Doomsday Procrastination

Here's a letter I submitted to our local newspaper regarding the on-again-off-again shopping mall project on the edge of town. The developers bulldozed scores of acres of beautiful mature forest and let it sit barren and unused for a few years now as the reality of our current economic condition remorselessly plays havoc with their plans. I've ranted about this development a few times before on my Moose Hill Journal in September 2008 and November 2009. This letter was published in the April 22, 2011 Sharon Advocate.


It is with perplexed sadness that I watch community television coverage of ongoing meetings regarding the Sharon Commons development. It's like watching slick presentations about the exact style and placement of deck chairs on the Titanic. Developers of yet more unnecessary big box stores try to perpetuate the illusion that we are still getting the “lifestyle mall” originally promised so many years ago now. They present drawings of fake facades and sloping roofs and talk as if a few more windows will change the fact that they are building just another mall with acres of asphalt, no residential component, and no public transportation.

This plan is based on 20th century thinking with no one pausing to consider where the 21st century may be headed. It was $4 per gallon gas and a deep recession that brought this project to a screeching halt a few years ago and prompted a cheapening and down-scaling of the project. Guess what? $4 a gallon gas is on the way back and, as recent debate in Washington shows, we are broke and the days of happy motoring and buying ever more cheap junk from China are over.

This project is never going to happen. It's unlikely it will be built, and if it is, stores will sit unoccupied. Consider the real state of our economy and then look at the local malls we already have (Plainville, Dedham, Avon, Stoughton, Easton). I understand that we residents of Sharon are desperate for tax relief, but this mall is not the answer. We have raped scores of acres of beautiful forest for an obsolete idea that is doomed to failure. We need a new plan and a new project. We need new vision for a future that that is not based on personal automobiles and mindless consumption. We are on the doorstep of a new age where it will be the real things that matter: clean air, clean water, clean energy, local food and community. This project provides none of these things.

Read more: Sharon opinions: Mall not part of future lifestyle - Sharon, MA - Sharon Advocate http://www.wickedlocal.com/sharon/news/opinions/letters/x128430227/Sharon-opinions-Mall-not-part-of-future-lifestyle#ixzz1LnpPAMOt

Dust to Dust

Here are some thoughts I recorded after my mother-in-law Minna Greenberg's funeral on Friday, April 22, 2011.

We buried my mother-in-law today. Mom was a good woman who lived a life of comfort on her own terms. She was wonderful to the people she liked, but could be cold to those she didn't. I consider myself lucky that she was always very good to me. It could have gone the other way. As far as we could tell, she suffered little during her decline and the end was mercifully sudden and swift.

When I say we buried her today, I mean that quite literally. The customs of Judaism concerning death and dying always resonated with me. Upon death the body is buried as quickly as possible - ideally within 24 hours. There is no embalming. A simple pine box with no metal fasteners or adornments is used - dust to dust with no steel or concrete in the way.

After a brief chapel service that included moving personal remarks by my wife, daughter and nephew six of us, including her grandson - my son, lifted her onto our shoulders and carried her to the hearse. At the cemetery, we carried her from the road to the grave and four of us lowered her into the ground with cloth straps.

After a few more remarks by the rabbi we began the task of returning Minna to the earth. Slowly, reluctantly at first, using the back of the shovel, we took turns filling the grave. At first, the soil thudded on the wooden box, but soon the sound was more muffled. A rabbi once taught that the soil filling a grave was much like the life that it was covering - some of it easy and soft like sand, some of it hard like the rocks that are always found in New England dirt. We like to think that Minna's life was mostly like the sand.

Several family members took turns throwing in the first ceremonial shovels-full, but after a while a few of us men finished the chore of filling the grave. It turns out this is real work. It takes a lot of dirt to fill a grave. I sensed that we all wanted to do the job well - a final gesture of thanks to a woman who loved us all. My nephews who know so much about these things supervised and directed our efforts; making sure we filled the grave uniformly, leaving no voids. We tried to work quickly and efficiently so as not to prolong the task, but with a respectful lack of eagerness to see it finished.

In a world full of hype, buzz, glitz, exaggeration and hyperbole, this simple ritual serves as a reminder that death for all of us is a simple reality. In the end, we are all the same. We take nothing with us and all we leave behind is the love of those who knew us. Life is real, and so is death. It is love that transcends those realities and makes us human.

One Carrion Per Passenger

One thing I've learned in my past few years of observations on Moose Hill is that when I see an animal doing something unexpected, there's usually a reason for it.

Nancy and I were enjoying a mid-morning jog up Moose Hill Parkway today when we saw a big red-tail hawk fly up from the roadside. It flew a ways up into the oaks and pines and perched, no doubt watching us. I think of red-tails soaring above fields or sitting in trees along the highway, not sitting on the ground along a narrow road passing through heavy forest.

As we passed the spot the hawk took off from I looked over the high snow bank looking for evidence of a kill. I soon discovered a mangled deer carcass with a large spot of exposed flesh. I assume the deer was killed by a car, but it's possible that it fell prey to coyotes.

I never thought of red-tails as carrion feeders. Maybe the difficult winter we're having has pushed the bird out of it's normal patterns. Yet again, Moose Hill is a source of new insights into our natural world.

Going Viral

Since I don't live anywhere near Madison County, Indiana, I figure there's not much point in my calling any county officials about the plight of 72 year-old Dick Thompson being evicted from his own 38-acre rural property just because he lives in a trailer with no running water or septic system. I'm thinking the only thing I could do that has even a slim chance of helping is to encourage the news people to stay on top of the story. To that end, here's my second e-mail to the TV reporter that did a piece on the story:



Keith Olbermann Should See Your Dick Thompson Piece


Dear Mr. Edwards:

Your Dick Thompson story is going viral!

This is just the sort of thing that Kieth Olbermann loves to pick up as a cause to fight on his show. (Remember the one about the fire department that let a guy's house burn down because he didn't pay a $75 fee?) Such coverage would highlight your good work to millions of viewers nationwide and do a lot of good for one old man. I encourage you to ask your people to contact MSNBC and let them know about your fine reporting.

Sincerely,

Alfred Mollitor

The Bastards of Madison County

I've been reading the Tiny House Blog a lot lately. I am interested in the idea of building small, efficient homes as an alternative to the monsters most people seem to lust after these days.

A recent post on that blog tells of the plight of an old man in Madison County, Indiana being evicted from his own 36-acre property for code and safety violations. A TV news report about the situation can be viewed here. It just seems to me that there could be more to the story and I was moved to write the TV reporter who covered it, encouraging him to stay on top of it. I figured I would save the letter here.



Dear Mr. Edwards:

I just watched your moving report (online) about 72 year-old Dick Thompson who is being evicted from his own 36-acre property by Madison County officials. One wonders, in this age of homelessness and high unemployment, why the County would expend so much time and energy harassing a poor old man living peacefully on his own 36 acres. Surly, one old guy living alone on that much land can't pose a threat to the health or well-being of anyone else. Unless, of course, there is more to this story than is evident in your initial excellent report.

I encourage you to heed the journalist's maxim: "Follow the money!" Who prompted Madison County to go after this poor fellow? Who stands to gain if he is gone? What developers have an eye on the property? What affluent former city-dwellers have recently moved to the area and are now disappointed that the area doesn't fit their image of a rich suburb? Which big-box store would love to bulldoze the property?

Please follow up on this story. Your viewers will be eager to hear more about this battle between traditional American liberty and the power of big government and greedy corporations.

Sincerely,

Alfred Mollitor

When TSHTF

Haven't been blogging much at all lately. Facebook seems to absorb most of my limited output. I'm thinking about copying a few of my Facebook comments and saving them here. I'm sensing an interesting evolution in my own thinking these days. It started a few years ago as I read stuff by James Howard Kunstler, and I've written quite a bit about that. More recently, I've discovered Chris Hedges and Derrick Jensen and they are having a strong impact on the way I see the world around me.

Kunstler thinks we're screwed because the oil will run out, we've squandered all our wealth building stupid and unsustainable suburbs and the financial industry has been royally screwing us without Vaseline.

Hedges thinks the liberal left has disappeared and we're left with a pampered, comfortable, soft liberal elite who likes to talk a good game but will never rock the boat enough to to put themselves in any kind of jeopardy. We think we have freedom, but in reality we only have as much freedom as the corporations and government want us to have.

Jensen thinks that civilization itself is a disaster and human society will inevitably destroy the world. Our constant push for growth, productivity and progress can only convert the living into the dead: dead people, dead rivers, dead soil, dead oceans, dead forests, and so on. The powerful at the top are only concerned about their own wealth and comfort and will stop at nothing to get what they want.

I am coming to believe that we are steadily sliding down a very slippery slope but no one with any power to change anything will dare step up to make real change. In response to a comment by a FB friend that yesterday's elections - when the house changed hands yet again - will only bring more of the same, I wrote this:

"I fear we can never hope to see any meaningful change from Washington, our current political process or anybody in the so-called 'liberal' media that is said to control everything. The liberal left (I imagine just about anyone reading this considers themselves liberal or progressive) is too comfortable and is too much part of the system and has too much to lose to make a real difference. It's all talk and entertainment. Do you think you'll ever see Keith Olbermann (who I enjoy watching) throw himself in front of a bulldozer? Will Jon Stewart ever chain himself to a redwood? Will Rachel Maddow ever storm a NY police station demanding justice for another black kid shot by cops? Not likely. No, we still have a long way to slide before TSHTF."

I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for the few real heroes among us; those who are willing to truly lay it on the line for justice and a better world. Let me know if you find any.

Survival of the Fittest

I saw a garbage picker this morning. When I went out to throw some last-minute stuff into our spiffy new single-stream recycling bin, I saw a guy with his old station wagon, rubber gloves and little poking stick going through the neighbors' trash picking out anything he thought might have value. I'm all for it - better to have something reused than to have it dumped, burned or even recycled.

Seeing this made me think of genetic variation and evolution. OK, maybe I'll burn in Hell, but I believe in evolution and that the world is quite a bit older than 5770 years. I can't help it. I was forced to take 10th grade biology by those godless secularists that ran the public schools back in the Sixties. A little education is a horrible thing. But I digress.

Anyway...as I understand it, any population has a little genetic variation. The vast majority of individuals are adapted perfectly well to life under the current conditions. But every now and then an individual is born that's a little different, either through some genetic mutation or some statistically rare combination of genes from its parents. If this individual is too different, they simply die. If they are a little different, they may survive but not thrive. But, if conditions in the environment suddenly shift, maybe - just maybe - that rare individual will be better suited to survival under the new set of conditions and everyone will struggle or die. That lucky oddball will go on to pass along his/her genes and the population will being to evolve into something new and better suited to their new world.

I saw the garbage picker as that oddball. Today, most of us here in the U.S. have adapted to a life of comfort where we don't have to think much about things like where our next meal will come from and how we will clothe the kids next winter. Everything we really need - things like food, water, clothing, basic shelter - are widely available and cheap. But what if conditions were to change? Let's say the climate really was warming, the oil was really running out and political turmoil was right around the corner. Who would be the fittest then - the pampered pretty boy who spent the last two generations in an air-conditioned cocoon, or the guy who new something about picking through garbage?


I put this here on the Moose Hill Notebook rather than Facebook because I get too much static over there about how boring and gloomy I am. I maintain that while I might be boring, I'm not gloomy. I observe our current state of affairs with much interest and take great pleasure in dreaming about those valleys on the other side of the mountains.

Is Facebook Killing Blogging?

I recently, after a long period of neglect, procrastination and denial, opened a Facebook account. I did it with some trepidation, because those that know me warned that I would fritter away even more of what remains of my puny little life. While that was pretty true for the first week or two, I think I'm getting it under control. Having been blogging for four years may have helped. I've alredy got a lot of stuff off my chest and I don't need to start all over again now on Facebook. I can just rant about new stuff as it comes along.

I joined in large part to help connect with long lost friends. I'm registered on Classmates.com, but as a super cheapskate, I resisted paying to join there. I've since heard that bad things can happen once the get a hold of your credit card number, so I'm glad I didn't succumb. So far, I've reconnected with a few friends from high school and earlier. I'm having a little trouble with college friends because my school isn't listed in Facebook's classmate search engine. I guess "State University of New York College of Environmental Science and Forestry" just wouldn't fit. They could have tried SUNY ESF. That would work for us.

I was pleasantly surprised to see how many of the friends I've made strictly through blogging are on Facebook. That does, however, raise the question: Does Facebook kill blogging? Now the kind of post I might put on the Moose Hill Journal would never fit on FB. Admittedly, my posting frequency there is sporadic, but I get so few hits there anymore anyway, I wonder if everyone isn't so busy on FB that they don't bother to read blogs anymore. They certainly aren't posting comments. Most of the shorter posts I might put on this Moose Hill Notebook would fit on FB nicely, so I figure this blog is more or less pointless. Although, for what it's worth, if I have anything to say that I'd like to be around for a little while, a blog might be better than FB. I have no idea how long FB posts stick around, but I'm guessing it's not very long.

So, dear reader, check me out on Facebook. Say 'hello.' It's easy. Maybe too easy.

First Tick

Remember when getting naked with your partner and checking each other out used to be fun?

My wife and I were out on one of our Moose Hill natural movement adventures this morning. We even sprayed some insect repellent before we left home. But as we were doing a bear crawl up Pettee's Hill, I looked down between my arms to see a deer tick crawling up my shin.

I found my last tick of last year buried in my bicep in mid-November. My best guess is that it started crawling up my arm when I was pulling firewood from the woodshed. I discovered it about a day and a half later and a small bullseye was already starting. Three weeks of Doxycycline followed. We like to blame deer for spreading Lyme disease, but mice are also a vector.

So, it looks like deer tick season in eastern Massachusetts is at least seven months long.

Beyond Barefoot

OK, Boomers out there (Heck, the way things are going, I could ask a 16 year-old the same questions!): When's the last time you climbed a tree? When's the last time you hopped over a fence? How about a forward roll? While hiking, when's the last time you got down on your belly and crawled under a log blocking the trail rather than looking for a way around? If you found yourself on the tenth floor of a burning building with no elevator and no shoes, could you save yourself? Could you save your companion?

When's the last time a book changed your life, even a little bit? I won't try to review Christopher McDougall's Born to Run here. It's been all over the news, and by now just about anyone who has an interest in running has read it or as heard all about it. What I want to do is reflect on how some of the revelations in the book have influenced my thinking about a lot of things.

I'm a cynic. I know it, and everyone close to me is sick of it. But, as I like to say, I come by my cynicism honestly. One of the main threads through this book deals with the myth and the scam of the modern running shoe. Humans evolved for millions of years and survived by running barefoot, yet in a few short decades the running shoe industry has everyone convinced that they can't jog a step without the the latest high-tech - and high-profit - footwear. OK, I am predisposed to the argument that running shoes can wreck your body because I'm suffering with a nagging and persistent case of plantar fasciitis, but the basic argument makes sense to me: Because of their form, support and cushioning, running shoes encourage runners to land heel-first, putting tremendous unnatural strain on the body. Furthermore, by supporting feet so thoroughly, these shoes actually weaken them.

Born to Run is mostly about running barefoot, but it is helping me to braid together several threads of thought that have be twisting around in my brain for some time now. What it is boiling down to is that we American adults - in typical Boomer over-achiever fashion - are going about exercise all wrong. How many of us spend hours on a treadmill bored out of our minds, going nowhere? How many millions of miles have we pounded out on asphalt running in straight lines preparing for 10K's and marathons? How many millions of dollars have we spent because we are convinced we need gyms, trainers and fancy equipment? I say, rather than behaving like machines or drones, we need to behave more like cavemen, or - dare I say it - children.

We need to make exercise more interesting, varied, fun, simple, and maybe even a little risky. Lately, instead of a typical slog on the road for an hour, I like to go for trail runs. I'm lucky in that from home I can quickly run to Moose Hill or nearby Town conservation land. I'm not ready for barefooting yet (Plus it's February in New England.) and I don't have any of the new minimalist footwear yet (I'm still a little skeptical about that, too.), so I focus on landing more on my mid-foot and less on my heel.

As I move across soft and variable trail surfaces, I notice that my foot doesn't hurt nearly as much as it does on pavement. Moving through the woods, I watch the terrain in front of me and try to let my body flow with the landscape; moving left and right, up and down. I start to feel like a wild animal moving gracefully through the forest. (OK, I'm an overweight mid-50's guy with a bad foot and a bad shoulder, but endorphines are powerful drugs that help me hallucinate.) As I run, I scan my surroundings for playthings: A log on the ground makes a good balance beam. A granite bolder lets me become king of the hill. A low-hanging tree branch is a good pull-up bar. I look for different ways to move my body: I bend to clear sticks from the path. If a log is in my way, I don't hesitate to hop over or crawl under. I look for stones to lift and throw. If I see a soft spot on the ground, I might do a somersault. The idea is to vary the movement and use many different muscles to stretch and strengthen the whole body, not to become over-trained in just one way. With all that running, bending, rolling, climbing, throwing and crawling, one should be ready for any physical challenge that comes up in everyday life.

There is also another component to my new thinking about exercise: Useful work. Let's be honest: Most of us have to exercise because we live cushy lifestyles and work at jobs where the biggest physical danger is the risk of a paper cut or maybe carpal tunnel syndrome. For most of us, exercise is actually something of a leisure time luxury. I don't think migrant farm workers go home at night and yell: "Let's go to the gym!" How about this: Next time it snows, don't call the plow guy. Get the kids off the couch and go out and shovel for an hour. Rather than agonize over the price of heating oil for next winter, go out and chop some firewood. Rather than drive to the Piggly Wiggly for your Pringles, hop on the bicycle and pedal over there for some whole wheat flower. Rather than hire a lawn service, push a mower for an hour a week. Better yet: Get out a spade and turn that lawn into a garden. We can find lots of way to get some exercise while doing something useful.

I like to find new ways of looking at our everyday world. I like to think about simple ways to make our lives and the world a little better. Born to Run is helping me to do that.

Read Your Labels!

I bought a bottle of ketchup last week at my local Big Y supermarket. Ketchup is one of those things that just always seems to be in the house. I don't think about it much, and since I don't use much of it, I don't buy it very often. I like a little with eggs or on a salmon patty or veggie burger.

Since it didn't seem like a big deal at the time, I didn't spend a lot of time in front of the ketchup shelf at the store studying all the labels. The house brand was a little cheaper and in big letters on the front label it said: "ALL NATURAL!" Hey, good enuf for me!

Back at home, my dear wife said, "You know, that stuff is loaded with corn syrup." Me: "No way! It clearly says ALL NATURAL!" Sure enough, on the back, right after water and tomatoes (Or was it before tomatoes?), it said one of the major ingredients was "High Fructose Corn Syrup."

Do we really live in a world where a company can proudly proclaim that high fructose corn syrup is "all natural"? I went on the Big Y website and sent them a comment that I thought their label was misleading if not downright dishonest.

I haven't heard back.

Moldy Bread

My bread was moldy this morning, and that's a good thing. These days, about the only bread I eat is home-made in the bread machine. Nothing fancy, just basic 100 percent whole wheat bread. This time of the year, when it's cool in the house, I just keep it in a plastic bag on the kitchen counter. This morning, when I took out the last bit of a loaf I made nearly a week ago I noticed spots of mold growing on it. On the one hand, I didn't like wasting food, but other other, it was good to see that mold would eat my bread.

As Michael Pollan says, if food is so devoid of nutrients and so full of preservatives that it won't rot, it's not good for people, either. So, I'm happy to share a little bread with my fungal friends. But then again, maybe I'll just eat my next loaf a little faster.

We're on the Way Up!

It's bleak at the bottom, but my annual watch of daily minimum temperatures is over. After a few depressing days at 21 degrees, the temperature chart on the Boston Globe weather page ticked up to 22 degrees yesterday. These are just average temperatures, of course, but I now have a reason to hope, at least, that tomorrow will be a little warmer than yesterday. Spring is on the way!

Stimulate This

Sometimes, I just can't help myself. Saturday's front page of the Boston Globe had two stories in juxtaposition that illustrate perfectly how screwed up we are. One article talked about a proposal to spend millions of our much-ballyhooed federal stimulus money for a footbridge across a highway to connect two parking lots operated by the multi-billionaire Kraft family, owners of the New England Patriots NFL football team and the new "Patriot Place," a collection of upscale shops,restaurants and entertainment establishments. The other article told how services for the homeless were being cut because of a budget crisis in the State House.

I fired off yet another letter to the Globe, but I needn't have bothered because it seems quite a few people were struck by the same irony and several letters were published today. Luckily, I know a blog that is very good about publishing my whinings. The "Tom" I mention is Tom Brady, star quarterback of the Patriots. The photos of the stadium and shopping areas were taken this morning as I biked by while doing my laundry delivery.

Here's the letter:


$9 Million for a Parking Lot?

On the same front page (Saturday, November 7, 2009) that presented a story about $9 million in federal stimulus money for elevators and a footbridge over Route 1 to an empty parking lot at Patriot Place in Foxboro (For the Krafts' Patriot Place, a golden gateway) was a headline about further cuts in beds and services for the most vulnerable among us (Budget trims lead homeless shelters across Mass. to cut services and beds). When will we have leaders with the vision and courage to take us into a brighter, more sensible future; a future where people and the environment matter and we stop worshiping personal automobiles? Patriot Place is a vast wasteland of asphalt and concrete. It's a billion-dollar shrine visited by those with the time and money to spend on idle entertainment, overeating and excess consumption. In no sense does Patriot Place contribute to a real community with real services like homes, schools and grocery shopping. It's not even close to any of those things. Virtually every visit to the mega-complex is made in a private car driven many miles.

It's time to spend our dwindling resources on living arrangements with a future. We are broke and running out of energy. It may not be fashionable to dismiss the work of Tom and the boys as anything but noble, and it may be difficult to admit that we don't need to buy more junk made in China, but do we really want to put our children and grandchildren into debt for the betterment of NFL Football and Christmas Tree Shops? We need to devote our efforts to building real communities where people can live, walk, bike and take public transportation to jobs that matter. We need to invest our shared resources in manufacturing, education, renewable energy, local food production and affordable housing. Let's build in a better world.

Marathons Not Required

The Blue Zones by Dan Buettner reports on a quest to find small pockets of extreme human longevity around the world. Dan and his team report on four places - Sardinia, Okinowa, Loma Linda and Costa Rica - where an exceptionally high proportion of the people live into their 90's and 100's.

What I find most interesting about these stories is the things these places have in common, and the things we can incorporate into our own lives to be healthier and happier.

Not surprisingly, there are no marathoners or triathletes among the longevity champions. That's not to say they spent their lives on the sofa searching for sit-com reruns with the remote while snacking on Pringles, but they didn't spend hours and hours working out either. Instead, all the old-timers lived lives that included steady, regular, moderate low-intensity exercise in their day-to-day activities. They walked or cycled to get around. They hiked to pastures to tend sheep. They worked on the farm or in the garden.

Eating habits seem equally important. Blue Zoners ate lots of fresh fruits and vegetables, usually grown or gathered personally. They drank lots of water. While they did eat meat, it was consumed rarely and usually on special occasions. Foods mentioned in the book that I hope to eat more frequently include: tumeric, fava beans, miso soup, tofu, sweet potatoes, ginger, nuts and tomatoes.

Family connections also seem essential to long-term survival. Many of these people live in multi-generational homes. In a tradition that is almost unknown in America today, children, parents and grandparents all live in the same house and support each other. The grandparents have something to do in helping with the children and the children benefit from the wisdom of the ages.

Whether it's watching the grandchildren or volunteering in the community, a reason to live seems extremely important in living a long and happy life. We all need love and companionship, and helping others is a great way to get it.

One That Got Away

Around the time of the fortieth anniversary of Woodstock, an op-ed piece appeared in the Boston Globe extolling progress America has made in civil rights and social freedoms as a result of the spirit of love and peace that arose from the sixties as epitomized by Woodstock.

Not surprisingly, I'm prone to looking at the world around me and wondering: "Where did all those hippies go?". I look at the miles of strip malls, the big-box stores, the ubiquitous Chinese crap, the suburban subdivisions grinding up forest and farmland, the religious right, wall street greed. Human nature being what it is, I'm not really surprised. People want to take the easy way out and do what feels good now without considering long-term impacts or affects on others. So what if shopping at Walmart puts Americans out of work and despoils China? I can save ten dollars on that plastic Santa to put on my brown lawn this year! So what if they pour tons of fungicide on the soil and pump fossil water from hundreds of feet underground? I want to supersize my fries at the drive-through!

I wrote this letter, but it didn't make the paper. I'm not surprised. Online comments show there were many responses to the article. When I told my wife that I wrote yet another letter to the paper, her basic response was: "Get a life. Nobody cares what you think." How can I argue with that?



August 29, 2009

Rene’e Loth goes a little too easy on the Woodstock Generation (“Woodstock pays dividends,” Op-Ed, Aug. 28). If body piercings, flip-flops in the White House and corporate branding of things like Woodstock itself represent progress, then those great leaps forward must be balanced against the accomplishments of the culture that also brought us SUVs, McMansions, lawn care service, high fructose corn syrup, an obesity epidemic, reality TV, NASCAR, cage fighting, liar loans, credit default swaps and the Iraq war. For every boomer that paddles a kayak or pedals a bike to work, there are thousands who drive alone in a car. For every hipster who lives in an integrated urban neighborhood or on a commune, there are scores who lust after gated communities.

We boomers like to pat ourselves on the back, but we had our chance and blew it. We talked about peace, love and harmony, but what we really wanted was just the sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. Let’s hope a new generation rises up to foment true revolution.

Photo: "One Minute to Midnight" San Francisco, February 2010

Burning Our Future Forests

A recent article in the Boston Globe about plans to build wood-fired power plants in Massachusetts made me worry that the voracious appetite these plants have for wood, and the scale of the machinery used to harvest the trees will make wise forest management that has traditionally been focused on high-quality hardwood logs impossible. Back in the 70's I observed one of these operations in New Hampshire. They gave lip service to setting aside quality logs for lumber or veneer, but we watched as one beautiful birch after the other went right into the chipper.

Proponents of these plants often make the claim that forests are renewable and that trees can be re-planted. Well, native New England mixed hardwood forests are never planted. They regenerate naturally after harvest, and to ensure that this regeneration happens properly, a trained forester should be involved to make sure harvesting operations are planned and conducted in a way that allows for good quantity and quality of regeneration. The kind of people that worry about delivering tons of chips to a power plant today are not the kind of people who dream about what a woodlot will look like 50 years from now.

My letter in response to the article appeared in the August 2, 2009 paper:

Beth Daley’s piece on proposed wood-burning power plants in Massachusetts ( “On wood, burning questions,” Boston Sunday Globe, July 26, 2009) prompts concern about the future of our forests. To feed the beast of a biomass-burning power plant, trees will likely be harvested by big, expensive machines on very tight production schedules. The pressure to constantly supply huge quantities of chips will prohibit much discrimination in selecting trees for harvest.

The most valuable trees in Bay State forests are high-quality hardwood sawlogs, typically red oak. Deciduous forests in New England are not planted, they arise from natural regeneration. High densities of quality sawlogs don’t just happen, they are nurtured by careful control of regeneration, species composition and stem quality by professionally-trained college-educated foresters known as silviculturists. This careful woodland culture requires thoughtful care over periods that span decades.

While the increased demand for timber that these power plants create may enhance opportunities for timber stand improvement, professional supervision of forest operations with equipment and techniques that harvest the right trees is essential. Biomass might help supply our future energy needs, but the harvest of that biomass must be done in a way that protects the character and value of our forests for generations to come.

Snow in August

Or: Where is Gary Larson when you need him?

So, on a recent Friday morning I'm riding along Route 1 South in Foxboro, right near Gillette Stadium, home of the New England Patriots, on my way to make a delivery with my bicycle and trailer. I'm minding my own business and am riding well out of traffic in the breakdown lane. I was lost in a reverie about dreams that do indeed come true when, from the passenger-side window of a speeding pickup truck, a skinny, shirtless tanned twenty-something hangs his head out, looks at me and yells "BLAAAAAAAH!" at the top of his lungs.

He was loud, but not very articulate, so I have no idea what his message might have been or what he was thinking. I'm pretty sure he didn't do that to every car they passed, so I'm assuming that my being there on bicycle somehow prompted his utterance. Was he trying to startle me? Did he think he was being funny? Was I annoying him? Was he feeling superior? I suppose trying to plumb the depths of a post-adolescent male mind is a pointless exercise, but I had to wonder.

One thing I'm quite sure of is that he wasn't upset because seeing a guy doing work on a bike suddenly made him realize that the power and joy he was feeling in a pickup today might be only a distant memory when he is an old man like me. He probably didn't suddenly understand that the world of his parents and grandparents would not much longer be his. He most likely didn't see that he had better get busy planning for a future world much different than the world of rock music, football and internal combustion that he now takes for granted.

A favorite old Gary Larson cartoon immediately came to mind.

Two long-necked dinosaurs are standing amid the prehistoric tropical plants. A small furry animal, looking something like a scruffy hedgehog, is passing by. One dinosaur is pointing at the proto-mammal with his dinosaur foot and laughing heartily at the silly little thing while the other dinosaur is looking at the sky with a puzzled and worried look on his face and is holding out his stubby foot to catch a snowflake.

From the Less is More Department

I suffer from commute envy. No, I don't long to be stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic for hours listening to bad radio and fighting off fits of road rage. Rather, one of the things I envy in those who go to the same place of employment every day is the chance to be a bicycle commuter. The chance to get fresh air and exercise twice a day while happily pedaling by those trapped in gridlock just seems cosmically correct.

Since I don't have a real job, a regular bike commute is not really an option. Much of the work I do involves carrying all manner of tools and materials, and while I may be a dreamer, I'm not yet crazy enough to start strapping two-by-fours and table saws onto my bike.

One of my business activities, however, does involve making twice-weekly laundry deliveries to a physical therapy office. This is a small account and the bundles are not very big. It always seemed a little unfortunate to be doing all that driving for so little and I eventually began to wonder if there was some way I could do it by bike. I got the idea to try a bike trailer and in the process of asking around about trailers, one of my biking buddies offered me a kiddie trailer he no longer needs. (Thanks, Harvey!)

My goal is to make the trip by bike about once a week, weather permitting. The weather has been abysmal so far this spring and summer, but I've been able to pull the load under my own power several times so far, and it's fun. It's about 16 miles round trip and with my heavy bike, the trailer and the cargo, the ride takes a bit over an hour - about the same as an exercise class at the gym. That's quite a bit more than it would take in the car, obviously, but in the way I measure these things, it still makes sense. Much of the ride is through nice streets in the community and along roads through the woods. I could even pedal over Moose Hill, but I don't want to get carried away with this. It is work, so I want to consider efficiency a little.

I have to ride along busy U.S. 1 for a couple of miles, but the shoulder is wide along this stretch, so it's not too scary or annoying. Plus, I've discovered that pulling the trailer has its advantages. When motorists see the bright yellow trailer, they think "Baby!" and give me more leeway than usual. If only they knew it was just an old guy with dirty laundry!

It feels good to get outside on a sunny summer morning and do some work, get some exercise, burn less gas, create less pollution and take up less space in the world all at the same time. Sometimes, less truly is more.

Turtlehead Boulder, Borderland

One of the traditions of bouldering is to name the rocks. It's a bit of a mystery to me who gets to name a boulder. Maybe it's the first climber to find a rock and bother to name it. Perhaps the honor should go to the first to climb it. Giving a unique name to a rock has obvious advantages, if for no other reason than to help other climbers find it.

Several of the boulders in Borderland State Park have names that have been published online on New England Bouldering and the Mountain Project. I've been able find - if not climb - a few of these rocks including the Ames Boulder, Hardly Working and the Ridge Boulder.

One rock I like may or may not have a name already, but for now I call it "Turtlehead" because it looks like the head of a giant tortoise emerging from the bowels of the Earth. It is right in the middle of the French Trail, not far from its intersection with the West Side Trail. This boulder is in an area with many other good climbing opportunities for beginning and advanced climbers.

This is not a large boulder - maybe 8 feet high - but it has a variety of climbs good for beginners. A few routes have generous handholds and footholds, and one side has a sloping slab with small finger-holds where a climber can practice trusting the grip of his shoes.