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In about one week, with the help and guidance of Watershed Management Group, we will be installing a ~540 gallon water cistern at the northeast corner of the house. The purpose is the capture the run-off from the east side of the house during the monsoon seasons (and any other time it might happen to rain, but let's face it, it barely rains ever). Then with the stored water I will be able to water plants, trees, veggies, and keep the chickens thirst satiated. Pseudo-famous water catching local gurus like Brad Lancaster will say that this water is free, but he is wrong. I know. I just spent all day running all over town making numerous purchases for this catchment tank, including the 7 foot long, 4 foot diameter culvert that will be used on its end as a cistern, and it is anything but free. Though that is not to say it is not worth it. I have ogled other peoples' catchment tanks in the neighborhood with salavating lips, and googly-eyes ever since I closed on this house. For some people it is speedy cars, and others fall for sex appeal in passers-by - but for me, it is hot bikes and large catchment tanks that cause me to strain my neck while looking them up and down. I know, but it's hard out there for an urban farmer...
Well to give you all an idea of what we will be installing come next weekend, here is a diagram I shamelessly stole from a local business website that also installs these cisterns. This is pretty much what we will be doing over the course of two Sunday afternoons in November, minus the hard work, sweat equity, and moments of confusion and cursing. Have no fear, I will be sure to post real pictures of the installation process once it takes place. Meanwhile, have sweet sweet dreams of your own water catching fantasies...
So today there is an article in the New York Times about rich New Yorkers that have bought houses in the woods in Connecticut for weekend getaways, but they are scared out there when it gets dark - seriously! So they spend thousands of dollars to put in security systems, extensive outdoor motion lighting, and god knows what other foolish toys that was originally designed by the military and have now been normalized for its paranoid citizenry.
SO first of all, don't complain about the dark and coyotes and moose when you have spent a million dollars on some luxury cabin in the woods. It's the woods damnit. And the minute you take away any of those beautiful wild unregulated things, it stops being the woods. And secondly, if that is what you want, please for your sake and ours, stay at home on the 50th floor of whatever high-rise you live in, shut your silver spoon choked mouths, and buy some designer purse to put your small decorative dog and taser in while you shop for black turtlenecks and trendy glasses. Leave the wild places for the rest of us, who aren't permanently plugged into an ipod or blow dryer and relish the chaos of nature and the sounds of a world that has never been ours. Nor by the evidence of our treatment of this world, should it ever be.
This picture care of Reuters, taken along the Del Dios Highway somewhere in southern California.
Every year, me and some guy friends get together at a cabin along the Greenbrier River in the mountains of West Virginia. It's always a bunch of beer, games, competition, and unruliness, complicated by sensitive men, who are mostly married, can cook quite well and look good in flannel. The cabin was built by our friend Micheal and many others out of straw and old timbers, and we like to think that there is never a better time than the long fall weekend that we gather to pretend that we can still play sports like we used to. This year I actually took a first-aid kit and we actually used it. There is much secrecy that surrounds such gatherings and I certainly won't divulge all of the details now, but I have prepared a little photo essay on boys' weekend. This really is the first look into what has previously been kept under tight wraps, so count yourselves lucky to see this...
The top of the lane, where we drank a couple beers waiting for Nick and his four wheel drive to transport us to the "Brier Patch".
The Brier Patch.
Trent on the banjo. Nate and Andrew taking it in.
First we had to mow down the ball field. Andy started us off.
Then we had to sit and drink some more beer.
This is an action shot of Neil hitting a real-live-whiffle-ball- home-run-but-it-depends-on-where-we-drew-the-line-I-guess.
We also played a very competitive game of frisbee golf, while the courageous Phil kept us stocked on beer. This is Nick looking pensively at Hole 7.
Andrew and his own personal style of throwing the disc. (Andrew also makes super cool t-shirts. You should check them out.)
Look how Michael and Phil cook so tenderly while wearing Carharts.
This is how sensitive cabin going men like us eat. (See me sleeping on the couch to the left? I was on breakfast duty.)
Nick enjoying himself. We did lots of this. Enjoying ourselves, not necessarily pointing.
Michael, Phil, and the sunset.
Michael, Nate, Trent.
Phil, Andy, Neil.
Nick, me, Andrew.
As of early this morning, there is a gang of motorcycle cops pulling over bicycle riders mostly along University Boulevard between Sixth Ave and Park Ave. SO BEWARE!! There have been heaps of bogus tickets given out by overly ambitious, blowhard cops who have decided to target bike riders. Spread the word and be more mindful of stopping and signaling and everything else. If you or someone else gets pulled over, there is a good bike lawyer, Erik Ryberg. He has an informational blog www.tucsonbikelawyer.com and his number is 520.622.3333. Personally, from my completely non-lawyerly position I would tell everyone to plead not-guilty and challenge all these tickets.
AND everyone should show up tonight, Tuesday, 8pm at Old Main for the community bike ride. The last few weeks there have been over 200 folks from all over Tucson riding together on a different route every Tuesday. ALSO, there will be a Tucson Critical Mass bike ride this Friday eve, at 6pm leaving from El Presidio Park, and then every last Friday of each month.
"A patriot must always be ready to defend his [sic] country from his [sic] government." - Edward Abbey
This weekend, Mari, Megan, and I went down to the Native Seeds farm in Patagonia, Arizona (south of Tucson near the Mexico border). It was the fall harvest "festival" which basically means that we are supposed to feel good about helping to harvest the corn and stomp the beans, and Native Seeds gets to feel good about us giving them free labor. But since Mari used to work there and my brother, Chris still does, we thought it would be nice to go down and spend the morning shucking corn and brushing ear wigs from our shoulders to be rewarded by an unknown quality of potluck lunch. Also, we happen to think that Native Seeds is a pretty vital organization in the face of mono-culture crops and genetically modified seeds with all sorts of craziness and undetermined dangers. On top of all of that, it was a perfect reason to squeeze into my beat-up, sometimes running, and always dirty pickup truck and take an hour long cruise south through the Sonoran Desert to a 60 acre farm with a perfect view of Mt. Wrightson in the Santa Rita mountain range. It was a good opportunity to give my brother a hard time and throw dried up, mice eaten, corn cobs at each other while talking about how we were clearly the best volunteers at the Native Seeds harvest festival.
The "indispensable" gator at the farm.
Seed collection system.
Post fetish #1.
A critical mass of gourds.
Post fetish #2, with Mt. Wrightson in the back left.
