reed99

7/10, Late in bed
I guess not alot happened today in the grand scheme of things. Brittany decided to postpone her flight so she and I could hitch our way to the coast together. We went to her grandparent's house and played chinese checkers with the kids, hung around and left as her family went to the airport to catch their flight. Back at Auntie Loanne's I updated my journal, drank wine, ate pizza and relaxed with Brit and Loanne. I had a good time just hangin' around. No big whoop. I guess that's it.

7/11, Morning, Loann's house
I wish I could adaquately transcribe my maniacal whoop of joy.
Yesterday Brit and I went to the coast. We planned on hitchin', were all set to do so when Loanne offered us her pickup truck- she and Karl are treatin' us so nice it takes me aback sometimes. Never one to pass up free rides (the point being the result not the method) we drove ourselves west on Hwy20 to Newport. The ocean opend up on the horizon as we approached. I drank it in quietly and enjoyed the moment. The stretch of beach was long leading up to the water and I took y time, enjoying the sand under and in my boots, the wooded cliffs rising at my right, the rocks and tidal life to my left, even the other people enjoying the grey, overcast day.
And then I walked into the cold water, let it slosh ito my footwear, tasted it. Brittany let me be alone and took fantastic photographs while I savored my little victory.
I went to the rocks and their pools of trapped tide, looking at the crabs and starfish, touching the anemones to feel them close around my fingertips. Click-click-click-click-click went Brittany's camera.
We walked back to the car and talked for a whil, then went to buy coffee and eat an unfair share of chocolate hazelnut samples.We bought lunch, she snagged wine and we left town south on 101. We began collecting good karma in the form of hitchhikers.
First was Woody, an old disabled vet who'd hitched from Raleigh, NC. Into the bed of the pickup he went. I learned about spanging and guerrila camping from him. He seemed lke a pro. Next we grabbed an attractive young couple who hopped in next to Woody. Turns out the girl had given Woody his first ride when he left North Carolina- now they met again, 3000 miles later in the back of a pickup. Life was nudging us and winking. We all got the joke. The weather was damp, chilly, and Brit and I gave the couple our hats and sweatshirts so they wouldn't freeze. We dropped them off in Coos Bay on the southside of town. Good karma refilled, Brit and I went to Shore Acres state park, slurping at apricots, granola and coffee. I spoke in grunts and mrmm's with my mouth full as Brittany's God-phone directed us.
What a wonderful park- moss-covered northwestern forest against sharp bluffs and quiet beaches. Sea lion apartments gouged into the rockface by millenia of waves. A fisherman, angling from a sandstone perch 100' over the watr, reeling in snapper and cod, enjoying life. I watched and spoke and smiled wth him for a bit before going to the rocks below with Brittany, my friend. I fed an anemone a snall to see what would happen- it was predictable. Predictably badass.
We roamed and talked, got lost, talked-talked-talked, found the truck and left. I drank wine on the way home, had an awesome time with Brit, made a mess with a crappy Safeway avocado, got the spins and dozed off. Home. Water. Bed. Wierd dreams.
I woke up today a little groggy and made eggs. Loanne and I hung out and sipped coffee. I seemed to impress her with my travel stories (she loved the horror stories about Thailand's evil monkeys) and impressed myself with how many good ones I had. I got the impression that I've finally turned into something kinda interesting. Hrm. It was a good, if immodest feeing. Whatever. Tolerate me for a while.
Bedtime.
Curled up in bed, full of potato salad, ceaser salad, rib, cherries, white wine and apple sauce.
Showered, trimmed up, enjoyed the day relaxing with Brittany and Loanne, watching moves. I hit the road tomorrow.

7/12, 7:15am, Loanne's kitchen table
Out today. Feelin' a bit jittery- nervous and excied. I'm forcin' myself to eat something but I don't really feel like it.
I guess I don't know why I'm edgy. This will likely be the easiest stretch of my trip, in terms of hitchin'.
It's just been a long few weeks of relative stasis, I suppose, from Earth Mountain to Loanne and Karl's place.
7pm, Hwy 101
On my way to Arcata it seems.
I started at a decent hour this morning, around 8am on Hwy20. I shoulda' just slept in: it took a suprising chunk of an hour to catch my first ride, during which time I entertained myself by walkin' and feelin' anxious. Finally caught a short one from a young dude, a sorta' dweeby kid that got me about halfway to the coast. He dropped me of on the east side of town and I snapped up another car real fast. Jordy, I think his name was. Cool guy. He'd hitched the country a few times in the 80's (we shared stories and I asked questions) and now owned a boat he planned on sailing to Mexico and Hawaii. Very good idea. He dropped me at the beach, where I played with the ocean and ate cherries and granola.
I caught a suprising ride after that. A middle-aged woman and her four-year old daughter gave me a lift about fifty miles south. Terry, her cute kid Jesse in the back seat,told me about her days hitchin' between communes in the 70's and picked up another hitcher- this guy was slightly sketchy. It'd suprised me when she picked me u, but this dude had me beat by 20 years and two layers of skuzz. She was cool, though, and I got along with Jesse really well- the kid actually asked me to trade seats with skuzzy-hitchhiker-guy when we made a stop at Dollar Tree.
Loaded down with dollar-tuna and peanuts, I got my next ride from Shay and Sparrow, a young hippy couple that were much cooler than they first seemed. They pulled up, askin' if I could contribute to their gas tank. I said no, but they asked were I was goin' and it turned out we were boh headin' to Arcata. It seemed fated to them so they got me along a good stretch of 101, smokin' bowls (and me declining) most of the way. Shay was funny as hell, their two giant, flatulent pitbulls were pretty good backseat company and they described the finer pints of spanging to me. We parted when they decide to chill on the beach. It was only 4pm and with hours of daylight left I wanted to cover more distance. I refueled with DQ coffee. The cute waitress smiled at me. Ahhh.
I caught a short ride from Luke, who has alapicia, which is funny. He played some Hardcore by a band named As I Lay Dying, which was not funny. I escaped with ringing ears, grateful to have body hair.
Then I caught a big one. JT in his brand-spanking-new Honda CRV turned around to come back for me and earned the "Nicest Car of the Whole Trip" award. This middle-aged, gay, black San Franciscan seems to be goin' all the way to the Bay Area tonight, past Arcata. Fuckin'-A. He seems really cool, right down to the red swinger's bandana around his neck and the techno-jazz on his ipod. Hah! Life is goofy, the scenery is great and, if I can find a good spot to crash tonight, so am I.

7/13, 6am, Arcata.
What a wild night. I arrived in Arcata around 10pm, on the outskirts of town I think. JT turned out to be really cool. We chatted for the whole three hours or so, amiably, about this and that. He dropped me off by a Quality Inn and I set about finding a place to sleep.
I asked the clerk how to get to the coast line and learned it was quite a trek- at least a couple miles. Ugh. I started walking though, seeing no better options. On the way I passed a big wheat field shielded from the road by raspberries and brush,with the farmers residence lit up by floodlights on the opposite side of the street. I found a thin patch in the brush, found a hidden spot easiy after hoppin' the barbed wire and slid into my sleeping bag after the chill air and damp ground proved totally unacceptable.
I was freakin' out a bit- every little sound made me think of farm dogs and shotguns loaded with rocksalt. It took hours to start to doze and then, just when I began a nice dream about Michelle: fucking footsteps. I lay wide-awake, tryin' to figure out where they came from to no avail. I poked my head up slowly and realized it was the farmer's huge American flag whippin' in the wind, apparently pissed-off at my violation of property rights. Christ.
I finally got to sleep or a few hours, hidden in my bag from the mosquitos, when I was woken by footsteps again. Real ones. I peeked out an scared the hell out of a skunk, for serious. Its tail went up as it ran off. It sprayed like crazy- I could smell it- but didn't hit me.
It was 5am at this point and I decided to get up, packing carefully because trucks were starting the day's work on the far side of the field. I snuck out, holding my nose against skunk-stink, as a giant sprinkler began dousing the area I'd just left.
Now I gotta sneak into the hotel for a confidential continental breakfast.
3pm or something, 101, just north of Brookings, OR.
Okay. Fuck it. I'm done toda. I'm tired, grouchy, I'v walked for miles and the only traffic seems to be rich non-locals in their freakin' PT Cruisers, probably enjoying their retirement by touring wine country and ignoring hitchhikers.
I'm fishing for rides at kind of a crummy spot in a 55mph zone but I brought it on myself, walking two miles out of Brookings with twenty-six to the next town.On the plus side, and this is quite the fucking plus (excuse me- I'm crabby), I'm relaxing in a nice little crash-spot right off the highway hidden by trees and a slight altitude. I decided, since time isn't a factor, really, that I'd call it quits and assure myselfa good night's sleep rather than risk not finding something this cushy later.
Today was blah-blah-blah, stories-stories-stories, antics-antics-anics.
Alright, fine. I'll flesh that out.
After gettin' shot down miserably in my free-breakfast attempt, I stocked up on bulk almonds and granola and hit a short, pessimistic 101 onramp. I fished it briefly, after coffee, until an old woman walked up. An old leathertramp from back in the day, she told me I'd be better off catchin' a two dollar bus to Trinidad where I'd have good luck. I did and I did, catchin' a couple quick rides north. Everyone I met today assumed I'd gone to Arcata to find work on a pot farm, by the way. Humbolt County's rep is well-deserved, apparently. Anyway, my luck ran out for a while: walk-walk-walk. I took a dip in a beautiful river, then caught a ride to Brookings (just inside Oregon) from this really nice guy in a really nice Mazda convertable who happened to be a really racist puke. "Uh," "um," and "okay," comprised my end of the banter. I mostly just enjoyed the convertable and let him hate on minorities.
Then: walk-walk-walk to here, tryin' to hitch for about two hours, then this, venting into a journal.
The only other point of interest is that I didn't get hit by a camper while crossing on foot the bridge with the narrowest sidewalk ever.
4pm. I feel very depressed, overwhelmed and lonely right now.

7/15, The End
Occasionally Magic happens. Like when you want a ride more desperately than ever and the third car you thumb picks you up. They know what you're going through and give you dinner, a hot shower, a bed, a few shots of Aftershock and a ride to the bus in the morning. That kind of magic.
They turn out to be old hobos- they hopped trains for fifteen years straight back in the day. The conversation doesn't stop. I'm ecstatic from my fortune, the climax of my adventure. One final burst of simple human generosity, the search for whichbeing half the point of leaving home.
They have their downfalls- brilliance in their way but not in the way we typically use the word; a swastika tattoo'ed on a forearm; a dsconcerting blood-alcohol level. But this came when I needed it the most. A one-hundred mile straight-shot to where they live and I need to go. An ending worth writing.
CK and JD. I love these crazy fucks. It's CK's 48th birthday, by the way. They saw the way I was leaning out with my thumb, said they'd done the same thing before when they really needed a lift. They'd skipped two hitchers before me.
They insisted on driving me to the water where I dipped my fingers into the Pacific and waved bye. It waved back.
It was the best ride I ever caught. The decision to leave had come quickly. I felt wrecked last night, at my threshold. The idea of hitching back home, broke, sleeping outside and avoiding the authorities had lost its sparkle. Three-thousand miles back across the desert and the midwest and the eastern cities with no get-out-of-jail-free cards whatsoever. I'd packed up, put my thumb out and caught a ride two minutes after knowing what I wanted to do. If I'd thought about it another thirty seconds JD and CK would have already driven by.
And now, Greyhound. Three days of buses and terminals, grouchy riders and pissy employees before Salisbury, MD. I feel bittersweet. It hurts to end this, but it was so good. The people I've met and learned from, the things I've seen and the ways I travelled to them, what I've learned about myself and what I'm capable of- the last 50 days, which feel like six months and one week at the same time, have changed my in a way I don't understand yet. But it's good. And now I'm going home.
I'm glad I did this.

The End, I suppose.





What can I say? If it wasn't for you guys cheering me on from the sidelines this never would have happened. Thank you to everyone who read this, to my parents and friends and all the random people my mom pushed in front of a computer and said "Here! Read this!" Seriously, I couldn't have done this without you guys. Much, much love.

Reed Shelton

6/27, Kitchen area; like, 7pm or so.
Ah, journal- the daily requisite always pullin' me away from shit I'd rather be doin'. There's like 20 people here for Dave's 58th birthday celebration. The air is festive. Mountain men, Goat herdswomen, hippies, New Yorkers, WWOOFers, ex-military, babies and dogs are all represented. Pizzas were baked and ganja chocolate cake is on the horizon.
Today was relaxed. I hauled some firewood with Carter and met Holly, the toughest fuckin' 60-year old you'll ever meet (up there with Emma Goldman and Sacagawea) and dug in the irrigation trenches a bit after meditating.
This place is so beautiful. Could I live like this? I dunno if I'd want to, even if I was sure I could. But sometimes you visit a place, experience a way of life and know it will resonate through your remaining days affecting the way you live even if you don't try to replicate it precisely.
The hummingbirds and dogs are feisty and so am I. Goodbye for now, journal of mine.

6/28, 7:30am, Kitchen
Ugh. Stayed up late last night. I'm comforting myself with coffee with local honey and goat's milk and a beautiful morning- we'll see if I perk up. No more partying for a while, me thinks. Had fun last night though. Dave played violin beautifully while Joni and others sang and played guitar. Bluegrass, country, rock and roll and, of course, Amazing Grace were all heard. Dave's homegrown was in ample supply and the PBR flowed.

6/29, Kitchen, 7:30 pm
One full month on the road, celebrated by standing in knee-deep mud and workin' in the irrigation ditch! Messy work- I have a nice layer of clay and mud on most of my body and these shorts may have officially been sacrificed to Earth Mountain. But alot of work was accomplished, if at the cost of exhausted back muscles.
Dinner was wonderful in the way only a well-deserved meal can be. Stir-fried garden veggies- turnip greens, carrots, cabbage, potatos, garlic, onions and elk, a salad with cheddar and nutritional yeast (I know what you're thinkin', but yum, man). Ray is tellin' from memory a story written in the first or second century called "True Story," considered the first sci-fi story. It's fantastical.
11pm or so. My tipi.
Today I learned to macrame, pick rhubarb (everything but the stems are poisonous), learned I was going to help slaughter and clean chickens in a few days (more on that once it happens... I don't feel good about it but chose to take part in it nonetheless), lost several times at backgammon and got tired of makin' lists in my journal.
Jennifer may be leaving. To be blunt, she's everything that turns me off to Long Island (where she grew up): arrogant, condensending, disrespectful and negative. I've treated her with compassion and understanding, I feel, even at her most ridiculous, hoping this place and simple kindness may help her become a better person, but I think she's begun to feel unliked as people (myself included) have started takiong her down a notch (however carefully and gently). It seems she may decide to retreat from it. I hope, if she does, that this experience changes her for the better in the long run. She's a bright person and can become more than this.
I write this in front of a roaring fire in my stove. I feel good, peaceful. I want to have more experiences like the one I'm having at this point in my life, where I learn more about various skills, about the world and about myself. I also want to learn to write of them more, um, gooder. I love commiting them to paper, hearing that others are taking something from it- really, this journal has been one of the most pleasing aspects of the adventure. That and all the mud.
The Natural Gas companies are rotten shits. I can hear their rigs chugging off in the distance, slurping fuel from the depths along with unspeakable amounts of water, which will mostly be dumped in the ditches dug for that purpose alone. A million gallons a day? wasted in our energy addiction at the cost of our future hydration. I once heard it said that when the oil wars (which just as often are natural gas wars) are over, the wars for water will begin. Whether they'll be fought by cannons or corporations, the gas industry is fueling both conflicts. And we're letting these monsters do it by seeking lazy comfort, by trading simplicity of life for not having to chop only as much wood as we need. I'm sounding self-righteous, like I don't throw away leftovers and enjoy two showers a day and toss my clothes in the dryer instead of hangin' them outside. But I gotta change. I have to learn to live more in accord to my needs rather than according to what would just be easier, to be ready for when gas is too expensive to heat my house or fuel the trucks that deliver my spinach. If the Titanic sinks, we  better have our lifeboats ready.
Shit, maybe we'll even keep her from sinking, drive the rotten shits doin' the damage out of business and learn to live a more fulfilling life all in one go.
Shit, maybe my night will be quiet and peaceful, with only the sound of the wind and the dogs keeping the bears away.

6/30, kitchen spot, lunchtime
Arose, yawned, stretched. Woke Jen to learn she was intending to leave. She has an awful family that she depends on for college tuition and the weight of the world is heavy on her, it seems. She just wanted to run from here, but we talked, she and I and she and Nika, and she's decided to stay- her problems won't disappear by leaving this place, but staying might help her find answers and peace.
Spent the morning after breakfast putting fencing around one of Earth Mountain's three gardens with Nika. We ran out of supplies, did some work in the greenhouse and talked about family, fiction and fences.
10:15pm, my tipi
We had a meeting, a "Council" in the Counsel Tipi this afternoon, an informal thing where Joni and Carter explained what we could expect over the next weeks. Then trench-work, Nika acting down and upset about ???, backgammon with Carter, a good, long chat with Jen, fire, then bed.
And a stir-fry somewhere in there. Sorry, I just don't really feel like writing now.
Oh, and the chicken slaughter was postponed, somewhat to my relief.

7/1, kitchen, lunchtime.
I just realized how perfect this place would be for Dooley.
Just a thought.

Ray's Peanut Sauce recipe!!!
Onions
Carrots
Snow Peas
Flour, 2tbs.
S&P
Milk, 1 cup
Spinach
PB, to taste
Over rice. Yum. I'd add red pepper, too. And sesame seeds, carrots and cucumber, shredded thin, on top.

7pm, kitchen.
This morning and early afternoon saw me chopping wood. It's great fun, really. I found it to be meditate, great exercise and relaxing. Nothing beats cleaving a big chunk of wood in half with an axe for taming tension. It's something everyone should try, like Thai food and smashing a television. All very rewarding ways to use your time.
After all remaining aggression was taken out on trees I helped clean up around the far a bit and went for a walk in the mountains with Joni, Dave, Jen, Justice and Orion.
More later- dishes to do.
Later: Right, so, great hike. Justice (the five year old) led the party, Dave and Joni talked about the medicinal and edible plants we passed and harvested for later use. Yarrow, red clover, sage, stinging nettle, kuh-nick kuh-nick (also called wild tobacco, which indiginous american smoked in pipes), plantain (no, not the big bananna things) and raspberry leaf.
We returned, I took my weekly shower, and dinner was prepared: Dave's chicken soup and Ray's peanut sauce with rice. Now there's a sunset behind the hills and trees to enjoy. Tomorrow I'm taking the day off. The chicken slaughter was postponed, thank jeebus.

7/2, 3pm, kitchen.
Ahhhh.... day off. I walked around the ridgeline, getting an excellent view of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range and collecting sage for smudging and kuh-nick kuh-nick for smoking. I meditated in the woods. I read and updated my livejournal and played some backgammon, winning twice and bring the running score to 22-6, with Carter in a commanding lead.
10:30pm Tipi. Bed.
A soon-to-be eyebrow-singeing fire is going' in my woodstove.
I don't know what to say a bout today... It wasn't a great day. I was a little bummed-out through most of it. I'm a little anxious about returning to the other world. No car, new place to live, very little money... old job, old island...
There's nothing to be done about it now, here, and worrying will only spoil the present. Must follow my own advice. Must follow my own advice.
Stay positive.
...hm.
Jen, after a disapointing showing this evening where she seemed to be playing sick and saying she wouldn't come to town (Trinidad) to do some needed work there, said something suprising to me. As I passed her tent on the way to my tipi she said she was going to wake up tomorrow and start afresh. Cast off whatever baggage her parents have set on her, commit to this place while she's here, to turn over a new leaf. She said she was sorry, asking me to help her here.
I guess I just hope she commits to it. I'd like to see the little prat grow into a better person during her stay at Earth Mountain.
She's going back to Long Island after all, and that place needs all the help it can get.
And there are at least two spiders in my blankets...

7/4, 7am, Kitchen
Yesterday failed to make it into the journal. We had fuuuuun....
Joni and us WWOOFers went into Trinidad to help on Shawn and Tara's patch of garden. It wasn't much work for all of us, but it saved Shawn a tremendous amount to do on his own. We set netting over the brassicas (brocolli, cauliflower, cabbage etc) to protect them from the hail that can even fall in July here. We planted pole beans to climb the cornstalks. We weeded the tomatos. Clothing was washed! My shorts and socks returned to their original colors. Almost. We bought wine, listened to loud music on the way home in Jen's fuckin' Benz SUV and opened a cheap Pinot Noir once we returned to Earth Mountain. We polished it off, laughed as loud as we talked and became better friends by the end of the night, I think.
My coffee is delicious, eggs and fruit are on the way and I have to help with the workload now.
Kitchen, lunchtime.
Ray and the author have taken on an experiment. In an attempt to lessen the emotion of selfishness, both persons have decided to eliminate from their vocabularies the following words: I, me, mine, ours, we and us. the hope is to become more selfless and less fixated on the ego by making these changes to the use of language and therefore, theoretically, to patterns of thought.
It has proven a difficult but fun challenge so far. In correcting each other headway has been made and limits have been found: certain things seem to require "I," such as when one is the subject of blame. "I pulled out an onion by mistake." Or when one declares themself to taking an action. "I'm going to walk Orion home."
It'll prove fun and interesting. And if the author continues to practice it in his journalling, annoying as hell to read.
Aside from that, the morning was spent planting beets, transplanting onions and a ridiculous amount of weeding.
"In an evolving world, he who stands still moves backwards." Tom Robbins.
Bedtime, my tipi.
A double rainbow slashed across the sky this evening, appearing to descend into the kitchen.
Nothing else needs to be said about today.

7/5, kitchen, breakfast.
Ugh. Chianti, Port and Two-buck Chuck last night. I'm a bit dehydrated but had a great night with Nika, Jen and Ray.
Today is chicken-killin' day I think...
Also, the experiment with selfless language became tedious. We'll work on it later, thoroughly, and just mind the "me-me-me's" in the meantime.
4:30pm or so, Kazuko's House.
I have blood on my hands, under my fingernails, staining my shorts. I took my first life today. And then my second.
It was easy, really. You hold the chickens by the legs and lower them headfirst into a cone hung from a branch with their head and neck emerging from the skinny end. A sharp knife cuts through their arteries and windpipe and ends their lives quickly. I wanted to stay conscious of exactly what I was doing- turning a life into meat- but I felt disassociated from them, unintentionally seeing them as objects rather than beings.
After they bleed out into a bucket beneath, while you hold their head so they don't thrash around with nervous spasms and death throes and spray blood everywhere, you remove their head and dip the body into boiling wather. The feathers pull out easy after that.
A "V" is cut between the legs, a circle cut around the anus. You reach deep into them through the cut, under the ribcage and scoop out the innards, carefully, avoiding puncturing the intestines and spilling shit everywhere. The heart, liver and gizzard are saved. The lungs are scraped out with the fingernails: they cling to the ribs and can be tricky. The legs are cut off at the knees, the body is rinsed thoroughly and chopped into pieces: legs, wings, breast and back (for soup).
My hands smell like funky chicken broth. It makes me sick and gross.
I'm not sure how I feel. Not bad, but that's what bothers me. I should feel remorse? Disgust? Something? Except for feeling confused, I might have just been harvesting and chopping radishes or something. All the buildup in my head to this day and it wasn't hard. I'm not sure if I'm callous or oblivious to what I did, or dealing with it maturely, having put food on plates. I don't know. I wish I did.
I feel different though. I need a shower.

7/7, 8:30am, I-25 on the long road to Portland.
Yesterday didn't give me much of an opportunity to scribble in this book. I left Earth Mountain early in the morning after pancake breakfast (I picked strawberries and rhubarb and Joni turned them into syrup. Yum). Dave gave Nika and I a ride to Shawn's house in Trinidad after goodbye's were said to Joni and Carter, Jen, Ray and the chillin's. Orion gave me a big baby-hug.
The ride out was wonderful. Nika and Dave are such relaxed people and I feel comfortable around them. We saw a stag with a massive set of antlers, a coyote playing among the shrubs and, just off the road, a doe and her fawn (no taller than my knees) fled from Dave's rikkity pickup.
Nika and I did some work at Shawn's, putting willow arcs over cabbages and broccoli to support hail netting then riding bikes to Safeway. We paid for seven dollars worth of food and dumpstered thirty bucks worth of tomatos, carrots and onion. Good beer was aquired, luckily: it gave us incentive to pedal home quick as heavy rain and hail pounded us.
I showered under hot, high-pressure water, cleaned up my beard, washed two weeks of farm from my hair and tonails and realized I hadn't looked in a mirror in two weeks. Hm. Tan. Cool. I made hummus, Nika sauteed zucchinis and dumpstered onion. Everyone enjoyed the local beer and pitas and Nika and I played music for each other, reccomending authors to check out once we got back to the real world. I'll miss her. She's a terrific, real person.
After packing up bags and packing in egg sandwiches and coffee with honey, I said goodbye to Nika, wishing I'd felt less self-conscious- I wanted to tell her how much I'd learned from her on the farm and appreciated her company. Unique kid. But I didn't. Meh. Just hugged her and said thanks.
So here I sit in Shawn's Honda, headin' north on I-25 with his carsick-prone puppy Leopold in the backseat. I'm finally gonna make it to the Pacific.
1:32pm, Colorado.
Just to set the scene: mountains on one side, a river, wide and fast, to my left. A carsick puppy. A sign warning motorists to the presence of bighorn sheep. Scrubbrush. A dry heat. Sky without clouds.
After breaking the ice, Shawn and I have been enjoying each other's company. The conversation roamed around writing (he's a novellist), workin' on a pot farm (him, not me), food (broadly, it's importance. Specifically, it's immediate aquisition).
I've been on Rt50 for a while today, which is the highway my trip began on 2000 miles ago or so.
5pm. Utah.
The Mormons have caught up!
They're taking us to their spaceship!
Tell my parents I love them!
That's not funny. There's nothing funny about Mormons. Utah is beautiful though, easily one of my favorite spaces. The mountains flatten at the top, the great striated shelves surrounding our humble Honda. Alliteration! Whee!
Sharp-edged gashes capillary through the arid land. How deep do they reach? I can't see from I-70. To Australlia? China? To the Secret Underground Mormon Lair, where polygamists hatch to climb out and take over the southwest? The danger is palpable and we still have yet to reach Salt Lake City, where the bible and meth are respectable pasttimes.
8:01pm, I-15, Utah.
Coffee, chocolate, assorted crunchy-snack-things, water. 100miles to Salt Lake. We've prepared as best we can. God help us.
8:45pm, in a car on a road with a dog.
I enjoy these moments of travel between destinations. It gives me time to dwell on what to write. On the farm I struggled just to record the day's events; little room was left to flesh out anything deeper.
My hands have changed over the last fourty-one days. Calluses line my palms and the edges of my fingers, hardened from shovelling, chopping, building, tearing down, digging. My nails have thickened, been stained by soil, and they aren't chewed to shreds. Scrapes and scabs slash and dot their backs and old blisters heal beneath new blisters.
They look beautiful and have character. They look used. I write with some embarassment that I find myself admiring them. They have the history of my experience written on their surface.
737 miles driven.
12:10am, Elko, Nevada.
It feels like 1:10am- we crossed a time zone somewhere.
After 1011 miles we left I-80 at exit 303 with me having driven the last 250 miles. We're crashing at Shawn's parents place.
That's it, I'm beat.

7/8, 1:50pm, the road to Boise then Portland.
We're headin' out a bit later than I'd like, considering we're shootin' for the Portland Greyhound station by 11:30pm. Brittany, one of my best friends, is just an hour south and if I can make it halfway down in a bus she'll grab me and we'll be able to hang tomorrow. Pick berries and shit. It'll be close but I'd love to see her.
I slept well on a big fluffy bed provided by Shawn's folks. It was really nice. I'm still a bit tired- probably from the sixteen or so hours of driving we did yesterday.
5:30pm. Or 6:30. We're zig-zaggin' across time lines. Anyway, just past Boise.
Brittany did some searchin' and found a shuttle leavin' Portland Airport at 12:45am to Corvallis, where she's stayin'. This is great news. I'm dying to see a friendly face.
I am, however, payin' almost fifty bucks for the shuttle. Funds are gettin' low. This is a problem... it makes me nervous. I'm afraid the trip may have to end soon, just so I don't have to land back home completely penniless.
Other options: WWOOF somewhere for a couple weeks to extend the adventure. Find money somehow. How, I don't know...
8:41pm, nearing Pendleton, OR.
This place is breathtaking. It stands in stark contrast to much of the East Coast. A wide, cloudy sky painted by sunset accompanies us up and over gently rolling mountains patched with dense forest or smooth grassy spaces. It smells like autumn and spring at the same time: fresh growth coupled with crisp air and damp, old wood.
We're zipping along I-84, snaking down, down, down towards sea level along the edge of a mountain. I just watched the sunset, a more rapid one than normal due to our mutual descent. Amazing.
3am or so, Corvalis, OR.
I'm layin' an a bed that has more pillows than I have teeth. Give or take.
Shawn and I rolled into Portland ahead of schedule, thanks to my slightly reckless driving, pulling into the airport where I was to meet my shuttle. We said good-bye, hugged and I got his email. I really liked the guy. He's genuine, kind, intelligent and has a fly beard.
I wandered throught the airport with purpose but little sense of where I was goin' and managed to stumble into the right spot. Waited. Hopped on. Took off. I listened to my walkman and practically danced in my seat, feelin' the adventure, my head abuzz with the coolness of it all. I probably annoyed the exhausted travellers around me, but I refused to take the blame.
Brittany! picked me up at my drop-off point by the Hilton after I used their bathroom and checked myself out in the full-size mirror: rough around the edges but presentable. I hugged her hard and felt her spine pop. We shot the shit as she drove me to her Aunt Loanne's giant house. I have the top floor to myself. The six othere members of her family, congregated in town for her cousin's wedding, are scattered downstairs and at Grandma's house.
I think we may go to the coast tomorrow, my only goal of this trek realized when I touch the ocean.

7/9, late o'clock. Bedroom at Auntie Loanne's house.
Today was...
Well...
Brittany's family has an odd dynamic. I don't care to go into detail, but I found myself amidst much conflict and infighting today. It was half-ackward, half-funny.
I awoke before anyone else except for Loanne, hugged and thanked her for the hospitality. She showed me the fridge and pantry and I made eggs. What a nice lady. Really cool. Brittany woke up, ate half my breakfast (the big half) and disappeared to shower. Sheesh. I sipped the first decent cup of coffee I've had in weeks, outside, watching the mountains do their thing.
We went to Brit's grandparent's house, where her mom and other aunt, brother, sister and friend Melanie (from Queens) were staying. I looked at and learned about her grandfather's garden and fruit trees. She showed me around and explained his methods of growing in an erudite, if condensending and cold fashion. Whatever. I learned quite a bit. Everyone piled into the rental van and visited grandma's friend, Dave, at his farm. He tended beef cows and a beautiful garden- tomatos and strawberries in particular grew plentifully. We rode his zipline, his tire-swing, pet his cows and bogarted his berry patches.
Michelle left for Tanzania today. I was stressed beyond belief because I had no reception at Dave's and thought I wouldn't get to talk with her before she left. We spoke just before she departed for a layover in Dubai, just as I got service, as we left Dave's. I tried not to cry in the van after I hung up, surrounded by people.
Back at Grandma and Grandpa's, buffet-style leftovers and drama ensued. Neither is worth the ink it'd take to describe them. We left soon after and Brit and I got drunk on leftover wedding-wine, talking for a couple hours on the second-story porch.





My fingers hurt but I love all the friends, family and strangers reading this. You kats and kittens make it worth writing. Thank you.

-R

6/23, 4:30pm, The Council Tipi
Hangin' with Jen, Ray, Nika and Joni's other son Justice. Justice is five, energetic and full of laughter. He has that charming missing-two-front-teeth-thing goin' on. The Council Tipi is a nice large tipi, sorta a living room, a meeting place. A sofa, drums and a keyboard, a woodstove keeping us warm on this cool day.
Us WWOOFers (except for Glen, who in the middle of the night- is he coming back?) spent the morning fixing rows of corn in one of the gardens and planting pole beans alongside them to grow up the cornstalks. Hungry after that and watering the greenhouse (and listening to easily-offended Jen get annoyed) we went to the outside kitchen space for coffee and burritos as a freezing rain started to fall. We noshed, I learned backgammon and upped my caffiene intake while the rain allievated our need to water the garden. We talked. Ray and Nika are wonderful people. Intelligent and kind, knowledgable about farm work- fun to toil with. We chilled under the kitchen tarp for a while and when the rain relaxed as much as we had I climbed up the mountain I have to ascend to get a cellphone signal. I made calls while Nika made brownies. Both were well-recieved. One had coconut.
10pm. My Tipi.
Had a nice evening. Backgammon with Ray. Jen poo-pooing on my taste in music. Pasta, salad, conversation with Joni on sustainability and moderation of consumption.
I feel and look strong. Good diet, hard work, joyous surroundings- this life is good and it's reflecting on me.

6/24, 10pm, My tipi.
Today was a good day. It began with stretching, friends and oatmeal (with raisins, sunflower seeds, local honey and goat's milk and cinnamon). It moved leisurly to the garden where onions, carrots and turnips were planted, weeds were eliminated and mulch was laid down. Much conversation was had with Nika about sci-fi authors and gardening. Stomachs spoke and lunch was had- salad made from every leftover available and garden veggies. Rain began, lightly and then with a vengence to settle. Our carrot seed likely washed away we consoled ourselves with local greens of a different sort. Much fun was had, children were played with, books were read. The conversation turned to quiche and I helped its manifestation. Verily, it was bitchin'. A call to loved ones was made as the rain died and I retired to my tipi to start a roaring fire in the woodstove to counter the dank air and to about tomorrow. Only my girl could make this more perfect.
I think I forgot to brush my teeth this morning though...

6/25, Council Tipi. Afternoon sometime.
Soaked. Me, my sleeping bag, my bed, my tipi. It's rained like hell since lunch, lightning smashing down loud enugh to make me jump. I learned from Tom Robbins that one should celebrate or ignore the weather, but this is trying my patience.
The morning was spent in the irrigation trenches, leveling, laying pipe and refilling a small section that divided the road. I worked with Ray, a philosophy student. He's here learning to eventually start his own simple life somewhere, to buy land, start a farm, invite others, teach philosophy. Interested in buddhism and anarchism, we talk well together.
After work, as the rain began, we ate leftover quiche and dumpstered frozen pizza and burritos. Carter beat me twice at backgammon but I put up a fight. All the WWOOFers retired here to the Council Tipi for drums, massages and fire.
10:41pm, my toasty tipi.
Much better. Started a nice fire in my tipi's woodstove during a lull in the storm this afternoon which cooked away all the depressing moisture in my humble, conical abode. Enjoyed a spicy potato curry with radish greens, onions and white beans, kiln-baked bread made this afternoon and salad from the garden. Dumpstered popsicles for desert.
After beating Carter in three straight games of backgammon and re-upping my fire I hung out with Joni, Carter, Ray, Fred (a friend of the farm's), Orion and Justice to discuss Ray's plans to hitch to Portland and the local fight against the Natural Gas Companies decimating Colorado (Joni and carter spent two years organizing the community and battling in court these scumfuckers).
I should talk about the farm now. It is simple living at one with nature. Beyond the emmisions from the refrigerator and the rarely-used pickup, its environmental footprint is next to nothing. Little is wasted. A telling example: dishes are washed in three seperate pans of water. The first is a pre-wash where dishes are scrubbed clean of serious much with a stiff brush. They go to the next pan, the wash pan, where a sponge wipes them clean. Finally, they are rinsed in the final pan of clean water and sent to dry. The next time we do dishes the used pre-wash water is dumped into the compost bucket and replaced by the old wash water, which is in turn replaced by the old rinse water. Fresh, clean water is poured into the rinse pan. In this way only one pan's worth of water is used for each load of dishes. Spiffy.
All water is collected by cisterns under the rain gutters- a two-gallon filter is filled by hand to provide drinking water. A well provides for the garden when rain is inadequate. Hot water for showers is completely solar-heated and gravity-pumped, requiring no electricity. A 6'x4' solar panel provides the little amount of electricity required here, enough to charge cellphones, a laptop and the satellite allowing internet access. The forest around us gives more then ample wood for cooking, heating and building (it looks like dumpstered wood is used as the main construction material). Food is grown, traded for whatever edibles aren't produced here and the Safeway dumpster fills in the spaces between. Any unavoidable plastic containers are turned into planters or, at the very worst, recycled.
And it's comfortable! As comfortable as any other lifestyle I've lived or any job I've had, better than most of both and so much more satisfying at the end of the day, which is now.
The stars number in the millions, the dogs are keeping away the bears, tomorrow's my day off, and the storm didn't carry away the carrot seeds or turnips.
I win.

6/25, 4:30pm, Kitchen tent.
"The only possible alternative to being either the oppressed or the oppressor is voluntary cooperation." -Enrico Malatesta
A beautiful, ideal day off. I updated my livejournal, beat Ray in backgammon and lost to Carter, called the girlfriend, walked in the woods and took my first shower in seven days (I'm not quite as tan as I thought I was but I'm twice as clean as I thought I'd get). Gonna read some, call the folks, stretch and relax. Maybe drum or something.

6/26, kitchen, like, 4pm-ish
A wonderful day among days defined by being wonderful. Hot cereal and coffee for breakfast followed by work in the garden- weeding and planting radishes until lunch. Burritos and backgammon- delicious. Today is Dave's birthday. Dave lives across the ridgeline next to the farm. Tall, lanky, hairy, gap-toothed and totally cool. Easy-goin', perpetually stoned and chain-smokin' hand-roled natural spirits, we're probably havin' a suprise party for him tomorrow.
The day was beautiful- bright through the morning and even during a light drizzle and hour ago the sun continued to shine.
11pm, my Tipi. 11pm
Writin' by firelight because I finally managed to get the stove goin'. So, my afternoon consisted f: cleanin' up Dave's land with Joni and the WWOOFers (which would be a great band name, btw) and lookin' at his ganja crop, the group of us flippin' Orion and Justice into the air with an old trampoline cover held between us, chattin' with Joni, walkin' in the woods, meditatin' in a clearing and there-arranging stone rings for others to do the same, eatin' pesto, playin' backgammon and losin', shovelin' horseshit into a big pile, bangin' in a drum circle, gettin' high with everyone except the one and five year old, playin' "coal toss," drinkin' PBR, laughin', smilin', startin' up the woodstove and dreamin' of tomorrow.
I feel like alot was accomplished.

Rain comin'. I'll write more later.

6/18, 5:40pm, Kansas City Greyhound terminal.
I still hate buses.
Woke up and went to breakfast at the same place I ate last night. The revelry was gone but the eggs and coffee were good. I chatted with the manager, Kimbra, who was really nice to me last night. She was really touchy and kept puttin' her hand on my arm whenever she came up to me. She was also in her fifties and wearing far too little skirt. We talked about what I was doing and she got really into it. She demanded a postcard whenever I finished my trip. I checked outta my motel and walked to I-70. I stood for, like, an hour. People were being dicks, throwin' gum and cigarettes at me. This shit never happened in smaller towns. I'm avoidin' big cities as much as I can now.
I finally got a ride from these two guys- it was a little sketchy. Turned out they gave me a ride like three miles into shitty downtown KC only because they wanted "gas" money. Yea, bullshit, but I gave them three bucks to avoid any hassle. They asked for five and I bailed. Christ. The entrance to I-70 was nowhere in sight and would be small and deadly in that area, so I hopped the local bus to Greyhound. It feels so lame, takin' Greyhound, but this place gives me a bad vibe and I want out.
I bought a ticket and walked to the library to update my journal. Heh. I stepped out for a minute to grab a bite and on my way back in a security guard stopped me to tell me I couldn't come in with a sleeping bag (it's strapped to the bottom of my pack). What?! The last guard let me in! Christ. Fine. So I snuck in a back entrance, slipped by him when his back was turned and roamed the upper floors for a while feelin' like a literature-inclined superspy. I took a picture of the guard as I left. The look on his face when I walked by him and grinned (three hours after he kicked me out) was goooood.
So, here I sit, six hours to kill before my bus arrives (hopefully on time). Drew gave me a call. Turns out Daisy the cow had a healthy bull-calf this morning at 5am. I was so close! Urgh! Alright, I gotta go sanitize my hands now. Buses!! So far I've talked with three people in KC (not including the two likely-crackheads that picked me up earlier): Jason, who just got outta prison; some kid who seemed cool until I noticed the swastikas tattooed all over his wrists; and some creepy fuck that changed seats to sit next to me again after I moved away from him earlier. Other dialogue with strangers has been restricted to me sayin', "No, sorry," in response to the following: "Got a cigarette," "Got some change for gas," "Got change for a taxi," "Can I use your phone?" I'm serious- I've got a fifty hidden in my boot that I'll give to the first honest soul to ask, "Got any change for drugs?" I'm not fuckin' kidding- it'd be refreshing.
11pm, Still here.
I must be desperate. Or suicidal. Just ate a Greyhound-resturant cheeseburger. Can't wait to see what that'll do to me. I should swallow a mouthful of hand sanitizer just to be safe.
Made some friends. Some tubby dude goin' to Chatanooga who lived near Paeonia, CO and recommended some of the farms listed in my WWOOF guide and bitched about Greyhound with me. A gnarly old dude bussin' from PA to LA who told me about military bases on the moon where new bioweapons are developed and bitched about Greyhound with me. Another tubby kid who told me about Mississippi and, well... Greyhound's okay in one way- everyone's desperate for someone to talk to, even if they really just want to bum smokes or change. I kept another old guy company while he waited for his kids to arrive. Their bus was hours late and the employees couldn't tell him anything. We bitched about Greyhound and he shook my hand when his boys showed. He moved here from somewhere else, transferring to a local GM plant when his old one closed.

6/19, 9pm. Greyhound. Kansas. (what an awful combination of locations...)
Kansas is eerie. In the McDonalds where I was forced to eat breakfast I heard a middle-aged man confess to the group he sat with that he shot and killed his father. The statement was met with silence by his peers rather than hoots and yippies, to my suprise and relief. Also, my breakfast burrito tasted thrice-reheated.
The wide, wide expanses of pastures and grasslands of Kansas have begun to roll up and down as we move west towards the Rockies into Colorado. When the road ascends one of the hills I'm sure I can see ten miles in any direction- just gently sloping green, broken only by railroad tracks and barbed wire fences beneath the sky. Nothin' here but cows and wind, the busdriver says. 
10am. The Rockies just came into view. Majestic. They're dim at this distance, their bases the same blue as the sky so all I can see of them is jagged peaks blending with soft clouds. I feel like I hit a milestone, looking upon them.
10pm. Some hotel, Denver.
Okay. Christ. Where to begin. Okay. So I arrived in Denver around 10:30am. Exhausted, wired from the Greyhound coffee-like liquid and unsure of where the hell I was going. I was in a bad place. Tired from wandering, from uncertainty, from finding myself in unfamiliar metropolises. It took a while to get my head together, during which time I started down my list of Colorado WWOOF farms. There are about 30 accessable to me here, minus about ten because they only offer primitive camping, don't provide meals, or don't give phone contact numbers. The final 20th farm, when I was ready to lose my shit, offered to take me on. 
This place sounds dope. I called in a favor from the greatest dad in the world- mine- to book me a room online, cheap. So here I sit, in southern Denver, in a cheap hotel, in a bad neighborhood, for the next two nights until I go to Trinidad and the farm...
I guess that's all I feel like writing about. Other than the taxi driver who got me to my hotel and insisted on telling me about the entire Denver prostitute scene when I asked what there was to do in Denver. Um. Yeah.

6/20, 7pm, LaMariposa Resturant- Denver.
Today was way lazy. A day of rest, recovery. If I didn't already mention it, I have wicked shin splints. I walked around Kansas City quite a bit the other day killin' time 'till my bus showed. I probably walked four or five miles along the hilly streets with my blackpack on and a vicious wind blowing at me. I'm still limping a bit, the weather has been off-and-on drizzles and I frankly just didn't feel like exploring Denver. So, I sat on my ass, watched movies, ate alot and now I'm sittin' in a Mexican joint next to the hotel, joined by shrimp fajitas, sips of beer, a gulp of tequila and a tubby waitress named Juanita who I'm pretty sure just undressed me with her eyes. Over-weight minorities find me irresistable. Seriously. I don't get it either but there it is.
I've got nothin' else to add so I'm gonna quote some CrimethInc.:
You must always have a secret plan. Everything depends on this: it is the only question. So as not to be conquered by the conquered territory in which you lead your life, so as not to feel the horrible weight of inertia wrecking your will and bending you to the ground, so as not to spend a single night more wondering what there is to do or how to connect with your neighbors and countrymen, you must make secret plans without respite. Plan for adventure, plan for pleasure, plan for pandemonium, as you wish: but plan, lay plans constantly.
And when you come to, on the steps of the presidential palace, in the green grass beside the highway, in your cell's gloomy solitude, your secret plan finished or foiled, ask your comrades, ask your cellmates, ask the wind, the waves, the stars, the sea, ask everything that ponders, everything that wanders, everything that sings, everything that stings- ask them what time it is; and your comrades, your cellmates, the wind, the waves, the stars, the sea all will answer: "It is time for a new secret plan. So as not to be the martyred slave of routine, plan adventure, plan pleasure, plan pandemonium, as you wish; but plan, plan secretly and without respite."

6/21, 7am, Greyhound.
En route to Trinidad, CO. Soundtrack: RJD2, Prefuse 73, Aphex Twin, Talking Heads. Slept less than I'd have liked to but still feelin' good. Only seven others on the bus, free hotel breakfast, nice countryside. Reminds me of Arizona in a way, the green and brown mountains feeling similar- if the land below was desert, not forested, it would feel identical. Just entered Colorado Springs city limits. Looks like a nice place to live in warm months.
Recurring midwest billboard: a picture of a prison cell. The caption reads: "No one thinks they'll lose their virginity here. Meth will change that." Ugh. Gritty.

6/22, 6:45am. Earth Mountain Education Farm.
So, here I is! I arrived in Trinidad yesterday around ten am to find the small town entirely closed on Sundays. Luckily, Joni (who runs the farm) called and had me get in touch with Shawn and Tara, who have a small garden in Trinidad which supplements Earth Mountain's yield for the CSA that Joni runs. Shawn came to pick me up so I could hang out at his place until 4pm, when Joni would be around. Nice kids. We got to know each other, had burritos and I helped weed and dig a new bed in the garden. Turns out Shawn's goin' to Portland on the 8th, so I may have a ride west.
Joni showed up around 3pm with her kid, Orion, an adorable blonde 2-year old in overalls. Joni's nice- a total hippychick. Free-spirited, wholly aimed at self-reliance (and hence the farm) and eager to affect positive change. I'll talk about her more later, I'm sure- I don't want to make any snap judgemets. Orion rocks, I can safely say. So, we went to this speaking about Drop City, an intentional community that sprang up in Trinidad in the mid-60's. It was an artists' commune where impressive Geodesic domes were built and lived in. It was interesting. The artist's toyed with fractals before Mandelbrot, practiced a sort of absurdist lifestyle and made some really interesting art.
Then we stuck around until too late listening to some jam band that made my head hurt and drove the hour to the farm.
I'm stayin' in a cabin on the property. It's fun- a small, two-story wooden dwelling... I wanted a tipi, but this is cool too. I'm underrested because my phone battery died in the middle of the night and it's my alarm clock. I didn't want to get up late on my first day.
The altitude here is around 8,000' and I can feel it. I was outta breath last night after climbing 25 stairs to my cabin.
Oh, right- and I ripped a fat hole in the crotch of my shorts at Shawn and Tara's house and got to walk around with it safety pinned closed all night. Go me.

6/22, 10pm, In my tipi!!!
Alright, this place is great. I work alongside four other WWOOFers- Nika, Raymond, Jen and Glen. Nika is really cool- she's been WWOOFing for the last year and a half and by total coincidence, spent six months prior to coming here at Drew's far (huge coincidence- there's 800 WWOOF farms in the US), so we had great fun sharing stories and talking shit about Drew (kidding). I spent most of the day working with her and Ray, who has been here a few months, graduated with a degree in philosophy and knows alot about gardening. We spent the early half of the day painstakingly leveling out a 4' deep, 1' wide trench by shovel while standing down in it (my back's gonna be sore as hell tomorrow) and discussing anarchist theory (we three share political beliefs for the most part, it seems). Jen is a nice girl from Long Island, coincidentally, and bit pretencious and easily offended and something of a feminazi, but nice enough just the same. Glen's okay- mid-40's and stricken with the desire to learn the farm life. I'll hold judgement on him till later.
Joni and her man Carter have a great thing going here. They provide to they community through the CSA and educational programs they hold here and seem like wonderful people. Joni can be rather serious most of the time.
The second half of my day involved transplanting young onions from one bed to another with Jen, Nika and Ray. Good times- it's therapeutic, gardening, and rewarding in the learning experience and knowledge that your effort will, in the end, feed people. Also, Jen and Ray rub each other the wrong way- he's insensitive and she's hypersensitive. Good times. Lotta laughs. For dinner we had burritos- homemade tortillas, greens from the garden and ground, locally hunted elk spiced and pan-fried. I've never had it before, actually. Sorta like beef, I guess. Whatever, I just needed the protein.
Ray asked if he could take the cabin I slept in last night and I eagerly traded for the tipi. It's cool- sixteen feet across, well-constructed and complete with woodstove. Not as bearproof as the cabin but, like, it's a tipi, man!
I'm excited. I'll really get to dig into gardening here (um, no pun intended), hopefully learning the whole process, I'm surrounded by great people I've quickly befriended to my relief and, like, a fucking tipi!

And a big hello to Kelleigh!!!!!! Yea, Kelleigh!!! WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOO!

6/11, 10:50pm

A note on the treatment of animals. I have at least one friend (half as charming as he wishes he was) who is a commited vegan, and I spent several years as a vegetarian due to knowing of the cruelty that non-humans suffer in the animal product industry. It doesn't have to be like it is now. Moral objection to the caging, use and death of animals to meet the demands of our appetites aside, what I've learned in the last week has shown me that more humane alternatives exist. The creatures on this farm are treated with the utmost kindness and respect- they are never hit, they are trained with positive reinforcement, they are kept clean, well-fed with foods both natural and healthy (the cows are not fed cow bi-products or anything other than grain, hay and open pasture) and when the time comes to slaughter them it is done painlessly (usually with a .45 into the brain, which is as painless as it gets). They aren't injected with hormones that cause painful illnesses and infections. They have names (except for the chickens because, like, c'mon...). This doesn't happen only because those tending them are consciencious, respectful, good people- it increases the productivity of the animals recieving this treatment! Stressed cows are prone to sickness (causing bacteria levels in the milk to rise and reducing its quality and shelf-life, costing the farmers money on vets and treatment, putting them out of commission or even killing them), prone to violence against their handlers (resulting in more negative reinforcement and more stress and so on and so forth) and to decreased production of milk. It's not just inhumane- it's financially unwise. The reason kind treatment occurs is, besides conscience, size or herd. Drew knows each of his animals, almost literally, inside and out. He has about twenty cows, total, the same amount of goats and about twice as many chickens. They will, in time, provide him quite an adaquate income. He's familiar with them as individuals, not as identical "things" on an assembly like sandwiched in between 7,000 other identical things. He knows them, cares for them and even likes them. They have personalities and he can see that. I feel no guilt drinking their milk, eating their eggs and meat. I know the conditions from wence it came, as it should be. The problem likes in the corporatization and assembly-line mentality within the greater industry.
Consider soda. A small operation making its own cola can go through the small pains of ethical practices. Coca-Cola, on the other hand, is responsible for toxifing waterways around the world and filling their products with shit in order to make a profit. Support local, support small operations, know what you're buying and much of the horror connected to the food on your plate disappears. I'm happy eatin' bacon here- it came from fifty yards away.

6/12, 10am
Woke up, cereal, coffee, stepped on a mutilated frog in my bare feet. Kitten victim. The day can only get better from here.

2:15pm. Well, we got a good bit of work done before the rain arrived. Did some building on the roof of the walk-in. I learned more about the terminology used- valleys (where two different-pitched roofs meet), portions (horizontal rafters), rafters (the vertical ones) and other random stuff. For the most part I played fetch, watched closely and tried to learn. Doing laundry now, something I find genuinely satisfying these days. Clean clotes are a luxury.

10:45 pm. BED!!!
Quite tired. Pleasant evening. Easy-going. Finished patching some holes in the barn doors, did chores, had a good dinner with farmer and farmer's girl (peppers and zucchini with couscous, moroccan-style, and cucumbers and red onions in tzatziki with pitas. Yum. I ate a double heaping serving and I'm hungry now. I must have a tape worm or something. A family of them. Cousins and whatnot), bathed, shaved. My beard's gettin' a little bushy from trimmer-absentia. I'm gonna look pretty scraggly in a couple months. I have wicked blisters on half my fingertips, courtesy of the vicious mowing I gave the lawn yesterday evening. From the elbow down I'm pretty gnarly, actually: blisters from various farm-impliments, schrapnel-burns, cuts from barbed wire, a dozen splinter-extraction sites. Not to mention healing and new sunburn, bruises, scrapes, kitten scratches and tick bites on the rest of me. And a zit. And a pulled back muscle. I'm gonna miss it here, but I should leave Tuesday as planned before I get mowed over by a tractor or bitten by a copperhead or whatever.

I think I'll write the list I had decided not to write. Drew has: 
Been married six times. Killed people with icepicks. Been shot at numerous times. Saved a buddy from a shark by beating said-shark with said-buddy's arm (severed by said-shark). Hung out with Willie Nelson, Jay Leno, Jackie Onasis and Jerry Garcia. Performed cessarian-sections on innumerable cows. Performed coitus on innumerable women. Fathered an Amish boy who has, like, twelve kids. Been hit and dragged by a truck. Crashed feet-first through a windown when he caught his wife in bed with another man, then chased the naked man down the interstate. Smoked pot. Come in third in the new Marlboro-Man auditions, losing to a gay dude. shod horses for the rich and famous on several continents. Run from grizzlies. Killed and eaten cougars. Killed and eaten rattlesnakes. Killed and eaten beavers. Killed and eaten grizzlies. Sang onstage professionally. Almost married a Mafioso's daughter. Been a nurse (LPN). Driven horse-drawn carriges in New York city. Been robbed at gunpoint by three men. Beaten and dragged one of those men to the police station. Shown me how to feel an unborn calf by pushing on the side of the cow's belly. Conducted counter-coup operations in Cuba as a Navy SEAL. Left home at 14. Lived among the Amish. Fought forest fires professionally (...as opposed to mere forest-fire-fighter hobbiests...um). Delivered babies. Been a rodeo clown. Ridden bulls. Hit a cop with nunchuks, twice.

6/13, 4pm. On the way back to the farm from Springfield, MO.
Spent the day in Springfield passing out fliers at "Dairy Days," a lame little milking demo at a park/farm. I've been off-kilter all day, a bit anxious. Maybe I'm just thinking about hitting the road. Drew *might* be able to get me a ride west with a trucker buddy of his. That'd be dope. Otherwise I'll thumb it. I'm fighting the urge to stay here longer. I have to keep moving, see and do more. I could learn alot here (and maybe I'll come back some day- Drew said Michelle and I could come back anytime), but I didn't hit the road to sit in Missouri for more than two weeks. After Dairy Days we went out for yummy Chinese buffet, my treat, then chilled at a park with a cold stream coming out of the mouth of a cave. Beautiful, big fragrent trees in bloom. Lemon icies with flat wooden spoons.

6/14, 7:25pm
Today was a good day, which is odd because I spent the greater part of it brushing cow shit off the walls of the milking parlor. It was hard, gross work. The parlor is rinsed and given light washings daily (which is *not* to say it's filthy- the dairy truck driver remarked today that it's always the cleanest on his route), but once a year its given a vigorous, thorough scrubbing. I enjoyed it though. Partially because my back feels much better, so it felt good to do some tough work. Also I find I enjoy tasks that have a clear beginning and end, where I can see my progress and the finish line is in sight (as opposed to working the cash register at Trader Joe's, where the job is neverending and the only milestones are the minutes passing by on the clock). Mostly, however, was the satisfaction I got by handling a miserable chore for Drew and Carol. They've been wonderful to me, and Drew's suprised approval of the effort I put into it made me feel really good. When I asked to stay an extra day until the weather clears up and Drew said I could stay an extra month, I felt proud of myself.
Later, he taught me a couple knots I hadn't known to secure a line between trees. They'll secure the new shelter he assembled for me- a tube tent. It's a primitive, lightweight tube of almost-clear plastic. Far more convienent than the tarp I brought with me, its translucence provides a warm interior on cold days, functioning like a greenhouse.
WWOOF'ing is wonderful, meeting a certain anarchistic ideal. It's voluntary, with no money changing hands and the exchange being effort for education. I dig it.

6/15, Tired PM.
Didn't sleep well last night. Took me forever to pass out and I was beat all day. We did more work on the roof of the walk-in fridge today, laying down insulation and corrogated tin. I buffed alot of old nail-holes in the used metal and it was hot work, ten feet up on a shiny roof in the sun. I gots a headache. Adding to it all, Jeff's obnoxious grandchildren were underfoot all day, asking stupid questions and saying stupid things, the little dumbass monsters. The future of Missouri looks dim, if they're any indication. Tomorrow's my last day here. Looks like I'm hitchin' the interstates Wednesday morning, headin' west.

6/16, 5pm
Well, last day on the farm and it was an easy one. Aside from helping Jeff a bit on the roof again (and the usual milking and feeding chores) I didn't do much of anything. Ate alot, sat around, watched the tube a bit, packed up.
I'm a bit nervous about the next stretch of road ahead. I'm probably gettin' dropped off on I-40, which heads west towards Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas, none of which make me feel particularly comfortable. I guess it's no big deal- worst case scenerio I take a bus to Denver or Albuquerque (which was really hard to spell...). We'll see.
11pm
Packed up, cleaned up, well fed- guess I'm good to go. Wish I could stay longer. It's nearly time to harvest some of the veggies (I think some of the yellow squash are good to go) and Daisy is set to have a calf in the next three days, which I'd love to stay for. But I'm set to roll, so roll it is. Gonna head north on Hwy 13 to I-70 (a beautiful stretch of interstate leadin' to Denver)- much better than I40, which points menacingly towards Texas.
Part of me wishes this trip would hurry up and end. Not that I'm not literally having the time of my life, but I miss everyone back home- my parents, Mike, Heather and Joseph. And Michelle, especially- it's hard being away from her, even talking over the phone as often as we do. Hi sweetie! Also, knowing I won't be around when Heather and Joseph have their kid, Noam, really sucks. I wish I could teleport or jump really far or something. Anyway.

6/17, 5:15pm. Kansas City, MO!!!
Alright, got a decent ways away today. After a frustrating late start outta Drew and Carol's, they dropped me of on Hwy 13 headin' north outta Springfield, MO. We said our goodbye's after the short ride (I felt queazy the whole way- nauseus with anxiety or something I ate I suppose). They said I was the best WWOOF'er they'd had so far and gave me 20$. Yay! I hated to leave and was dying to go at the same time. Oh well. Back to the rigors of the road around noon o'clock, I caught a ride in fifteen minutes from a family in a minivan- Grandma, Dad and their cute ten-year old daughter gave me a ride to the next town up and dropped me off. Next, I hopped in the back of a pickup (because the seats were full of a family of six) for a quick ten mile ride. They I walked a long, ninety-degree hour until a Toyota hybrid pulled over. Jeff, I think his name was. I smelled church. I told him how "blessed" I felt that he was takin' me all the way to Kansas City, 150 miles away, thinkin' to butter up the good samaritan... I really blew it by "confessing," when he asked, that I'd gone to church quite a bit in my younger years (totally not true). I sat through two friggin' hours of God-talk from this guy, who turned out to be a bible school teacher. Pentacostal. Okay, I kept it together for the first half-hour, but by the end of the ride I felt my brain beginning to mush out my ears. He bought me a chicken wrap at Sonic though, so I guess it paid off.
Anyway, he dropped me off in a terrible spot, and I couldn't ask him to go more out of his way. I had to walk along the interstate, cars whizzing by my skinny ass with little shoulder to walk on, for a little bit before I clambered up the underside of an overpass towards the fleabag motel I'm in now. I almost thanked God, but I was tired of Him by that point. Tomorrow I'll find my way to I70 and try to head west. Tonight, I try not to catch anything infectious from these pillowcases.
6:15pm. Some cute N'Orleans style bar and grill in KC.
I gave up too easily today. My ride didn't actually drop me off on I70, but on one of those circular interstate routes around cities intended to bypass the city itself. This threw me off- I figured I'd have to walk at least six hot, dangerous miles (judging by the signs) to get to I70. So, instead of stoppin' for directions to get better I70 access I gave in and got a room. Turns out, two miles from where I'm stayin' tonight is a direct ramp to I70 west. I shoulda just asked. LEsson learned.
On the other hand, I'm eatin' a cajun po'boy, drinkin' beers and surrounded by 60-year olds singin' bluegrass at the top of their lungs. Life is, like, ridiculous.


That's all for today. I had to sneak into the library here in Kansas City because the security guard said I couldn't bring a friggin' sleepin' bag in.... Huh? How about pencils? Any other unlikely contraband, sir? Anyway, I broke down and bought a bus ticket to Denver. I calculated about how long it would take to get there hitchhiking (at least a few days, probably), how much I'd spend on food and whatever over those days (just a bit less then the cost of the ticket, depending on how long it took) and how much misery I'd subject myself to hitching the interstates (lots). A+B+C=X   X<D, if D=Greyhound.

Overalls, check. Straw in mouth, check. Manure stains on shorts, check. Sunburn, sore muscles, voracious appetite, check.

I'm on the farm! This is farking great. Up early, tendin' the animals, work, work, work. It's all-so-good. I'm learning so much.

I'll give a better update when I've got time. Love to you all!

~Reed