Thursday, August 13, 2015

Sun-Warmed Apricots

 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.

Jesuits brought the Inquisition rack and forced conversions: Escaped and recaptured slaves had a foot amputated to drive home the new Zeitgeist. No whistle-blowers allowed to alert the country.

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:

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:

No oranges were to reach the Blitz'd and food-rationed Brits for long war years. Can we imagine such a thing? 
Rumor has it that underground installations and bolt-holes of the so-called elite have imagined it very well. They have been stuffing their lairs like sausages. For themselves.

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
To see...
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.


At August 30, 2015 at 5:03 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Another good one, Sweet Niece. Good to know, too, you're up and about. Love to you from dry, dry, hot, hot Texas.

At September 3, 2015 at 12:07 AM , Blogger Wayfarer said...

Yo Onkel. Leaves are beginning to turn on a few trees at this high elevation. Wild plums are ripening. There's bear scat along the river where the wild apples grow.

This story set in apricot season ends my wayfarer tales on line,

The four Wayfaring Traveler books abide in the jungle river, Amazon.

And all rivers flow to the sea.

At September 3, 2015 at 12:25 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Gal, why you be kaputin' das blog?

At September 3, 2015 at 1:35 PM , Blogger Wayfarer said...

You're a hoot!... Well, the body of work felt about sufficient. Storytelling will live beyond us all, and beyond tumultuous times.

The Public Health articles at feastandfamine.blogspot remain in the commons, hopefully useful/actionable.

My small quietude and wish to communicate, to mentor has seemed haunted by the farewell of the Nez Perce Chief Joseph, not so very long ago:

"...My people, some of them, have run away to the hills, and have no blankets, no food. No one knows where they are - perhaps freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children, and see how many of them I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead.

"Hear me, my Chiefs! I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever"

Am grateful to global readers. Good bye, my dears.

At September 3, 2015 at 2:07 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Yes. Chief Joseph. Yes. But not yet for you, Sweet Niece. Not yet for thee.

Spring hopes eternal. Wait. Is that how that goes? :-)

At September 17, 2015 at 5:23 AM , Blogger Wayfarer said...

A thank you note to RDR, a reader from this journey's beginning: You are so kind to encourage me to continue writing for those in this economy not in a position to buy books.

Dear heart, I started the pro bono feastandfamine blog seven years ago, and would eventually write four books in two years.

Others are writing usefully and well in difficult whistle-blower times. Courage in action.

I love reading aloud; used to be children's reader at the local library. I may do that now and then. I've been grateful for your words over the years.


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