M
moose eater
Well, h.h. This is my last post for a while here; maybe for a long while to come.
Thanks for your insight and matching discourse. You're brighter than you take credit for, often balanced in your sense of justice, tolerant and helpful for others who don't have your knowledge or resources.
I think we danced most of a decade ago here; some discussion not so much related to cannabis or counter-culture history. It rings a bell, but my once razor sharp memory is a bit rusty now. Just like I remembered several concerts I attended that were omitted from my earlier list in our wrangling, that years ago wouldn't have been forgotten, but now the memories sit in moth balls. Foghat, 1975 Aerosmith in Muskegon, 1973 or '74 Bachman Turner Overdrive near Erie, Pa., and others. History going from fixed images to a blur each day.
Someone once used a bumper sticker cliché on me, saying if you remembered the 60s/70s, then you weren't there. I countered that I (back then) remembered damned near everything, like a photo in my mind's eye. Not so much any more. Like many things, there's a Yin Yang reality there. A double-edged sword. Lots of things that ought to be forgotten., but doing so means some amount of losing one's path, too.
There's some amount of scarring in all of our worlds. Many of us at times try to convert that into humor; gallows humor is better than no humor at all. I hope there's peace with each of our past losses. Yours, mine, and some others.
I chuckled when I read the Winslow Az., line. I had the Eagles 'On the Border' album on 8-track back in the day, Played it on a deck I installed in an 1967 Oldsmobile 98 Luxury Sedan, with (I think) a 416 4-bbl; rarely had enough money to fill the tank, perpetually ran bald tires, despite working a nowhere job and dealing a shit-load of dope. Had an old 8-track tape of some psychedelic Hot Tuna that accompanied me in that car, too, as well as Mick Ronson, Bowie, etc..
Lots of songs about emotion, losses, successes, overcoming, and finding a new path when the old one dries up; old soil mixes, old relationships, old dogs, old... people.
If you're ever up in the sub-arctic, you'd be welcome for a visit. You, rod, mustard, Gry, and others I wish were neighbors. Maybe a neighbor exchange program. Ship out some/many of the ones I have, and move you guys in to their homes. All of you; decent folks with their heads on the level, even when the earth has tilted off her axis a fair bit.
It occurred to me that GTH#1, which has already made her displeasure known re. at least 2 or 3 soil mixes, as far as root development is concerned, isn't over-watered, or maybe not even over-fed via the organic amendments in the mixes, but due to being a bit picky on soil where roots are concerned, simply runs a small enough root ball in those specific circumstances, that she looks like she's dehydrated a bit, even when there's sufficient moisture in her container. Simply because her roots can't reach what's there.. A minor epiphany that makes sense, logically. She and I will soon have a conference and discuss the differences in her desires, and the rest of the more casual, less-demanding harem.
This goes way back for me. Another theme in life, The Yukon Territory, Upper Peninsula of Michigan, Alaska; it's followed me. We can't escape who we are or what we've done, other than to hope we have enough energy left to grab a fresh sunrise, find some semblance of honest forgiveness for self and others, and try to correct any course that needs new direction.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXETByaIEXg
The Band
Acadian Driftwood
The war was over and the spirit was broken
The hills were smokin' as the men withdrew
We stood on the cliffs
Oh, and watched the ships
Slowly sinking to their rendezvous
They signed a treaty and our homes were taken
Loved ones forsaken
They didn't give a damn
Try'n' to raise a family
End up the enemy
Over what went down on the plains of Abraham
Acadian driftwood
Gypsy tail wind
They call my home the land of snow
Canadian cold front movin' in
What a way to ride
Oh, what a way to go
Then some returned to the motherland
The high command had them cast away
And some stayed on to finish what they started
They never parted
They're just built that way
We had kin livin' south of the border
They're a little older and they've been around
They wrote in a letter life is a whole lot better
So pull up your stakes, children and come on down
Fifteen under zero when the bay became a threat
My clothes were wet and I was drenched to the bone
Been out ice fishing, too much repetition
Make a man wanna leave the only home he's known
Sailed out of the gulf headin' for Saint Pierre
Nothin' to declare
All we had was gone
Broke down along the coast
But what hurt the most
When the people there said
"You better keep movin' on"
Everlasting summer filled with ill-content
This government had us walkin' in chains
This isn't my turf
This ain't my season
Can't think of one good reason to remain
We worked in the sugar fields up from New Orleans
It was ever green up until the floods
You could call it an omen
Points ya where you're goin'
Set my compass north
I got winter in my blood
Acadian driftwood
Gypsy tail wind
They call my home the land of snow
Canadian cold front movin' in
What a way to ride
Ah, what a way to go
Take care, h.h. Raising an Anchor Porter in a toast to you, big trees, incredible gardens and orchards, awesome ganja, a more sane world, better humanity, clean water, etc. It's been both pleasant and helpful visiting with you here.
Peace.
m.e.
Thanks for your insight and matching discourse. You're brighter than you take credit for, often balanced in your sense of justice, tolerant and helpful for others who don't have your knowledge or resources.
I think we danced most of a decade ago here; some discussion not so much related to cannabis or counter-culture history. It rings a bell, but my once razor sharp memory is a bit rusty now. Just like I remembered several concerts I attended that were omitted from my earlier list in our wrangling, that years ago wouldn't have been forgotten, but now the memories sit in moth balls. Foghat, 1975 Aerosmith in Muskegon, 1973 or '74 Bachman Turner Overdrive near Erie, Pa., and others. History going from fixed images to a blur each day.
Someone once used a bumper sticker cliché on me, saying if you remembered the 60s/70s, then you weren't there. I countered that I (back then) remembered damned near everything, like a photo in my mind's eye. Not so much any more. Like many things, there's a Yin Yang reality there. A double-edged sword. Lots of things that ought to be forgotten., but doing so means some amount of losing one's path, too.
There's some amount of scarring in all of our worlds. Many of us at times try to convert that into humor; gallows humor is better than no humor at all. I hope there's peace with each of our past losses. Yours, mine, and some others.
I chuckled when I read the Winslow Az., line. I had the Eagles 'On the Border' album on 8-track back in the day, Played it on a deck I installed in an 1967 Oldsmobile 98 Luxury Sedan, with (I think) a 416 4-bbl; rarely had enough money to fill the tank, perpetually ran bald tires, despite working a nowhere job and dealing a shit-load of dope. Had an old 8-track tape of some psychedelic Hot Tuna that accompanied me in that car, too, as well as Mick Ronson, Bowie, etc..
Lots of songs about emotion, losses, successes, overcoming, and finding a new path when the old one dries up; old soil mixes, old relationships, old dogs, old... people.
If you're ever up in the sub-arctic, you'd be welcome for a visit. You, rod, mustard, Gry, and others I wish were neighbors. Maybe a neighbor exchange program. Ship out some/many of the ones I have, and move you guys in to their homes. All of you; decent folks with their heads on the level, even when the earth has tilted off her axis a fair bit.
It occurred to me that GTH#1, which has already made her displeasure known re. at least 2 or 3 soil mixes, as far as root development is concerned, isn't over-watered, or maybe not even over-fed via the organic amendments in the mixes, but due to being a bit picky on soil where roots are concerned, simply runs a small enough root ball in those specific circumstances, that she looks like she's dehydrated a bit, even when there's sufficient moisture in her container. Simply because her roots can't reach what's there.. A minor epiphany that makes sense, logically. She and I will soon have a conference and discuss the differences in her desires, and the rest of the more casual, less-demanding harem.
This goes way back for me. Another theme in life, The Yukon Territory, Upper Peninsula of Michigan, Alaska; it's followed me. We can't escape who we are or what we've done, other than to hope we have enough energy left to grab a fresh sunrise, find some semblance of honest forgiveness for self and others, and try to correct any course that needs new direction.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXETByaIEXg
The Band
Acadian Driftwood
The war was over and the spirit was broken
The hills were smokin' as the men withdrew
We stood on the cliffs
Oh, and watched the ships
Slowly sinking to their rendezvous
They signed a treaty and our homes were taken
Loved ones forsaken
They didn't give a damn
Try'n' to raise a family
End up the enemy
Over what went down on the plains of Abraham
Acadian driftwood
Gypsy tail wind
They call my home the land of snow
Canadian cold front movin' in
What a way to ride
Oh, what a way to go
Then some returned to the motherland
The high command had them cast away
And some stayed on to finish what they started
They never parted
They're just built that way
We had kin livin' south of the border
They're a little older and they've been around
They wrote in a letter life is a whole lot better
So pull up your stakes, children and come on down
Fifteen under zero when the bay became a threat
My clothes were wet and I was drenched to the bone
Been out ice fishing, too much repetition
Make a man wanna leave the only home he's known
Sailed out of the gulf headin' for Saint Pierre
Nothin' to declare
All we had was gone
Broke down along the coast
But what hurt the most
When the people there said
"You better keep movin' on"
Everlasting summer filled with ill-content
This government had us walkin' in chains
This isn't my turf
This ain't my season
Can't think of one good reason to remain
We worked in the sugar fields up from New Orleans
It was ever green up until the floods
You could call it an omen
Points ya where you're goin'
Set my compass north
I got winter in my blood
Acadian driftwood
Gypsy tail wind
They call my home the land of snow
Canadian cold front movin' in
What a way to ride
Ah, what a way to go
Take care, h.h. Raising an Anchor Porter in a toast to you, big trees, incredible gardens and orchards, awesome ganja, a more sane world, better humanity, clean water, etc. It's been both pleasant and helpful visiting with you here.
Peace.
m.e.
