loaded off the mill wharf, while lighters are used for transferring freight to large schooners lying at Mooring Rock. The forests accessible to Albion Cove are almost exhausted, and the quaint old mill stands in a wasteful disorder of logs and lumber.

We passed stock ranches next the bluffs, with dwarf pines straggled about. The low hills on the east were blotched with burnt stumps, indicating the one time existence of vast numbers of trees. There was no longer a lavish outspread of flowers, though many painted blooms still nodded to us behind the moss-grown rails of the fences. The handsomest of these, and for that matter altogether the most beautiful flower we had yet seen, was the Rhododendron Californium, which is said not to grow farther south than Mendocino. The people hereabout call them 'wild oleanders.' The flaring, roseate blossoms form compact clusters on the branch lets of a large evergreen shrub, whose peculiar habitat is the well drained peat of these bench lands.

The country grew more hilly as we journeyed north, and was frequently cut through by gorges dark with pine and redwood, or canons whose streams dance to the sea under the lithesome foliage of alders, or spicy nutmeg trees and lithe limbed spruce. In many localities the soil is rich and friable, presenting to the eye a varied landscape of billowy pasture lands alternating with squares of plowed patches and fields of waving oats.

A mile below Little River Harbor is Stillwell Point, a bold cliff two hundred feet high. Soon after passing this conspicuous landmark we sighted the pretty town of Little River. When our horses came to a slow climb, we took advantage of the lull to question the driver, and learned that the lumber industry here is reduced to the shipping of ties. The sawmill was silent, the swampy boom gorged with whitening logs, and the yards stacked with discolored lumber and the debris of past milling. A number of coasting schooners have been built here, and brought out at high water. The timber used in their construction is the California fir, which grows in that vicinity. This wood is marketed under the name of Oregon pine, but is a tougher and stronger wood than the regular pine found north of the boundary of California.

From the tableland lying between little River and Mendocino Bay one has the first glimpse of Mendocino City, the oldest and most picturesque of all the coastal towns. It occupies the rolling bench on the north side of the ragged curve of the bay. Viewed from a distance on shore or at sea the city seems to have an imposing array of cupolas, which are in reality water tanks, with windmills of every known pattern. There is in fact an individuality about the water works of this town not found in any other place of its size. Every family or group of families has its separate well and windmill, thus obviating the necessity of a general source of water supply. One sees windmills painted in red, white, or blue, or dark shades of maroon and yellow, and still others so ancient and wind-tortured that their distinctive color can only be guessed.

When the wind blows, and there is rarely a day here it does not, these divers windmills set up a medley of discordant creaks and groans, each pitched in a different key, and whether heard singly or collectively, all equally nerve rending it is presumable one could get used to the constant slapping, straining, and screeching, for nowhere are there people more serene, healthy, and home loving, than in this breezy town of Mendocino. Many of them are pioneers of this section, and have lived here since the early fifties. They must have had no end of brave, warm purpose, judging from the work they have done, and the superiority of the families they have reared in the midst of inconceivable hardships, and the wild exigencies of a remote timber district.

Not a few of the children of these oak hearted pioneers have built elegant homes beside the primitive dwellings of their parents. The first house made of sawed lumber still stands in the heart of the town, and is yet occupied by the original owner. The first settler on the present site of Mendocino City was one William Kaston, a voyager up the coast in 1850, who was forced by stress of weather to seek shelter in the bay. It was not known why he concluded to take up his abode on a bleak, isolated headland, or whether he had companions other than the Indians who hunted and fished along the beautiful river.

A year or two after the arrival of Kaston, a richly laden vessel from China was driven on the beach at the mouth of the Noyo, and parties came up from Bodega to gather salvage from the wreck. These men took back glowing accounts of the wonderful forests on Big River, and their contiguity to a food port - a desideratum of special moment at a time when the price of lumber was greatly out of proportion to the wages paid for hire.

The first to avail himself of this immense timber wealth was Harry Meiggs, who in 1852 brought in the brig Ontario a crew of men, and the machinery necessary to erect a sawmill on the point flanking the north side of the harbor. The oxen used to draw the logs to this mill were sent overland from Bodega. A village sprung up, which was called in those days 'Meiggsville' of Big River Landing. Many families lived in tents of Indian wick-i-ups, and other poor makeshifts against the inclemency of the weather, the petty depredations of the Indians, and the nightly prowling of wild beasts.

Coasting steamers call regularly at Mendocino City. The passengers are taken off in boats, and the freight is discharged in lighters and afterwards hoisted by a swinging derrick to a platform on the brink of the cliff. On the northwest face of the head there are two chutes down which lumber is transferred to small schooners, the deeper vessels being loaded from lighters.

The lumber interests of Big River are at a standstill. No smoke issues from the enormous brick chimney of the sawmill. Unless moneyed company buys the mill and builds railroads to the uncut forest higher up the stream, this charming seaside town must share the decline of her sister villages. Her horticultural resources are not sufficient in themselves to support the present population, and a return to prosperity must depend upon the further development of her timber industry. There is plenty of good land here, but the almost indestructibility of the redwood stumps and roots renders its clearing an difficult undertaking."

Next week...a journey up Big River with "Nigger Nat".

August 9th.

Up Big River with "Nigger Nat" (Nathaniel Smith) and Ninetta Eames in the year 1892...

"A day spent in rowing up and down Big River is an enviable pastime, especially in latter May, when not even the feather of a cloud mars the lovely blue of the sky, and water and woods are aglow in a downpour of sun-gold. Across the long bridge, where the terminal forest dips lightly into the white sand of the bar, one comes upon the summer camp of "Nigger Nat," who is still a famous hand at the oar. Indeed, Nat looks surprisingly young for a man who must be upwards of sixty-five or seventy, for history has it he came to the coast in '52, and was then in the prime of early manhood.

"Yes, ma'am, yer right. I was the first white man that come to Cuffey's Cove, an' Portugee Frank was the next un."

So said the old pioneer, as he smoked in the shade of a pepper-wood, just up from the river. It was evident the word 'white' was not intended to be facetious, for the bright eyes that met mine had no twinkle in their depths, and the mobile lips wore a respectful smile. He probably used the term in contradistinction to Indian, but the humor of it was irresistible. One could see he was pleased with the prospect of a customer, for he rose with alacrity, called to Julie, his wife, to help him shove off the boat.

Julie and the dog Bob are Mat's inseparable companions, and both do their full share toward earning the livelihood. She is a good-looking, middle-aged squaw, who amiably cooks the meals, mends the nets, fishes, and sets traps, and deftly removes the skins of lions, wild cats, and otter, which Bob and his master bring back from the hunt.

I gave Bob precedence, because in reality he is the more successful hunter of the two, rarely failing to chase down a deer so it takes to the water, when, with Nat and Julie actively on hand in the boat, and Bob warily on guard in the brush, the fate of the terrified animal is assured.

Nat relates his prowess, while our boat was midway in the stream, Bob decorously squatting by my side, with his one eye intent on the lunch basket, and his remaining ear - he lost the other in paw-to-paw combat with a wildcat - pricked attentively. Upon hearing his name, he commenced pounding the seat with his stub tail.

On either hand the river made sweeping curves through uprising banks, clothed with young piney growths that press to the verge, to mirror their graceful greenery in the noontide current. Surely, no stream was ever more beautifully margined than this "Bool-dam" of the Indian! The name signifies "big holes," and was suggested by the curious blow holes seen in the rocks near its mouth. The American interpretation, however, is "Big River," owing to its being the largest of the coast streams in Mendocino.

We were passing a verdant level, and Nat pointed out a tumble-down shanty and corral: -

"That's 'Ha'nted Flat,'" said he, pushing his hat off his forehead to wipe the dripping perspiration. "I don't go much on ha'nted things myself, but there's cert'nly somthin' curi's 'bout that place. Long ago a man killed his pardner there, an' since then, folks say, cattle put there breaks through the corral an' runs off. Guess it's prob'ble the musquiters won't let 'em stan', fur they's dreadful pesky here o' nights. One man tol' me he foun' his oxen ready yoked at sunrise, an' durin' the night he heard scary noises. Likely 'nough 't was the "Singin' Fish.' You hain't heard o' the 'Singin' Fish?' Well, that's sing'lar! Some folks calls 't the 'Drum Fish.' 'T ain't exactly singin' it does, but a sort o' rumble, soundin' mornful down the river till yer hair stan's up. It begins 'bout sunset, and last fur two'r three months every summer. It's a lettle too early fur it yet, - say 'bout the first o' June. Folks come way up from the city to hear it, an' they's all puzzled to know what does the singin'; but mostly thinks it's a fish. I've made up my mind it's the bullhead, but that ain't sayin' how it makes the music alongside the logs."

Here Bob gave an expressive yawn, and whined uneasily, while fixing his round, watery eye on a particular copse along shore.

"He rec'lects that spot; don't ye, Bob? Just under them salmon berries is where he fetched a deer up once."

Nat proved a most interesting companion. His strength and energy seemed hardly impaired by age, and his memory was unfailing. Before he came to Cuffey's Cove he ran the first ferry-boat between Sausalito and San Francisco, and charged sixteen dollars for single fare. His vessel was a ship's boat, schooner rigged, and owned by himself.

After two or three years of ferrying, Nat's blood took fire at the rumors of splendid hunting in the Mendocino ranges; so he sold his boat, and forth-with started for the redwoods. Not many weeks later "Nigger Nat," as he was called, was accounted the best shot on the coast; and, in consequence, was of great service to lumber men, who made regular contracts with him to furnish their supplies of meat.

"Me an' Greenwood hunted together," Nat went on, while resting on his oars. "There was more elk here than there's cattle now. The trouble with elk meat, it's tallowy, - like mutton fat, only more so. The men was always willin' to pay more fur ven'son, an' more fur black an' brown bear than fur grizzly. If we'd had such guns as they hev nowdays we would n't 'a' left any game in the country. Sometimes, when we's campin', we got so hungry fur salt i'd go fifteen miles to the beach to get a sack o' kelp. By the time I got back, there was plenty o' salt shook out in the bottom o' the sack. We used to slice up the cold livers o' deer and elk an' call it bread, an' sometimes the folks at the mills wa'n't no better off. I've went clean to Anderson Valley to get meal. It was so coarse we had to mix it with a spoon. It wn'n't long 'fore there was plenty o' potatoes, an' such big ones I once actu'lly took a pile of 'em fur firewood."

While we lunched, and I listened to Mat's modest recitals, Bob was kept quiet by giving him cake and sandwiches. We were now four miles up the river, where there were eight thousand logs wedged in a boom. They had been here a year or more, but were in no danger of rotting in a much longer period, as redwood is quite as impervious to water as it is to fire. A sportsman was swinging his legs off one of these immense logs while fishing for trout.

Big River drains a wide scope of forested country, and in past years millions of feet of logs have been floated on its bosom to the mill. In high tide the water is brackish for eight miles up from its mouth. In the fall salmon come in from the ocean, Nat declaring he had once hauled in fifteen thousand within the space of ten minutes.

"They last till June," he said, "an' then comes herrin', yaller perch, an' flounders, an' there's always plenty bullheads, though a lot of 'em is killed by the fresh water comin' down. Ye see that log, like an' island with grass on top? When an otter's fishin' he lies on one them logs out o' sight in the grass, an' there's jest here I set my trap an' ketch 'em every time."

Nat's one vanity appeared to be the narrow strip of otter fur ornamenting the neck of his woolen shirt.

We found an easy landing, and making fast our boat went ashore. All about us were tropical ferns a dozen feet in height, growing in the dense shade of pepper-wood and pine. Several rods farther along a well-worn trail the shadows were fanciful played upon by circles of sunlight filtered through the scant drapery of white-limbed alders. In this sequestered grove is a narrow lake known as Bishop's Pond. Above its peaceful bosom the withe-like branches of the alders meet and braid themselves into a leafy arch, which is darkly reflected upon the surface. There were white pond lilies, Nymphaea odorata, in the lake, the first I had seen in California.

When rowing homeward, the horizontal rays of the sinking sun lay goldenly upon the river, touching the young trees to a tenderer green, and lighting even the black masts of the few patriarch redwoods that had escaped the ax. The massive logs lodged out in the current were mimic green gardens, and every visible head of a "sinker" was whiskered and plumed with seeded grass. On a marshy spot a crook-necked crane waded, and along the sand flats near the mill, flocks of gulls wrangled over the bodies of bullhead fish washed ashore. Nat made powerful strokes against the incoming tide, and landed us among these gluttonous fowls when it was yet early twilight.

Next week...Fort Bragg.

August 16th.

Staging in Mendocino, the final chapter.

"The day after the river excursion I took the delightful ten-mile ride up the coast to Fort Bragg. Every bight of the sea on the way had its stream and sawmill, Though only the Casper mill was running, Fort Bragg being the Aaron's rod that had swallowed all the others. This lively lumber town was full of excitement over the prospective launching of a "cigar" raft, which lay in its cradle upon ways six hundred feet long. The raft itself measured three hundred and sixty-five feet in length, with a diameter of twenty-one feet. It was equipped with rudder and steering gear, and had a pilot house perched on top, from which a flag floated. The raft contained more than 1,200,00 feet of piling, saw logs, and ties, all bound together in the shape of a cigar by means of wire ropes placed twelve feet apart, with a core or center chain of solid stud link cable, by which it was to be towed.

For the three months previous the building of this raft, the first of the kind ever attempted on the Pacific Coast, was the one absorbing topic of interest to lumber companies. Should the venture prove successful, they would duplicate their mills in the large seaport cities, where all the refuse lumber could be sold for fuel. The carrying out of this plan would not appreciably diminish the work done at the present mills, as only the smaller logs can be made into rafts, thus utilizing trees which are either burnt or left standing.

Unfortunately, the Fort Bragg raft was not launched in deep enough water, and the bow struck the sand when the stern still rested upon a hundred feet of ways. It took days of perplexing labor to get her fairly afloat, by which time the strain had so loosened her bands that she parted at sea, and thousands of dollars worth of logs were lost. The experiment, though a failure in this instance, has at least demonstrated that this manner of raft can be built and launched at certain lumber ports along the Pacific, if the ways are made to run far enough back, and have sufficient elevation to secure the right momentum to the sliding raft.

In 1857 Fort Bragg was a military post, erected for the protection of the "Noyo Indian Reservation," but ten years later was abandoned. Several of the barrack buildings yet stand on the open plateau occupied by the present town. The place has a noisy, commercial air, its great mill and eating-house and the extensive lumber yards surrounding them being the first objects that meet the eye of the visitor. The total shipment of lumber from this point during the last year was 3,500,000 feet, besides immense quantities of pickets, shingles and ties. A railroad runs up Pudding Creek seven miles to the Glen Blair mill, which has the reputation of sending out the best selected lumber in the State.

A tunnel of 1,123 feet is nearly completed between Pudding Creek and the Noyo River, by which thousands of acres of virgin timber will be made accessible to Fort Bragg.

The trip back to Ukiah was taken by way of Mendocino City, and thence the road climbs to the Mendocino Barrens, through redwood and pine, with here and there a rhododendron, like a huge bouquet stuck in the somber background of the foliage. Upon gaining the ashen soil of the highland, the forest thins to a few meager trees, raising distorted limbs above the thorny clumps of chemisal.

Shortly after entering an unbroken wilderness of stately timber, a man stepped quickly out of the shade and signed to the driver to take him aboard. The Wells, Fargo messenger who was the sole occupant of the interior of the stage made an instinctive clutch at his gun, and glanced askance at the stranger who composedly took the seat by his side. In the conversation that followed, we learned that the new comer was a wood cutter on his way to an upper logging camp.

There was something about this young woodsman, who could hardly have been much past twenty, that aroused interest. It might have been a touch of daring in the keen, dark eyes, or a hint of concealment in the handsome mouth. His manner and speech were respectful and intelligent, and his voice betrayed a curious mingling of suavity and insistence. Though he conversed with modesty and apparent candor, one could tell that he was withholding more than he imparted.

"I commenced as a water slinger, when I was a boy," he replied in answer to a question from the messenger, "and have been in logging camps ever since. The work ain't so bad, if the men were treated right. They have to work twelve hours out of the twenty-four, and have only a half hour for dinner. Their pay comes every three months, and then in drafts on San Francisco banks which takes time and money to cash. No this ain't fair treatment, for we men pay back at least three fourths of our wages into the company's store, so they ain't losing nothing on us. We sent them respectful petitions to correct these things, but they don't pay no attention, and what we've got to do is to unite and compel them to give us our rights. It took me three months to get the first thirty names on our list, and now we have 1,400 names, all of Mendocino woodsmen. I don't work in a place only just long enough to let the men understand what we want 'em to do. The Russians held out the longest, but they're now coming in fast. The Humboldt companies all gave their men what we're asking for. We only want our rights, and we don't mean to do anything that ain't peaceable to get 'em, with a contradictory flash of his dark eyes.

There was a rude eloquence in this recital of grievances, and I had reason to know the facts of the case had not been exaggerated. In further discussion, the young man had the fairness to admit that there was something to be said on the side of the companies.

"They ain't any of 'em much more 'n making expenses, but all the same they ought to be fair with us," he added stubbornly.

With the present limited market, there is no doubt California's lumber trade is greatly overstocked. The depression would not continue if cheaper methods of transportation were brought about, whereby redwood and other valuable timber in the State could be shipped to the East and elsewhere.

When the woodsman was about to leave us, it was not in human nature to refrain from asking his name.

"I'm a Master Workman, madam," with a smile and bow of mean grace, and the somber wood shut in his upright figure.

Look as intently as we might, we could detect no sign of house or camp, only the crowding of gigantic, corrugated pillars, and a stillness that was awesome even at midday."

Well, we will get off the stage too at this point and let Ninetta Eames continue on to Ukiah, where, enroute, she will stop to visit Montgomery Woods and Orr Hot Springs. Those places are pretty much the same now as they were in 1892.

Next week...

Has Reeby finally had her baby?

Is it true "Baby Doc" is back and "stirring things up"?

What happened to the Community Services District?

What is the latest about the Greenwood Watershed Association?

All this and more as I regain control of this column and say thanks to the long vacation afforded me by Ninetta Eames and her journal, lifted from a 1892 magazine called The Overland Monthly. And especially, thanks to Bob Fisher, of Mendocino, who loaned me a copy. I thought it timely during this "Redwood Summer".

August 23rd.

All right, where were we?

Eijler Westh has been accepted into the Krenove Woodworking program, up in Fort Bragg. Eijler already is a fine woodworker as anyone who has seen his skiff can attest. He should really prove to be a star in that program.

Jamie Roberts is doing a very interesting program on KZYX, Wednesday evenings, 8:00 to 10:00. He calls it "Radiogram". He features different things, the last one I heard was stories and songs about trains. He also has old time radio programs from time to time.

Peter Talbert took second place in solar powered vehicles at the Willits Solar Fair. Various folks I talked to came back from that weekend really inspired.

Reeby is still hanging on but has moved to the Hospital, she should have had her baby by the time you read this.

L.P. timber fallers arrived at THP 517 last Friday, possibly Thursday, and started work. I went up the Greenwood/Philo Road to the "look-out" about three quarters of a mile up and heard the trees going down at 10:00 AM Friday. The fallers came out at noon and said they were done for the day, "equipment troubles". We asked when they would be coming back and they told us Saturday morning. We said we would be here and asked them if they would like breakfast?

"How do you like your eggs?"

The rest of the day was spent getting the word out and organizing the breakfast.

Saturday morning the fallers were greeted with twenty-five folks having breakfast in the middle of the access road. Channel 8, a ABC TV affiliate and a reporter from the Press Democrat was also present.

The fallers got on the 'horn' and called their boss. Their boss called the L.P. Forester, Lee Susan. Lee Susan arrived with much gusto, jumped out of his truck and started taking every one's picture. He ordered us to clear the road. We invited him to breakfast. The property owners told him he was on Greenwood Commons Land. He called the L.P. Security guys. They showed up and said the County Sheriff was on the way. We offered the security guys breakfast.

Finally two Sheriff cars arrived and Lee Susan ran over to tell them his problem. Finally we got to tell them our problem.

They left to consult with their boss in Ukiah, via the pay phone in Elk. Finally they returned and asked L.P. to knock off for the day.

L.P. said they would be back Monday morning with a crew of nine. Lee Susan told the Sheriff he would call them if he needed them. We said we would be here having breakfast and the Sheriff might as well come early and have a bite.

Lee Susan said he is getting sick and tired of being blocked by Earth First!

Gary Moran told him;

"We aren't Earth First! We are

BREAKFAST FIRST!!"

So. What are we doing?

We are trying to get a last minute stay in the court. We are trying to get some relief concerning water quality. We are trying to protect our town well and the water the local businesses and residents use.

We know that L.P. owns a lot of the watershed but our water comes from that same watershed. We want them to slow down the rate of cut. We want more balance. If they slowed down they would have a better stand of trees and we would have clean water. We would all win. If they continue at the present rate they will ruin the watershed and our water. They make their profits at our expense.

And so it goes.

I do want to say that Lee Susan is not doing L.P's image any good. I also want to say that the fallers were really decent folks and we liked them a lot. They said they had other work but L.P. wants THP 517 cut. They had not been looking forward to doing it because they knew the town was against it.

The Sheriff was real decent.

Monday is coming.

August 30th.

Reeby Arndt and Lenard Bean had their baby finally. Matthew Shawn Bean is doing fine, 7 lbs, 4 oz., twenty two and a half inches long. He is fourth generation, living in this town. Grandma Cherry and Great Grandparents, Jean and Paul Young and the Bean family are proud as punch.

Congratulations to all.

Okay. Where was I.

Oh Yes, Breakfast First! Breakfast First! the outdoor 'restaurant' situated in the middle of the easement to L.P's THP 1-85-517 harvest plan, one half mile up stream from our town well.

Well...there we were, preparing breakfast at 6:00 AM Monday morning when L.P. arrived and right behind them, about seventeen County Sheriff people, and a very impressive array of vehicles. Our 'civic' lesson concerning Mendocino politics and LP's control of same was about to begin.

We were asked to clear the road or be arrested. We said we would not clear the road at L.P's request. We were trying to get a last minute review of THP 1-85-517 by CDF, Fish and Game, L.P., and the Mendocino County Hydrologist, Dennis Jackson, someone from the Environmental Health Division of the Public Health Department, Norman deVall and an Elk County Water District representative. Some of us were prepared to be arrested if it came to that, to point out our strong concern about the 'harvest' and cumulative effect on our town well and to stop the falling of trees until the review takes place, which should be in a day or so.

To make a long story short, thirteen of the town citizenry were arrested, including yours truly and Vince Carleton, rug weaver, who was in the midst of scrambling eggs, Lewis Martin, local writer, Isabel, Greenwood Pier owner and Greenwood Commons owner (upon who's property she was standing when arrested), Gary Moran, little league coach and small business owner, The Reverend Carol Powers, Tatanka Russell, high school student, Linda Aubry, Greenwood Elementary School teacher assistant, Polly Girvin, former attorney, Dee Ann Crow, Harbor House waitress, Mary Anthony, Elk Store employee, Barbara Connelly, Harbor House waitress and mother of three and finally, poet Kate Doughtery.

We were led off to several waiting paddy wagons, searched, cuffed and loaded aboard. I was asked, as unrequested spokesman of the arrestees, if we promised to not return to the access road and block it again. I said we might return to hold a vigil along side the road but that we would not block it again, today.

In that case they would take us into Elk, to the command post they had set up in the State Park parking lot, across from the Elk Store and cite and release us.

In a couple of hours we were released. The score?

Elk 13 - L.P. 0.

Tuesday morning L.P. arrived around 6:00 AM to find about thirty Elk folks having breakfast in the middle of the haul road, which, by the way belongs to Greenwood Commons, eight local citizens.

This time they had neglected to invite the Sheriff.

About five faller trucks were lined up behind Jack Sweely's truck and a low-boy with a huge cat pulled up behind them.

The Greenwood/Philo road was completely blocked. L.P. Security Jack Sweely listened to our statement about the impending harvest plan review and the fact we were trying to hold the line until that happened. He said the crew had to go to work and at 6:30 AM proceeded to attempt a citizens arrest. It was soon apparent that that wasn't working out too well. Nobody would stay where he ordered them to stand.

Getting tired of the run-around he finally got his truck out of the way and told the subcontractor, Giacomini's "faller" foreman to drive through. The crew all started their trucks and started to roll forward. Norman deVall moved in front of the first truck and asked Sweely if he intended to commit a felony to solve a misdemeanor. Mr. Sweely finally woke up to the fact that his subcontractor was about to start running over Elk citizens. Finally he told the crew to "shut 'em off" and went away to call the Sheriff.

We handed out coffee and sweet rolls as best we could, but the logging crew said they had already ate.

Within two hours the Sheriff arrived with about twelve officers and eight cars. They were not in a good mood.

This time four more citizens of Elk were arrested; Jamison Estes, Roadhouse Cafe waitress, Shelly Wingo, lover of horses, Michael Connelly, house painter and husband of Barbara Connelly (arrested the day before) and Ramone, local tree faller and tree trimmer. They were then hauled off to Ukiah for several hours of holding cell experience and then cited and released.

Barbara Connelly, Dee Ann Crow and I elected to follow the paddy wagon over to Ukiah to pick them up upon release.

We all arrived back in Elk , late in the afternoon to find that the review team had in fact finally arrived and were, at that moment, inspecting the 'harvest' site. Great. We then learned that the 'Public entities", The County Water Agency, deVall, the Public Health Department and the Elk County Water District rep were not allowed to join them.

I caught up with the 'review team' as they were completing their inspection of our town well. They said that the 'public entities' would have to request written permission to enter the 'harvest site', sorry. But the good news is that the harvest plan looks like a good one and is in conformity. We should get the results in a week or so. As far as the town well goes, we ought to get some big rock in place, up steam from the well, to help protect it in case of a heavy winter rain.

Elk 17 - L.P. 0.

Wednesday morning.

Breakfast on the haul road. The Harbor House and their crew of five arrested and cited employees brought coffee and 'sticky buns' they had prepared. L.P. arrived around 5:30 AM and the Sheriff at 5:45.

The Sheriff announced that anyone arrested would be detained in Ukiah 48 hours before citing and release.

We then read our statement...

"We want to be very clear about why we are moving aside from the Greenwood Commons gate, where L.P. wants to enter and log.

We did not move aside because we were satisfied that our town water system is safe. It is not safe.

We did not move aside because the California Department of Forestry and State Water Quality Agency, and L.P foresters came down to the site and performed yet another fraudulent inspection of this logging area.

We did not move aside because we are tired of defending our watershed.

We did not move aside out of lack of courage. We have shown courage in Elk.

We moved aside as a symbol of how L.P. always pushes aside our concerns and our lives in Elk.

This was it...

This was the symbol of how L.P. and their friends at the California Department of Forestry shove the animals aside, shove the fish aside, shove the birds aside, shove the plant life aside, shove the water aside, shove country government aside, shove beauty aside and shove us aside in the pursuit of power and money."

...then we stepped aside and watched the crew and another lowboy and cat rumble down the haul road.

Seventeen citizens from the town of Elk have been arrested and cited for blocking the access, a few thousand dollars spent by the Sheriff department, diverting tax payer money from worthwhile programs. Around $600.00 in delayed wages to each and every subcontracted timber faller. No income made by any of us involved in this protest and it didn't move L.P. an inch from it's "time to cut" position.

We protested in good faith and to the best of our ability. We did not accept outside help from Redwood Summer or any of the other activists groups that called and offered their help. We did not take 'non-violence' training. We are not violent.

Yes indeed, it was a real lesson in civics.

Yes, you have a Constitutional right to protest. you can bang your head against the rock all you want, but L.P. is God in this county and they will prove it to you anytime you wish.

The 'yellow ribbon' crowd is smart to stick with a winner like L.P. and G.P. They hold all the cards. These Corporations will take care of them and their children's children. Fear not. Besides, forests always come back, "Trees are America's renewable resource".

Lumber Corporations built this county, control this county and Lumber Corporations will be with us till the very end, which any goddamn fool, who cares to look, can see ain't too far down the road.

Have a nice day and see you in court.

September 6th.

Aha! The fog has cleared, Labor day is over, the brunt of the tourists have departed and short people are back in school and look! It's time to party.

Great Day in Elk is upon us. This Saturday, September 8th, at high noon, the Parade commences, led off with a 70 piece (count them), 70, members of the Alumni Cal Aggie Marching Band. These folks have graduated, but their love of Elk has grown over the years and they keep coming back in greater and greater numbers, much to our amazement.

Fire Trucks. Greenwood Ridge's low-boy and cat, their new pumper and their latest addition, a huge Air Force truck converted to a tanker. The Elk Volunteers will be rolling their equipment, along with various other nearby fire departments, various floats and surprises will be included along with horses, mules, donkeys and who knows what all.

Then on to the Community Center in the heart of town, where arts and crafts, carnival, children's games, music, "luncheon faire", "Breakfast First!" exhibit and video, greased pole, cake auction and raffles will be happening.

Still with us?

All right!

Now, into the evening with dinner between 4:30 and 8:00, consisting of barbecued chicken breasts, tri-tip beef or vegetarian entree. $9.00 adults, $4.50 children.

The dance begins at 9:00 featuring Suki's Hot and Spicy Salsa Band. Tickets are $7.50 with children under 12 free.

Baby Doc's Firehouse Bar will be holding forth during the afternoon and evening. Baby Doc has perfected a new drink he calls "Shenshui" (Water Dragon), something having to do with a shot of Stolichnaya vodka and Elk water on the side. Anyway...

All this to benefit the children's softball program, summer recreation program and year-round outdoor and indoor activities; also, the planned expansion of the Community Center, adding a stage, two meeting rooms and a lobby.

Breakfast First! and the Greenwood Watershed Association situation.

Well, we have moved back from the gate and into smoke-filled rooms to press on for a balance between harvesting of timber and the health of our town well.

It has been an endless series of daily meetings, $500.00 dollar phone bills, hiring an additional attorney and getting ready for our days in court; not only our legal action in Superior Court in Ukiah, concerning timber harvest plans, but also the civil disobedience cases that will be coming up in Point Arena Justice Court.

Our main Macintosh computer crapped out, the brakes have failed on two of our cars, one member's mother was killed by a hit and run driver, down in L.A., the trees are still going down with about 60 percent of the cut complete. The trees are being dragged up the hillsides with the "high line" rather than "flying them out" as the logging crew stated at the gate during the protest action; the word now is "the yarder isn't tall enough", and on and on it goes.

Our legal bills are up around $20,000.00 but we still have faith that the financial support is out there and that in court we will win a landmark case that will ultimately benefit not only us, but help further the cause of other watersheds that are being ruined at this very moment.

The ball is rolling and continues to roll. We may have only lit another fuse, here in the wee town of Elk, but the day is coming when the huge timber companies will have to take into account the environment and the lives and jobs of our future.

At noon, this Sunday, following Great Day, we will continue the parade and party on into our watershed to the banks of the Greenwood Creek (on Greenwood Commons land), to play music, dance, celebrate and picnic. We lost THP 1-85-517 but our joy in doing the right thing continues.

This will not be a protest. It is a celebration.

Tax deductible donations to the Greenwood Watershed Association are greatly appreciated. GWA, PO Box 106, Elk, CA. 95432. Thank you.

September 13th.

What a Great Day in Elk that was!

You had to be there to really understand what I mean, but, from where I saw it, it was a huge success.

The biggest parade, the most people, the earliest claiming of the $100.00 dollar bill from the top of the greased pole by the youngest person, ever. The Arts and Crafts folks I talked to went away happy. The most ever paid for one cake, the "Watershed Cake" made by the Greenwood Lodge, $250.00! The first time a $100.00 cake was stuffed in the face of Joel Waldman. The dinner sales started running out of food and the dance was a huge success.

A tremendous "Well Done" to the Great Day Committee, the staff, the Fire Department, the alumna and alumnus of U.C. Davis Marching Band, virtually the whole town of Elk, and all those from near and far who came out for this once-a-year extravaganza.

Late the following morning, a few survivors showed up and soon the Community Center and surrounding grounds were being restored to their original Elkiness. By mid-afternoon you could hardly tell that anything had happened, but we all know better.

Now to return to our individual lives and enjoy this most glorious time of year...well...maybe spring is better...no...I like the storms of winter...I don't know.

I have some friends from Seattle showing up this Thursday. I get to show them around this quiet little town by the sea.

"There is our gas station. Here is one of the two restaurants. Over there is the store. That's the Post Office. Yep. Only one stop sign."

"Oh! How cute."

If they only knew.

Yes, it's cute and beautiful, but the people in this town and up in the hills are the real secret to what makes Greenwood/Elk so special and there is no way to find that out on a four day vacation. You have to live it a while; a few years, at least.

You have to get on the Community Center Board; be a volunteer fireman; work a year in the Elk Store; work on the Community Services District; wrestle with L.P. over the watershed; be a member of the Greenwood Civic Club; help with the children's program, the baseball leagues, and so on. That is the only way to find out what is really special about this place.

Ah, well, enough. You already know this stuff.

I'm going down to the beach to wash my dog.

September 20th.

It took a few hours to show my guests from Seattle the high points of Greenwood/Elk, and by Friday afternoon, they were out of here! Ah ha! a free weekend. What to do? What to do?

Load up the VW bus, throw in the dog and off to Mendocino to pick up Lolli. I found she had just received her third in a series of leg casts, this time a blue one, only six more weeks to go, and she was recovering from the town meeting concerning the Mendocino Art Center; more than ready for some back roads, away from it all.

Next, we rounded up our friends, Ed and Suzanne McKinnley and their new, to them, VW bus and it's time to caravan!

Saturday morning we are off, up over the hills, in search of warm weather and a quiet swimming hole. I know just the place.

We top off the beer, ice and groceries at the Safeway in Willits and zoom up 101 to the Covolo turn-off.

Now, I'm not a believer in blabbing about the specific locations of where I go when on a jaunt through the countryside, as you all know by now. Suffice to say, somewhere between 101 and Dos Rios, there is a swimming hole.

At the secret spot, we pulled down off the road, circled the vans, got into minimal attire and commenced to have two whole days free of L.P., MAC, Iraq, and all that other stuff. Soon we were doing important stuff.

We waded up river and found an even better swimming hole. We found some interesting rocks, water bugs and weeds. We saved some baby trout that were trapped in a drying up puddle. We flew our kites. We read some of our various books; Lolli's working on "Vineland" (too dense).

Sunday morning Ed and I checked the valves on my bus, religiously. We flew the kites. We finally wore the dog out chasing after the ball.

I saw a young 'spike' drinking water the first evening and heard a 'cannon' go off just before daybreak the following morning. If that was intended for the spike, he's hamburger now, I mean, heavy artillery!

Finally, Sunday afternoon, we packed up and took the Dos Rios to Laytonville back road. There we split up, Ed and Suzanne going back down 101 to Willits, while Lolli and I headed on to Branscomb and the coast, coming out just north of Westport. Nice drive.

The coast was cool and cloudy. Quite a change from what we had been experiencing all weekend, but then, that's part of the reason we went.

Yep. It is pretty amazing how much of a climate and terrain change one can achieve in just a matter of a couple hours of driving, not to mention the mental.

Just what the doctor ordered.

September 27th.

Ya, that's my cow. Maybe you've seen it here and there around the coast. Sort of looks like a VW bus. Most people seem to like it. The most often asked question; "What made you want to paint it to look like a cow?"

Well, I'm turning 50 next year and I had to do something! That and the fact that last spring, on a trip to the desert, Lolli and I drove up the Kern River Canyon to Lake Isabella and stopped in the little town of Kernville.

We happened upon a small shop that carried only Holstein stuff; you know, Holstein cards, shirts, hats, whirligigs, coffee cups and so on.

Later, walking back to the bus, parked down the street, I realized it was already rather cow-like; its shape, its rather slow manner when going up hills, its gentle nature, and its constant need of attention.

A coat of black and white paint would confirm the obvious.

For the next couple of months I kept an eye out for cows, especially the black and white variety. I soon discovered those critters come in all kinds of design schemes.

Black on whit. White on black. Spots, jig-saw puzzle patterns and combinations of each.

I finally caught up with my artist friend, Eduardo Smissen, and explained my cow problem. We sat down on his back porch with a newsprint pad, a couple of black felt markers and started sketching out the possibilities.

Soon we had the basic idea of VW cowness. A week later, after fixing the rust and dents, there I was, gun in hand, ready to shoot. First the overall whitness. Then, after a day of masking out the pattern; the black.

During the process, in a high of paint fumes, the idea of a pink udder emerged; the shape around the rear license plate already defined it (those German engineers think of everything!).

A couple of horns off of a 1948 Plymouth, mounted in the appropriate location and Voile! Road Cow is born! License plates. It needs a license plate 'title'.

Suggestions started coming in. Lolli liked MOOVAN. A friend? suggested COWPIE. I liked MOO2U2. UDDERLY became a favorite. MOOVIT? MOOVER? and so on. Soon we had over a dozen possibilities.

At the DMV I discovered the two names Lolli and I had finally settled upon, MOOVAN or UDDERLY were already taken. Drat. Well, how 'bout ROADCOW?

So, ROADCOW it is. The plates are on the way; have been for a month or so.

Like I said, most folks seem to get a kick out of it.

One woman tourist from Wisconsin really went nuts over it. Some folks on a tandem bicycle made a big U-turn and whipped out their video camera to capture it for the folks back home. Two young women in a lime green Porsche convertible waved like life-long friends.

"Honest, Lolli! I don't know them!"

The ROADCOW seems to cause surfers to drool. It's fun to drive down the road and see folks break out in a big smile.

The best part is that we can now camp in my usual choice of camping spot, you know, off amongst the weeds on the other side of the fence. ROADCOW looks like it belongs there, just quietly grazing away. Well, almost!

October 4th.

"Greenwood Creek project"

That's what the sign says. All of a sudden this nice brown sign appeared across the street from the Huckaby House.

"Greenwood Creek Project"

What does it mean? Damned if I know.

I called our resident park ranger, Kevin Joe. His answering machine didn't know.

I called our local historian; someone who has been keeping up with the various meetings involving our beach. She didn't know.

I called the local poet, the head cook, the fire chief, the baseball coach, even Mel Matson. they didn't know.

Aha! Time for some investigative reporting.

I took a walk past the sign in question and on down towards the beach. Stuff looks quite brown, its been a dry summer. Looking out from the trail I see that the surf is up; must have been a storm out to sea somewhere. There is a lot of foam along the shore. Why is that? What makes the sea water foam? It doesn't seem to do that year round.

Down on the beach I see a lot of people tracks all over the place but nobody is around now. My dog races on ahead to make sure the sea gulls are doing what they are 'sposed to do; flying, not just standing around (I have an extra long leash). The sandpipers zoom on ahead and settle down, then race on again.

Not much trash on the beach. I always pick up what ever I see and I know most all the locals who come down here do the same.

I peek inside the cave at the south end and find a short man in a pin striped suit, sitting on a rock. He is obviously not from around here. I ask him "What's up?".

He tells me he is completing his field notes concerning the Greenwood Creek Project. Great! Just the man I'm looking for.

"What's the plan?"

He tells me to pull up a rock and he will explain it to me. What he told me boggles even my mind...

Would you believe there is a plan to build a hydro-electric dam across Greenwood Creek, spanning the gorge from Mitchell's hill across to Clift Ridge? That it will be built out of cement with the ocean facing side made up of a network of three hundred condo's, each with it's own individual patio. Highway One will cross over the top, of course, giving the traveler a spectacular view of the ocean on the west and a beautiful view of the lake on the east. There will be a marina with rental jet skis and paddle wheel boats for leisurely travel up the Greenwood Watershed enabling tourists to visit Baby Doc Edison's "Bay Side Bar", where refreshing beverages will be sold.

Electricity generated from the power plant will enable locals to afford power for electric cars which will have a range that will enable their owners to travel to wondrous places like Fort Bragg, Boonville and Gualala!

He said the Greenwood Creek Project is scheduled to commence as soon as the Japanese funding is lined up.

"Keep it under your hat."

I hot footed it out of the cave, called my dog and beat a path, in the fading light, straight home to my word processor. Under my hat indeed!

I ain't gonna tell anyone...except you.

"Greenwood Creek Project" Ha!

Einar Matson and Ed McKennzie have been going through some medical troubles lately and that is why they have been rather scarce around here. Einar hopes to be back chasing abalone again soon while Ed can be found around his house more and more as time goes by.

Krystal, at the Elk Store asked me to put out the word that someone, somehow, swapped the movie that they rented from the Elk Store. They rented "Mrs. Miniver" and returned "Colors of War". If you are the one...please return the correct movie and pick up your own. No late charge will be levied. Thanks.

I helped the local Baseball Commissioner pick out the colors for his new Volvo. I suggested "Pygmy Forest Dirt White" for the exterior with a nice "Tobacco Stain Brown" fabric inside. I think he will thank me when it comes time to clean it up and sell it, ten years down the road.

October 11th.

I wanted to check out Judy Hale's opening at the Mendocino Art Showcase Gallery; she's doing oil now instead of pastel, but first to catch up with Lolli at the Art Center.

Lolli told me to check out the opening next door in the 'Winona Gallery. Ron Arthaud from Albion. I zoomed through his show; expert small oils of mostly nature scenes; good stuff. In the process I bumped into Judy Hale.

"Don't you have an opening tonight?"

"Yeah, but not until 6:00." "Good luck. See ya there."

I grabbed a hot dog off the bar-bee and headed back to Lolli ad her entourage of apprenti. I discovered they were preparing to all go to Fort Bragg for the Woodworkers weekly Friday evening "Elephant" (Elephant beer, hence, elephant).

We swung by the Showcase Gallery on the way out of town to discover a queue waiting outside. Not open yet. We decide to press on. I will have to see Judy's stuff later, her show will be on all month.

On to Fort Bragg.

Arriving at the Krenov Woodworkers work place and found the evening open house well underway.

We found Eijler Westh and got a grand tour of his current project, a sea captain's chest, lap strake top, highlighted with brass fasteners. It is in the mock-up stage, working the bugs out. The finished product should be impressive, as most items from this school are.

Onward.

Off to the Noyo Flats to El Mexicano and a spirited conversation with the party at the next table over; all about Mendocino landfill policy and WMI (Waste Management Inc.), bad boy legislation and recycling. I had a strange thought during my enchilada

Why do we recycle glass? Isn't it made out of silica as is most of our world? Isn't glass inert? What's wrong with busting up the glass and putting it back in the ground, or leaving it whole for Jacques Helfer to find at a later date?

Seems to me it is more of a waste of energy to haul empties around, ship to appropriate users, sort, clean, sterilize or grind up, melt and re manufacture.

I can see recycling metal, brass, copper, aluminum and so on, but glass?

We finished dinner and headed to the Caspar Inn for an uplift of the spirit with the songs of the "Five Blind Boys from Alabama".

It didn't take long for this awesome group to have everyone on their feet and clapping hands.

Now, I "gave up on religion" over ten years ago and moved on with a "more enlightened" point of view, basically consisting of; I will live until I die, meanwhile trying to not do too much damage to my neighbors and environment, but I must admit, the Blind Boys brought tears to my eyes.

While rejecting religion mentally, their songs spoke to something deeper in me that understood that "Joy" and my tears leaked out.

Ah! The human condition.

October 18th.

I received two comments concerning my Greenwood Creek Project article from a couple of weeks back, both instances, wanting to know if it was true. I guess that goes to show how now-a-days almost anything is believable and I didn't even mention my hot tip about the Mendocino Art Center being sold to the McDonald Corporation. It will be called MAC Donalds, featuring designer hamburgers, putt-putt golf and the George Bush Memorial Library. A real tourist attraction, everything they could possibly want in one easy location.

Well, why not. Highway One is going to be straightened out. Caspar, Mendocino, Little River, Albion, Elk and Point Arena are going to be given the green light for development. Yep, the changes are coming as soon as the stock market jitters subside.

I got in on the tail end of the KZYX Marathon. I was able to catch bits and pieces of it during the weekend over the air but wasn't able to physically arrive until seven Sunday evening. By then the "Goal" had been achieved and the party was in progress. Eduardo Smissen was on the verge of leaving. He had camped out in the parking lot since the event began Friday morning. Jamie Roberts was also heading out the door. Everyone was really jazzed over the success of the weekend. To be able to raise over $25,000.00 in these strange economic times just goes to show how popular and important local public radio is to us folks around here. I support it and I hope you do too. It's never too late to become a member. Call 895-2324.

I saw my first Christmas ad on the tube the other night and now I see it creeping into various publications. It's not even Halloween or Thanksgiving yet and already the money changers are shaking their cups. Pretty darn disgusting, I think.

This morning I saw one of the local short people dressed up for Halloween. Isn't Halloween still a couple of weeks off? One of the moms in the Elk Store was talking about how it costs about $20.00 dollars a kid to 'do' their costumes. Money. Money. Money.

As I remember it, back in Nebraska, when I was a kid, Halloween didn't cost a thing. My brother and I and a couple of neighbor kids would go out after supper, sneak around in the dark, steal a couple of pumpkins, tip over a out house or two and be home in bed by eleven. It was real exciting, got the adrenaline up and was cheap. Now it's costumes, party favors and the rent on a scary movie for the VCR.

Our friends, good ol' L.P. bulldozed a little dam across Greenwood Creek, just so they could build up enough head to get a suction line in to fill the water truck so they could keep the dust down on their haul road. Just another example of their care and concern for the environment and our town well. No mention of it on the THP they filed with CDF. No permit from Fish and Game. Permit? What permit?

October 25th.

I was surprised and disappointed to see the Mendocino Beacon Editorial come out against Prop. 130. I guess it goes to show what happens when 'our' paper is owned by out of state interests. I hope those of us who live here amongst the growing clear cuts, drive on roads hammered apart by log trucks, and witness the top soil going out to sea every winter will give more long range thought to our environment than Donrey Media Group (The Mendocino Beacon, Fort Bragg Advocate and the Ukiah Daily Journal), apparently does.*

A year of so ago the Fort Bragg Advocate published their 100th year anniversary issue. I read through the history of that paper and found that in the early days it was locally owned and operated by a in town family and run that way for years, usually the sons and daughters growing up in the business and eventually taking over. The same family doing business for years. In more recent years the ownership started changing hands at a faster rate and is no longer family run. Now it is Corporation after Corporation that buys and sells at a faster and faster rate. News papers are about advertising, not news. Like Herb Caen said, "The reason he has a column is because Macy's couldn't afford a full page."

*Note: When I turned in this column my editor said she would have to clear it with the general manager, Joe Edwards. I told her, "If they wouldn't print this I was through writing the Greenwood/Elk column". She said she would call Joe and get back to me. Later the same day she called and said they would run my column if I would not mention Donrey Media by name. I said, okay, and that name was deleted from the column.

Now then...

I was recently elected to the Elk County Water District. I took over the remaining term of Dave Brotherton, who recently resigned. One of the reasons I did this is to help establish baseline and on going turbidity readings, on our watershed and also Elk Creek and the Navarro River, for comparison. I have been loaned a Hach Turbidity-meter, instructed in it's use and started taking water samples. Fortunately, I was able to get the samples just before our recent rain, October 18th. The following are the readings I found, the morning of the 18th.

Elk Creek, where it goes under Highway one; 00.13.

Greenwood Creek, one half mile upstream from our well; 00.12.

Navarro River, under the Highway One bridge; 02.70.

The tributary of Barn Gulch, just before it enters Greenwood Creek; 00.45.

Greenwood Creek, seven miles up from our town well; 00.21.

As I finished my rounds the rain began in earnest but ended by three in the afternoon. I called Jane Matson to find we had received .50 inch here on the coast. Up at Ed Bird's, they received .80 of an inch.

In checking around later in the day I found there wasn't enough rain to cause any run-off. I will recheck everything this coming week and get ready to really slog around when the rains finally arrive, if they ever do.

I went to Point Arena last Wednesday and checked out the Wharf. Wow! What a change. I had fish and chips in the upstairs Arena Cove Restaurant. There is even an elevator for those unable to make it up the steps. The food was good, the view is great, the floor is nice and the antique bar is wonderful. The windows are out of character. Downstairs is a pizza joint. A large area, under the upstairs restaurant is being finished, probably a tourist shop of some kind.

I finished my inspection in time to line up at the kiosk in front of the Point Arena Theater for the showing of "Cinema Paradiso". Excellent! Excellent! What a great movie and what a great theater to see a film about movies in. Point Arena is changing in a lot of ways but I hope they can hold the line concerning that theater.

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