K Dog

The Path of Totality: The Repair Adventure

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Published on The Doomstead Diner on September 3, 2016

At last, customer service!

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Regular visitors know that on my way to experience the eclipse with RE my transmission decided to switch into 'limp home mode' where the top gear becomes second gear and 5000 rpm only gets you 40 mph in a car that can cruse all day at 100 mph.  This happened out of cell phone range at 3 AM eastbound on I-90 three miles into Montana.  But I did not limp home.  Instead I continued in 'limp to eclipse' mode figuring wrongly that there were as many Mercedes dealerships ahead of me as there were behind me.  The human brain is built to deceive.  RE and Brian who RE was traveling with, met me after I could get them on the phone when I once again came into phone range and could tell them I was in trouble. 

They were just a couple of hours ahead of me having spent the night in Drummond MT. My saviors RE and Brian met up with me in Anaconda Montana where Lee a tow truck driver from Butte, trucked my Mercedes away to his lot in Butte MT wearing one of our rare and precious Path of Totality Tshirts for his eclipse weekend enjoyment and we were on our way to Rexburg.

Lee promised to deliver my car to the Mercedes dealership in Missoula after the eclipse and he did exactly that on Tuesday just as he had promised to do. Unfortunately I foolishly assumed that the Mercedes dealership in Missoula would be able to fix my Mercedes. My mistake. How could I be so foolish? I was totally wrong and the only way my car was going to be fixed in less than a month was if I towed it to a real Mercedes Dealership which the Missoula outfit turned out to be in name only. Missoula has the big round Mercedes logo but only one mechanic and one salesman. Both claiming to be overworked. This so called dealership is part of a larger umbrella dealership that serves several other brands. The owner, DeMarois Buick GMC has an impressive website http://www.demarois.mercedesdealer.com/ but if you visit the actual brick and mortar or in this case glass and steel as I did, you find the 'dealership' is a double garage which passes for a showroom featuring just three cars, two small, and a desk next to several other identical double garages selling other brands. A cosmic joke which I had foolishly towed my car to. Had Missoula the time to even diagnose my problem and the time to work on my car, fixing it in Missoula would have made sense and the $350 plane ticket back to fetch it would have been a bargain. Sadly the Missoula Mercedes mechanic is backed up for weeks. If someone wants to be a Mercedes mechanic there is a job open for one in Missoula right nowMissoula might be a place to survive collapse a lot better than other places will. The Clark Fork River valley is beautiful and there could be doomstead possibilities in the area. After the eclipse and my visit to the Missoula 'dealership' I returned to Seattle and rented a car for the week.

Here it is getting gassed up for its return to Sea-Tac airport yesterday.

K-Dogs Rental

K-Dogs Rental

I rented the car and the salesman who sold me my Mercedes a year ago got me in touch with Olga who arranged to have my car moved to Seattle from Missoula. Things would have been great if Olga stayed in touch with me but once she had my info and told me my car would be picked up in Missoula on Saturday she disappeared and would not return emails or phone messages at all. The Russian mafia now had my car and they were not about to meet with me until I had cash in hand and I could exchange it for my car in a remote parking lot face to face meeting at a date a time of their choosing, Breaking Bad Style.

Without knowing this would be my horrorshow future I authorized my car be picked up by phone last Saturday in Missoula but by Wednesday I was calling back tracking it down from the Missoula end. The job had been contracted out to a Spokane trucking outfit and they had my car 20 miles out of Tacoma when I found out where it was and who had it. I also knew what Olga's cut was and figured I was paying her enough for the wheels not to stop moving on this delivery. I also figured that because of the payment issue, cash or money order only, she would not be giving me my car back before Friday as it would take Thursday to pass to her lot in Sumner from Tacoma so she could plan on which remote parking lot to deliver it to me for the face to face.

I jest, the agreement was to deliver it to the Seattle Mercedes dealership and the transaction took place in their parking lot. I met Olga's driver next to the Mercedes dealership in Seattle about noon on Friday. Here is my car on his truck. It has been on at least five trucks to get from Anaconda MT to Seattle WA. He rolled it off and I paid him. Then I drove my car a few hundred feet to the Mercedes service department.

My car about to roll off the last truck.

A work order was filled out and waiting. My experienced changed once the Seattle Dealership had my car. They had the problem diagnosed by the end of the day. They are very helpful. A transmission 'pressure plate' needs to be replaced and this will involve a full transmission service. A part has been ordered. Now that they have my car to fix, Mercedes of Seattle could give me a loaner so I was able to return my rental car without extending my rental contract. I naturally did not want to extend the contract and I was in fear of having to do exactly that after Olga disappeared.

I returned the car rental car yesterday, Saturday morning. So after the week long move of my car from Missoula at about $1.50 a mile I dropped off the rental car at the SeaTac rental car terminal.

 

Rental Car Terminal

Then I walked about a third of a mile to the International Boulevard Light rail station. Facing the opposite direction from the last photo you can see the light rail station. The hardest part of this trip was figuring out how to walk out of the rental car terminal. The normal way to get to the terminal is by car or bus and the normal way to get to the light rail would be to take a bus to the main Sea-Tac airport terminal where there is a builtin light rail station. That seemed foolish. A mile bus ride to get to Sea-tac Airport or a short walk to the next rail station down the line. I chose the walk. It was a beautiful day and not yet too hot. I had to ask how one gets out of the rental car terminal on foot.

International Boulevard – Seattle Light Rail Station

Experiencing the public in their various states of cluelessness caused me to lose some forward momentum yet I made steady progress and at last a train approached. My fare to the 'Stadium' terminal was $2.75

Waiting for the train.

The train is a nice link between the Airport and downtown Seattle. The line is still being built. It starts out on an elevated track for several miles from the Airport but drops down to ground level to pass through some south end neighborhoods. Stimulating the economics of these neighborhoods was part of the overall plan though there are only four stops in these neighborhoods since the route is primarily express oriented. I once lived a few blocks away from the route long before it was built. It rises again to be elevated before passing into a tunnel which seems about a mile long through a hill. In the middle of this hill is a station with elevators 100 feet up to the top of the hill where a main north south street passes by. The Beacon Hill neighborhood. Next the train passes through the SODO (south of downtown) area of Seattle where I got off and walked to the Mercedes dealership to get my service loaner. Through and north of downtown the train becomes a subway, the north end of the route is still being dug. It will eventually go many miles under the north end to a stop at the University of Washington and North Gate, an original old school north end shopping center.

The train.

On the train.

The 'SODO' stop would have worked out better but the Stadium stop is the one I used. It was about a five-teen minute walk to the Mercedes dealership.

At last, customer service!

Once there I showed my proof of insurance, my license, and a credit card as a deposit for damages and I was off and going in my free loaner car. My eclipse adventure is still not quite over but it is now only one car switch and a bill payent away!

Can it really go that fast?

The service loaner.

The observant among you will notice the 1990 300E in the upper left of the picture which we own. If that car were in running condition I would not have needed a rental car or the loaner. Mrs Dog's car is also parked to the left but you can't see what it is.  It is much like my car which is being repaired. Unfortunately we often work different hours so we cound not easily share it and the repair of the 300E is a job in itself.  Yet what do my personal woes have to do with collapse and the Diner other than being a part of the Path Of Totality tripI hope my experience entertains but the Path of Totality trip itself may seem like a contradiction to some. A bunch of people who worry about collapse all burning fossil fuels for apparently no good reason.

I'll jump to the answer. The snarky answer is "When in Rome burn like Rome" but seriously it is important that Diners meet. We can't have any community unless actual face to face meetings take place and physically re-positioning oneself for collapse will be important. This means travel. The irony is that this will require burning fossil fuels.  I also am way past the 'we have to change the world' reaction.  That is a newbie knee-jerk reaction, I had it, but as an experienced Diner I know THE WORLD DOES NOT WANT TO BE CHANGED.  All we can do is connect with like-minded people and figure out how to survive.  Like-minded people, experienced diners also learn, are hard to find and can live hundreds or even thousands of miles apart.  We have to all ironically learn to be mobile so that we can perhaps find a place together where being mobile becomes unecessary.

This trip stressed to me the importance of being prepared for collapse and let me clearly know I am not ready. RE's obsession with boondocking seems very well placed. It is a way to prepare or at least it is a means by which we can understand what preparing for collapse really means.

Standing With Standing Rock

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Published on The Doomstead Diner on Jan 1, 2016

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I can't tell you how old I was.  I could walk and I could talk and I was with my father.  I was a boy and I was fascinated by where we were.  It was Indian Mounds Park in Saint Paul Minnesota and I had learned that the grassy mounds I was looking at were filled with human bones and that they were hundreds of years old.  That is a fascinating thing to a young boy.  There was no fence that I remember and nobody was around but my father forbade me from running to the top of the tallest mound like I wanted to do.  He said that would not be respecting the dead.   
 
Archeology fascinated me as a boy and I was taught that it was done with great reverence.  Now at the other end of life from being a boy I suspect I was not being given the whole story.  I was of a generation born after history had been rewritten.  Indians were noble the past had been sanitized and American Indians had been integrated into American life.  That is the myth I was taught.  The thought of a pipeline going through sacred lands was preposterous to me.  I was a boy raised in the time of an American Camelot and I was being raised in a big city.  I did not realize that the country was also filled by the descendants of Americans who had wiped out our first nations people in cold blooded murder and these these people were proud of their own sanitized family histories.  My fathers father had died as a missionary on an Indian Reservation as a minister for his church.  I never knew him, he had already passed on by the time I saw the Indian mounds.  My sanitized story was different from the decedents of Indian hating white savages but years would go by before I would understand how poorly the first people have been treated in America.
 
If you start to find out what is going on at Standing Rock you have to find out about the Indians and why they are there trying to protect the waters.  From their point of view they are not protesting anything.  They are trying to right a wrong and the truth is that is the truth.  Indian land was Indian land until white people stole it from them.  It started with the Sioux after the Fort Laramie Treaty in 1851 and the fact is that at the time the Sioux had the unfortunate destiny to encounter American westward expansion; First Nation Tribes were no longer considered to be Sovereign and Eastern tribes were being displaced and marched west in an 19th century Bataan Death March.  The buffalo were wiped out as a result of deliberate government policy intended to wipe out the Sioux by taking away their food supply.  
 
There was a string of genocidal massacres.  One notorious one in which peaceful Indians were extirpated was led by a man named John Chivington.
 
"An estimated 70–163 peaceful Cheyenne and Arapaho – about two-thirds of whom were women, children, and infants – were killed and mutilated by his troops. Chivington and his men took scalps and other body parts as battle trophies, including human fetuses and male and female genitalia."
 
The truth came out sort of and Silas Soule who disobeyed the order to participate in the massacre testified against Chivington in an investigation.  Silas was murdered and Chivington went on to have a town named after him.  Chivington CO.  Chivington's reputation was tarnished by what he and his men had done at Sand Creek but his life was far from ruined and he never had consequences.  Chivington is still there and that seems to be just fine with Colorado.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Civington road sign

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Evil has followed First Nations relations right to the present day.  Leonard Peltier rots in jail forgotten and I doubt Hopey-Change will pardon him before he leaves office.  The pipeline itself; I finally get to it; turns out to have been rushed through approvals using Bush Administration special legislation that leave no time for environmental impact statements.  The whole project was fast tracked from the beginning and the pipeline was deliberately moved away from Bismark so it would be an Indian and not a white mans problem.  It was moved so as not to threaten the Bismark ND water supply.  Instead it threatens Sioux waters if it goes forward across the river.
 
For the moment the pipeline is stopped and now I need to say why because respecting First Nation wishes has little to do with it.
 
I am going to describe a man I know who has been to Standing Rock and is on his way back to stand with the First Peoples again.  He and people like him have stopped, at least for the moment, pipeline progress.  He is a veteran and it is not going to look good for the Morton County goon squad to mix it up with a group of white veterans who are willing to stand with the Sioux when water hoses start spraying in subzero weather and take it as far as it goes.  That thought has embarrassed the Obama administration which was quite happily ignoring the dogs, pepper spray, rubber bullets and very heavy handed tactics that have been directed at the water protectors for months.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Capt America in blizzard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


My friend is in this picture next to the man with the Capt. America shield.  I understand the shield actually belongs to my friend.  This picture has been used in the National Review in an article which totally misrepresents the Standing Rock situation.  I am going to call my Friend Jake for the rest of this article.  It is not his real name but like I said, he has gone back to Standing Rock.  There is no need for me to explain more than that.
 
Jake was 17 when he joined the army and he went to Iraq in the initial invasion but he was happy to have returned before  IUDs changed the Iraq experience into a nightmare.  For Jake it was mostly a light show in the distance.  His memories of Afghanistan are more troublesome because his unit lost several men in Kandahar province there.  His unit had many purple hearts.
 
Last spring Jake began to follow events at Standing Rock and was appalled at the reports of violence being directed at the water protectors.  Jake knows how to deploy violence and how to be effective in doing so.  His ideas on violence are well developed and he feels that when it is used it needs to be used responsibly and for good reason.  His experience as a vet has refined his beliefs.  He told me that when an attack happens you do what you have to do and it is pretty simple.  Take care of your buddies and stay alive and do whatever you have to do to survive.  That kind of violence does not trouble him.  Violence that troubles Jake is the violence of humiliation and power.  He did not like the humiliation shown to locals when he was doing the military policing part of his job in Afghanistan and Iraq.  He witnessed abuse of authority and it galvanized his beliefs.   
 
Jake's experience in the military made him sensitive to abuse of power and his last straw was finding out about water hoses being sprayed on water protectors in freezing weather at the bridge into the camp.  He had just found out that many other fellow veterans were having a similar reaction to his about the violence being directed against the water protectors and that got him on his way to Standing Rock to stand up against the paid for brutality of Morton County with his fellow veterans and the First Nations peoples.
 
Jake found himself in the middle of an experience when he arrived.  A conglomeration of tribes is at Standing Rock and three different native security organizations administer the camp.  They don't always get along and Jake watched them argue over trivia while he was trying to help organize a community center.  Tribes which have historically been enemies have united at Standing Rock but memories of differences remain.  A ceremonial Tee-Pee was erected that has not been erected since the Little Big Horn.  It was kept by the tribe all these years.  Despite all attempts at destroying it the culture, language, and religion of the Sioux remain.  The original reservation has been reduced in size and the Federal Government has tried to pay the Sioux for some of their stolen land.  They refuse to cash the check and want their land back.  The local and state law enforcement personnel who control and have closed the bridge into the water protector camp are camped on federal land north of the water protector camp across the bridge they have closed which is also on federal land.  Apparently they must all be there with Quo-Bama approval.
 
With the conglomeration of tribes and volunteers other people besides vets with a conscience have come to the camp.  One known as Colonel Dave seems to be excessively helpful.  Concerned with women safety he tried to start a rumor that their had been 24 rapes in the camp in the previous three weeks and security was doing nothing about it.  Concerned that people might not be ready for the elements Dave warned as many as he could the day after pipeline work was ordered stopped that a huge blizzard was on the way and people should get out before it arrived.  He convinced a lot of people to leave.  Some with suspicions about Dave went through his things when he was away from his bunk.  They found unusual radio equipment.
 
The tribes are teaching everyone who arrives that Standing Rock is a nonviolent action.  Guests are there to protect the waters by passive nonviolent means.  Law enforcement has been the author of all violence at Standing Rock and that is what attracted the veterans and which will hopefully kill the pipeline project.  Sophia Wilansky was standing by herself not really doing anything when the concussion grenade was thrown at her which almost blew her arm off.  Even if it does not have to be amputated her arm will never be the same.  The injury was severe and the police account of the incident is bogus nonsense.   
 
In the water protector camp people speculate that the pipeline is being built so oil can be exported overseas.  I am sure that if the owners of the pipeline get it built and if they can make money shipping oil to China that is exactly what they will do.  The pipeline project was not started by men of conscience.  It was started by rich men who want to get richer and who really don't give a damn about anything else.  These men planned heavy handed tactics to defeat opposition from the very start.  Hopefully that will be their undoing.

Feeling the Bern

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Published on the Doomstead Diner on March 28, 2016

Bernie Sanders at the Seattle Rally (photo credit off the Smart Phone of Son of K-Dog)

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I leave work, it is Friday night and Bernie is having his biggest rally ever about a mile away.   Normally I'd pass the stadium and hop on a cantilever called Edgar Martinez Way, getting on the western end of I-90 heading east over long Lake Washington then south on I-405 to home.  Generally it is twelve miles or forty five minutes, whichever comes first. 

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/ea/Downtown_Seattle_from_Kerry_Park.jpg/360px-Downtown_Seattle_from_Kerry_Park.jpg The trip around the south end of the lake, perhaps from twenty one to twenty five miles depending on how I decide to drive through the city takes closer to the forty five minutes traffic might mean the way north and across the floating bridge over the lake but always less than the stop and go traffic times that way can bring and a more consistent trip.  There are places to stop at for doggie treats.

Generally starting north to the stadium is the way to go but I've noticed the area in the last two days (SODO) has been crawling with law enforcement of every conceivable kind and some kinds of which you can't even conceive of.  A baseball game at the stadium can severely inter-fear with the commute as it is and I guessed with Bernie Sanders in town the northern route might be a bit dicey.  It was also Friday and stopping for doggie treats on the way home and avoiding stop and go traffic altogether is what I generally like to do on Fridays.

I headed south.  I knew Bernie would be arriving soon but I had no desire to rally and there is nothing Bernie could possibly say to make me a supporter because I already am.  I was not in the mood for circus.

One donut and coffee later get home and no Mrs. Dog.  Turns out she is with our son at the Sanders rally and they lucked out and got seating four rows back from the home plate stage about a hundred feet from Bernie.  A top seat and they get this in spite of deciding to go to the rally at the last minute.  Other people not so lucky had been lined up to get into the stadium since noon.  Fair Fortuna had been with my family.  The people outside had a festive time waiting for the doors to open and the weather was good.

After I spend a lonesome evening alone by myself I ventured out for a late night snack and when I returned Mrs. Dog and son had come home.  They were both animated and inspired muttering things like 'political revolution' and 'get out the vote'. 

With wry pleasure; knowing that neither one of them are morning people, I looked at their wide eyes and said to them.  'Since you are both so inspired you have to get up in the morning and get to the Democratic Party Caucus at Newcastle Elementary to see Bernie is chosen as the Democratic party candidate choice from our district then.'  I knew about the district democratic caucus in the morning only because a Sanders volunteer had called the house earlier in the evening urging me to be there for Bernie.  To be nice to him, I had said I'd think about it not telling him how protective I am about my Saturday mornings which usually involves at least a couple of hours laying about in a Hugh Hefner bathrobe being contemplative sipping coffee and that is all.  As I was talking to the Sanders volunteer the future with coffee was the future I was anticipating.  With my utterance about attending the caucus all that had changed.

That is the story of how I wound up at our local Democratic Caucus Saturday morning with Mrs. Dog.  Our son who had left later in the night to hook up with his girl friend must have gone to her Democratic Caucus because he wasn't at the Democratic caucus where he is registered to vote. 

It was an interesting experience.  Audience participation of a well thought out ceremony.  A retired but still well known Seattle sports announcer, Tony Ventrella now Digital Media Host for the Seattle Seahawks and a well know former sports announcer for Seattle television manned a microphone upon the convening of the caucus and read a letter about why we were there.  Tony lives in the area and was caucusing like everyone else who was there.  I have seen him at the local grocery store.

After a preliminary vote which would have given Bernie three of five delegates from our local precinct at a county wide caucus, the next step up of the caucus pyramid we talked at the precinct level.  After another vote and by following written instructions we had been provided on how to allocate the percentage of the vote that did not round to a candidate evenly Bernie wound up getting four of our five local delegates to the Democratic Caucus for King County from our district precinct.  One delegate went to Clinton.  King County is twice the size of Rhode Island.  I filled out paperwork and when my voter registration is checked I will be notified that I am a delegate and I'll know where to go and when.  I do know it is on a Sunday.

As one of the delegates to the King County Caucus I will be representing Bernie on behalf of the Democrats in my local district precinct after being duly elected to do so.

 :icon_sunny:

And as RE says, who couldanode?!


"Here's another fine mess you've  gotten me into Ollie!"


Bernie is on a roll.  The rally in Seattle was huge.  Bernie can take the entire West Coast if he keeps up his momentum and that will give him more delegates than Clinton and that is the plan!

 

Despite the media disparaging Bernie and building up Clinton every chance they get, the results in Washington show that some of us still have a few clues and don't drink the mass media Kool-Aid with as much abandon as has been assumed.  Mass media radio is spinning the Sanders win as 'he can't keep up the momentum so why bother'.  The voice of empire speaks to quell Sander's gains.  Alaska, Hawaii, Idaho, Utah, Washington State may be the beginning of a wave that will crest in California.  We shall see how bewitched people are to the siren song of media puppet string pullers who seek to crash the nation on the cliffs and rocks of Trump or Hillary to maintain their song of oligarchy.

Helping Bernie get that extra delegate was a rewarding experience.  I did some of the talking and helped change a few minds.  I'll have fun at the county caucus.  I might wind up being the dog that makes all the difference, because:

 

Videos off the Smart Phone of Son of K-Dog

I'M REPRESENTING !!!

After the King County Caucus some will go on to the Washington State Caucus as delegates and from there delegates to the D.N.C. will be elected.  That is my understanding of the process so far. 
 
If I bark for Sanders right I suppose I could wind up going to the Washington State Caucus without too much trouble.  I expect getting as far as the D.N.C in Philadelphia could wind up being a bit more 'political'. 
 
If I get to the D.N.C. I know someplace I'll be sure to visit.  Geno’s Steaks.  I think it is where Philadelphia cheese steaks started, I'm not sure.  Regardless I could spend several days in Philadelphia hunting cheese steak sandwitches.  They are my kind of doggie treat.
 
Saturday I did not compare Hillary to Rodan the Flying Reptile even once!  I figured I might be in a crowd where some people actually like her so I was careful what I said.  The most I went in any negative direction regarding Hillary was when I said.
 

https://i.ytimg.com/vi/15kdTQWTch0/hqdefault.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Quote:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don't think she is actually evil but ………

The overall feeling about Hillary behind the closed doors of the elementary school was that she is inconsistent.  A political deal maker who does not have consistency because she is always doing what 'the money' tells her to do.  She blows in the wind and was called a flip flopper.  Sanders was portrayed to be consistent in his positions with thirty years of solid experience working for principles of social inclusion that the Democratic Party takes seriously.  At least on the local level, from what I saw, this appears to be true.  We all know Democratic Party leadership has other priorities living as they do in a pragmatic stratosphere far above the people they represent but at my caucus on Saturday the principles of the Democratic party were explained along with the rules on what we were to do. 

Sanders was also felt to be a 'stronger' anti-war candidate.  I thought that was a good way to put it.  Nice and gentle, and non-confrontational.  One of the caucus rules was that you were not suppose to mention opposition candidates by name.  It is a good rule and it forced concentration on the relative strengths between Bernie and Hillary on their positions and records.  For the most part this rule was observed.  A few times a name or a couple of initials slipped out but when that happened it was always relevant to a point being made and no big deal.

I did point out that Bernie has a better chance of beating 'The Republicans' than Hillary does.

My son told me that he had thought about making it to the caucus on Saturday but he figured getting me to go was good enough.  This turned out to be true.  No way was Sanders going to take all the delegates from our district.  Four of five was the best we were going to do.  He figured the caucus would probably be closed by 4:30 PM too.  We had finished and all gone our separate ways by noon.

Had I checked the weeks mail before Sunday I would have known I had an invitation to Caucus for Bernie Sanders on Saturday March 26th at 9 AM waiting for me.  I might have clued my son in had I seen it but it was a general mailing and did not say where the caucus would be.  Mail is easily ignored anyway.  As things worked out it was all good. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

K-Dog Strikes Gold: (Yukon Gold Potatoes)

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Published on the Doomstead Diner on January 22, 2016

permaculture

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Saturday is my day for yard and garden work. My garden now fallow, will be improved with soil amendments and a rabbit fence will be added to augment next years carrot yield.  Next year I'll be ready at the start of the growing season.  The first two years I got a late start getting the ground ready.  The first year because it was a new garden but this year because I doubled its size and sifted rocks out of the soil so it could be easily worked.  That took a few weekends.  With a rabbit fence not only carrots but my yield on other veggies will also go up. Thumper was busy in 2015. There are plenty of wild veggies for rabbits in the neighborhood; still I would share my bounty but rabbits don't wait for plants to grow and eat new shoots to the ground. Not a good thing, nothing gets started.

Here is a pic of what my garden looked like early last season.  The shape catches a good amount of sun even though a Douglas fir tree I planted many years ago towers over it.  The fir tree has been limbed more than twenty feet up and only blocks some early morning light.  Not seen out of the picture our house defines the angle of the front edge of the raised garden bed.  I chose the angle so the house does not block any sunlight.

garden_1

Just to the right of this picture is my potato box.  This Saturday I disassembled the box months after my potato plants had died. To my surprise there were potatoes in the soil I removed from it. All my potato plants had died in midsummer and I had thought my crop had been a total loss.

Starting out the summer my potatoes had shown promise. Here is my potato box early into my 2015 grow.  You can see my garden next to it and the trunk of my Douglas fir.

garden_3

Potatoes had been planted at ground level and a layer of boards now hold soil which has buried the growing plants in the above picture. When the plants had grown enough to be buried the first time a layer of boards seven and a half inches wide had been added to uprights and then the assembly had been dropped over the potato plants and filled with soil. Here is a picture of me to give you an Idea of how big the box is.  The boards holding back the soil are two feet long.

garden_2 

The view below is of the box showing a second row of boards added with plants buried another five and a half inches.

pic_zero

I added a third layer of boards and this view of the top shows the potato plants buried for the last time.

garden_4

Before I could add another layer of boards one plant had mysterious and suddenly wilted. I removed it above ground level but within a week all the other plants had also wilted and died just as the first had. I had read about the Irish potato famine last year and knew that all the potatoes in the famine had turned to a stinky black mush.

I figure my potato crop had been a loss.  It had been so early in the season I had not expected any potatoes to have even started to grow! I was wrong and before the potato plants had died potatoes had grown.

garden_5

K-Dogs 2015 potato crop

My personal potato famine had stopped growth above but not below ground. It had not been of the Irish kind as there was no black mush. For months healthy potatoes had been waiting for me to find them and I had not known it. 🙂

The soil I had used to bury my potatoes in had been some bagged garden soil I had bought on clearance.  It was cheap but it may have carried a fungus.  The first year I had used compost I had made and cured myself without problems.  I am going to gently pressure wash the potato box lumber and place the wood where it will dry until next spring.  I'll repaint the box then since I have plenty of the same paint I originally used when I made it.  I'll use different soil next year and I don't think any contamination on my box will survive being painted over.  This was the second year I used my box since I built it and its first year of use I had a lot more potatoes and the plants had lived well into fall until frost had killed them.  The year before I had grown Russet potatoes.  Perhaps the change in variety had something to do with this years early death of my plants.

Regardless of how it happend the potatoes are delicious.  I have made French fries and I have had them mashed.  Today I had some with a roast that baked in a crock pot all day.  It was fantastic.

garden_6

This picture of my dogs dream dinner is a bit out of focus.  I took it with my phone.  The potatoes I cut open with a knife and I've added a little butter.  The yellow color is the natural color of Yukon Gold Potatoes.

You can tell I have not yet gone vegan.

Morning Walk

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Published on Chasing the Squirrel on March 1, 2015

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Back in the house the pellet gun was stowed away.  Sunlight broke over the ridge across the rabbit field and through tree branches along the wooded creek.  With the sun up curfew was over.  He locked up his house and property and slipped behind to the vacant house next door disguising his departure.  Yard to yard, tree to tree,and bush to bush he made his way to the main road walking out onto it by the nearby shut-up elementary school.  The vacancy and silence of the school providing anonymity.  Be began a brisk walk.  The grocery store was fully three miles away and food deliveries happened while he hunted when curfew still ruled the n.  It was easier for the truck escorts to consider everyone hostile, shoot first.  With night-vision and automatic weapons guarding food trucks  It was not only a violation of curfew but foolish to be on a main road at the wrong time.
As he neared the grocery store he encountered travelers as wary as himself heads down going to the store.  Everyone maintained distance.
A few blocks away from the store a group of men with groceries passed in the other direction.  This was something new and it uneased him.  With other other food deliveries an every man for himself attitude had prevailed.  Both coming and going there had been little camaraderie.  This group of men was different comfortable with cooperation and the safety in numbers.  They seemed unusually relaxed.  They were carrying as much as they could.  That the food delivery had been ample was clear.  The men were a block behind him and he two streets of row houses away from the road fronting the grocery store when he turned suddenly to his left.  He wanted to know what was different at the store before he got closer.  Something unusual could mean trouble.
The road in front of the store had once carried heavy traffic but was empty as he crossed it several hundred feet down road and south of the grocery.  Private cars had not been able to get gas for months, all was quiet.  The emptiness of the streets as he made his way around to where he could see the back of the strip mall holding the grocery was normal.  The stillness was beginning to make him regret his paranoia and his long trip around to the back of the store as foolish when he saw the first hum-vee.  His caution was well founded.  Behind the store was a large vacant lot surrounded by cyclone fence.  Behind the chain link tents were up and soldiers in dark green camouflage uniforms were busy setting up camp.  He quickly moved to a nearby tree so he could not be seen.  From that tree he moved back away a street and continued around the formerly vacant lot behind the mall.  Houses and fences kept him hidden.  He swung around to the side near the main road in front of the store.  He could see the store loading docks on the north side and the front parking lot of the grocery.  Another truck was being unloaded.  This delivery was like none before.
The parking lot was more active than it had for months.  It had been cleaned and was now swept free of broken glass, dead leaves and weeds.  The parking lot was vacant of cars except for two police cruisers parked along the red curb in the front of the grocery.  The cruisers covered with soap suds were being washed by a group of men in civilian clothes.  Most of the parking lot was cordoned off with orange cones and yellow polyethylene rope draped over the cones linked them together.
A corridor had been formed down the center to the front door which appeared propped open.  Two of the plywood panels which had covered some of the glass windows all along the front of the store were gone.  The panels had been covering the only unbroken glass windows in the wall of glass of the store front.  Where once had been handicapped parking another crew of men in civilian clothes were busy putting new glass in the aluminum frames of the sliding front doors which had been removed for repair.  Out of the vacant door frame a slow stream of people issued, they tightly clutched bags of groceries and with an unusually lively step they made their way down the corridor away from the store to the street and home.  Next to them people walking into the store the other way stopped and waited in line at tables which had been set up in front of a large tent that had been erected in the middle of the roped off corridor of the parking lot. Everyone going past had to stop at these tables before they could get get into the store.  Soldiers in green manned these tables and were busy talking to the new arrivals at the tables.  They typed away on computer keyboards and behind them printing equipment linked together by power cables fronted the tent. Every few minutes a soldier would reach back for something resembling a credit card and hand it across the table to whom they were talking with.  Ration cards were being issued and with card in hand people checked at the door were free to enter the store.
Deciding it was safe to join the line in he turned to work his way back out and on to the street.  He turned and immediately froze.  A stab of fear shot through his chest.
Before him were two green camouflaged soldiers and a county cop in the familiar green and khaki of the county uniform.  Guns were out and pointed at his chest.  In a calm and clear voice county the cop said without any hint of tension.  ‘Sir you need to come with us.  But reach up I need to see if you are carrying.’
He nodded his chin in the direction of the pistol under his coat as he raised his arms.  One of the soldiers stepped up and deftly slid his gun out from its holster under his coat.  The soldier stepped back next to the others. Looking at county cop he said: ‘Thats the only one I have’.
County cop studied his face.  Satisfied with the honesty behind the statement and flipping his thumb towards the back of the store he said ‘this way’, and began walking back to the vacant lot and its tents.  Walking behind he followed; a soldier on each side.  A crew of soldiers was starting to cover the top of the chain link fence with razor wire as they passed through the section of fence removed to make a gate.  They led him into the first tent.
Behind a table like those which served as makeshift desks in the front of the store a man sat.  Short albino white hair was instantly familiar but it took a couple of seconds before he recognized the face.  It was older and tired now but it was the man in black.  No doubt about it.
One of the soldiers reached into a box against the tent wall and pulled something which resembled an old Polaroid camera out.  Lifting it and pointing it at his face an intense green light flashed into his left eye.  The soldier pointed the camera thing down towards the floor and pressed a red button on the back of the device before returning it to the box.  Rental scan results were downloaded to the laptop on the table before the albino.
The man in black was dressed in black as before but before he had always worn a shiny black suit with a china white starched shirt.  Now his clothing resembled the uniform the county cop was was jet black but shiny as before.  Without the contrast of his white shirt only the round insignia patch of an American eagle with blue background and stars punctuated the uniform blackness of his shirt.  Glancing down at the laptop before him with an knowing look or recognition he quickly jotted something down from the screen on a yellow post-it note.
‘Take this to the front and get Haze his identity card’ he said handing the note to the other soldier.  The he looked at Haze saying:
‘Everyone gets an identity card and without it you won’t get food or anything else.  Don’t bother loosing it.  We know who all you are and can get you a new one any time we want.  Loosing it and all it means is that you will be standing in line for a new one.  Without it I have the right to shoot you if I want or if I just need to scratch an itch.  Orders of president Jeb.  Everyone out front is getting orders on where they will be reporting for work interviews and when.  You are in a special category, having already been checked out.  We know you are not a terrorist and can use the passions we know you have and which made us think you might be.  You are going to direct the a new battery center.  Every city is going to have one.  Batteries are going to be manufactured locally and recycled.  With almost all transportation going electric you are going to have an important job.  You are lucky.  Everyone is going to have a job no exceptions.  Mandatory six-year commitment from everyone under seventy or it is off to a community care center with you.  If you are older than seventy your going there anyway, no job for you.  Jobs are assigned now and everyone is going to have one.’
It was strange this familiar conversation from a man who knew everything about him but who had only pretended to be a businessman of some kind with a website last they had met.  It had been at a local gym where he had a membership where they had seen each other.  The man in black had pretended to be someone else.  They both knew that experience in a past now long gone wasn’t worth talking about.
Sent to spy on him and sniff out radical connections the man in black had struck up conversation but had been a poor actor and Haze did not trust easily.  It did not take much to arouse his suspicions and his suspicions had only been confirmed when he looked at the man in black’s website back at home.  The text had looked normal enough.  At first glance it looked normal, but it could not be copied; not any of it.  Everything had been done using pictures and knowing a bit about website construction having one himself Haze knew this was very strange.  After a few days the website had vanished never to return.  He downloaded everything he could while it was up putting everything on a thumb drive.  Hundreds of pictures, with language going in circles, going nowhere.  Graphics without purpose, he noted a label identifying the website pages as WordPress had not been removed from the last page when the pictures had been posted.  A detail that any real businessman would not have let pass.
The thumb drive had been passed to others for safekeeping and after a few years had been returned to him just before WWIII had began in earnest.  As it passed through hands on the way back to him one curious hand had plugged it into a computer located behind a secure firewall while at work.  In the intervening two years the virus the businessman’s website had placed on his thumb drive had been identified and was detected when it sent a phone-home message reporting its location back to it’s mother hive.  The phone by the computer had rung within a minute and a voice from I.T. had said to unplug the thumb drive right away.  The person at the computer was confused and immobile so I.T. remotely shut down the computer for them.  I.T. re-imaged the machine before it could be used again.
As if a quota had been met three in four Americans had died since reliable food deliveries had stopped.  Now with enough people dead men in black were running the show openly.  Not pulling strings behind the scenes.  Haze speculated if this new honesty would be an improvement but wished things had turned out different.

Morning Hunt

Off the keyboard of K-Dog

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Published on Chasing the Squirrel on February 24, 2015

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The grass field was fifty feet below the potato garden. He locked the gate behind him as he always did. His air rifle pointed down towards the ground. He stepped down the rock path through bushes, carefully placed the bushes provided seclusion.  They hid his path and guarded the fence. High pressure sodium lamps along the fence top shown over grass. He looked for shape or movement. The first rabbit was easy and soon into his cloth bag. The second one was caught after a short walk in the concealing wood opposite the grassy meadow. Two in the bag and now back through the hidden gate in his fence, an hour before dawn, lights off.

His land everything from the edge of the bushes by the fence and inside. The sloped bank of rock and bush and the wide valley of grass field, wood and creek to the opposite slope a half mile away, public recreational area. His rabbit farm.

He always listened quietly before opening the fence gate. Coming or going he was cautious, taking care not to be seen. Better to drop the bag and take the long way around than be seen. Going to the back of his shed against the fence any noise that could possibly be human and hunting or enjoying its fruits would wait for another day. Today had been quiet, nothing amiss through his peepholes going and all was quiet coming back. The hunt had been a go and had given meat.

He quietly slipped through his hidden gate locking it from the inside his shed where the gate opened from. In the shed he dressed his kill and hung it making it ready for a later meal continuing to listen. Now he unlocked the shed door and glided through his potato patch back over to his house. His .177 pellet rife was quiet and accurate and hunger improved his aim. His hollow point ammo deadly. Public parkland in a city that now had no time for parks fed his family. He was quiet; not noticed, telltale robust health disguised by heavy clothing.

In the house the pellet gun would be put away and the regular gun checked. Curfew would end at sunrise and it would be safe to walk the streets. Neighborhood control would keep order with militia arriving if large crowds appeared. Unsavory and curious types were dealt with privately. Property was protected. He would head out for news and a chance for rations when he saw the neighborhood watch patrolling the road outside.

News had been getting better. Fewer people had been dying recently. Deliveries were keeping up with demand for the first time in months. Things were getting stable and a third of the local population was still alive. His neighborhood had done well. The properties were large and gardens had been tended the months when food prices had soared.

Soon vacant houses would be razed to produce more agricultural land. The country had changed and it had only been a year since American had collapsed from what had once been a land of plenty. Now with die-off nearly complete food security was achievable.

All it had taken was the trucks to stop running but now with food deliveries under military control trucks ran once again. Diesel was allocated to emergency services, police patrols, food delivery, construction equipment as needed. Some of the land soon to be cleared would be growing biodiesel along with food and the power grid was working fine. The claims of its demise had been exaggerated. It had only been a year and from now on its maintenance would be a priority. He had not needed his generator except for the single time the wind storm had knocked things out for weeks. It had been a serendipitous wind storm though; lights out. It had been a good time for night travel to be difficult. Desperate mobs filled the land. They walked as long as they could before they dropped and died. Devastating everything in their path. No neighborhood wanted wandering mobs; but the mobs had not been able to plunder in the dark. By the time power was restored all the wandering were dead.

The plan was under military control. Each region had an agricultural plan and land for biodiesel allocation fell out naturally from the plan. Global tumult would not interrupt food delivery a second time when the plan was in place.
Throughout the rest of the world populations were being thinned. Pervasive drought combined with no fuel for transportation devastated crop yields everywhere. The world had starved. In America only in the most rural of areas did dogs survive.

Diner Cli-Fi #1: Nunanut

Off the keyboard of K-Dog

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Published on Chasing the Squirrel on September 20, 2014

tall_ship

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With this Story from Diner K-Dog, the Diner introduces a new Feature, Cli-Fi or Climate Fiction Stories.We recently discussed the need for Narratives that will better communicate the problems faced by  Homo Sapiens as Earth Climate changes in unpredictable ways, and we encourage both Published and Unpublished authors to contribute their stories about possible future Earth scenarios.Stories can be submitted on the Diner Forum for Publication on the Diner Blog.RE

Near the summit leopards roam.  Pushed up from the jungle below for generations it’s been death for them to follow prey too far down the mountain.  Down the mountain to the plain below at the mountain base leopards once hunted but now even their prey will not go.  A mountain of life capped by green jungle where once snow gleamed white over wooded and grassy plains all was changed.  Thick jungle covered everything now and only on the mountain top could a leopard live.

The jungle on the plain was hot and wet with a killing heat not like the desert heat of the far north and south.  The deserts were hotter than here.  But dry, and with water still a place where one could live.  Heat here was less but with air saturated with water this heat killed.  In this jungle sweat and breath could not cool and animals not heat tolerant and people all died.  No men or large bests had lived on the flat plain below the mountain since the jungle had climbed over the snows and made a hilltop oasis where life still bloomed.

The steaming jungle on the plains of this new world gave heatstroke to all.  Silent steaming dark and foreboding, this jungle stretches impassible and endlessly to the sea.  Insects and small slithering things its only inhabitants.  From the ground layers of vegetation hide the sky.  Overhead afternoon storms rain down unseen from the ground below onto the canopy.  Only the rumble of thunder makes their presence know in the empty jungle below.

Far from the mountain where the green carpet reaches the sea, the endless storm rages.  It grows strong and then weak, it begins to lull but it always rebounds to full fury and it never stops raging.  For hundreds of years it has raged never stopping.  As long as this jungle has ruled the plain its companion has been this storm.  A angry storm and a lonely jungle where men who dared to go will surly die.  Yet far out to sea and to the north beyond where the grey curtain of the endless storms edge rains to the sea a boat crashed through waves.

Ron pulled the red striped boom line tight and finished his knot to the boom cleat.  With one hand on the red stripe and one on the matching redundant blue line he steadied himself for the crash of next wave looming ahead over the bow.  Dizzy and weak each plunge into the waves was getting harder to bear.  It took more effort to hold firm with every crash.  Waves of nausea washed over Ron.  The hot breath of the sea in his face.  Job done it was time to go in.

Ron’s crew made way for the pilot house door.  He the last one to drag himself in.  Door closed Dmitry the captain looked at him and asked “All secure?”  Ron looking at him managed a nod and a smile, it was all that was needed.  Dmitry didn’t need words he knew his men were exhausted.  This far south any topside errand quickly drained strength.  The last reading of the wet bulb thermometer said long enough up it would kill.

Ron drank in the cool dry cabin air into his lungs.  His sea and sweat soaked skin luxuriating in the  refreshing cool of the refrigerated cabin air.

“Power on number three” said Dmitry. And with his last word hanging in the air Ablah his ships pilot pressed the glow plug button for engine number three and the timing light glowed yellow.  When it blinked off she pressed the starter down and the number three tac needle thumped up to cranking speed and then bursting up to a powerful idle she let the starter go.

Dmitry picked up the microphone to the ships intercom and announced.  “All sails stowed.  Booms one two and three secure.  Gentlemen we’re going south.  All hands prepare to come about”  Then laying the microphone down he said to Ablah.”  Pilot, at your pleasure, due south.  Full speed.”  Dmitry was a good captain.  He kept formality to a minimum but didn’t let it go.  His manner an internal and external check list that kept everything going right.

Ablah engaged the clutch to engine number three and its generator pushed 75 extra kilowatts onto the ships power grid.  Furling sails and tying booms down she had only needed engines one and two to generate power.  Three had been off to save fuel.  Number one and two together gave 220 kilowatts which moved The Cross along nicely but from here to the other side of the storm ahead the ship would be going at full power.

The Southern Cross displaced 360 tons and from bow to stern was 51 meters long.  Steel, wood and composites made up her bones and skin.  She was built to explore.  Tight and seaworthy she carried no cargo, only the supplies and fuel her crew of fourteen would need on their voyage.  She had maps to tell where she was going yet her destination was unknown.  The southern half of the world had not been visited by a northern man for hundreds of years.  The equator was a zone of fatal killing humidity.  North and south of the equator it was hotter but with water men could live.  Not here, in the equatorial zone humidity prevented people from cooling off.  At the equator heat first incapacitated then killed.

The Southern Cross was the only ship of her kind.  From afar she could be taken for a polar trading schooner of similar size but she had the rigging of a smaller vessel.  In the northern sea her size might be rigged as a barque or as barquentine with fast square sails.  She had none of them.  All her rigging was fore-and-aft.  Management of her sails had to be easy and square sails took more crew and effort to manage.  Where she was going trips too long out of the air conditioned cocoon of the living spaces below decks would be fatal.

Up close she was no polar trader.  Boats in the north were all wood.  Cascadian teak and and Alaskan Redwood they moved lumber to Greenland returning with grain and hemp from that new land.  Wood ships had plied the seas before the age of oil and now with the earth healing with all available oil burned up and gone they sailed the polar sea and the northern parts of the big oceans once again.  Along coasts they traded goods traveling between places wherever men could live as far south as the great desert.  All wood and no engines they worked until they sank or rotted past their intended purpose.

The Cross was different.  If polar traders were like wood and fabric airplanes from the dawn of flight the Southern Cross was like a jet aircraft from the late twentieth century.  Below decks she had the character of a submarine.  A sealed chamber of mechanical equipment cables and pipes with ducting everywhere covering her overhead spaces. Taking everything in and she was like living inside a giant machine. Air in was chilled and dehumidified before circulated around the living spaces.  Several redundant and handmade systems accomplished that task.  Life depended on it.  Diesel powered generators ran everything and drank energy rich New York palm oil from tanks in stowage and from tanks below deck.  Engines needed for when the chaos and heat of the storm would make sailing impossible were electric.  They too ran from the generators.

Nine weeks into her voyage her main generators had been only been running for three.  As she drove south it had become hot.  Three weeks back the ships air vents had been closed and her cooling systems turned on.  By now the crew would have been unable to work topside without it.  That morning her sea motors had been turned on and the ship put into the wind to furl sails.  Now with everything topside tied down and secure with the last generator up and running she was driving due south at nine knots.

Ron moved down the companionway from the pilothouse.  Along the the main central passage ahead to a cold shower and dry clothes.

Refreshed and dry throwing his wet clothes into an empty dryer Ron made his way to the saloon.  There weighed down by the delicious smell of fresh coffee a comfortable chair and the new feel of a ship sailing under power Ron was not expecting an ambuscade when Zhang sat down.

“How do you know they don’t want to eat us” said Zhang.  Hundreds of years of radio silence from the southern hemisphere and then out of nowhere we start getting pictures of paradise.  I think they are trying to lure us down because they are hungry. Why so friendly all of a sudden.”

Ron looked into Zhang’s eyes for a playful gleam.  Finding none he replied.

“If they knew what people from New China were known to eat I don’t think you would have anything to worry about Zhang.”

“Ah you think I’m being funny but we really don’t know what has been going on down there do we?” Zhang retorted.  Pausing only for a quick breath and before Ron could say anything he went on. “The whole story could be a put on and a plan to get us to go down there.  They had dark ages just like we did sure, I get that.  But why the silence afterwards.  This religious reasons story isn’t making sense to me.  Something doesn’t add up.”

Ron smiled wondering what Zhang had been thinking about. Then he said. “Are you afraid they will buy New China and move in just like Old China did when it bought Canada before the dark ages began?”

“That’s not exactly how it happened, it was more complicated than that.  You must have been reading the propaganda the American Dictator put out just before things fell apart.  The ones with money skipped out and moved north just like the rich Chinese and nobody was ever stopped from getting to Alaska far as I know.  They all had ten days free passage before they could be enslaved.  I’m just afraid there could be something devious behind the Southern Leagues invitation and I think we should think about it.  I got to thinking about how much this ship tells about us and that maybe giving the Southern League so much information might not be a good idea.”

“It’s a little late for that.  A voyage six years in the making on a ship that took three years to build.  I’ve been talking to them for a bit over five years from the University of Iqaluit Zhang, get a grip.

Radio in the south was strictly controlled and only used as permitted by their Brotherhood of Gaia for over 230 years.  The brotherhood allowed no wireless entertainment broadcast of any kind and anybody but a navigator for the brotherhood caught using a transmitter would be tried for treason.  It was a really big deal to them.  There was never a real radio silence; it is just that nobody would ever talk to us.  They have been using radio ever since the brotherhood took them from their dark ages but only as allowed for shipping and brotherhood government business under supervision and with training.  Their people feared Americans might still be around to spy on them.  That with a moral dictum of no wireless entertainment from the ruling brotherhood was all it took to maintain the quiet.  Nobody dared break the rules.

But all the time the Brotherhoods inner circle, those who could read and who were allowed to have old records and learning were listening to us.  Now that we are all united under the Siberian Union they deemed us safe enough to contact.  That’s why they waited until only six years ago to break their radio silence.

Zhang, before that they were afraid you would eat them!”

Enjoying hearing himself talk Ron went on.

“Besides which they are not as big as we are.  Steaming rain forests on the south coast of Australia, the north island of New Zealand, and the very tip of the south African coast.  The south island of New Zealand, Tierra del Fuego and Tasmania their only breadbaskets.  Forests in Antarctica supply lumber but overall they are not any further along with terraforming Antarctica than we are with terraforming North Greenland.  Getting plants to survive the long winter night is as hard for them as it is for us.  Like us they are succeeding but it is slow.  Having some luck with the usual grasses and with some Eucalyptus variants like their Antarctican forest trees.

Their entire population is less than that what we have in South Greenland and Labrador alone so I think they should be worrying more about the dietary habits of Nunavut Chinese than we should worry about them”

Ron looked at the wall clock.  Then he said.

“Look, I’ve radio duty in ten minutes and have to run back and see if Dmitry wants anything.  I have been trading recipes with Fulberto on the Northern Star for a few weeks now and it is only ten days until we rendezvous with them on the other side of the storm.  I’ll ask him if he would like you for dinner before or after we arrive in Rio Grande.  Maybe you should be doing something to season your meat.”

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Event Update For 2017-09-13http://jumpingjackflashhypothesis.blogspot.com/2012/02/jumping-jack-flash-hypothesis-its-gas.html Th [...]

Event Update For 2017-09-12http://jumpingjackflashhypothesis.blogspot.com/2012/02/jumping-jack-flash-hypothesis-its-gas.html Th [...]

With a bit of ice on the floor depositers could almost ride the seeds right on in (photo by Global C [...]

Well, at least it was made sure that the Svalbard Global Seed Vault looks real pretty (photo courtes [...]

Now it's data that makes the world go round? It's comfortably accepted by many that what w [...]

I left off last week's post – "Money Doesn't Grow on Trees, Industrial-Scale Renewabl [...]

When you wish upon a star the Blue Fairy sends Tinker Bell, who plants a magic seed, which grows int [...]

Daily Doom Photo

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Sustainability

  • Peak Surfer
  • SUN
  • Transition Voice

Is Apple Acing Chemistry but Flunking Biology?"It used to be that half of all heart patients first report their condition to their physician [...]

Irmageddon"Denial and existential climate threat are a stable pair."Image courtesy Tatyana Tomsickov [...]

The Beauty of Biomass"You probably wouldn’t want to invest in beachfront property at the rate sea level rise and sup [...]

Creative Loafing with Joe the Baker"I just want to make a really good loaf every time."Malthouse Couching by Andrea GentlWhil [...]

Planting A Personal Forest"If you appreciate the effort it takes for a single individual to become carbon-neutral, you ca [...]

The folks at Windward have been doing great work at living sustainably for many years now.  Part of [...]

 The Daily SUN☼ Building a Better Tomorrow by Sustaining Universal Needs April 3, 2017 Powering Down [...]

Off the keyboard of Bob Montgomery Follow us on Twitter @doomstead666 Friend us on Facebook Publishe [...]

Visit SUN on Facebook Here [...]

Americans are good on the "thoughts and prayers" thing. Also not so bad about digging in f [...]

In the echo-sphere of political punditry consensus forms rapidly, gels, and then, in short order…cal [...]

Discussions with figures from Noam Chomsky and Peter Senge to Thich Nhat Hanh and the Dalai Lama off [...]

Lefty Greenies have some laudable ideas. Why is it then that they don't bother to really build [...]

Democracy and politics would be messy business even if all participants were saints. But America doe [...]

Top Commentariats

  • Our Finite World
  • Economic Undertow

"The great project to rescue the American economy by the Fed has hit an obvious wall. The debt [...]

The Federal Reserve is setting America up for economic disaster - The Hill http://thehill.com/opinio [...]

The U.S. Will Act on North Korea Missiles That Pose a Threat, Mattis Says https://www.bloomberg.com/ [...]

Wages Rising Just A$3 a Year Has Aussies Snared In Debt Trap https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles [...]

They could just issue their own crypto currency, Quakercoin. [...]

The Bakken statistics are still kept: https://www.dmr.nd.gov/oilgas/stats/historicalbakkenoilstats.p [...]

Steve, if you have time to indulge me, what do you think the effect of the depreciating dollar (103 [...]

Some truth comes out of MSM: "Electrical power is needed, too, to keep water and sanitation sys [...]

Hey Steve! I'm sure your bat/laptop has plenty more hits left in it the problem is that it migh [...]

Welcome back to blogging, Steve, I missed your view of things and your way with words. "Economi [...]

RE Economics

Going Cashless

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Simplifying the Final Countdown

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Bond Market Collapse and the Banning of Cash

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Do Central Bankers Recognize there is NO GROWTH?

Discuss this article @ the ECONOMICS TABLE inside the...

Singularity of the Dollar

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Kurrency Kollapse: To Print or Not To Print?

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SWISSIE CAPITULATION!

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Of Heat Sinks & Debt Sinks: A Thermodynamic View of Money

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Merry Doomy Christmas

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Peak Customers: The Final Liquidation Sale

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Collapse Fiction

Useful Links

Technical Journals

Climate change is prevalent across the world and can have large influence on plant regeneration, rec [...]

This study aims to estimate the influence of atmospheric circulation modes on future Baltic Sea leve [...]

Given the growing evidence and scientific consensus on global climate change, carbon emission tradin [...]

U.S. forests and agriculture present unique opportunities to mitigate greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions [...]