Love Song for the Dearly Departed, or, Dude Where's My Freedom?

The following content has nothing to do with politics. If you are strictly here for a NH Primary Fix, go read the Post and come back tomorrow.

10:00 PM on a Sunday and the chirping of the crickets covers the window's breeze like the blanket on my lap. Gin & Tonics go down smooth tonight. Smooth like a soul record; Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Solomon Burke. I'm leaving the Quabbin soon, we're talking two or three days soon, and the taste in my mouth is bitter beyond the lime and tonic. Smooth and bitter. I guess there needs to be a balance in all things.

I have recently come back from a voyage to the North. Kanc Country, where the mountain faces are rocky, the rivers are refreshing, and the tourists are growing by the hundreds each year. Soon enough it will be just another Vermont, minus the fair trade coffee shops. How unfortunate. Worse still is the increase in police activity. My biggest beef in New Hampshire, to be quite honest, is the police presence.

Considering that the state purports to have the motto, "Live Free or Die," I have been surprisingly hassled by cops from various New Hampshire small towns more than in any other state. Whether it was a warrantless field sobriety test in Litchfield in 2003 after watching John Kerry in Portsmouth because I was "hugging the white line" or witnessing an associate of mine questioned and having his license run simply for walking on the sidewalk trying to work his game with a ladyfriend. This must stop. Worse still, I was arrested a few days ago for merely swimming in a river. Yes, God's own semen stream, the Pemigewasset.

The local Swine rapped me with a knuckle-busting charge of Disorderly Conduct, and gave no reasoning for their charge. Presumptions aside I was forced to tell the young Farva-like deputy, whose fecklessness toward the law was on disgusting display, that I would save any questions I had for the judge.

To Be Continued...

In the Meantime, here is my soulful, pensive playlist for late August. Forgive the lack of artist diversity. And do put it on shuffle.

Nothing Can Change This Love - Sam Cooke
I'll Come Running Back to You - Sam Cooke
If Not for You (Bootleg Session w/ George Harrison) - Bob Dylan
That's How Strong My Love Is - Otis Redding
These Arms of Mine - Otis Redding
Which Way Does That Old Pony Run - Lyle Lovett
To Find a Friend - Tom Petty
The Letter - Natalie Merchant
If You're Feeling Sinister - Belle & Sebastian
Funny How Time Slips Away - Willie Nelson
Soul Love - David Bowie
Cry to Me - Solomon Burke
Cypress Avenue - Van Morrison
Opportunity to Cry (Crazy Demo Session) - Willie Nelson
One More Kiss Before I Go - Ryan Adams

and you can end any mix with ...
Electrolyte - R.E.M.
if you ever want to fly
Mulholland Drive.
I am alive.

Hollywood is under me.
I'm Martin Sheen
I'm Steve McQueen
I'm Jimmy Dean

If you want to fly.
Mulholland Drive.
Up in the sky.
Stand on a cliff and look down there.
Don't be scared, you are alive.
You are alive.

I'm Your Venus, I'm Your Fire, Your Desire

Gazing out my study window moments ago I noticed a dark orange light aglow off in the distance. Its position was indeterminate, in part because of the darkness caused by the glare of inside lights, so for all I knew it could just as well have been a low-lying star as a flashlight up in the hills; a traveler on a snowy night looking for some final peace before the work week. But then my teapot whistled, and when I returned from the kitchen it was gone. I turned off all the lights, save the dim glow of my computer screen, and I was able to see it once again.

A little research revealed that my light is the planet Venus, which at first disappointed me because I prefer to keep strange lights just that - strange. I took an astronomy class in college, and the main thing I learned from it was that I would rather not know about the position and make-up of the solar system. I just want to look up in awe. Every now and then pretend to know a constellation or two, but mostly just lie on my back in the late spring and imagine who else saw these same stars before me. Shays? Twain? Emerson? Metacomet?

And now I, with my transparent eye, sit looking upon them. Or it, rather, since it is just the one star. Not even a star, a planet. Like I said, at first I was disappointed to learn what it was. To actively learn, no less, by shutting off all the lights and doing a google news search. My curiosity prevailed over my desire to remain ignorant, to remain blissful. Had I never looked anything up I could have imagined, and truly believed, that it was a lonely soul out in the woods seeking high ground at 11pm on a Sunday, some two days after a late-season Nor'Easter left Quabbin Qountry nestled yet again under a thick blanket of snow. That would have made me happy, knowing that someone out there was doing what I always want to do - just say fuck it and go for a walk no matter when, no matter why. But I have excuses aplenty, and I just want to know that there is someone out there who doesn't.

"The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right." - Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature

I remembered that quotation tonight, when I was wondering about the stars and the invisible eye. It made me think of the good old days running through Point Defiance on college breaks when I would high-five the ferns on the circle trail, and give a little elbow nudge to the salal bushes. Back when we knew each other. As for Venus, it hit me just when I started bummin' about the traveler that the planet was named after the Roman goddess of love of beauty. And if that's an omen for 3Q, then I'll take it even if it means having to give up on a few midnight walks through the woods.

Tea and oranges,
BTB

The Moon Is So Bright,

To paraphrase Timbuk3, I Gotta Wear Shades.

The amount of moonlight coming down on Quabbin Qountry was tantamount to LUNAcy. I hopped out of the cabin around 8:15 tonight, and my first few steps alongside the neighbor's pasture were chock full of sheer giddiness. I literally bounded down the lane for the first hundred meters or so until the shade of the trees finally kicked in to cloud my vision ever so slightly. By the time I got down the hill near Cadwell I began to harbor illusions that I could run in the woods. Obviously, I gave it a try. I made it roughly 55 seconds down the trail before I turned around, partly out of wariness of the dark, partly out of my inability to keep pace along the shadowy, rocky path. Nevertheless, I put in a solid 2 minutes on trail at 8:20pm in January. It would be a stretch to find much negativity in that.

Now here we are, one more 3Q entry in the books, and one year closer to Presidential Go Time according to the last two digits of today's date (1/03/07). Happy New Year. After a Dem-happy December (Dem-cember, if you will), the GOP is back in the limelight with mixed results. The most newsworthy event, if you count media coverage, ended up being Rudy's folly. Giuliani made headlines today with a leaked document allegedly stolen from a staffer, copied, and replaced in it's original briefcase. The paper, hardly containing anything surprising, went over the possible hurdles for a Rudy candidacy.

All along I had found most of the skepticism over the former NYC mayor's candidacy a bit questionable, but now I am starting to see it. We here in Quabbin Qountry are all for seeing RWG toss his hat in because of his leadership qualities and presumably bipartisan nature, but his messy divorce and the Bernie Kerik baggage should be a tough sell especially in the Republican primaries. Granted, personal lives should be withheld from politics to an extent, but there is something to be said about one's character when he leaves his wife immediately for someone else, and then the ex- summarily hates him. It is one thing to get a blow job at your desk, it is entirely another to be boinking around so seriously. I imagine this plays doubly so in early primaries like South Carolina and Iowa.

The Kerik affair is truly the most intriguing bit of his entire campaign. Many of you will recall that Bernie once seemed like the American Dream come true - son of a New Jersey prostitute done good - and a tremendous choice to lead the Department of Homeland Security. But then came nannygate and, ultimately more devastating, Regangate. My favorite part about all of this, if Rudy ends up running and if Kerik becomes a major issue, is that OJ Simpson will play a role in Presidential politics. Judith Regan, Bernie's one time sordid lover, was recently axed from a prominent position at HarperCollins publishing allegedly for anti-Semitic comments...but clearly for her decision to publish OJ's memoir, If I Did It. The "It", of course, refers not to sex but to the murder of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman. Unbelievable. In fact, I sincerely hope this becomes an issue.

The other news, of course, pertains to Mitt Romney's filing for a Presidential exploratory committee. Much like Edwards earlier in the week, Mitt was overshadowed but both the Rudy scandal and the Ford funeral. Poor Mitt; not only did his Lieutenant get completely destroyed in the election to replace him, but he can't even make the local NPR news. At least, not when I was listening. On the bright side, at least Rom was able to make the historic Lone Walk today, following the footsteps of "Silent" Cal Coolidge, John Hancock and Michael Dukakis.

I'm Mitt Romney, and I disapprove of my 2nd page headlines.

Now for the lighter side. Let us take a moment to mock fundraising. In the spirit of Dubya's Rangers and Pioneers, Mitt Romney has decided to go political with those designated as "First Ballot Chairman" responsible for $250,000 in contributions in the campaign's first 30 days, "First Ballot Vice Chair" for $100,000 in donations, and "First Ballot Member" $50,000. Rudy, meanwhile, is going baseball, calling his top donors "Team Captain", "MVP", "All-Star" and "Slugger". "Slugger"? Wasn't that the name of Buddy Cole's softball team? Oh, those confused Republicans. And last but not least, outgoing Florida governor John "Jeb" Bush has chosen to include within his gubernatorial portrait a blackberry and a bible. You heard right, not only can he talk to God but he can e-mail him, too!

On a more somber note, my condolences go out to friends, family, and general populace who were saddened by the shooting death of a Foss High School student on school grounds this morning in Tacoma, Washington. We here in Quabbin Qountry wish, along with the rest of the world, for a more peaceful new year.



Sipping a Val Dieu,

BTB

Nature

The first thing that motivated me to make a nature post was the proposed listing of the Polar Bear to the Threatened Species List of the Endangered Species Act this week (and a special Thank You to Nicole for correcting me on the specifics of it merely being a proposed listing). As I looked into it further, I saw that dozens upon dozens of newspapers immediately editorialized that it was about time. For those of us who saw An Inconvenient Truth, it turns out that little cartoon was no joke. The heavily studied bear population of greater Churchill, Ontario has dropped to 935 from 1,194 between 1987 and 2004 according to the Fish & Wildlife Service. This is kind of big, considering the rate at which human population has grown since my kindergarten days of 1987. But most of all, respect to those beasts who are the namesake of the act of jumping into icy cold waters on Xmas day all around the world strictly for the purpose of feeling life more coldly and deeply.

I later came upon an article about Goldsborough Creek in Mason County, WA talking about the noticeable return of salmon to the Goldsborough watershed in the five years since the breaching. In spite of my 130-page tome on salmon policy from 2004, I am still uncertain about what is best for salmon within the framework of our society. That said, there is something in my gut about a free-flowing river. I'll be the first to admit that our beloved Quabbin is itself a product of the dammed Swift River, but it is hard to argue with the sound of the rushing creek out my window, singing it's lullaby to me every evening after a hard rain. Anyway, on the dam front, there appears to be more on tap where that came from.

Finally, we have a brief polemic on the Quabbin. Amazingly, this Thursday stood as my first ever voyage into Gate 8, the nearest entry into the reservation from my house. I can blame it on laziness, poor fitness, or poor judgement. I think I will choose all three. It was a beautiful trip, all 25 minutes of it. I ran from my house up to Knight's Pond and down Packardville Road until I skirted around the metal gate into the boundaries of the Quabbin. The road, already gravel, turned soft and comforting immediately. I saw bogs and pine stands alike off to my right and left as I ran further downhill, in the direction of drifting water toward the big reservoir. I imagined moose and hawks and bears but saw none. After about a mile I turned left off of the arterial onto a smaller road that crossed a creek, then went uphill and hit a slight clearing. It was there that I stopped, pissed and turned around. The majesty of the Quabbin pushed me to negative splits, even with the considerable elevation gain coming home. I anxiously await the days when I can actually run 8+ miles on a regular basis, and thus the Quab. The next day, mental imagery in tow, I drove up the Daniel Shays Highway en route to Hwy 2 and ultimately Maine. It is hard to beat the path along the Pelham highlands past Shutesbury and New Salem with lookouts stretching far out into the hills, a deep, deep lake somewhere below.

Sunny Day

I woke up before 11 today, which is always a bonus on Sunday, and managed to avoid the temptation of seven hours alone with the NFL at my house, or in the bars. As usual I drove down to the Black Sheep to pick up a scone for breakfast, and as usual I came away empty handed. This time they actually had a few on stock, but I have no room in my diet for rum raisin, even in an ice cream cone. Another Sunday, another cookie for breakfast.

Back at home I started looking into the USATF trail series for this summer. On the negative side, I realized that the guys who win it seem to be pretty nasty runners, but on the bright side I got pretty psyched for it. I spent a good hour checking out the different races like Wachusett, Loon, Ascutney and Northfield and made a pledge to myself to make a good faith effort to boost my fitness up to the point where I could make a crack at a few top-five finishes up the mountain this summer. Last night, shortly after 2:30am, I was reading from Yvon Chouinard's chronicle of Patagonia's rise to power. In it he gives a brief description of the zen approach to archery. To shoot in the zen manner is not to focus on the target, but rather to make each piece of the technique of shooting the arrow a priority and the target will, as a result of the focus and care taken, become a successfully foregone conclusion. I decided it would be a good idea in life as well. If I can, among other things, run up mountains quickly I should be on track to achieve across the board in life. Now let's find the other things to include among the mountains.

Peace of mind in hand like a hat, I set out on a run down into Cadwell Forest and down the M-M trail into Buffam Falls. I had really hoped to get down into the piney trails of Buffam and maybe see a few creeks in the early winter sunlight, all within a 7 or 8 mile run. The run itself started as planned, stumbling down the M-M toward Amherst Road and across into the Reservoir. The trails felt good throughout, and felt wonderful each time I would happen upon one of those pine stands that seem to increase the winter temperature by 5 degrees, and somehow soften the ground beneath.

I turned around when the trail met the crossing at the confluence of two brooks whose names I need to learn, and after momentarily missing a couple of turns on my way back, I came back up to Meetinghouse Road. Instead of taking the path I came in on I decided to follow a new trail, where I heard some barking dogs enjoying their walk in the near distance. The trail was wider than most, an old road or something, and it followed a brook for about a half mile until it became a reservoir and the trail cut up and to the left. From there on out as each turn failed to reveal a road, or even the distant sound of a car wishing by, I knew I was in for a longer run than I had planned. I finally found the road at just over 52 minutes, and figured I was about three miles from home. I took roads all the way back, and staggered down my driveway at 1:12:35. What today was probably less than ten, felt like the seventeen of old. I guess the zen approach has to start somewhere.

The goal is to write more about politics than running, but I am interested to see how the subject matter asserts itself. I look forward to the day when endorsements are made based on Quabbin Qountry values, when assessments of strength and wisdom are presented with passion and authority, and when I can relate them back to the woods of Western Mass over the warmth of a cold beer. Life is about having adventures and using them to make the bland parts bold. Because being bold is tough to do, but in Quabbin Qountry it is a little bit easier.

Signing off from the M&D with a Piraat and a Kwak,
BTB