Days Grow Shorter
November: I revisit this lucious August memory, looking out on nearly two feet of Rocky Mountain snow, conifers heavy with it and wind blowing plumes of sparkle from the deciduous trees!
August: I've been gathering bounty of apricot-gold under huge old trees, wildings from long ago. Savoring their sun-warmed fragrance, I munch the rosy-cheeked imperfect ones, spitting out seeds into the high grass!
In the dappled light, am haunted by the specter of their origin...
Spaniards burst upon the New World, smelling gold, glory and slave labor. The natives, expecting bearded gods from across the sea, smelled unwashed bodies in quilted velvet and sun-broiling armor. But like native gods, invaders canny and dangerous.
The conquerors, empowered by royal decree and steel weaponry also brought horses, much later a power item among Plains Indians. Spanish muskets and cannon over-ran spears and bird feather capes.
Franciscans, in a cognitive dissonance among rapine and plunder, planted gardens. Sandaled, in robes of brown homespun, they arrived with seeds and cuttings, tending orchards and roses.
All along waterways of the high desert and mountains, great great grand-trees of that legacy begin fruiting as the days grow shorter. Rose hips of the Rosa de Castilla are turning crimson under cool mountain nights.
The Conquistadores became The Powers That Be (TPTB) of that era, among enslaved peoples. Why might this cross one's mind?!
Current TPTB have cut corners, calling job losses and low wages robust economic gain. For themselves.
The bounty of the country, now mostly GMO'd, is funneled through remote distribution hubs. It's called "JIT" for just-in-time delivery. Little is stored and market shelves soon empty in emergency.
"Little is stored" by government or humans which brings me to the beginning of my cyber-adventures, seven years ago.
I had watched the government response to Hurricane Katrina, both inept and malignant, and realized "we" are ill-prepared for the unexpected and the unknown. In so-called normal times, we let fruit rot on the ground.
Disturbed at likely future ineptitude, I considered Joseph's Dream: http://feastandfamine.blogspot.com/2008/06/7-fat-years-7-lean.html
In the midst of wild plenty, I wonder about JIT and this coming winter, filling my wicker basket with windfall fruit.
What if trucks cannot or will not make it through, through unknown conditions? What about empty store shelves and empty-larder food banks?
What about Vitamin C in flu season? (I add fresh lemon juice to the apricot jam!)
When the British Isles were blockaded by Nazi U-Boats, school children were sent into the hedge rows to gather wild rose hips: http://wayfaringtraveler.blogspot.com/2014/09/pocketful-of-rose-hips.html
So, on the planet's surface where humans live, what's the Plan B?
Does eating out make sense right now? (Eating GMO's, and paying for it?!!) Buying the newest and greatest smart phone?
Will we come in for a landing? Will we join with good neighbors? Do we have any? Will we find ourselves in a dusty attic of the Great Depression?
Am noting the most vivid general angst since y2k... when those who thought to prepare ended up looking like idiots, with all but inedible food stores.
Nor am I altogether certain about the Net, and about utilities-power through what may be a "dark and stormy night" winter.
Greece, disemboweled by EU banksters, at least has gardens.
For seven years I left my true love,
Seven years I left the valley.
Now I'm going back tomorrow
Across the wide Missouri.
Not being certain, am posting this here in storyteller land, and at f&f, my pro bono wellness article venue created for "7 Fat & 7 Lean Years."
Thanks to readers all over the world for journeying with me through my writings and books. Well-met and Godspeed to us all.