NFTNIF Volume 3, Episode 13, CODA to the Earth Mission

Earth Mission Concluded.

NFTNIF Volume 3 CODA (Episode 13).

This conclusion to Volume 3 of NFTNIF begins with a summary of the events, circumstances and adventures of the Earth Mission to NorCal. It will include the story of the last part of my time in NorCal, and what our adventure wrought in human terms, especially within yours truly. It spells out the current status of the men of Earth Mission, and concludes with a look at the future, inasmuch as we can peer into something that doesn't yet exist (from our perspective in space-time).

In our last episode, I summed up many elements of the environment, hates and loves and reported that we had taken up residence in the trailer, on a ranch in exchange for work on the ranch. Coping with tires was just one more hurdle and we hurdled it.

There was still much to be done on the trailer. We connected internal systems of electrical wiring and lighting. We sealed off most of the gaps, holes, leaks and windows, leaving some for ventilation. We used our belongings to insulate around the built in furnishings, and creatively rehabilitated the trailer. We set up a working kitchen, even enteertained a few guests. This work continued in and around the harvest labor and the chores for our trailer space, and continued to consume money as well as time.

On the other hand all the labor and treasure, blood, sweat, toil and tears did make this hulk into a home; the only home any of us had ever owned as opposed to rented or lived in with family. It was not a small thing that in the midst of the alien corn, far from all we knew, working hard in so many ways we had created a home, our home.

Without telling more than would be prudent, I can say that the community in which we lived was divided into 3 sub-segments; the Native American tribes, Hispanics, and the whites. The whites were further divided into the old guard, and, collectively the growers, trimmers, hippies and their other folks, most of whom are transient.

There were tensions between and within all of these groups, which were gradually revealed in conversations, facial expressions and postures, and the varying quality of service offered by members of one group to others. We got along with everyone, even the old guard and Natives.

We each worked on the ranch on chores which suited our experience and inclinations. Some assisted with the animals, some did building/repair, cut trees, all the outdoor chores. My broader resume meant that I was drafted into cooking for the ranch as a whole. They approached my first meal with some trepidation; so I made a quick breakfast dish earlier that day that seduced them. By dinner they were excited, and that enthusiasm continued to grow as they had food ready to eat, varied and delicious, cooked with ingredients they approved. My other chores involved cleaning floors, big floors, lots of floors. We settled down in one place fully occupied and slowly but steadily improving our quality of life. We were still mostly cut off from communication with the outside, but after the intital shock of it we adjusted to that too, with regrets for those who worried about fires, hunger, cold, etc.

The harvest finally drew to a close. Most trimmigrants were gone. Winter drew near. In the interval before I started cooking, we got short on food. I managed to post an appeal and my readers saved us with timely contributions. The time spent on ranch chores began to slowly increase beyond our agreed hours; perhaps inevitable since there was so much to be done all the time at the ranch, and our hosts were elderly though hale and hard working, every single day. My guys had absorbed 6-8 weeks of intensive parenting and partnering with me, and needed time and space to process and put into practice what we taught each other.

The time came to assess our role as a group in that place and that time. These deliberations were grueling, exhausting, utterly comprehensive in the inclusion of a galaxy of considerations. In the end, it was decided that separating was the best, indeed, the only thing to do.

By this time the trailer was sporting a porch made from pallets and thick rubber mats, had it's own storage shed, and was extensively tarped against the weather. We realized, from visiting other trailers, that except for water (we pressurized the system and piping behind the toilet sprayed water - repeated attempts had not quite sealed it by the time I left) it was as snug and liveable as most trailers that common folk used. (We did see a trailer, for $23,000 which was NICE - I would gladly live in something just like it. Of course it was owned by well heeled hunters, and meant to provide all the comforts of home on their long hunting trips; it also had to meet the exacting standards of their wives when the families joined the men for weekends).

It was time for me to go. So I left.

It was one of the hardest things, internally, not circumstantially, but for my heart and soul. Any parent will recognize the complex of emotions on the occasion of leaving your children behind, however well prepared. But how else to grow, build muscles, learn and become more of what one is than to be on one's own? Although independence was always the goal, it was an agonizing wrench to get in the truck and leave.

These are all the children I shall have, the children of my heart, and we reach out to each other in honest need and communion. Leaving them is hard to describe; my inner ear filled with an inner wail, my heart too heavy to bear, grief crushing me, a feeling of emptiness and loneliness and desolate loss. Beside those - pride in their growth and achievements, progress and momentum; cherished memories of our times together, the infinitely precious value of the family we have made: optimism, hope and a dim view of a better future.

That still puts me somewhere else, and in different company, without the people I lived with in such intensity. Is it understandable if I say that the rest of life seems to lack color, vitality, a certain level of meaning, zest and fulfillment when compared to the plunge we took going North? The things that tested us, the challenges we presented each other and cooperated to overcome, the extremes of all sorts we experienced together.

In a way I am much luckier than most parents; I get to skip to the stuff you can do with grown-up children and enjoy the part of their lives (last teens and 20's) that most parents miss because the kids have left the nest.

Some of what I learned along the way. I learned more about my current level of strength, physically and character-wise, and hence also my limitations. I was profoundly focused on mortality, aging, and the power of routine to sustain a person. I learned that the country is every bit as mad, violent, poor, self-absorbed, divided and complex as the city. I learned that I can survive, even flourish under appalling conditions, stripped of all my comforts and most support, learning how I depend on them and the group because nothing is a one-way street and we all have something to contriute, and we all look to meet our needs.

One of the most important lessons for everyone in the Earth Mission was how important it is to take care of each other - the necessity and practice of paying attention to other people when you are relying on each other.

I learned that I cannot INDEFINITELY keep up with 20 and 30 somethings, but I can for a few days. I learned that despite my miserable experiences with job hunting, I have some very useful skills that are in demand in the real world if not the job market. I learned that my non-marketable skills, of listening, empathy, advice - the things I do because I cannot stand the pain of others - those are paradoxically the greatest value I bring to a situation.

Isn't it funny? The things that proved to be the most decisive in my roles up North were none of them remunerable, and seem to fall into a class outside and apart from all other sorts of skills. I suppose that skill set DID earn me the contributions that set us on the road - so they are not entirely free from monetary entanglements.

I scaled new eminences of joy, managed some achievements which must remain unsung, proved to be equal to the tasks (if just barely!) which I faced, and hardest of all managed to let go when the time came.

I also made horrible mistakes, fell short of what I wanted to do, and plumbed new abysses of grief and exhaustion. I looked at my life span with cruel clarity, including life expectancy. I did NOT however finally fall into the role of an old man. Quite the opposite, I made sure I kept up a vigorous tempo of work and activity. I was told that I will not be old until after 60, (gu-gulp!) and I got to see people in their late 70's even 80's who worked every day - hard work, and instead of beating them down it kept them going. At some point however, everyone reaches the point at which they cannot continue. This reality came home to me on the Earth Mission, not as something in the indefinite future, but something coming up. Doesn't time seem to speed up the older you get?

We left an impression on the town - everyone always noted our truck when it passed, ever hopeful that it might one day disgorge ice cream, fish or meat, pizza or SOMETHING in an area poor in food choices. Our interactions were such that most people liked us - with some holdouts we couldnt charm, for whatever reason. Whereas this year we arrived about 3 weeks too late, next year we would START as a known quantity, remembered and anticipated.

As far as my class of 4:

One returned to his childhood community, and addressed all of his unfinished business, emotional, familial, fraternal, legal. He has acquired professional experience, is getting his credentials, and then plans to return to San Diego to rejoin the "family" here.

One has moved into a full time job, has side jobs doing tutoring, and has entered into a relationship and moved in together with his young woman. He is happy, healthy and doing well.

One is in business, working hard, moving and shaking. He continues to learn, expand his business operations, and looks forward to working with me and our returning brother when he is here again
.
One remained up in NorCal, working on an advanced "degree" in cannabis cultivation, living in the trailer, working with the ranch folks. He is busy, happy, healthy and looking forward to each day and to the future, with opportunities of his own creation, and with our family.

Did I say how it was to free a gorgeous cannabis plant, the size and shape of a young tree from it's cage of plastic, wire, rebar and stakes? How cruelly the wires bit us, how stoutly stakes resisted removal, how freely the plants rained down keef, resin, leave and bud fragments, until we resembled Christmas cookies rolled in powdered sugar? Did I mention that we could walk that way into any business in town - hands green and black with resin that took days to wear and scrub off, clothes redolent of the strain we were harvesting, and no one customer or employee ever blinked an eye?

Did I mention how beautiful they were - so many colors, the fractal beauty of their blossoms, they scintillated and sparked in the light. The heady fragrance, so strong as to give you a head rush all by itself, of a shed crammed with Tangerine cannabis, a scent so persistent that everything we owned smelled like it for days.

Did I mention getting up and starting our tiny Mr. Coffee, the trailer filling with the smell of coffee. Making a breakfast of bacon and potatos in a pan on the hot plate, then washing everything by hand with water I heated and the hose. Some mornings the hose water was frozen. Did I say how some nights we would drink 3-4 gallons of water during the night? Propane heat is very dry, but much better than cold and chill.

Wearing each others clothes, the joy of being able to take a shower; finding a way around roadwork in country we don't know. Going up a driveway instead of down a lane, and being saved from execution by the little white truck; people hesitated to see what we had instead of simply shooting the trespassers.

Did I talk about crouching over a white plastic bucket, moonlight rendering the whispering tongues of leaves surreal, clutching a length of rebar and watching feral dog packs ghost by? TP roll in one pocket, cigarette trembling in time to my head, hanging from my lip, bucket rim testing the elacticity of my ass and leg skin.

The rain turned vast areas into shallow ponds, regions of mud, melted horse manure and cow manure, drove the birds into shelter, hammered the roof of the trailer, made certain roads impassable and sent water coursing down dry river and creek beds.

Did I mention the laundromat during the height of the season, with 30 men doing their laundry and not one woman? The frontier indeed. In our little town, the one laungromat was only open a few times a week, and featured a battleship of a woman proprietor who literally went through my laundry, all of it, before consenting to let me use her machines. One washer wouldn't open, for half an hour of unplgging it, moving it around, consulting the tattered manual, turning it on and off, and generally failing to make it open until we all gave up and then it popped open on it's own.

How can I tell you about the automatic gunfire, punctuating the night like some tweaking vers libre poet? No one even looked up for single shots; it was the popopopopopopop that caused heads to move, ears to triangulate. I got very very good at counting them. The most exciting sequence happened just a few days before I left - one of my guys was across a meadow walking back to the trailer, in the last violet of twilight, when I saw the muzzle flash of the automatic weapon BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM - tongue after tongue of flame spitting bullets. My guy hunkered down and sped to the trailer. The gun turned in another direction and did the rest of its shooting thataway.

Did you notice how many dogs there were, how intrusive, how loud and impossible to stop or ignore, how they barked at everything and nothing. Then they would break free and escape and become wild. We encountered the wild pakcs in the truck - they barely moved aside to let us pass, ignored all our verbal commands, and their red red eyes burned back at us as our headlights passed over them. They looked to each other, did not fear us, and had me carrying a length of rebar most of the time.

I know I talked about looking out of my tent and watching day wheel through sunset, twilight and the gloaming to full night, and the splendor of the stars. I can't remember if I mentioned that I saw in succession all of the brightest and most persistent shooting stars in my experience during this trip, but it's true. The night without moon and under cloud was the most impenetrably black I have ever walked through; the moonlight transformed everything into a glowing caricature of itself.

On the other hand, we were warmly embraced by the ranch family, in varying degrees by the grower and his family, and by people we met in town or camping. The countryside, when not marred by the corrupting handiwork of Man, the cast off vehicles rotting away, the piles of trash, the wasted or abandoned housing; I say the countryside was beautiful. And I never saw so much cannabis in the rest of my life put together as on any given day we worked the harvest.

The colors of the sunsets, the sunrises - we saw most or all of both living in a tent and a trailer. The smells of the trees, the winds scouring the heights and wailing past us, driving cloud and mist, smoke and shadow. Between the moving trees, branches, leaves, shifting colors and intensities the landscape was a kaleidoscope of restless change, hues bold and muted, infinite varieties of green, the majesty of the redwood trees towering over everything but the mountains. And even that changed, as the leaves changed colors and then began to fall, adding dry leaves whirling into the mix, piling like a dry shattery snow - raked into piles much larger than a house - the "burns" of mad ziggurats of cannabis plant skeletons roaring into flames and uttered into the heavens.

There are people who I have offended in this process; dear friends who still aren't talking to me. This happens every time I take direct and uncompromising action - I lose some friends. I hope that they will forgive me in time - I have lost some friends permanently when they died unreconciled. I have never ascribed to the lesson of Job - that the new children somehow make up for the family killed as part of the test. I begrudge and lament every friend I lose, especially ones with such longevity.

And home itself changed while I was away, home in all the different senses, it changed and I changed. I am learning my place anew, a new place for a new me.

For the future

I am back in San Diego, and today is the first day I have actually felt a return to inner harmony, and an end to my sense of displacement. A very real part of me is still with each one of my Earth Mission men; as any of my friends knows I maintain a very real tie with all my friends, family and loves. This adventure underlined for me the extent to which my life is defined by service to others. My choice to serve keeps me happy, young and vibrant, it fills my days and gives me a sense of achievement, and I can mark progress in the lives of real people.

This Mission did not succeed in its immediate goal of raising money enough to inorporate my Church. It did succeed in paving the way for another trip next harvest; it did place my last guy where he can and will flourish. It may be that my work will never have a formal structure to abet continuity; I nurture some hope that some of the people I have helped will take up the work on their own. This has happened before, I see it happening now, I can earnestly encourage this without a Church.

Aside from the actual work I am doing, I also hope to inspire others by example - to show what we could do if we tried, if we cared. I dare to believe that I have done this in some small way by sharing with you, my readers, and by the Mission itself, the people we met and talked to.

So I failed in the abstract business of legal structuring, but we succeeded in the very real business of continuing the life of these young men

The Mission has left me with some debts, and I will not undertake any new obligations until these debts are all paid off, however long it takes.

It is impossible to thank the people who made this happen with their gifts, impossible in a sentence or a paragraph. I have attempted to paint a picture, without compromising anyones personal information, of what it was like for us by way of repayment for your support.

We learned, changed each other in the forge of partnerships, grew and now we are closer than ever, with stronger and more enduring bonds, and our lives continue, together though apart. We are humbly grateful for all the help from friends and strangers, and celebrate Life and Family, especially the family we make.

This is The End of Earth Mission 2018, and of NFTNIF Volume 3. Peace be unto you and goodwill to all.

Reverend Ralph G. Smith
San Diego, California
December 15, 2018

NFTNIF Volume 3 Episode 12, Parts 1&2

Part 1:  Love/Hate

Things I have learned to hate:

dogs barking

cold

barking dogs

dogs

a single dog barking

barking

dull blades of any kind,

whining, yapping, howling, keening, yipping, snarling, growling, and most especially, barking

zippers (zippers on pants, shoes and boots, hoodies and sweaters, coats, gloves, fanny pack, backpacks, tent, sleeping bags; all zippers jamming, sliding out of alignment, chewing on their immediate surroundings, not zipping);

trellis (a plastic netting used in horticulture, and then turned quite unintentionally into a deadly snare waiting to bring down all but the wariest of walkers),

cow flies,

absurdly numerous dogs exciting each other over nothing and then barking in waves and rounds for hours,

feral dogs, who do not bark but hunt silently, watching each other for cues to behavior,

mules, ill-tempered creatures full of obnoxious character,

litter and disrespect of the land.

I have learned to love

the ever changing splendor of the sky and mountains,

the interplay of light, shadow, smoke and fog,

well water,

warmth,

the absence of any noise even close to the barking of dogs,

the light of the moon,

the trailer, even gutted as it was,

internet and phone access,

being able to cook on a single hot plate (heaven to be able to cook!),

showers,

clean laundry and surroundings,

hot water,

being around big animals such as horses, cattle and donkeys but not, so far, mules,

walnuts picked up off of the ground!

propane and propane heaters (shout out to Hank Hill!),

local beef (wowsers!),

a relative absence of coldness

places with public bathrooms,

my utility knife, doubling as kitchen knife, then moonlighting as table knife,

tarps,

gorilla tape,

silicon caulk,

powerful trucks,

jellied alcohol hand sanitizer,

hot coffee in the frigid morning,

running water,

electricity,

being warm.

You may think you appreciate these things, but you don't really.

"Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone, they pave paradise, and put up a parking lot."

From the men of EarthMission, an early Thanksgiving for the simple things in life, as above.

Part 2 - Tires.

We awoke to a chilly, but not cold trailer.  One of our hosts pointed out that the truck had a completely flat tire. This was removed and the cause immeditely noted.  In what must surely be the supreme irony of our trip so far, the right rear tire was stabbed to the heart by a pair of trimming scissors.  I never trusted that tire anyway.  We did have with us a spare in good shape, and found someone in town who will mount it on the rim for us, even found a ride into town.  After breakfast this chore will be carried out.  After that, work.

It may seem at first glance that the flat tire is bad luck, but a closer examination of the issue reveals a different perpective.  Suppose that tire, the most suspect of a surly and mis-matched set to be begin with, had thrown itself into the abyss as we skirted a two lane (or in many cases, even down to one lane) mountain road, hugging the lip of the hard Earth.   Given my sense of responsibility, I imagine it almost every time we go anywhere.

The trailer has two low tries on the left side - they need to be refilled too.  Tires, before that zippers what next?!

Tire repaired, replaced.  We got a connector to use our heater with a normal propane tank, and had the first warm night last night.  Tonight I cook the first meal for the family boarding our trailer and I m preparing beef short ribs in chicken broth with potatoes and saurkraut.

We have at last dentified the thing people most want de,ivered here - salmon.  We are writing a business plan and have an ange to start twice weekly trips to the cost to sell salmon here.

From the men of EarthMission, wish us luck.

NFTNIF Volume 3 Episode 11  A Trailer, not a Thriller (WE ARE NOT IN DANGER FROM FIRE)

Let's roll back the clock, while we can still recall the events.  Last report, we were impatiently awaiting the delivery of our trailer.  In conversation with Grady, the seller.  No,let's take it back even further.

We searched extensively for a trailer, and met: scams, no-replies, someone else got it first, and offerings we could not use.  We scrambled and appealed for funding and we collected the money for one trailer, an 18' Prowler from Craig's List.  I had been in periodic commuication with Grady, and we worked out an agreement for him to bring it to Vacaville from the Sacramento area.  When, on our end, we lost the chance to tow it from Vacaville or anywhere else, Grady became somewhat irate.  Eventually we agreed to pay him an additional $200.00 to bring it to Mendocino county.  He declared he would leave around noon which would bring him to us sometime in the early evening.  We made arrangements for a reception and berth on our end.  Everything seemed to be coming together.
Grady made one last attempt to have u take delivery somewhere closer to him, but it was simply not ossible.  He demanded an additional $400, which was also not possible.  I texted to check on his progress around 4 pm, and he informed me he had not left.  He had to rent a U-Haul, despite his repeated insistence that he would have no difficulty pulling the traier with his Suburban.  He again tried to get more money, or meet us elsewhere.  Indeed, his now much later than agreed upon arrival time meant we could NOT take delivery where we had expected, and we had to have it taken to a campground as his arrival time slipped again and again - past 8, 9, 11, and then midnight.  All of our volunteers to help move it faded and went to bed.

Indeed, when Grady let us know how late i t would be I tried to move the delivery to a later date, but he replied that it was too late he was now on the road, had spent money on a rental truck, had  a court date at 8:30 am the next day, and we should be grateful to meet him any time.  We arrived, tired but excited at our meeting place, and still he was late.

I should say in simple fairness that the drive is tricky under the best of conditions.  At night, pulling a trailer, it is a very spooky business.  Grady went through it because his planning left him no choice.  We also had little choice except to call it off at that hour.

When  he arrived, he tried to ditch the trailer in the loading dock of the local supermarket.  After some warm discussion, he oh so reluctantly agreed to take it to the campground, which was not our choice, it ws simpy the only other option.  Or so we thought.
Partway (most of the way!) to the campground Grady pulled off the road into a field dirt road.  A we turned around and drove back, he was hurriedly unshackling the trailer.  When we got there he rased every possible objection to continuing; he had lredy come much farther than he wanted to, he was out of gas, he had no crd to get gas from stations closed for the night, he had court in a few hours, and so on.
He had no keys, handed me the paperwork, asked us for favors, then sped off.  We clambered inside to discover. . . .
Both skylights were open to the sky, one had scattered its fragments on the bed - obviously smashed sometime in transit.  The electrical system did not work.  The furnace had been removed.  It was hard to tell in the light of our handflashes, but it looked, er, gutted.
We made such preparations for the rest of the night as could be made around 2 am in the dark on the side of the road.  No question that this was the coldest night yet, ditched on who knows whose property on the side of the road, only 4 miles or so from the campground.
In the morning, without phone service, we made arrangements for the owner of the campground to tow us to a spot at his place.  His comment on the trailer was, that if the seller was local, we should dump it on his property and get or mmoney back.  His next comment was that we should have come to him - he knew of at least one perfectly goodd trailer for sale.  But how could we have known to come to him?  I had never heard of him until the plan to take a late delivery.
On the day we assessed the condition, we were at a campgrond with NO phone or internet service.  We scraped together our remaining money, made a short ist of things we had to have, then set to work rehabilitating our new home.
4 solid days of duct tape, Gorilla tape, silicone caulk, shrink wrap, cardboard and bits of wood later, we have it mostly sealed up, although it also took both sleeping bags, most of our clothes, towels, baggage etc.  We have a small electric heater (inadequate by itself but as part of a multipart system, effective enough),  a small propane heater (used to get us up to temperature, then turned off, as we discovered that the little cylinders it uses do not last a night if we left it on), and a hot plate used for cooking, and a tiny Mr. Coffee to warm water for coffee or tea.  The last is not a uxury, it is cold when we wake up in the mornings, but much warmer than when we started fixing up the Prowler.
We did not get [aid work during those days, a pause after the  harvest before the main processing begins, and the campground fee each day devoured what funds the renovation or food did not take.
We discovered that the propane system is working, but the firnace had been ripped out.  The water is also working but for one flaw - when we pressurized the system the i[ing at the back of the toilet sprayed water, and there are no shut off valves aywhere in the pi[ing so we had to turn that off, clean up, and work on moving somewhere else.
We have finally arrived at the locale we originally meant to occupy.  In exchange for some light duties around the farm, we get to stay here free and are provided electricity and water.  We are once more safe behind gates, surrounded by dogs and people with guns, and with a Porta-Potty close by, have returned to a sustainabe situation.  Paid work has resumed, and we have some groceries sotred up.  The refrigerator works, and we have installed a parallel electrical system, which gives us light, heat and cooking.
Sadly, in the process of moving the trailer, we lost the one phone that "had service"; it was crushed.  My phone loses service in 4 days and has the wrong hardware to be switched to local service.
The hardest part of this has been the complete blackout enforced by our isolation and the fact there was no form of communiction we could use.  I fear for the relationships abruptly interrupted, and don't even know when I will get this narrative posted.
I hear the lively voices of the farm animals - dogs, turkeys, cattle, donkey, chickens, pigs, a llama.  The cats are mostly silent, the birds are mostly loud, the people friendly and sociable now that we are the nwest part of their househd.
Today we get the orientation and introduction to our chores.
From the men of the EarthMission, apologies for the long, long silence.

NFTNIF Volume 3 Episode 10 A Halloween Tale

The Men of EarthMission present- A Halloween Tale

(NOTE: Gentle readers, although this story uses the real world as it's point of departure, this is a work of fiction, devised in the depths of night, for your horripilation and shivery delight.  So sit back, turn off the lights, and enjoy.)

Scene opens on a lonely hillside.  A couple of tents and a weary truck among the looming trees.  Cut to interior, an octagonal tent, 3 occupants, lighted by a small electric lantern hung at the apex.  The interior is orderly, the occupants dressed warmly.  There are several operations underway - a cigarette is being rolled, tasty beverages tucked away safely in corners, the remains of a meal stacked and ready for disposal, a deck of cards has appeared.

The 3 are talking freely, warm and happy and at the end of the day.  Outside a dog barks suddenly, but that happens often.

Suddenly, very close together, 12 shots rip the night.  The shots are so loud they have to be close, from the cluster of dwellings, trailers, shanties, mobile homes and a few houses at the foot of their hill.  Swiftly, all lights extinguished, every extraneous item put  away and 3 men pressing to the ground, listening.

"Help me, help me oh God" closeby, but growing swiftly fainter.  Sounds of scuffling, many voices raised in alarm.

Outside the tent, something coming uphill.  No one even breathes as something moves fast, uphill and away.  Minutes pass before anyone even whispers, and noises and action continue below. Hooded or capped, a head appears at each end of the tent, sliding out through the  narrowest slit. 

Lights in the bushes, trucks, cars and walkers searching.  No one comes near their tent.  Gates open and close, the search is limited but thorough.  Fire engine, ambulance, police arrive and depart.  Sounds of conversations getting softer.

Far away the unmistakable sound of a high speed collision - Wham, clatter screech, swallowed by distance.

One awake in the tent now.  Outside, far away 8 shots popopopopopopopop.  Dogs howl and bark but the barking doesn't spread in the usual way.  Quiet again. Popopopopop.  Fewer dogs, barking more savagely.  Popopop.  Pop.  Quiet again.

A car passes along a road without lights.

Midnight.  In the small trailer park/subdivision, a man's voice rises.

"What IS that?  OH GOD, WHAT THE *&^% IS IT!?"  His voice, rising in pitch to a shriek of utter despair becomes a wordless scream, a beast howl from a human throat.  "What is that?  Oh God, someone, what is it?" now the voice weighed down with insupportable horror.  Steps, now loud in the shocked silence, then again "WHAT,  IS,   THAT?!?!?"  Screaming now, abandoned screams of the forever damned.  The screaming moves away, never answered, never stopping, just moving away until it's swallowed by the blackness.

Cars and trucks silently quarter the area, some with lights some without.

Moonrise is still hours away.  The lone watcher in the tent faces a terrible choice - keep holding it or step out into a night of monstrous pandemonium?  Eventually the decision is made, and blessed moments of peace allow the minimal decencies - scramble quietly back into the  tent and resume watching at the slit. 

Some time passes (with no one screaming how will one know how long it's been?) then in the distance, a helicopter.  Approaching slowly, inexorably.  No lights, no searchlight.  Closer, passing, moving on.  Never any lights. Gone.

A pickup starts suddenly, and accelerates away, gathering speed until it's lost to the void of night.

The last quarter moon rears sullenly over the hills, casting a sickly light and pooling even darker shadows.  In the distance, more gunfire, dogs, but closer still

Wild laughter, young voices calling to each other, ugly laughter, cruel laughter.  Never getting close, moving in an arc, and finally gone.

Dawn must be close now.  A final wound on the night, the sound of dogs, many dogs, dozens of dogs, fighting wild, gutteral, tearing something in a vast pack, something that truly slashes the night with a scream of defiance, but buried under an avalanche of berserk dogs.  The sounds of struggle become softer, wetter sounds of feeding.  Again, quiet.

The day begins like any other, as innocent of the events of the night as Ohio is innocent of Atlantis.  Nothing ever makes it into the news, but by lunch everyone knows that 9 dogs were found, horribly torn and scattered, but only the signs of a terrible struggle, no remains of anything but dogs, nothing except some prints, of monstrous paws, stabbed into the ground as something stood and fought, and died.

As soon as lunch is over, all the spotty news exchanged, heads shaken, the night is put into memory.  The harvest is on.

The End

From the Men of EarthMission - Did you vote?

NFTNIF Volume 3 Episode 9 "Winter is Coming"

Yesterday when the work was done, and cold was settling in like a chilly mantle, I overdressed, then lay me down in a clear spot and watched the sky.  Day became sunset, with all the colors raised to glory, sunset became twilight, fire colors replaced by cool tones with the sky moving through every blue to indigo and finally the sacred black of night.  The light was not gone - it simply shivered into a billion billion shards, specks, dabs and brilliant dust as the stars took over the show.  I saw 8 shooting stars, and didn't even make wishes on all of them.  That means I have a couple wishes in hand.  I will guard my tongue carefully now.

My hearing has become preternaturally acute, and I have learned the normal sounds of the night.  I can associate a horses whicker with the right horse, the engine with the vehicle, the walk with the person, the demolition charges all night with falling acorns (of unusual size).  I hear the whispering pad of the feral dogs as they ghost by, the scamper of the ground squirrels, and if I lean my ear against something, the trundling of my own heartbeat.  I know the sound of each gate, and a lot of the dogs.  I recognize the snuffle of our hosts dog (vs. some other creature!) scouting our tent at dawn, and the plaintive mew of one of their cats after nightfall.  All the pets seem to love us and seek our camp at every opportunity (not entirely to the pleasure of our gracious hosts).

Fall is putting on all of her finery, and the sight of a carpet of blazing Autumnal leaves is splendid; but then you see the green and brown giants, standing as high above the trees as they stand above bushes, and the Redwoods nod indulgently at the gaudy spectacle, unmoved by the rapid flicker of the seasons.  A century old redwood is still a baby, and up and up they stretch, down and down they dig.  To think that when the white man first came to these parts there were trees large enough to cut roads through; and even these huge specimens seem like adolescents.

I'm told that one of the oldest  trees in the world (the oldest?) used to live in Mendocino county, but that a tweaker holed up in the trunk and set the whole thing ablaze smoking meth.  A pretty commentary on our custodianship of Nature's masterpieces (including each other).

Happy Halloween!  That's about it for our celebration, there is too much to do for costumes etc.
OK I have to ask.  Did everyone but me know that it snows up here?  I honestly thought it wouldn't get or stay that cold.  Winter is coming indeed!  Let's be honest, we are not Esquimeaux; I've got to find some shelter before the rains, much less the snows.  That trailer sold yesterday.

I speak well of our EarthMissioners, we are easy to work with and hard working, drama-free and helpful  in many ways.  We are making a place for ourselves in the community, each in his own fashion.

OK friends, on Behalf of the Men of EarthMission, VOTE!

Ralph

NFTNIF Volume 3, Episode 8A Out of the cold?

We are trying to get off the ground into a trailer.  We found this one - needs a ton of work but we are more than willing to do what it takes to make it cozy.

gofundme.com /EarthMission

This is the campaign to raise money for the ultimate goal - to start a church to help homeless move back into the mainstream.  In this instance, we would be grateful to have a lodging even as humble as the trailer - we can make it work.



Well will you look at that?  Necessity is the Mother of Something anyway, I have my first pictures in this blog!

Help if you can - we could use this home to stay healthy while we work.

NFTNIF Volume 3, Episode 8 Below Zero

So last night the temperature plunged below freezing.  The fingers of cold crept into everything, but inside the sleeping bags we stayed warm.  The air was cold on any exposed skin, and my sleeping bag was covered with a film of condensate, courtesy of my body heat.

The dogs here are quite a phenomenon, they rule the night with their chorus of complaints.  One dog starts, and they all go off.  Time means nothing to them - they bark, yammer, whine and howl at all hours of the night.

My question is this - if they are so loud they are waking me up in my tent on a hill, how do the people RIGHT NEXT TO THEM STAND IT?  These dogs go off right outside the houses, trailers and other domiciles of their owners, and NO ONE EVER TELLS THEM TO SHUT UP!  Don't they ever take their dogs inside?  It was below zero last night.  Maybe the dogs raise Cain to stay warm?
The ladies at the Native American trading post told us today about a guy "giving away" a trailer in Ukiah.  I found his ad on Facebook, and the trailer is a handsome model in desperately bad shape.  He is asking $500.00 or best offer.

I am praying for a surge of donations, enough to get us this beaten up shell, which we can slowly turn into a working house.

In the meantime, our hosts responded to the unseasonal cold with a raft of courtesies; but they have their own issues to manage.  A trailer would be the least problematic form of housing, due to the obvious fact that it can be moved.  So, I'm putting it out there.  All of you going to the toilet inside, on a smooth seat, sleeping indoors, cooking indoors, consider us, and help if you can.

The guys are smoothly integrating into the local community, and in my own slower way so am I.  Between our work here, making friends, and planning for the future everyone stays busy; but they also have to teach me how to use my phone.  This may be the most challenging of our tasks - I am not friendly to these intrusive little blabber boxes.  But, they can do anything my computer can, albeit in a convoluted fashion, with mealy mouthed demands to let it share everything with everyone all the time.  But, I have created and posted entries using only the phone.  Progress!

People in town here aways ask us what we are hauling, or delivering.  The top guess seems to be ice cream, followed by frozen meat, and after that cookies.  People also  like the idea of US making runs into town so they don't have to.  We have determined that it costs about $30.00 in gas to get there and back, so we can arrange our charges accordingly.   We also spent some time last night after dark talking about ideas, plans, services people would need, and putting together business plans and approaches.  There is so much opportunity here!

People here get very excited when they see prepared food.  We have been sharing breakfast with the other workers, none of whom seemed to expect breakfast!  There are people here from ALL over - Europe, Central and South America, Pacifica; everyone drawn to the harvest.  Speaking of which - time to get back to it.

From the (chilly) Men of EarthMission, we salute you!

NFTNIF Volume 3, Episode 7 Green Day

Green Day.
Back on the land the work continues.  Last night was the coldest yet.   We are examining every possibility for additional shelter.  Some founder on a lack of funds while others remain impractical from a social perspective; ongoing negotiations for the future, etc.  We still have a few possibilities, the locals are now looking on our behalf.

We got our little baggage tent set up yesterday; this innovation gives us more room and clears the truck for deliveries.  I did manage a picture of the camp, but I am not sure how to add it to this blog.

I wondered how dark it got out here and last night stepped in to show me.  Dark.  But, the bonus was a sky ablaze with stars, speckled, peppered, sprayed and dotted, clumped and scattered, dim and flaring, deeply radiant and stretching across the vault of the sky.  I lay down on my back in a clear area and just drank it in.  The peacefulness of the scene was such I almost felt I could FALL into the glorious light, but the rocks beneath me only laughed.

Back at the tent, contemplating the slice of sky visible from my sleeping bag, I saw two ghostly quadrupeds flit by - feral dogs.  A little later another, this one white enough to pick up the beginnings of moonlight.  Then everyone's chained and penned dogs went insane, barking like the end of Alpo, KennLRation and deer carcases all at once.  Back and forth they excited each other across a vast area, waves of barking washing to and fro as far as one could hear.  The reason for it was finally clear - they saw the feral dogs moving freely.  This went on long enough that it reminded me of my childhood.

In Detroit when I was growing up we had a similar situation once.  There was a very clever dog named Baby who broke his chain and escaped.  A real freedom fighter, Baby was the Spartacus of our local dogs.  Time after time he wheedled, teased and provoked other dogs to free themselves from bondage, until they ran together, a mighty pack of two dozen or more.  Baby was the sly leader, and the pack began to prey on anything small enough, pets, tiny children, rats and squirrel: it was all food to Baby's pack.

For one of the two or three times in all my childhood, the men of the neighborhood got together, pooled transport and guns, and drove off.  They hunted down and shot Baby and his crew, much the same as Pompey hunted the last of the gladiators who defied Rome and with the same result.  I suppose the situation will evolve the same way here, and in the meantime I always have at least a stout branch at hand.  Imagine the irony; I travel north to be devoured by wild dogs!  I DON'T THINK SO.

The weather here varies wildly from day to night, even from sun to shadow.  We are very lucky that our spot seems to be much warmer than the surrounding areas - every little bit helps.

The trees keep getting more colorful, and the wonder is when you see the Redwoods tower over them as a tree towers over bushes.  Truly awesome scenery here - to remind us how small we really are in the  grand scheme of things.  And yet, how grand we are too!

From the Men of the EarthMission, love and beauty to all.

NFTNIF Volume 3, episode 6 (Ukiah, CA).

Ukiah, CA.

We struck camp, piled it all into the truck and headed to Ukiah for the night. We ate wings, everyone took two showers, and we are piling up our laundry before heading out to wash and dry.

I was too busy until dark to take pictures, and today is overcast, still threatening rain. I will get some pix I promise.

I wrote to the manufacturer of our tent asking if there is a winterization kit. We have plans to upgrade our campsite when we return. Our gracious host is letting us use a small spare tent to store our belongings so we need not fight them for space while we sleep. The current plan is to return to our lovely spot, put down pallets and fill the spaces, then tarp, then tent, then amenities inside, more pallets for the gear tent. I am now looking for a larger tarp or shade structure or something to cover the whole "complex". Mind you the second tent is about the size of the sleeping bag Dustin got for me, but it's enough.

We also plan to dig a trench, pile the dirt on our side, and divert running water away from our platform.

Today with a reliable connection I have applied to local FB groups as another way of making our introduction to our new community. Security is supremely important so some kind of trust is necessary to do business.

Everyone is holding up well, adjusting nicely and making friends. We are still looking around for a cheap trailer; it makes everything so much easier and answers many of our needs for security, maybe an indoor bathroom (this is a family rated report so I will NOT share the state of temporary sanitary facilities, but let's say they are primitive at best) and shower, insects and scavengers, not to mention the increasing cold.

As we settle in and make connections, far from the madding crowd, we read and hear with dismay about the violence and hatred boiling over, again, in the great outside world.

Racism, while so pervasive in our culture, is really an odd man out historically, a poor system.

Pirates had a complete meritocracy - color and gender blind. The only qualification for leadership was success, and the only bar to joining was acceptance of a meritocratic system.
Native Americans, clannish to the Nth degree, nevertheless accepted newcomers as their own blood and tribe with due ceremony.

The USA claims to be a melting pot, the inscription on the Statue of Liberty promises an open welcome to all, no exceptions.

But it's a lie. We are not color-blind, we are a misogynistic, racist, intolerant culture; xenophobic, unapologetically discriminatory, violent and out of control.

The flip side is a real evolution of a culture embracing diversity; offering opportunity based on merit and nothing else; offering respect and dignity to everyone irrespective of their abilities.

We are in the process of deciding what we truly are as a society. If you care, get out there and work for the result you want. If you sit idly by, then swallow whatever happens and don't complain.

Personally I think the pendulum has swung so far to the right it has no choice but to reverse. It doesn't happen in the abstract though: vote!!!

Time to get back to the days clean-up.

From the Men of Earth Mission to all the world, be well.

NFTNIF Volume 3, Introduction.

We leave tomorrow for Northern California.

So many people have helped, and so many given their blessings, I am full of confidence and the grace lent us by supporters.

I will try to post at least once a week but at this point I am not 100% sure how to recharge the laptop so I will be using it sparingly. Maybe the guys can teach me how to use the phone to update, anything is possible in an infinite universe.

So much to do - here we go.

Ralph

EarthMission

San Diego, CA

Oct. 19, 2018

www.gofundme.com/EarthMission

NFTNIF Volume 3, episode 5 (The Emerald Triangle).

The Emerald Triangle.

Last night was mild and only got down to about 48. The day dawned to light as crisp and golden as a pitcher of mead. Our spot is actually the warmest locale on the property. However tonight it rains starting about 3 am so we are striking camp while working today and heading for a cheap motel. We need to clean and launder and repack, shower and use modern plumbing, wash down the truck. It looks like about half the forest is mixed into our things.

I will try to take some pictures today.

From the men of Earth Mission to all: have a blessed day.

Ralph

NFTNIF Volume 3, episode 4 (Redwood Country).

Redwood Country.

Early to bed and early to rise. We see the same palate of molten color in the morning and evening. Work continues despite the full moon and ahead of a forecast of rain. Everything I own smells like fresh peeled tangerines or me. Our host kindly provided sleeping pads which cover gnarled toots and the stony teeth of the Earth. I spend a few langorous moments at the end of each day watching sunset, twilight and the gloaming, the day rolls away and the stars spread out burningly luminous. We have been near the full moon so far; I wonder how dark it will get.

My guys are adjusting beautifully and to be honest so am I. Born in Michigan my blood knows how to thicken and it is.

Humanity and Nature live in a rough parity here. This is forest and farm country. Already we are a known factor- our movements in town are conspicuous with so few residents. Luckily our truck projects a wholesome and friendly image which our interactions support.

I am starting to worry a little at the relish in the eyes and voices of those who keep telling us it will get much colder.

How do you winterize a tent?

Suggestions are welcome.

Time to get back to work. From the men of Earth Mission, love to those we left at home.

Ralph

NFTHIF Volume 3, episode 3. Somewhere in Northern California

Somewhere in northern California.

It's crazy beautiful here. Hills painted a dry gold black limbs thrust up and up and up here in Redwood country. Then the crowns some green, other trees aflame with reds and oranges and yellows all turned molten by sunrise and sunset.

The hand of discretion covers the mouth of reporting but we have met the natives and they are friendly. We're camping in a secure place and working hard. Making friends, refining our business model to fit reality, lining up customers and vendors and getting ready to saturate the local minds with our service.

If I may be allowed a personal comment, it gets cold here to be in a (wonderful) tent and we are given to understand that it keeps getting colder. Remember us here and help if you can.

Other than that looking forward to a hot shower tonight even if we have to drive and pay to get it. Coin operated showers at campgrounds.

But it really is crazy beautiful here.

Earth Mission

NotesFromTheNorthIF  Volume 3, Episode 2  Williams, Califoria


We stopped for the night in Williams, California, barely in time to get some food before they rolled up the sidewalks.  Clear, chilly, the sky is full of birds wheeling, settling in such large numbers on the phone lines as to make them look like trans-Atlantic cables.  I can only imagine what it looks like on the ground beneath them.

We are learning, all over again, about cold at night.

Onward and upward - today is  wonderful day and excitement is an elixir headier than the weak coffee I just drank some of, indeed, even the fortune cookie fortunes promise success will flow from hard work and integrity.

That's what we have.