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.