Greenwood/Elk columns

January 10 ~ March 14, 1991

January 10th, 1991

Well, I'm back. I knew I was getting close to home when I could pick up Walter Green on KZYX near the outskirts of Clearlake. Ah yes. Home again after almost a month in the frozen wastes of the Pacific Northwest. Six degrees above zero, ten inches of snow, shopping mall gridlock.

My folks are hanging in there (Pop's got cancer, Mom has Parkinsons); a rousing hour of Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune on the "tube" being the high point of each day unless Monday Night Football takes over which induces a blue funk in mom. Pop can still wrestle the garbage can out to the street once a week. Old age combined with poor health is hell. Still they struggle on. I saw the old gang at the Boeing Model shop where I worked, once upon a time. They are all older and can't wait until they can retire and live where I do.

"Twenty in and only twelve to go."

"Can't quit early 'cause it would mess up my retirement plan and Voluntary Savings Plan. The longer I work the more I make."

True. All to true.

So here I am, back at poverty flats. First thing I noticed was a new sign at the north end of town. An arrow and a cluster of reflectors. All the better to mark the curve. I guess it's a new sign, I didn't notice it before I left, but Cal Trans is pretty sneaky.

I heard horror stories upon arrival, back in Greenwood/Elk, about frozen pipes and a lack of water, so I checked around my place with my flashlight. Everything seemed to work and I don't hear any running water.

The next morning I spruce up a bit and head for the Roadhouse Cafe.

What's this. CLOSED?

Closed? I leave town for a little while and the whole damn place goes to hell.

I go around out back and find Lee McKnight whacking out a new sink counter for the kitchen. Remodel time. Right, but what about breakfast?

I stop in the Elk Store to replenish my larder. It looks like Bush's economic sanctions are starting to work. Most of the shelves are empty but still we won't give up. The basics are still available; beer, bread, bacon and eggs.

Onward.

My thanks to Mary and Jerry Huckaby and Lewis Martin for filling up this corner of the Mendocino Beacon while I was gone, and to Charlie Acker for keeping an eye on my pipes.

Now to untie the knot in my answering machine and place all my third class mail in the trash.

Yeah, it's good to be back. I tell you, after sitting at traffic lights for a month and standing in lines at every counter surrounded by strangers and seeing the once beautiful Green River Valley converted into industrial parks and freeway off ramps, I must admit we have it pretty darn good out here in the sticks and it is well worth the fight to keep it that way. Less is definitely more.

So what else is going on? I really haven't taken much of an in depth look yet. I did read Louis Martin's "Jazz Beat" in the A&E. His best one yet. A wonderful story about things and Mister Miller.

Mr. Huckaby and I took a walk down to the beach to wash my dog. On the way down we noticed the Nasturtiums had been froze back and reduced to a large brown mat. Out on the beach my dog was very happy to be back and chasing the ball into the surf and making sure those lazy Sea Gulls were up and flying like they should be. During Gerry's and my musings, as we walked along, I found a blue rock.

The Cajun Hoo Haa is almost upon us (Community Center, January 19th. Dinner from 5:30 till 7:30. Dance at 8:00.) and it sounds like the folks that don't get tickets early will have to stand out in the rain. There are even folks from the Bay area coming up for this one.

Rain. Did I say rain?

Seattle has had more than enough rain, same goes for most of Oregon. There has even been rain in L.A. But here? We sure seem to be stuck in neutral. Still, all in all, if I remember right, we usually get our storms during February and March. I guess we will find out if we wait long enough.

Mel Matson was shuffling along, by the side of the road, heading home with what looked like a pink cake box in his hands. Of course I stopped to give him a ride. Shortly I was sitting in his kitchen with a nice slab of chocolate cake on my plate and a cup of coffee on the side. Every bit as good as what I should have been able to get at the Roadhouse on a sunny winter Saturday afternoon, and the price was right.

Well, the Roadhouse will reopen the 8th and the rain will arrive soon. It's good to be back.

What's this? A note in my drop box at the Elk Market:

On January 12 the U.S. may join with other nations in signing a comprehensive Test Ban Treaty. In support of that option and in general support of non violent conflict resolution, there will be demonstrations at several locations in the county. In Greenwood/Elk we have decided to come together at noon at the State Park parking lot and sing for peace. Please join us. If you have songs you would like to share, bring a few copies. For more information call Jane at 877-3330 or Linda or Polly at 877-3417.

January 17th

I'm sorry. I won't be writing the column this week. I can't write this column.

I quit smoking last Monday and I find I can not write without squinting through smoke. I mean, the really insightful, deep thoughts only come to mind when holding down a deep drag.

But I had to quit. I mean, I knew things were not right. Waking up at four in the morning, wanting a smoke. Walking up a flight of stairs and feeling light headed. Thinking I could feel phlegm sloshing around in my lungs, hacking up lungers and so on, I won't go on...

But I had to stop. Not even counting the fact that I hate the tobacco companies and everything they stand for, and the stink of it all, and having to go stand apart from what ever social gathering I happened to attend, to end up out in the rain under some dripping eve, sucking on a soggy butt while gazing thoughtfully off into the foggy dark, alone...

Well, enough.

I decided on a total purge.

My dog lives on good dog food and pure Elk water. She is happy, alert, bright eyed, with boundless energy. Why not the same for me.

Last Monday I implemented the new regime. A total ban on nicotine, caffeine, and alcohol. I went on a strict diet of pure Elk water and Bruce Bread (No, I'm not implying Bruce Bread is dog food, Bruce) and do you know what? A small loaf of "Seeds Seeds" is cheaper than a pack of cigarettes, besides, John Muir would go for days in the woods by himself with only "good bread" and water.

I wanted to simplify things down to just the basics and see what happened.

Well, mostly a continual dull headache. I think a lack of caffeine caused that.

Anyway, my resolve held up throughout the week until Friday evening when I went up the coast to join Lolli at the Mendocino Cafe. I probably could have ordered Bruce Bread with water on the side but instead opted for the sauteed rock cod and white wine. Then off to the Helen Schoni Theater for the Georgia O'Keefe/Martha Furey one woman play and then, afterwards, over to the Mendocino Hotel for a Bailey's and coffee.

It is so easy to go to hell in Mendocino.

Saturday morning found me in the Roadhouse Cafe, enjoying a Cuffy Cove omelette and my third cup of coffee.

During all of my internal negotiating between conviction and cave in, off in the background, in the larger world around me, the debate in the House and Senate over the support or non support of President Bush and the Iraq situation booms loud from radio and Tee-vee.

I can't make up my mind.

On the one had I want to fire up a cigarette and bomb those turkeys into very fine dust. Yet, if I can hold the line, give it some time to work, I/we will be better off in the long run.

Oh, this is silly. What do I have to do with anything. It is extreme egotism on my part to even attempt to connect any relationship between my lifestyle and how I live it to the rest of the world and the decisions made out there.

Bush and Congress and Hussan and the Japanese and the oil companies and the millions facing each other in the desert have nothing to do with me. Who's business is it if I have another cigarette or not. What difference does it make?

Well, the radio just made the announcement. The votes are in. The war is on.

Let's smoke just one.

January 24th

May you live in interesting times, the old Chinese curse, seems to have settled down around our ears. Everyone seems to be at their best and most alive in offering help and opinions. Foremost in our thoughts is what is what's happening "over there" while here, in town, we continue with our ongoing concerns on the local front. We may or may not be going to hell in a hand basket but we press on anyway.

The Tuesday town meeting concerning the State Park plan for our beach was well attended. An official from Sacramento journeyed over to present their current thinking and receive our current thinking. Most of the evening concerned the location and quantity of parking. Original thinking of fifty to seventy five spots have been reduced to around fifty or a bit less. The parking across from the Elk Market would be retained but reduced and organized into a cul-de-sac affair. Parking access would run from that area, north to the Mill Office and reconnect with Highway One. Along that drive would be other areas of parking. The original parking area proposed for the headland west of the mill office was eliminated. Views expressed ranged from, "a demand for continual local input on every phase of state planning" to, "a total welcome to any energy the state might put into our park to help increase tourism and thus the local economy". One question asked late in the evening was whether there was any money available to implement any of this and it was stated that there was not. The whole exercise then seemed rather moot.

The Civic Club expressed their desire to use their designated area in the mill office for their May Founders Day celebration. The building is not ready for use at this time and they wondered if it would be ready by May. "Maybe, maybe not". The whole evening turning into a non event as far as my thinking goes.

Wednesday evening found us once again clustered up in the Community Center, this time for the annual town meeting.

Few folks had been notified, it seemed, and only about twenty five showed up, still, a new board managed to be elected consisting mostly of last years old board members staying on and a few new bodies being added. The next item of business was the reports from the various town originations. Heading the list was the continuing insurance struggle for the Community Center and Firehouse. Del Wilcox stood up, removed his glasses, gazed off to that far too familiar spot in the opposite corner of the room and began to drone. I glanced at my watch to find that the "War in the Gulf" deadline should be reached in about seventy more minutes. Sure enough, in seventy minutes war broke out right here in the Community Center as a proposal was put forward asking the Community Center Board to endorse opposition to the war and to declare Greenwood/Elk a 'safe haven" for resisters.

The pro and con reached a climax in which Mel Matson stood up and made a heart felt statement and received a standing ovation by those who thought he said one thing and at the same time received stony silence from those who thought he said something else.

From there on it was all down hill as the evening fizzled into general confusion and everyone scurried home, opinions intact, to turn on the T.V. or radio and see what was happening further afield.

Saturday evening brought the Cajun Dinner and Dance benefit for the Greenwood Watershed Association. Initial fears the turnout would be small due to current events in the gulf or a lack of interest in local timber issues at this point in time proved to be unfounded. The dinner/dance was a rousing success beyond anyones expectations. Thanks to all who helped put on this event and to you all who came out for a grand party in these most interesting of times, and now. Back to the war, both here and abroad.

January 31st.

I hiked down to Greenwood Creek to one of my monitoring stations and took a sample. The creek water was crystal clear, absolutely no sediment. The temperature of the water was thirty eight degrees. The height of the water on the measuring stick was three inches.

An oil slick in the gulf, thirty miles long by eight miles wide, some of it on fire. Some say we hit some tankers. Others say the Iraqis are dumping oil into the gulf.

I went to the opening of Black Bear Press at their new location in Caspar. A wonderful old building and a great turn out of folks.

Seven incoming Scud missiles were fired at Saudia Arabia, six were hit by Patriot anti missile missiles.

I went over to Whats-A-Foot Gallery to check out Zia Borcsch's opening. A show of business cards hung on the wall around the room, each centered on a sheet of construction paper. Food, wine and music. Great show.

Marines involved in border skirmishes with light casualties.

I visited with Charlie, Rosie, and Serena Acker while they planted an apple tree in their garden.

Nuclear Submarine launches Tomahawk Cruise missiles for the first time in war.

The much looked forward to rain this weekend fizzles into just another sunny day.

Saddum Hussan's underground bunker is said to include a swimming pool.

The whales continue to pass by. I think they are heading north but it is hard to tell.

Israel under attack by more Scud missiles but so far show restraint.

Kate Dougherty will be appearing on KZYX soon.

The Republican Guard is being carpet bombed by B-52's but it is hard to get BDA, Bomb Damage Asessment.

I plan to do a series of columns about the history of the various business in Greenwood/Elk.

Four CBS reporters are missing.

I have not talked to one person, here in Greenwood/Elk that is for the war.

Eighty percent of the American population is behind Bush and the war in the Gulf, media reports.

A group of folks from Greenwood/Elk went to San Francisco for the Peace March.

Yellow ribbons line El Camino Real in solidarity with the troops.

Greenwood/Elk moves into the fifth year of the drought.

The smoke from the oil fields is visible from satellites.

February 7th

The war drags on and I'm sick of it already. I have no staying power, but then, I've known that for years. Maybe it's the "clicker", you know, that little device that allows you to flip from ABC\tab to CBS to NBC and back to CNN. Too much information too quickly and too confusing. Add to that my short wave radio with broadcasts from Japan, Russia, England and Fishguard, Scotland and all I can do is shut it all off, go for a walk and hope for the best, what ever that is.

What is the best?

Whatever it is, it sure isn't black and white although that seems to be the belief of some folks. To me, it mostly seems to be some sort of gray and the best one can hope for is something towards the lighter shade. But it did finally rain. Once upon a time, rain was bad news. You couldn't go out and play. Now days folks want to run out and dance at the first drop. Here in Greenwood/Elk we got around two inches during last weekend. There was enough run off for the Lagoon to break out to sea. Even the Navarro overcame the high tide late Saturday.

I went down to Greenwood Creek about six hours after the high point of rainfall and found the water level in the creek had risen from the three inch mark, where it had been running for the past month, up to the fourteen inch mark. I filled an Imhoff cone to the one thousand milliliter mark and let it settle for an hour. One half a milliliter of sediment showed up in the bottom of the cone. Not much. Mostly, this rain amounted to a good soaking.

The Navarro was the color of a good Mocha Latte. An Imhoff cone showed no sediment after one hour. All the water contained was clay particles in suspension. I could not even see through the sample of water. This is what is called turbidity. I drove inland along the Navarro. It wasn't until I was past the seven mile marker on highway 128 that the Navarro returned to a more natural color. Flynn Creek ran clear. Now I'm not a rocket scientist so I will let you figure it out. There are aerial photographs available of the logging at Barton Gulch, Flume Gulch, Bear Pen ridge and other tributaries near the mouth of the Navarro, if you need any help.

Bobby Beacon has reopened his Beacon Light Bar, just south of town. He is open for business on weekends. The view from his hill is spectacular. Check it out.

I had to stop in at the source to find a copy of the latest Anderson Valley Advertiser. There the man was, himself, sitting in front of his word processor. He seemed harmless enough, even gave me a free copy of his rag and expressed a desire to try and get the AVA into the Elk Market. Now if we could get Bruce Bread too, I would be a happier camper.

I hear the valley farmers in southern California are hollering about their subsidized water being shut off because of the drought. For an interesting perspective on all this, check out the book "Caddilac Desert" by Marc Reisner.

February 14th

My friend Eduardo and I are going to meet at the Navarro bridge at 6:30 PM, no later than 7. Two VW busses heading for the hot springs. It's time for "boys weekend off". I know I can't afford it. I know I have other more important things to do and I should be writing about the Bed and Breakfast Inns of Greenwood/Elk, what happened at the last watershed meeting, how it is that Bill Edison and Del Wilcox are both president of the Community Center at the same time, where the Mole Ranch moles are hiding while Joel Waldman continues his relentless ground attack on his front yard but no. I rather be driving for sixteen hours across the heart of California to those hot springs I know are waiting, just waiting for me and my friend, Eduardo.

Navarro to Boonville to Ukiah to Williams. See how we're feeling by then. It should still be a reasonable hour. Then down I-5 to Sacramento and then east on fifty to some side road away from the highway noise for the remainder of the night, or morning, if it gets that late. Then, up early, to continue the grind over the Sierras and down to Tahoe, hang a right on 395 and zip on south to Bishop and then Big Pine. That is where we turn east and disappear.

I don't really get excited until I hit the beginning of the washboard gravel road and see the stunted long needle pines, the huge vista down, down and off into the hazy distance. At the bottom of that huge void is "the Rock". Find it and you are almost there, miss it and you are lost.

I hope the sun hasn't set yet. Watching the sun drop behind the mountain is the best part after slipping down into that warm, warm relaxing water and waiting for the first star. Usually a few other misfits are around. Ner-do-wells, drop outs, interesting folks. The conversation in the pool is always informative or completely silent.

Later in the night the burrow come around to see if anything worthwhile was left out.

Before first light the coyotes break into song. That is a good time to slip back into the water and watch the sky brighten. Day time is for tinkering, adjust the valves, read a book in the shade. In the late afternoon, maybe a walk off into the distance or, maybe not. Maybe another beer instead. Early evening brings wood smoke and sometimes pot luck. Later someone with a harmonica or a song shows up or possibly the evening will just contain a group of folks content to watch the fire turn to embers.

The next day offers the same possibilities and on and on until I can't stand it anymore and want to get back to Greenwood/Elk and the hustle and bustle of coastal living.

I confess I have never reached that point. I hope to some day but you see, I have never been able to stay long enough to find out, but one of these day...

I know, I know. There is a war on, but the hot springs are waiting. Like someone said, "A hero is the first one out the back door when they start hollering for volunteers".

February 21st

Well, my trip to the desert hot springs was everything I expected and a bit more. After the final fifty miles of bad road I jumped out and embraced the hot springs. During the first night the burros did arrive and digest a couple of newspapers that had been left out. They seemed to particularly enjoy the want ads. The coyotes did start yapping away and fade off into a musical chorus up some distant draw before daybreak. Conversation in the pool was about everything and anything except, "the war". The second afternoon I drove on up a side canyon and rearranged my muffler, twice. Once on the way in. Again on the way out. Rough road.

The reason for my VW abuse was the entrance of a remote canyon where I had heard there might be pictographs. At the end of the road and after a hour more of walking, there they were, a cluster of symbols carved into the white chalky rock. Some, I doubt their validity but others looked like they had been there for a long time. I don't know what they mean but I could easily see why they were there. It was a special and unusual place, unlike any other area around.

The next morning it was time to head for home. After retracing the fifty miles of bad road, up, back out of the valley, I jumped out and embraced the black top! I now realize there is something to look forward to no matter which way you are going.

I returned over Monitor Pass which had only a few inches of snow, off in the shady places. There is no doubt the water situation in this state is going to get a lot worse.

Back in Greenwood/Elk I see the local pastures have "greened up" and the daffodils and crocus are bravely holding forth, but I sense it is sort of a last gasp, the calm before the storm, the storm of drought.

Reeby was clerking in the Elk Market Sunday morning and wearing a "Griffin House" sweat shirt. It took me a moment but then I realized it represented the newest, old bed and breakfast in town. The Griffin House is the new name of the former Greenwood Lodge.

A bunch of us clustered up at the Carleton weaving studio for pot luck and a huge bonfire, last Saturday evening, to celebrate Vince Carleton's and Sandy Robinson's birthdays. While standing around the fire, Ed Bird told me how Francis Fashaur use to talk about making it rain by setting off big fires. A light rain came down while Ed told me the story...

Ed also asked me to mention in my column that the time for baseball sign up is upon us. Sign up will be February 23 and March 2 from noon until three, at the Greenwood/Elk Community Center. This is for Coast Youth Baseball. Contact numbers are, Ed Bird, 877-3246 and Gary Poehlmann, 877-3528.

Carol Raye informed me that Patrick Ball, Celtic Harpist and Story Teller will be making music and telling wonderful stories about the "little people", Sunday, February 24 at 7:00 P.M. Crown Hall in Mendocino. $8.00 adults and $5.00 kids. Refreshment proceeds go to the Greenwood Watershed Association.

Joel Waldman left a message for me to get in contact with him while I was gone to the desert. I stopped by and he handed me a pile of old Beacon columns he found while rummaging around in some dark recess of his house. They pretty much span the year 1973. Here is what happened 18 years ago this week:

"Mrs. Alma Reifers, of Manchester, wishes us to extend her gratitude to the Elk Volunteer

Fire Department for the aid they rendered in recovering her husband's body after his fatal accident at the south exit from town (Greenwood) last Sunday evening. She is especially appreciative of the help rendered by Percy Daniels and Hank Worthington. Just a week previous to this accident, one with a happier ending took place at the north end of town when a motorcycle rider was thrown from his vehicle, resulting in the dislocation of his shoulder and forearm. With the victim in much pain, Eunice Knutson and Melvin Matson came to his aid and transported him to the Mendocino Coast Hospital. These sharp curves at both ends of town have been the sites of repeated accidents.

February 28th

Basically I hate to mention this because, basically, once I bring it up, you too will have the same problem I have but, basically....

Well, what it is, is that I have become aware of a certain word that is being used, well, basically, in almost every conversation that my ears happen to come across.

It basically doesn't seem to matter whether it is CNN on the tube, or the clerk in our local store, basically, everywhere I go I hear this word being used and basically I don't recall it being used, basically at all, until, like basically, with in the last year or so.

Whether we are going to just "basically bomb a few command and control centers in Iraq", or I go to the Elk Market and the clerk tells me that, "basically, we are out of tuna fish", basically it doesn't seem to matter. That word is everywhere.

Basically, how is it that something like this happens? Could it basically be a sign of the times?

Looking in my dictionary I find that basically the word means fundamentally, the base, the underlying principle.

A ha. Getting right down to it, are we? I might have known and basically, not a moment too soon.

Spring is continuing to spring forth. Folks are out starting a ground war upon their gardens, displacing the weed like survivors of the winter freeze and replacing them with the more delicate items that taste good but require more card. Myself, I would suggest plants that require very little water, possibly edible cactus, jojba beans, Mormon tea, date palms, you know.

You might take this opportunity to clean out your closets and attics and haul your stuff over to the Community Center, March 1, between the hours of 10 and 4, for sorting and pricing because our Annual Greenwood/Elk Rummage Sale with Food and Door Prizes is happening again, March 2 and 3 between the hours of 10 and 4. The proceeds from this benefit are for the Elk Volunteer Ambulance.

Saint Patrick's Dinner and Dance will arrive March 16 and further off into the future is Old Timer's Day, May 4. More about these events as the time arrives.

My phone has been on the blink, off and on, this past week. No dial tone at times and folks who have tried to call me get a busy signal.

I find that I am not alone. Several other folks around town have experienced these same problems. It seems the upgrading of the local phone system has only made things worse. My friend Lewis said the only difference is that now our phone problems happen at a higher baud rate.

I remember watching the high tec fiber optic cable installation as it headed south out of town towards Point Arena. Maybe they only routed it down the highway to the Galletti Ranch where it was patched back into Ted's old crank wall phone and then onwards through copper wire and glass insulator, over the old party line system from ranch to ranch.

Remember that system? Sure you had to crank like mad and holler to be heard but, basically, it worked.

March 7th

Eleanor Sverko sent me a note containing a March 4, 1996 Beacon Column written my Joan of Elk that included a historical note written by Ken Ornbaum concerning Saint Paddy's Day. You with me so far? I quote Ken in part:

"We have been told that this dance dates back even sometime before 1892. However, we know that the affair began in Cuffey's Cove where a group of the younger generation organized and called themselves "The Native Sons of Little Ireland". Some of the original names involved are still familiar to us today. "They include, John and Ed Conway, Jack and Will Dougherty, Ton Lynch, John Kenny, Charley and James McMaster and Frank Donohue. To those names of early sponsors were soon added, Buchanan, Rater, Cooney and Smith.

"Not a few of us (fast, I fear, falling into the category of 'Old Timers') can remember when it took two halls and two orchestras to take care of the crowd - when there wasn't any bar (Prohibition!) but "pink wine" from "Vinegar Ridge" flowed freely!

"Supplanting the fiddle and piano was Ruben Baldecchi's "modern" orchestra consisting of Ruben, Cabby Newgard, and two Bacci brothers, Lovey and Vinnie.

"They drew such crowds that our celebrants were loath to stop dancing even after daylight!

"How well I remember a seven hour trip from Berkeley in John Matson's Maxwell touring car with Walter at the wheel. We nearly froze to death, but soon warmed up after arrival. And who of us can forget Gus Ehlner who journeyed to "the city" before each dance and came back with all the new steps? These were demonstrated with the help of an able partner - our own Ellen Branstrom.

"By this time the Saint Patrick's Dance had ceased to be an affair put on only by Irish Catholics. It had become a part of the community - a tradition. Catholics from many other countries had arrived and all townspeople and neighboring friends joined in "our dance".

And now, in March of 1991, an 'up-date' from Mary Berry: The Elk Alter Society is again sponsoring the '98th Annual Saint Patrick's Dinner and Dance on March 16 at the Greenwood/Elk Community Center.

There will be the traditional Corned Beef and Cabbage dinner, professionally cooked by Chef Gloria Ross of Boonville for the past twenty years. Dinner will begin at 5 PM and continue until 8 PM. Following dinner there will be dancing to our local band, "Word of Mouth" (Rock and Roll). A full beverage bar will be available for refreshments. The prices are; dinner $10.00 adults. Children under twelve, $5.00. The dance admission will be $5.00 per person. There will be a raffle and auction. Do not forget March 16 and, see you there.

And finally;

What a storm that was last weekend. It ripped half the metal roof off the Firehouse, Saturday morning, while the rummage sale was going on inside!

Nothing was hurt except our pride concerning that new roof which had been put on just last fall, and then, Saturday night the winds really came back.

Bobby Beacon claimed gusts to 95 MPH up at the Beacon Light. Lots of broken branches and downed fences around town and up the hill. The power went off and on at random times and the rain arrived. About three inches here on the coast and over five inches up at Ed Birds. Saturday at 11:00 AM the mark on my water gauge in Greenwood Creek was up to the 10 inch mark. Sunday at 11:00 AM it was over the four foot mark and the topsoil from our watershed was clearly seen out in the ocean and swinging north up past the cemetery!

The only other excitement I know of was feeling my bed shake at night as huge ocean swells slammed into the cliffs below Saint Anthony's Point.

If the waves can make my bed shake, does it mean there is something loose down there?

March 14th

Well hush my mouth! How wrong can I be? There I was, thinking I was a concerned citizen, worrying about the environment when along comes a pamphlet, to point out how misguided I was. Yes indeed, here is this insert from last weeks Mendocino Beacon to enlighten me. For instance;

Here I thought the spotted owl was and endangered specie.

Not so. In fact, those little hooters are at risk out there in the deep dark woods. The pamphlet says the wind comes up and blows them out of their nest and then the cold weather freezes them to death. Much better to build them nice little plywood nesting boxes and put them someplace safe, like Arizona. If we just leave them alone out there in the deep dark woods, they will force us to stop cutting wood locally and then we will be forced to go to "Amazonia" and drive over nine trees just of get at one and that will force us to deforest the world! No no. Much better to move those little buggers to some place safe.

And clear cutting? Wrong again. Heck, clear cutting is great for the woods. It lets in all that light. Nothing grows in the dark, anybody knows that. In fact, that's the only way to get a fine forest. Cut it all to the stump.

And fish? Well, up at Pacific Lumber that nasty ol' mom nature went and killed off three streams with slides and dead falls but hey, some L.P. draftsman with time on his hands went and planted fish back in those streams, well, no, it's not quite back to where you can walk across the streams on the back of fish like before logging started around here but then, hey, they're just starting to fix what nasty ol' mom nature did to those fish over the centuries.

And poison? No problem. Why heck, city folks spread more poison on their little ol' lawns and gardens then responsible forestry folks do with helicopters and third world employees with spray cans on their backs.

Roads? What roads. Shucks, there is only one mile of haul road for every acre of woods. We are way behind what Europe has accomplished.

And then there is all that land that was given to the homesteaders by the Indians, way back when. Well, did you know those homesteaders could loose their right to make money just because of some dumb bird, and those homesteaders are so busy milking cows that they haven't even got time to protect themselves from all those non productive preservationists flooding the Department of Forestry offices. Makes ya sick.

But what really surprised me in this pamphlet was to find out that;

"Human beings are individuals. We are not part of some collective organism called Humanity, Society, Mother Earth, etc."

No no. "We work in professions and industries that steward and manage the forest during lifespans we walk as individuals upon this Earth. As individuals we accept the challenge of rights and responsibilities for making best use of the earths environment. We are thinking globally and acting locally..."

Oh, I get it now. All that stuff out there is cash.

98th Annual Saint Patrick's Corned Beef and Cabbage Dinner and Dance. This weekend. Come on, come all.

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