#folly farms nature preserve

[pktechgirlus]

Photo: LDeans

[mandagoodheart15]

A day walking in the Folly Farms Nature Preserve!

[erstwhile25]

Old Salts, and Bitter Fruits.

It was a brisk La Noscean morning, the kind where the bitter chill winds coming off the seas wrestled with the warm sun reflecting off the mountain slopes.  Most mornings the sun won out, but in the height of winter, the wind was such that it could slip under your clothes and shake hands with your bones.  Hannah knew from experience (as most of her knowledge was prone to spring from these days) that it wasn’t as bad as the ongoing frosts of Ishgard, still one needed to bundle up against it, lest they found themselves making friends with a fever.  She had just finished gathering up the last of the winter peas from the fields, and had set her basket aside to rub a little life back into her chilled knobbly fingers.  

Age had been kind to her, she reflected as she sat her bony ass down on one of the smooth stones that marked the borders of her son’s fields.  Most women who had seen as many seasons as she had needed the assistance of a cane to walk, and that was if they could leave their rocking chairs at all.  However she was still able to bend at her waist, and carry a basket that was half her weight in stone.  True, her joints ached terribly before the coming of a storm, and she’d no longer had a tooth in her mouth that wasn’t porcelain or silver, but to expect nothing from time but a head full of grey hair was folly if ever she heard it.

It was a subject of some debate back on her son Sigmund’s farm.  His wife, a pretty little midlander named Sarah who didn’t have so much as two foul thoughts in her head to rub together for fire, was opposed to the idea of her aging mother-in-law working in the fields.  She insisted that if Hannah kept it up, then one day they would find her out there, dead amongst the stones and weeds.  The girl, and she was still a girl in Hannah’s eyes, never even contemplated the possibility that Hannah would have it no other way.  After all it was probably the bull headed need for physical labor that kept her in such fine shape for her autumn years.  During her years on the salt, Hannah had never met a job she didn’t prefer to do for herself.  In fact, one of her hardest lessons aboard a ship had been to trust in the work of others.  

Hannah shivered, and rose off the rock, tugging her basket to her shoulder.  Near on twenty years had passed since she had set foot on a deck, and still every fourth thought out of her head was about her life on the waves.  It was what every sailor meant when they said “The Siren’s Call.”, since most were too chickenshit to call it their own stupidity, blaming a pretty woman seemed the next best thing.  Still they were right about one thing, there wasn’t any sense to be had in it.  She had a good life now, Sigmund shared her own love of steady physical labor, and between the two of them they had made his farm one of the best producers on the coastline.  Sigmund and his little wife hadn’t been coy in their marriage, and now they had a fifth grandchild on the way to swell the household even further.  Hannah had made the offer a while back to have a cottage built for herself on the edge of the property, giving them the space every married couple needed.  However they wouldn’t hear of it, bless their amorous little hearts, the pair insisted having their family under one roof, all of their family.

So here Hannah was, with no need for coin, or a roof over her head, besieged on all sides by love from gangly grandchildren and moon-eyed betrothed.  All of these things rested neatly in the palm of her hand...and there was still space for something else.  It made her feel like shit, but there was no denying it, some part of her longed for the feel of the rolling deck beneath her feet and the anticipation of the great unknown.  Rationally, she knew the reason she would never return to the waves, it was the same reason she’d fought so viciously with Sarah about planting the fig trees behind the house.  Not because Hannah had any particular inclinations about figs as a fruit, but because of how the trees looked when they were denuded of their leaves in the winter.  They looked like skeletal fingers clutching up through the sea water, always reaching for the sky. 

It was staring at those trees that her son found her.  She had walked the pebbled path home without realizing it, as mired in her thoughts as a cart stuck in the peat moors.  It wasn’t until he rested a cautious hand on one of her shoulders that she realized where she was with a little start.  

“Someone once told me staring at a tree won’t cause it t’grow fruit.”  He rumbled through a chest now broader than hers had ever been, when had he grown taller than she?  She smirked up at him, handing off her basket without needing to ask that he take it. 

“Depends on what ye came out t’pick, not all fruit grows green.”

“Mmmm” he set off on a slow plod towards the front of the homestead. “Sounds like bitter fruit indeed.”

“Tis at that.” She said out the side of her mouth, following at his side..

“Ye know…” he said, plowing on into the conversation like an ox “Ye need not be the only one t’eat this fruit.”

She smiled up at him fondly.  The trouble was he meant it too, he would patiently listen to everything she had to say about her past life, and forgive her for it to boot.  Trouble was some things weren’t for him to forgive, and she wasn’t deserving of forgiveness anyhow.  

“Some mistakes are jest that lad...bitter fruit only ye can eat in yer old age.  Now hush, n’let me be an old woman in peace.”

“Salty old bitch.” he said, without a hint of malice.

“Green little shit.” she spat, with all a mother’s love. “Thought ye would be out still pickin stones in the western fields, not herding old goats.”

“I was headed that way, but someone claimin t’be a friend oh yourn showed up on our doorstep.”

Hannah stopped as soon as he said it, her foot on the first of the sensible stone steps leading up to the porch of their home.  She eyed the door above them as though it was a serpent rearing to strike.  “That makes them either an idiot or a liar...what’d ye make them t’be?”

Sigmund set down the basket of peas, and as he bent over Hannah noticed a cudgel was tucked into the back of his belt.  It was a plain and heavy affair carved from one of the thick branches of the oaks that dotted the path to the house; Sigmund said he kept it around for wolves and men in need of manners.  Hannah had only seen him use it twice, and that was all she needed to suspect he’d inherited more from her than a need for physical labor.  Nodding towards the house, he gave his mother a knowing look. “He looked like someone who could be trouble iffin he wanted t’be, don’t think he wanted t’be though.  Said he jest wanted t’talk to ye, so I left Sarah t’entertain whilst I fetched ye.”

Fetched me and that there cudgel, Hannah thought as she sucked on one of the silver teeth at the front of her mouth.  She supposed she could have berated him for leaving his family alone with a strange man, but there was time enough for that after she dealt with this.  She went to the wide stump near the front of the house, where they all took turns splitting firewood for chill evenings.  There embedded in the stump was a well worn hatchet no longer than her forearm.  It was hardly a weapon for most folks, but it was a tool she was intimately familiar with.  With a quick yank she freed it, and it slid easily enough into the apron straps behind her back.  Thusly armed, she stomped her way up the steps good and loud so whoever was in there heard her coming.  

Hannah had to admit, with the one exception seated at the kitchen table, she had walked into the picture of farmer’s hospitality.  Sarah had been an inn keeper’s daughter before Sigmund had offered her a life on his homestead, and thusly she had kept his hearth with the same inflexible sensibility that had commanded the line of innkeepers before her.  Everything was where it should be; from the fragrant cooking herbs hung to dry along one wall; to the color coordinated rows of jams and preserves they had sealed in the spring.  Every pot, every pan, every humble clay cup was precisely in the location it needed to be to convey a sense of welcome and warmth to those who were either returning home, or simply temporarily visiting.  It was this way, not because Hannah, or Sigmund, or any of his multitudinous get were particularly neat, but because Sarah Commanded It Be So.  The family bore it with good natured cheer, partly because they loved the small woman, and partly because they enjoyed their home being so.  Even crusty old Hannah enjoyed it; Which was why, when Hannah saw one of Tseng’s things seated at the table amidst everything she considered home, her blood ran colder than any Ishgard winter.  

It didn’t help that Juniper, the eldest of her grandchildren, was seated next to the lean salt haired outline of a man.  Juniper’s innocent grey green eyes were as wide as the tea saucers her mother was setting out, as the little girl of eight tapped one of the many ostentatious gold and silver rings on the thing’s spidery sea worn fingers. “What about...that one?”

 It opened its mouth, showing very white teeth in a wolfish grin, and a raucous laugh tailored to titillate rolled around the kitchen.  “I got that one from a princess of the Ananta, she dared me t’try dancin on one foot afore all her clan, as her people do.  I fell flat on my arse, but she claimed I should have aught t’show fer it anyhow.”

Juniper’s eyes narrowed, and her tiny mouth puckered in the inherent shrewdness of all eight year olds “Wot’s an..Antnata?”

“Oh they’re a sight t’be seen..” It winked (...or was it blinked?) to her and laid a finger along the side of it’s slightly crooked nose, as though the two of them in this bit of information had a precious secret to share. “Serpent women whose beauty tis beyond compare, they live in the outer Fringes outside Gyr Abania.”  

“Liar.” Shot back Juniper with no hesitation whatsoever. “No one’s prettier than Mum.”

This spurred a fierce blush from Sarah’s pale cheeks, and a second, even louder round of laughter from the thing. “How fool oh me t’ferget her” it said between guffaws. “Yer daughter does ye credit madam, she’ll have her pick oh the crews when she comes oh age.”

Hannah saw the spark in Juniper’s eyes as soon as the thing said it, and she knew, she KNEW somewhere in that little sprat’s mind, a life at sea was already painting itself.  It was that stupid, disregarding, need for adventure that still called to her as an old woman, and she would be damned it she let it claim one of hers. 

“She’ll have her pick oh the fields till then.” Hannah said archly from the doorway.  Before she had a chance to seat herself at the table, she was nearly bowled over by her granddaughter who flung herself into Hannah’s stained apron to hug her waist and then tug on the same strings that held the hatchet behind her back.  

“Nana! Nana!  Guess what??” With all the energy of a hummingbird in its prime, Juniper bounced up and down before her.  Hannah couldn’t help but run a gnarled hand through those curling brown locks and ask the expected question.

“What, my cherub?”

Sparing a suspicious glance behind her at their guest, Juniper went to her tiptoes and whispered in a voice that all present could hear.  “He’s a pirate.”  

Hannah smiled at that, how could she do anything but?  Still the important thing was to get Juniper as far away from the trouble at their table as fast as she could, if she had to lie to the child to do so, so be it.  “Taint nice t’call someone a pirate, even iffin they do look like one.  Asides, there’s no such things as pirates any more, the Admiral’s sweepin em all back out t’sea.  Now yer father’s out on the porch about t’start shellin peas, why don’t ye go help him?”

“But Nan..”

“Now child.” Hannah cut the babe off with a clipped tone that brooked no backtalk, a tone she hated using, but nonetheless had the desired effect.  With a bit of a wounded look, Juniper shot around her, and out the front door.  Hannah looked to Sarah, and for a moment, she thought she would have to ask the woman to leave as well.  However Sarah seemed to pick up from the look that this was neither a conversation for her or tea, and with a sigh set the pot off the stove.  Turning to leave for the door, Hannah’s prim and proper daughter-in-law paused to eye them both and then spoke.  “If you two are planning to kill one another, please do it outside.  If I come back and find anything in here broken, we’ll be digging two graves instead of just the one.” That said, she turned on a heel and followed her daughter out.  

“Some men rescue the damsel from the dragon…” It said, watching Sarah’s flouncing departure. “Other’s jest marry the dragon.” 

She stared at the man-like thing for a moment, carefully considering her words, diplomacy after all was the bedrock of civilization.  “Shut the feck up.”  

The one yellow eye narrowed to a slit as she said it, and for a moment she thought they really would just kill one another in her family’s cozy little kitchen.  Instead the thing that looked like a man eased back into it’s chair, and with a lazy hand motion, admitted the floor was hers.  So she licked her lips and pressed on.  “No jokes, no fables, no amusing anecdotes...jest plain speech.  I know ye get somat from that other stuff...yer like her in that respect, but whatever that tis ye ent gettin it from this house, not from these people.  Not while I’m still alive and kickin.”

It looked slightly affronted by that, keeping its eye on her as it reached for the bowl in the middle of the table, and selecting one of the pears that sat there.  She blinked and there was a knife in its hand, cutting off the rind of the fruit into a neat little curl off to the side.  A small rueful smile curled its way across that face, not unlike the peel.  “Ye sit there, talkin about me like I’m some terror from the deeps come t’visit horror upon ye and yer family.”  it said.

Hannah kept her eyes steady and forward, not daring to look away.  She’d warned Argus Stormwater another lifetime ago never to take his eyes off this one, he’d ignored her advice, and had paid for it with his life.   With the same steady calm as her stare, she pulled out a chair at the table, and then rested her bones upon it.  “Convince me that yer otherwise Kail.” 

“Oh come now.” Kail said as it continued undressing the pear.  “M’a lawful citizen oh Limsa Lominsa just as yerself, aught that not warrant me a little faith?”

Hannah didn’t let her expression alter one jot.  “I was there the night ye gave Jehige a second grin then tossed him off the docks, I’m well familiar with what ye are cutter.”

There followed a silence thick enough to spread on toast after she laid that out between them, Kail’s knife paused in mid slice, and that yellow eye eased up to lock on with her gaze.  “Look me in the eye and tell me he didn’t have that comin.” It said, and there wasn’t a hint of regret in that voice.  

It had been as if the act had been cut wood, drawn water, or any one of a dozen chores that Kail had needed to do that day, and it would probably never see the murder as anything else.  Oh it was true that Jehige would have sold his mother to the slaving guilds for spare change, but the utter casual nature that Kail had discarded him was a stark reminder to Hannah.  It was a reminder that if Kail was ever doing figures in it’s head, and reached the answer of one dead Hannah, then that is what her grandchildren would find in her bed.  

“I don’t think either oh us are in any position t’sit in judgement.” She said, and even as she said it, she realized it was true.  With an effort of will she drew her finger tips from the handle of the hatchet, where they had unconsciously come to rest as her mind had wound her up even further during the conversation.  She set her hands upon the table, and left them there.  “What is it ye want Kail?”

It grinned wide and white, not unlike a shark ready to take a bite.  “As it so happens, I want t’do ye a favor.” It said, and then it did bite, right into the peeled pear with no shortage of vigor and relish.  As it chewed with juice dribbling down it’s chin, Hannah sat there staring, unsure as how to respond to that.  She found her voice after it took yet another bite of the fruit, seemingly content to wait and watch for her reaction.  “Ye say that, but somehow I’m convinced this ‘favor’ oh yourn tis goin t’look more like barter.”

Kail favored her with a deceptively casual shrug, she had seen it used more than a few times when this thing was a younger boy.  It meant simply that the can of worms went deeper than you thought, Kail was only showing you the surface.  Still she found herself listening to what it had to say.  “Tis an opportunity, and we elder salts know there ent no pay without a little pain.” It said, then it leaned in close. “But what pain wouldn’t be worth bein able t’have a night’s kip without havin nightmares oh Tseng?”

Hannah had known this would concern the old man, had prepared herself for it when she had seen Kail sitting at her family’s table.  Yet still when she heard his name spoken aloud, she felt the small hairs on her arm try to crawl skyward.  She wasn’t as superstitious as the rest of her peers, but she was almost certain that was one of those names that echoed back to the ears of its owner.  “Twenty years tis a long time t’hold a grudge boy, what makes ye even think he’s still about?”

For the first time, Hannah saw the cheer on Kail’s face roll back like the tides, leaving behind a very naked and raw anger still as fresh as that night so long ago.  It’s words were clipped and under control, but only clearly from a small lifetime of tempering them to be so.  “This tisn’t about a grudge, this tis about finishin what we started.  N’iffin yer old bones ent tellin ye that he’s still out there, then yer a better liar than I am.”

She couldn’t help but snort at the hypocrisy, and made to rise from the table. “There ye are callin me a liar, but yer about t’split down the middle fer a chance t’get at him.  Not about a grudge my arse.  Yer about t’get a whole bunch oh folk killed chasin a ghost, n”I fer one ain’t…”

Something landed on the table between the two of them, dropping with a strange permanence that suggested nothing but someone picking it up would ever move it from that spot.  Kail had fished it out a pocket and tossed it on the table, Hannah stared as the world seemed to twist about the small thing.  At first glance it was a gemstone, a tear drop of a strange opalescence, without a single facet to suggest a jeweler’s tools had ever touched it.  It was in her hand before she told herself to pick it up, and she was drawing it closer for her old eyes to see.  She had to be sure.  She dimly heard Kail’s slow growl of a voice somewhere in the distance, but she simply didn’t have the room in her head to listen as she slowly became lost in the folds of light beneath the gem’s surface.  There it was...that oily sheen was as sure a signature of Tseng’s hand as any lord’s seal.  Steeling herself, she tore the gem from her gaze and set it back on the table.  She turned her weary eyes upon Kail, and asked it...asked him, she would have to get used to that idea now if they would be working together.  “Where?” 

He took a flask out one of those many pockets and passed it across the table to her, she gratefully took it and availed herself of the burning contents.  “I took it from a gunship I had t’scuttle back in Ala Mhigo.” He said “ Twas with a bit oh correspondence that suggests the captain was one oh Tseng’s.”

Hannah froze in mid sip, a horrible thought occurring to her.  “He ent workin with the Imperials is he?”

To her relief, Kail shook his head.  “He eats and breathes hate fer them, he’d slit his own throat afore it came to that.  Slipping a few pawns in their ranks and absconding with some of their resources though?”

She nodded in reply, it was a move that was just as much a signature of the old man as the sheen in the stone.  Kail was right, Tseng wasn’t just alive, he had a hand in the world stage.  Despite all the time that had passed, all the good she had done in the years between, she had helped him do so.  There was only one reply to that.  “What do ye need from me?”

  Kail removed the gem from the table, reaching for it with all the care one handles a snake. “I know how t’get Tseng’s attention.  To do that though...I’ll need t’sail into the Teeth.”

Hannah winced at the thought.  Far out to the east in the Sea of Glass were a set of islands known to sailors as the Seven Maws. As sailors were both poetic and original, they called the barrier of razor sharp obsidian glass that surrounded the islands the Teeth.  It was inaccessible from the air as the obsidian apparently carried trace amounts of aether, this aether caused a perpetual lightning storm to crackle over the islands.  Any airship that tried to pass through it was ripped apart by enough bolts to give even Raiden the Storm Father pause.  On the flip side however, to try and sail through the Teeth by way of the water was no task for the faint of heart.  Hannah could count on one hand the number of Captains who had told her they had sailed through the Teeth and that she believed.  Kail wasn’t one of them. “So what are ye talkin t’me fer?  Ye need the best navigator ye can lay hands on.  That ent me.”

“Well..” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve a navigator already in mind, but I think he’s not of the mind t’accept iffin I’m the one doin the offerin.”

Hannah felt her mouth set into a grimace, here it came. “Why?”

“I sort of ...broke his leg and killed half his crew.”

In the swollen, pregnant, and morning sick silence that followed; Hannah wondered if she could break one of Sarah’s clay jars over Kail’s head without giving her daughter-in-law cause to carry out her earlier threat.  In the end she eschewed the fantasy to continue the conversation. “So yer the bastard Toumgara is swearing up and down the docks he’s going to murder at his earliest opportunity.” 

“T’be fair, he started it, and I ent the only one t’thank fer given him a black eye.”  If Hannah didn’t know any better, there was a fond tone in his voice as he said it.  

“Regardless how the feck do ye expect me t’smooth things oer?” She asked “Toum’s young enough t’still be floatin on his pride, he wouldn’t sail fer ye without a good reason.”

Kail took a sip from his flask, which she never remembered handing back to him.  “He also loves the old stories, and by extension the old crews that helped make them.  I don’t think ye could smooth things oer, but I think Hatchet Hannah could.”  He said, giving her a significant glance that seemed to pierce straight through what she had been building the past twenty years, and to the solid steel tool thrust through the strings of her apron.  She had to put effort into not flinching away from that. With a smirk sharp enough to cut oneself on he added. “Iffin that doesn’t work, tell him there’s treasure involved, that allus works.”  

Hannah blinked as he started to rise from her table, not even waiting for her answer.  She didn’t want to ask...but there was still that small part of her that roared for rolling waves, and sheets full of the southern winds, so she did. “Is there?”

Kail’s face didn’t shift an iota beyond that smirk as he rose, when he stood straight however...he winked at her...or was it a blink?  He left without another word.  She sat there staring at the bowl of pears in the middle of the table, not really sure what she would do now.  After a few moments Sigmund came into the kitchen, herding Juniper and telling her that no she couldn’t have a fox of her own, he didn’t care how cute the other one had been.  Hannah watched them, and knew, sure as spring was coming, that if she didn’t fix this, Sigmund would find out...and he would take it upon himself to do what she couldn’t.  So when her son sat down in the seat that her past had been warming, and asked her what had happened.  She didn’t answer, she just grabbed a pear from the bowl, and took a bite.  

[maloventomalocore-blog]

Mysteries of Beast, Blood and Bone

20-26 minuti

Crow skulls, bones, and foot

© 2013 Sarah Anne Lawless – Originally printed in Serpent Songs: An Anthology of Traditional Craft curated by Nicholaj de Mattos Frisvold and published by Scarlet Imprint. Do not copy or use any portion of this text or its images without the express permission of the author, but sharing the link is very welcome.

skulls line the windowsills. Skulls float in jars on top of cupboards. Bones boil in pots on the stove, the flesh melting away. Hidden among the drying herbs and roots there are hearts and tongues and eyes. It is not Baba Yaga’s hut I describe, but my kitchen. Bone collector, bone washer, animal necromancer, deathwalker, shapeshifter, poisoner, witch… these are the words people whisper of me and my practices. Some whisper with fear and others with desire. I am an animist, a folk magician, and a rootworker. It is not just herbs I work with in my folk magic, but also skulls and bones, hearts and tongues. I practice the lost art of working with beast, blood, and bone in order to rebirth the ancient nature of Witch as a wild and primal creature; surrounded by spirits, anointed with blood, dressed in hides, and adorned with talismans of bone, tooth, and claw.

The magic of beasts is sympathetic magic, fetiche magic, and death magic, but it is also sensual magic. It is the feel of the Saturn finger dipped in warm blood, of softest fur on barest skin, of sharpest tooth and talon biting in, of a raw heart on the tongue, and the scent of decay deep in the lungs. It is the rendered fat of a flying ointment like smooth silk across the brow, and it is the tactile, dirty, grounding sorcery of the here and now. It is an amoral, carnal, fleshly, and sensory feast of visceral magic combining the sacred and the profane. The magic of beasts belongs to the wild sorcerers who are part human, part spirit, and part animal; the ones who dance the knife’s edge between the worlds of life and death, the incarnate and disincarnate.

It is only practical to work with the animals and spirits who share the land where I live, for they have a closer relationship with me than any romanticized exotic animals across the sea. On my altar you will find the spirits of the Pacific Northwest: Orca, Salmon, Black Bear, Black Wolf, Mountain Lion, Mountain Goat, White-Tailed Deer, and wings of the birds who haunt our skies and the tree tops of Hemlock and Red Cedar. Old Woman and Old Man of the Woods whispered to me their names in dreams and one by one the beasts came to me. On my altar are their antlers, horns, bones, skulls, teeth, hides and feathers. The ones I did not find myself ended up in my care through bone collectors, shamans, and hunters.

It is important to state that I do not kill the creatures who come to me; instead, they are brought to me after death by conservation officers, hunters, taxidermists, and from friends as road kill. This is my choice and yet in the future I hope to go with my animist friends who hunt in a sacred manner and help them skin and butcher and then take of the bones and flesh they will not eat or use. When I receive dead beasts, plastic is rolled across the table, knives laid out, and gloves and a mask are worn. The still bodies are smudged with fragrant herbs, anointed with holy water, and blessings of cleansing and release are whispered over them. The bodies may be still but their spirits are not. Sometimes it isn’t enough and the animal’s spirit must be bargained with; some demanding to be buried whole with nothing taken, some who will only give up a few parts for sacred work and no more, and some who demand an offering or a working before you may proceed. It is best to respect their remains and their demands for they can curse you better than any witch if you anger them. Folly alone will lead you to curse yourself: butchery and preservation require training as dead animals carry disease, bacteria, parasites, and legal issues –it is not something to walk into blindly.

Crow Claw TalismansThis path is not for everyone; it is not for the weak of stomach or for those who think it is immoral. I grew up with hunters and fishers. I’ve lived by the sea, I’ve lived on a farm raising livestock, and I’ve lived deep in the wildest forests. I was once a professional butcher and cook. It is how I can do what I do. Why follow this path? It should compel you and feed your soul in some way. What is the reward of such bloody work? It is simple, if you want to be a shape-shifter and a walker between worlds, if you want to learn the tongues of beasts, if you want to align yourself more closely than you could ever believe with your animal familiars and the genius loci, then you will also need to work closely with death, blood, and bone. Our ancestors were not soft or squeamish and we must not white-wash their memory by imagining they didn’t kill the deer used to make their ceremonial costume, the raven for their feathered headdress and cloak, or the bear for its hide to craft their drums and rattles. We must approach our Mighty Dead in full knowledge they killed the swans buried in their sacrificial pits, they killed the mare buried beneath the feasting hall, and they killed the hornless bull for its hide to wrap around their seer so he may dream of invaders’ ships. Long have we as the human race worked with animals, their deaths, and their spirits in our rites and ceremonies. Long will our descendants do so after we are dead.

Death will show you a side of your character as yet unknown and your reaction will either gladden you or horrify you. We are so far removed from death in our modern, sterile, clinical world that it is more important than ever as spirit workers to reconnect ourselves and others with death, blood, and bone. I work with death so I can be close to it. Being close to death reminds me I too am a spirit, walking around in a suit of flesh which I may come and go from as I please. When you are close to death you are close to spirits and more easily able to see and commune with them. When you are close to spirits, you are closer to the other worlds where they reside and therefore more easily able to transverse them.

FORMULARY OF THE BEAST

I share my ancestors’ belief in sympathetic magic and, when I wish to work more closely with an animal spirit, I need to also work with its remains whether it is a claw, its hide, or its whole skeleton. To practice this magic one must be able to seek out death; for bone collectors and necromancers can sense bones and remains when they pass nearby, be it in the forest or the flea market.

You are what you eat. Sympathetic magic takes this common phrase to a deeper level. To acquire the keen hearing, quick reflexes, and agility of a deer, one would eat venison. To acquire keen eyesight or the ability to fly like a bird, crossing between the other worlds, one would eat poultry. Our ancestor believed to eat a thing is to absorb its powers, spirit, and knowledge into yourself to making you more powerful or wise. To kill a thing is to take its spirit. Hunters of old would usually let the spirit go and return the bones of a fish to the river it was caught and the bones of a deer to the forest of its death as a sign of respect so the creature could be reborn again and eaten again.

Not every animal was let go. Some animals were hunted solely for their spirits: for their hides, their bones, for their claws and teeth, for their power, and for their help as an ally, totem, or familiar. Such spirits are asked to willingly offer themselves and stay with you until it is your turn to die. Our ancestors asked permission, not merely of the animal spirits themselves, but of the ruling genius loci, before they hunted or harvested as is evidenced in the hunter’s invocations in the Kalevala, ancient Latin spells petitioning Artemis, and oral Scottish tales of disrespectful hunters being found dead, killed by a wild shape-shifting crone.

When you bring home any part of an animal with the intention of enlivening it as a fetiche, keep in mind that like any living creature you would have be your pet, you must also be responsible for any spirit you take home – you must accept its wildness and instincts, sate its hunger and thirst, clean it when it becomes soiled, and give it of your love, your energy and your time. The respect, reverence, and care you give a familiar spirit and the fetiche it inhabits is what you will gain in return.

Each part of an animal can be used as a fetiche, a spirit house, a ritual tool, and as a spell ingredient. As a bone collector I save the bones, but as a witch I save the blood, eyes, fats, feet, hearts, skins, teeth, and tongues as well.

He layeth corpses at my feet;

not dead slain by warrior’s hand

or creatures fit to eat,

but brings me tongue and heart,

skull and bone, tooth and eye

– all to work my grisly witch’s art.

Owl Skull

Fresh bones wet and greasy with fat and blood, smooth white bones stained with earth, dry rough bones eroded by wind and water… no matter their condition the bones and skulls of a dead animal connect us directly with the creature’s spirit and the spirits of all their kind, living and dead. Collect the bones and skulls of animal familiars to ease communion and interaction with them. Gather the bones of animals each from the realms of land, sea, and sky if you wish to better transverse between the worlds and shift between shapes. Become an osteomancer by throwing the bones to divine secrets, foreknowledge, and the keys to your questions. Carve and paint the bones with runes and sigils. Become a charmer and wear a baculum for fertility, virility, sexual prowess, and protection.

The empty eye sockets of skulls watch and guard, apotropaic and undead they never tire of their duty. Hang the skulls of sharp-toothed predators over garden gates and chicken coops to keep out unwanted beasts. Hang them over your own door to keep out unwanted spirits and energies and let them be your fanged bouncers, your hunting hounds. Hang the skulls of horned beasts above a stable, outbuilding, or gate for protection and also to ensure the health and fertility of any livestock or wild game on your land.

The skull is where awareness and the senses dwell. Skulls are the most suited part of a skeleton for a spirit house. Magically cleanse your skull in a ceremony and ask if its spirit wants to continue to dwell in it or if another beast of its kind wishes to volunteer. I prefer the spirit the skull once housed as the connection between the two is much stronger. Consecrate the skull to its purpose as spirit vessel and a tie for that spirit to our middle world. To summon and work with the spirit you can chant:

Black is the colour of womb and tomb;

we meet at night on the dark of the moon.

White is the colour of bone and ash;

to speak to the dead we bathe and fast.

Red is the colour of blood and death;

we rub the bones and give them breath.

Clean the fetiche and leave its spirit offerings on a regular basis for the rest of your life until you pass it on to another or you die. If you must, you can desecrate a spirit vessel in ceremony and release the spirit from the bone.

Blood is a sacrifice that feeds the hungry spirits and the insatiable earth. Blood ties us to life and death for we are born in blood and we die when our blood flows through the earth instead of our veins. Blood is holy water, life force, heat, and metal. The spirit dwells in the blood and when you drink of it you are possessed by it, bound to it, and it to you. The earth hungers for blood; the ancient battlefields long to be soaked in red, the mountains cry out for human sacrifice, and the herb garden hungers for dead crows. How they flourish when painted red, how green and juicy the plants grow when fed off of the blood of mortals and beasts alike. The whole of nature feeds off of death and decay. Leave out offerings of blood or raw meat to the genius loci, to the plants, to the black earth, and see how greedily the spirits claw and bite and devour it. The hungry earth is the easiest way to clean bones. Bone collectors learn to feed their gardens the unwanted flesh of their work so only pure osseous matter is left.

Blood will tie you to living beasts, it will cleanse you like holy water, protect you like an amulet, and lend you increased power and life force for your ceremonies. Blood can heal – trading a life for a life, sickliness for health. Blood can bring you closer to death and your ancestors. Blood can curse too; spilled and spat upon, a life taken in an enemy’s name.

“Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of a Christian man,” says the giant. “I smell Russian blood,” says Baba Yaga. The spirits can smell our blood and by it know that we are human. They will want to drink your blood like the hungry earth for not all spirits are amicable towards us mortals. Animal blood will distract them from your scent and feed their hunger… for the moment. Blood spilled on feather down seems to be a favourite. Is it not why we bathe in cold spring waters, rub and smudge ourselves with fragrant herbs, and adorn ourselves in animal hides? We disguise ourselves as forest creatures to safely travel in and out of the territories of dangerous spirits..

Claws click, dig, and bite deep, shedding blood. Sharp claws and talons have long been worn as protective amulets – wear them about your neck to prevent attacks from the familiar spirits of other magicians and to chase away the evil eye like an owl hunts down a mouse with its eyes upon a corn field. In a trance straddling the worlds shamans use a sharp-clawed bird foot to tear illnesses or elf darts out of a patient’s body, to chase away the evil eye, to shield and protect, or to send forth biting curses to rend apart a rival or enemy. Keep the feet, toes, and nails to walk in a beast’s footsteps and wear them about your neck for rites of shape-shifting.

Arthritic Crow Foot

Save the eyes to see the unseen, to have visions, and dream dreams. Preserve them and keep them to see like the animal and better shift your shape into feather, fur, or silver skin. Eyes to spy: wear them around your neck or place them under you head to see through the eyes of their living kind far away.

Eyes to send the evil eye. Eyes to bind and blind. Eyes to stab and curse. An eye to repel the evil eye. Add to a protection talisman to carry or hide in your car or home. Eyes to watch and warn of dangers. Hang over your door for the worries of this world and place on your altar for dangers from the otherworld. Eyes as offerings to seer spirits and deities of the divinatory arts. Burn them and bury them, the eyes to see the future.

Creamy, luscious, succulent fat – it makes such a good and pleasing offering to the gods and spirits. The rendered fats of beasts can be transformed via alchemy into flying ointments, tallow candles, protective ritual grease paints, and potent medicines. Hallucinogenic plant poisons insidiously infuse more thoroughly into animal fats and into your bloodstream than through a vegetable medium. My ointment of bear fat and henbane seed serves me well in my rites of shape-shifting and seership. When I use it I anoint my bear skull as well as myself. I do the same for my crow and owl skulls with my ointment of bird fats infused with feather ashes, the dust of bird bones, solanceae and artemisias – it aids me in spirit flight and travelling through the worlds in the form of a bird.

Burn down a tallow candle of bear to invoke its spirit or to give offering to a deity or nature spirit whom bear is sacred to. Fat is the food of the gods; burn the fat of pig, goat, deer, bear, cow, and bird as a grand offering. Bury it raw in the woods for the spirits of the wild. Rub fat on a statue to feed its inhabiting spirit.

Mix rendered fats with potent magical herbs, charcoals, and natural pigments to create grease paints to protect your body and soul for your rites of spirit work – especially those of possession and shape-shifting. Rub sacred fats into your untreated wooden ritual tools to feed them, darken them, and strengthen them.

Feathers lend us wings to fly out of body and between the worlds, tucked in the hair or stitched onto the collars and sleeves of cloaks. Feathers connect us to the world of the spirits and can deliver messages between them. Feathers tied to staffs, stangs, wands, ritual pipes, drums, and rattles used in spirit work. Feathers to slice and cut or feathers to caress and heal. Feathers hung for protection when travelling and feathers tucked under the mattress to receive true dreams. Wings to sweep away what doesn’t suit us and wings cleanse our bodies and souls. Wings wash away emotions and parasitic spirits like a fierce wind. Smudge with a tail fan to help redirect energies so things flow smoothly once more.

Rook and Crow Fetish

The heart is one of the seats of the soul. A poet would say a soul is not free from the body until the heart rots, eaten by the earth. To keep a heart is to collect a soul and its power. To hide one’s heart like a sorcerer in an ancient tale is to cheat death. To wrap a poultice around a heart is to heal a heart that still beats. To stab a heart is to tear into a soul and let darkness in.

Bake a heart into a salt dough poppet. It is your choice whether the dough contains healing or baneful herbs and whether you cover it in healing poultices or stab it with ill intent. Give a heart the name of your enemy and feed it to your pet or eat it yourself to gain power over them. Prick a fresh heart with pins, needles, or thorns to curse another or to reverse a curse laid upon you. Burn a heart on a fire or bury it in a pit as an offering to your gods or spirits whose currency is souls. Hearts can be dried and saved for later use like any herb in an apothecary. Reanimate a dried heart with red wine and red ochre until it is swollen and bloody once more.

Our ancestors wrapped themselves in fur hides to bring on prophetic dreams, to shape-shift into an animal, to journey into the other world, and to call upon their familiar spirits for their power and aid. Bear hides for dreaming, deer hides for transvection, wolf hides for hunting and battle, and seal hides for navigating the mysterious ocean. Furs are tools of magic and can be used as altar cloths, ritual costumes, and sacred blankets.

The rawhide of beasts is the body of our ritual drums and our rattles. We transform skin into musical instruments so the spirits will hear the song of their own flesh and come to us in our time of need. Any creature with skin can become a drum. The hide of each beast sings a different song in a different tune: deer and elk are high and resonant, bear is a deep and thundering roar, and cow and buffalo are soft and deep like their dark liquid eyes.

Save the leather for ritual costumes, for binding your book of arte, and for the crafting of amulets, fetiches, and sacred medicine bundles. Save the skin of a bird to craft from it a crane bag where you will store all your tools, fetiches, and talismans you wish to take with you into other worlds and other forms.

Teeth to bite and gnaw and scare. Teeth to devour curses, attacking spirits, and meddlesome folk. Teeth to chew and spit back out. Teeth to warn an unruly cub and teeth to put a trickster back in line. Teeth to rip and rend and bloody an enemy. Teeth to give bite to those who lack it and need it. My what big teeth you have, bigger than mine, predator to my prey. A fool stands against one armed to the teeth, but a wiser beast runs away. A tooth carved with a sigil and sung with a rune, carried to protect one from harm. A tooth dipped in venomous herbs to energetically stab and dig in like a serpent’s fang – the tooth of a bear, lion, whale, shark, or wolf.

Fox and Bat skulls

Tongues to speak benevolence or malevolence, tongues to bind or cut out, tongues to sweeten others to your cause or to ruin another’s. Are there tongues in the crane bag on your altar that you may speak and understand the languages of beasts of land and sea and sky? Do you possess tongues to exchange for your own in the otherworld so the animal spirits will understand you when you speak? I collect the tongues of birds, messengers between the worlds and ferriers of souls, that my own tongue may speak prophecy and knowledge from the other side and that the spirits may hear me when I call out.

CONCLUSION

I offer this knowledge to those students of the mysteries who truly wish to deepen their relationship with the animal world. Animals have a lot to teach us about magic and wisdom. Long have they been viewed by the human race as guardians, protectors, and teachers proficient in magic, shape-shifting, and communication with the supernatural world. Animals are our familiars, our messengers and intermediaries, our dream companions, our omens, the skulls and feathers on our altars, the skin of our drums and rattles, the antler and bone of our tool handles, the tooth and claw of our fetishes, the tallow in our candles, and the leather of our crane bags. They are furred and feathered gods in the trees, on our dinner plates, and in our homes deserving of our respect, reverence, and a change in our attitudes towards them.

Further Reading:

Bone Collecting: Cleansing & Consecration

[john-carter-was-here]

Excerpts from the Notebooks of Lazarus Long

Stolen from: Time Enough For Love by Robert A. Heinlein

 Always store beer in a dark place.

 By the data to date, there is only one animal in the Galaxy dangerous to man – man himself. So he must supply his own indispensable competition. He has no enemy to help him.

 Men are more sentimental than women. It blurs their thinking.

 Certainly the game is rigged. Don’t let that stop you; if you don’t bet, you can’t win.

 Any priest or shaman must be presumed guilty until proved innocent.

 Always listen to experts. They’ll tell you what can’t be done, and why. Then do it.

 Get a shot off fast. This upsets him long enough to let you make your second shot perfect.

 There is no conclusive evidence of life after death. But there is no evidence of any sort against it. Soon enough you will know. So why fret about it?

 If it can’t be expressed in figures, it is not science; it is opinion.

 It has been long known that one horse can run faster than another–but which one? Differences are crucial.

 A fake fortuneteller can be tolerated. But an authentic soothsayer should be shot on sight. Cassandra did not get half the kicking around she deserved.

 Delusions are often functional. A mother’s opinions about her children’s beauty, intelligence, goodness, et cetera ad nauseam, keep her from drowning them at birth.

 Most “scientists” are bottle washers and button sorters.

 A “pacifist male” is a contradiction in terms. Most self- described “pacifists” are not pacific; they simply assume false colors. When the wind changes, they hoist the Jolly Roger.

 Nursing does not diminish the beauty of a woman’s breasts; it enhances their charm by making them looked lived in and happy.

 A generation which ignores history has no past–and no future.

 A poet who reads his verse in public may have other nasty habits.

 What a wonderful world it is that has girls in it!

 Small change can often be found under seat cushions.

 History does not record anywhere at any time a religion that has any rational basis. Religion is a crutch for people not strong enough to stand up to the unknown without help. But, like dandruff, most people do have a religion and spend time and money on it and seem to derive considerable pleasure from fiddling with it.

 It’s amazing how much “mature wisdom” resembles being too tired.

 If you don’t like yourself, you can’t like other people.

 Your enemy is never a villain in his own eyes. Keep this in mind; it may offer a way to make him your friend. If not, you can kill him without hate–and quickly.

 A motion to adjourn is always in order.

 No state has an inherent right to survive through conscript troops and, in the long run, no state ever has. Roman matrons used to say to their sons: “Come back with your shield, or on it.” Later on, this custom declined. So did Rome.

 Of all the strange “crimes” that human beings have legislated out of nothing, “blasphemy” is the most amazing – with “obscenity” and “indecent exposure” fighting it out for second and third place.

 Cheops Law: Nothing ever gets built on schedule or within budget.

 It is better to copulate than never.

 All societies are based on rules to protect pregnant women and young children. All else is surplusage, excrescence, adornment, luxury, or folly which can–and must–be dumped in emergency to preserve this prime function. As racial survival is the only universal morality, no other basic is possible. Attempts to formulate a “perfect society” on any foundation other than “Women and children first!” is not only witless it is automatically genocidal. Nevertheless, starry-eyed idealists (all of them male) have tried endlessly–and no doubt will keep on trying.

 All men are created unequal.

 Money is a powerful aphrodisiac. But flowers work almost as well.

 A brute kills for pleasure. A fool kills from hate.

 There is only one way to console a widow. But remember the risk.

 When the need arises–and it does–you must be able to shoot your own dog. Don’t farm it out–that doesn’t make it nicer; it makes it worse.

 Everything in excess! To enjoy the flavor of life, take big bites. Moderation is for monks.

 It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier.

 One man’s theology is another man’s belly laugh.

 Sex should be friendly. Otherwise stick to mechanical toys; it’s more sanitary.

 Men rarely(if ever) manage to dream up a god superior to themselves. Most gods have the manners and morals of a spoiled child.

 Never appeal to a man’s “better nature.” He may not have one. Invoking self-interest gives you more leverage.

 Little girls, like butterflies, need no excuse.

 You can have peace. Or you can have freedom. Don’t ever count on having both at once.

 Avoid making irrevocable decisions while tired or hungry. N.B.: Circumstances can force your hand. So think ahead!

 Place your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark.

 An elephant: A mouse built to government specifications.

 Throughout history, poverty is the normal condition of man. Advances which permit this norm to be exceeded–here and there, now and then– are the work of an extremely small minority, frequently despised, often condemned, and almost always opposed by all right thinking people. Whenever this tiny minority is kept from creating, or (as sometimes happens) is driven out of a society, the people then slip back into abject poverty.  This is known as “bad luck.”

 In a mature society, “civil servant” is semantically equal to “civil master.”

 When a place gets crowded enough to required ID’s, social collapse is not far away. It is time to go elsewhere. The best thing about space travel is that it made it possible to go elsewhere.

 A woman is not property, and husbands who think otherwise are living in a dreamworld.

 The second best thing about space travel is that the distances involved make war a very difficult, usually impractical, and almost always unnecessary. This is probably a loss for most people, since war is our race’s most popular diversion, one which gives purpose and color to dull and stupid lives. But it is a great boon to the intelligent man who fights only when he must–never for sport.

 A zygote is a gamete’s way of producing more gametes. This may be the purpose of the universe.

 There are hidden contradictions in the minds of people who “love Nature” while deploring the “artificialities” with which “Man has spoiled ‘Nature.’” The obvious contradiction lies in their choice of words, which imply that man and his artifacts are not part of “Nature”–but beavers and their dams are. But the contradictions go deeper than this prima-facie absurdity. In declaring his love for a beaver dam (erected by beavers for beavers’ purposes) and his hatred for dams erected by men (for the purpose of men) the “Naturist” reveals his hatred of his own race –i.e. his own self-hatred.  In the case of “Naturists” such self-hatred is understandable; they are such a sorry lot. But hatred is too strong an emotion to feel toward them; pity and contempt are the most they rate.  As for me, willy-nilly I am a man, not a beaver, and H. sapiens is the only race I have or can have. Fortunately for me I like being part of a race made of men women –it strikes me as a fine arrangement and perfectly “natural.”  Believe it or not, there were “Naturists” who opposed the first flight to old Earth’s Moon as being “unnatural” and a “despoiling of Nature.”

 “No man is an island–” Much as we may feel and act as individuals, our race is a single organism, always growing and branching– which must be pruned regularly to be healthy. This necessity need not be argued; anyone with eyes can see that any organism which grows without limit always dies in its own poisons. The only rational question is whether pruning is best done before or after birth.  Being an incurable sentimentalist I favor the former of these methods – killing makes me queasy, even when it’s a case of “He’s dead and I’m alive and that’s the way I wanted it to be.”  But this may be a mater of taste. Some shaman think that it is better to be in a war, or to die in childbirth, or to starve in misery, than never to have lived at all. They may be right.  But I don’t have to like it – and I don’t.

 Democracy is based on the assumption that a million men are wiser than one man. How’s that again? I missed something.

 Autocracy is based on the assumption that one man is wiser than a million men. Let’s play that over again too. Who decides?

 Any government will work if authority and responsibility are equal and coordinate. This does not insure “good” government; it simply insures that it will work. But such governments are rare – most people want to run things but want no part of the blame. This used to be called the “backseat-driver syndrome.”

 What are the facts? Again and again and again – what are the facts? Shun wishful thinking, ignore divine revelation, forget what the “the stars foretell,” avoid opinion, care not what the neighbors think, never mind the unguessable “verdict of history” – what are the facts, and to how many decimal places? You pilot always into an unknown future; facts are your single clue. Get the facts!

 Stupidity cannot be cured with money, or through education, or by legislation. Stupidity is not a sin, the victim can’t help being stupid. But stupidity is the only universal capital crime; the sentence is death, there is no appeal, and execution is carried out automatically and without pity.

 God is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent – it says so right here on the label. If you have a mind capable of believing all three of these diving attributes simultaneously, I have a wonderful bargain for you. No checks, please. Cash and in small bills.

 Courage is the complement of fear. A man who is fearless cannot be courageous. (He is also a fool.)

 The two highest achievements of the human mind are the twin concepts of “loyalty” and “duty.” Whenever these twin concepts fall into disrepute– get out of there fast! You may possibly save yourself, but it is too late to save that society. It is doomed.

 People who go broke in a big way never miss any meals. It is the poor jerk who is shy by half a slug who must tighten his belt.

 The truth of a proposition has nothing to do with its credibility. And vice versa.

 Anyone who cannot cope with mathematics is not fully human. At best he is a tolerable subhuman who has learned to wear shoes, bathes, and not make messes in the house.

 Moving parts in rubbing contact require lubrication to avoid excessive wear. Honorifics and formal politeness provide lubrication where people rub together. Often the very young, the untraveled, the naive, the unsophisticated deplore these formalities as “empty,” “meaningless,” or “dishonest.” and scorn to use them. No matter how “pure” their motives, they thereby throw sand into machinery that does not work too well at best.

 A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, built a wall, set a bon, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.

 The more you love, the more you can love – the more intensely you love. Nor is there any limit on how many you can love. If a person had time enough, he could love all of that majority who are decent and just.

Masturbation is cheap, clean, convient, and free of any possibility of wrongdoing–and you don’t have to go home in the cold. But it’s lonely.

 Beware of altruism. It is based on self-deception, the root of all evil.

 If tempted by something that feels “altruistic,” examine your motives and root out that self-deception. Then if you still want to do it, wallow in it!

 The most preposterous notion that H. sapiens has ever dreamed up is that the Lord God of Creation, Shaper and Ruler of all the Universes, wants the saccharine adoration of His creatures, can be swayed by their prayers, and becomes petulant if He does not receive this flattery. Yet this absurd fantasy, without a shred of evidence to bolster it, pays all the expense of the oldest, largest, and least productive industry in all history.

 The second most preposterous notion is that copulation is inherently sinful.

 Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of – but do it in private and was your hands afterwards.

$100 placed at 7 percent interest compounded quarterly for 200 years will increase to more that $100,000,000 – by which time it will be worth nothing.

 Dear, don’t bore him with trivia or burden him with your past mistakes. The happiest way to deal with a man is never to tell him anything he does not need to know.

Darling, a true lady takes off her dignity with her clothes and does her whorish best. At other times you can be as modest and dignified as your person requires.

 Everybody lies about sex.

 If men were the automatons that behaviorists claim they are, the behaviorist psychologists could not have invented the amazing nonsense called “behaviorist psychology.” So they are wrong from scratch – as clever and as wrong as phlogiston chemists.

 The shamans are forever yacking about their snake-oil “miracles.” I prefer the Real McCoy – a pregnant woman.

 If the universe has any purpose more important than topping a woman you love and making a baby with her hearty help, I’ve never heard of it.

 Thou shalt remember the  Eleventh Commandment and keep it Wholly.

 A touchstone to determing the actual worth of an “intellectual” – find out how he feels about astrology.

 Taxes are not levied for the benefit of the taxed.

 There is no such thing as “social gambling.” Either you are there to cut the other bloke’s heart out and eat it – or you’re a sucker. If you don’t like this choice – don’t gamble.

 When the ship lifts, all bills are paid. No regrets.

 The first time I was a drill instructor I was too inexperienced for the job – the things I taught those lads must have got some of them killed. War is too serious a matter to be taught by the inexperienced.

 A competent and self-confident person is incapable of jealous in anything. Jealousy is invariably a symptom of neurotic insecurity.

 Money is the sincerest of all flatter.  Women love to be flattered.  So do men.

 You live and learn. Or you don’t live long.

 Whenever women have insisted on absolute equality with men, they have invariably wound up with the dirty end of the stick. What they are and what they can do makes them superior to men, and their proper tactic is to demand special privileges, all the traffic will bear. They should never settle merely for equality. For women, “equality” is a disaster.

 Peace is an extension of war by political means. Plenty of elbowroom is pleasanter – and much safer.

 One man’s “magic” is another man’s engineering. “Supernatural” is a null word.

 The phrase “we (I) (you) simply must –” designates something that need not be done. “That goes without saying ” is a read warning. “Of Course” means you had best check it yourself. These small-change cliches and others like them, when read correctly, are reliable channel markers.

 Do not handicap your children by making their lives easy.

 Rub her feet.

 If you happen to be one of the fretful minority who can do creative work, never force an idea; you’ll abort it if you do. Be patient and you’ll give birth to it when the time is ripe. Learn to wait.

 Never crowd youngsters about their private affairs – sex especially. When they are growing up, they are never ends all over, and resent (quite properly) any invasion of their privacy. Oh, sure, they’ll make mistakes – but that’s their business, not yours. (You made your own mistakes, did you not ?)

 Never underestimate the power of human stupidity.

More from the Notebooks of Lazarus Long

 Always tell her she is beautiful, especially if she is not.

 If you are part of a society that votes, the do so. There may be no candidates and no measures you want to vote for … but there are certain to be ones you want to vote against. In case of doubt, vote against. By this rule you rarely go wrong.  If this is too blind for your taste, consult some well-meaning fool (there is always one around) and ask his advice. Then vote the other way. This enables you to be a good citizen (if such is your wish) without spending the enormous amount of time on it that truly intelligent exercise of franchise requires.

 Sovereign ingredient for a happy marriages: Pay cash or do without. Interest charges not only eat up a household budget; awareness of debt eats up domestic felicity.

 Those who refuse to support and defend a state have no claim to protection by that state. Killing an anarchist or a pacifist should not be defined as “murder” in a legalistic sense. The offense against the state, if any, should be “Using deadly weapons inside city limits,” or “Creating a traffic hazard,” or “Endangering bystanders,” or other misdemeanor.  However, the state may reasonably place a closed season on these exotic asocial animals whenever they are in danger of becoming extinct. An authentic buck pacifist has rarely been seen off Earth, and it is doubtful that any have survived the trouble there . . regrettable, as they had the biggest mouths and smallest brains of any of the primates.  The small-mouthed variety of anarchist has spread through the Galaxy at the very wave front of the Diaspora; there is no need to protect them. But they often shoot back.

 Another ingredient for a happy marriage: Budget the luxuries first!

 And still another– See to it that she has her own desk – then keep your hands off it!

 And another– In a family argument, if it turns out you are right – apologize at once!

"God split himself into a myriad parts that he might have friends.“ This may not be true, but it sounds good – and is no sillier than any other theology.

 To stay young requires unceasing cultivation of the ability to unlearn old falsehoods.

Does history record any case in which the majority was right?

When the fox gnaws – smile!

A "critic” is a man who creates nothing and thereby feels qualified to judge the work of creative men. There is logic in this; he is unbiased – he hates all creative people equally.

 Money is truthful. If a man speaks of his honor, make him pay cash.

 Never frighten a little man. He’ll kill you.

 Only a sadistic scoundrel – or a fool – tells the bald truth on social occasions.

 This sad little lizard told me that he was a brontosaurus on his mother’s side. I did not laugh; people who boast of ancestry often have little else to sustain them. Humoring them costs nothing and adds to happiness in a world in which happiness is always in short supply.

 In handling a stinging insect, move very slowly.

 To be “matter of fact” about the world is to blunder into fantasy – and dull fantasy at that, as the real world is strange

and wonderful.

 The difference between science and the fuzzy subjects is that science requires reasoning, while the other subjects merely require scholarship.

 Copulation is spiritual in essence – or it is merely friendly exercise. On second thought, strike out “merely.” Copulation is not “merely” – even when it is just a happy pastime for two strangers. But copulation at its spiritual best is so much more than physical coupling that it is different in kind as well as in degree.  The saddest feature of homosexuality is not that is “wrong” or “sinful” or even that it can’t lead to progeny – but that it is more difficult to reach through it this spiritual union. Not impossible – but the cars are stacked against it.  But – most sorrowfully – many people never achieve spiritual sharing even with the help of male-female advantage; they are condemned to wander through life alone.

 Touch is the most fundamental sense. A baby experiences it, all over, before he is born and long before he learns to use sight, hearing, or taste, and no human ever ceases to need it. Keep your children short on pocket money – but long on hugs.

 Secrecy is the beginning of tyranny.

 The greatest productive force is human selfishness.

 Be wary of strong drink. It can make you shoot at tax collectors – and miss.

 The profession of shaman has many advantages. It offers high status with a safe livelihood free of work in the dreary, sweaty sense. In most societies it offers legal privileges and immunities not granted to other men. But it is hard to see how a man who has been given a mandate from on High to spread tidings of joy to all mankind can be seriously interested in taking up a collection to pay his salary; it causes one to suspect that the shaman is on the moral level of any other con man.  But it’s lovely work if you can stomach it.

 A whore should be judged by the same criteria as other professionals offering services for pay – such as dentists, lawyers, hairdressers, physicians, plumbers, etc. Is she professionally competent? Does she give good measure? Is she honest with her clients?  It is possible that the percentage of honest and competent whores is higher than that of plumbers and much higher than that of lawyers. And enormously higher than that of professors.

 Minimize your therbligs until it becomes automatic; this doubles your effective lifetime – and thereby gives time to enjoy butterflies and kittens and rainbows.

 Have you noticed how much they look like orchids? Lovely!

 Expertise in one field does not carry over into other fields. But experts often think so. The narrower their field of knowledge the more likely they are to think so.

 Never try to outstubborn a cat.

 Tilting at windmills hurts you more than the windmills.

 Yield to temptation; it may not pass your way again.

 Waking a person unnecessarily should not be considered a capital crime. For a first offense, that is.

 “Go to hell!” or other insult direct is all the answer a snoopy questions rates.

 The correct way to punctuate a sentence that starts :“Of course it is none of my business but –” is to place a period after the word “but.” Don’t use excessive force in supplying such moron with a period. Cutting his throat is only a momentary pleasure and is bound to get you talked about.

 A man does not insist on physical beauty in a woman who builds up his morale. After a while he realizes that she is beautiful – he just hadn’t noticed it at first.

 A skunk is better company than a person who prides himself on being “frank.”

 “All’s fair in love and war ” – what a contemptible lie!

 Beware of the “Black Swan” fallacy. Deductive logic is tautological; there is no way to get a new truth out of it, and it manipulates false statements as readily as true ones. If you fail to remember this, it can trip you – with perfect logic. The designers of the earliest computers called this the “Gigo Law”; i.e., “Garbage in, garbage out.”

 Inductive logic is much more difficult – but can produce new truths.

 A “practical joker” deserves applause for his wit according to his quality. Bastinado is about right. For exceptional wit one might grant keelhauling. But staking him out on an anthill should be reserved for the very wittiest.

 Natural laws have no pity.

 On the planet Tranquille around KM849(G-O) lives a little animal known as a “knafn.” It is herbivorous and has no natural enemies and is easily approached and may be petted – sort of a six-legged puppy with scales. Stroking it is very pleasant; it wiggles its pleasure and broadcast euphoria in some band that humans can detect. It’s worth the trip.  Someday some bright boy will figure out how to record this broadcast, then some smart boy will see commercial angles – and not longer after that it will be regulated and taxed.  In the meantime I have faked that name and catalog number; it is several thousand light-years off in another direction. Selfish of me –

 Freedom begins when you tell Mrs. Grundy to go fly a kite.

 Take car of the cojones and the frijoles will take car of themselves. Try to have getaway money – but don’t be fanatic about it.

 If “everybody knows” such-and-such, then it ain’t so, by at least ten thousand to one.

 Political tags – such as royalist, communist, democrat, populist, fascist, liberal, conservative, and so forth – are never basic criteria. The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire. The former are idealists acting from the highest motives for the greatest good of the greatest number. The latter are surly curmudgeons, suspicious and lacking in altruism. But they are more comfortable neighbors than the other sort.

 All cats are not gray after midnight. Endless variety–

 Sin lies only in hurting other people unnecessarily. All other “sins” are invented nonsense. (Hurting yourself is not sinful – just stupid.)

 Being generous is inborn; being altruistic is a learned perversity. No resemblance –

 It is impossible for a man to love his wife wholeheartedly without loving all women somewhat. I suppose that the converse must be true of women.

 You can go wrong by being too skeptical as readily as by being too trusting.

 Formal courtesy between a husband and wife is even more important than it is between strangers.

 Anything free is worth what you pay for it.

 Don’t store garlic near other victuals.

 Climate is what we expect, weather is what we get.

 Pessimist by policy, optimist by temperament – it is possible to be both. How? By never taking an unnecessary chance and by minimizing risks you can’t avoid. This permits you to play out the game happily, untroubled by the certainty of the outcome.

 Do not confuse “duty” with what other people expect of you; they are utterly different. Duty is a debt you owe to yourself to fulfill obligations you have assumed voluntarily. Paying that debt can entail anything from years of patient work to instant willingness to die. Difficult it may be, but the reward is self-respect.  But there is no reward at all for doing what other people expect of you, and to do so is not merely difficult, but impossible. It is easier to deal with a footpad than it is with the leech who wants “just a few minutes of your time, please – this won’t take long.” Time is your total capital, and the minutes of your life are painfully few. If you allow yourself to fall into the vice of agreeing to such requests, they quickly snowball to the point where these parasites will use up 100 percent of your time – and squawk for more!  So learn to say No – and to be read about it when necessary.

 Otherwise you will not have time to carry out your duty, or to do your own work, and certainly no time for live and happiness. The termites will nibble away your life and leave none of it for you.  (This rule does not mean that you must not do a favor for a friend, or even a stranger. But let the choice be yours. Don’t do it because it is “expected” of you.)

  "I came, I saw, she conquered.“ (The original Latin seems to have been garbled.)

  A committee is a life form with six or more legs and no brain.

 Animals can be driven crazy by place too many in too small a pen. Homo sapiens is the only animals that voluntarily does this to himself.

Don’t try to have the last word. You might get it.

[architectnews]

Ten end-of-year architecture projects from students at the University of Reading

A project that reintroduces endangered countryside animals into an orchard environment and a church ruin in Bristol transformed into an educational kitchen are included in Dezeen's latest school show by students at the University of Reading.

Other projects include a proposal that merges architecture and landscape design and a centre for the rehabilitation of badgers.

University of Reading

School: School of Architecture Courses: BSc Architecture and Master of Architecture (MArch) Tutors: Ana Dina, Professor Lorraine Farrelly, Associate Professor Oliver Froome-Lewis, Georgie Grant, Dr John Harding, Mike Kane, Martin Lydon, Sabrina Morreale, Piers Taylor, Michelle Tomlinson and Dr Izabela Wieczorek

School statement:

"The School of Architecture at the University of Reading engages the complex issues facing architecture in our society today, including the environment, re-use, collaborative innovation and creating equalities. It includes a topology of practice-based research and precisely situated studies in design, technology and theory.

"Our students work alongside academics and practitioners and look beyond the transient and the topical to frame precise methodologies and expertise in relation to these borderless concerns as they flow inexorably across our local and European contexts.

"Imagination and new thinking establish new links between the conceptual and the contractual; every day and the abstract; the pragmatic and the speculative; the interviewer and the interviewee and our experiences and our possibilities. Interpreting these circumstances gives us opportunities for positive change.

"These are outtakes from the end-of-year online exhibition 'Adaptations', which is now available on the University of Reading's website."

Nature's Interlude by Clara Everest

"Located in an almost flat, open field landscape, this proposal is conceived as a human-made hedgerow. It is an investigation into the merging of architecture and landscape.

"Conceived to be self-sufficient as possible, it utilises solar energy, heat recovery, natural ventilation and natural water filtration from the adjacent pond.

"Earth walls disperse outwards from the facility into the landscape, representing the roots and weaving structure of the hedgerow, whilst also framing views and connecting to the far horizons of the surrounding landscape.

"The fractured and dispersed walls create a multitude of courts and sheltered gardens referenced back to the traditional fruit walls of England."

Student: Clara Everest Course: BSc Architecture, Year three Tutor: Mike Kane Email: clara.everest[at]gmail.com

The Lambourn Valley MycoWorks and Centre for the Rehabilitation of Badgers by Harvey Warren

"The project is a 'collaboration' between clay target shooters, badgers, fungi and trees. Set along with the M4, earthworks are appropriated as sites of diverse life instead of specific human functionality.

"The building and badger tunnel bridge, which spans the M4, are linked by paths and tunnels through wild woodland, full of shooting huts and badger sets.

"The cob and mycelium building hosts a badger vet, cherry winery, shooting clubhouse, and mycelium moulding facility. Life flourishes within, and the product of these unusual relationships is a sustainable, diverse and exciting landscape, driven by organic processes."

Student: Harvey Warren Course: BSc Architecture, Year three Tutor: Associate Professor Oliver Froome-Lewis Email: hpw2000[at]hotmail.com

Alternative Rurality by Lloyd Jackson

"The AR project proposes a way in which we can better integrate into the rural landscape. As we gradually cut ties with the EU and move away from the single farm payment, agriculture in the UK will go through the most significant transformation since the post-war era.

"A farmer's subsidies will no longer equate to the amount of land they farm, but how well they can maintain and enrich the ecology of their land and incorporate ecologically beneficial practices.

"In this proposal, animals stranded in bounded pockets of land are assisted through the introduction of wildlife bridges, the expansion of hedgerows and the introduction of a new fruit forest."

Student: Lloyd Jackson Course: BSc Architecture, Year three Tutor: Michelle Tomlinson Email: l.wyn.jacksonp[at]gmail.com

Revival of the Orchard by Rosie Clark

"Situated in an open field landscape in southern England, this proposal introduces endangered species of countryside animals into a new traditional orchard environment. Drawing inspiration from the local vernacular, the truss form of the timber-framed facility gives character to the spaces offering respite, care and breeding facilities for birds, dormice and hedgehogs.

Conceived to repair habitat fragmentation created by the M4, an animal bridge extends from respite care spaces to the wider landscape, composed of a network of habitats for species outlined in the National Biodiversity Action Plan.

"By creating a landscape designed for the re-establishment of biodiverse ecosystems, proposals encourage biodiversity and ecological complexity, whilst restoring a historical farming landscape."

Student: Rosie Clark Course: BSc Architecture, Year three Tutor: Michelle Tomlinson Email: rosielauraclark[at]gmail.com

From Strata to Structure by Sofia Sergiou

"This project aims to map the natural past of a site, adding to its history and letting the geology and landscape guide the scheme's placement design.

"My designated site was the location of rare, well-preserved fossils and shells, which led to me selecting snails as my endangered species for the project.

"Continuing with the theme of pests, I selected brambles as my orchard fruit, something that is seen as a weed of sorts, being internationally grown. This was then aged in clay pots underground using an ancient method, almost being treated as a fossil itself."

Student: Sofia Sergiou Course: BSc Architecture, Year three Tutor: Sabrina Morreale Email: sofiasergiou2000[at]hotmail.co.uk

The Formalisation of Nature by Tom Rogan

"Situated adjacent to Wilder's Folly in West Berkshire, this project forms a considered narrative around local food production, endangered bird species and vernacular materials.

"A well-trodden existing footpath aligns a central spine wall of rammed chalk, with adjoining spaces including a medlar orchard, brandy distillery and breeding facility for turtle doves.

"Thatched tapered forms, inspired by both dovetails and William Morris textiles are integrated into the undulating landscape. The resulting project forms a sensitive mosaic of wild-flower meadows, hedgerows of hawthorn, mulberry and elderflower, rewilding an area once consumed by agriculture into a long-term habitat for local wildlife."

Student: Tom Rogan Course: BSc Architecture, Year three Tutor: Dr John Harding Email: tjrogan[at]btinternet.com

Mistletoe by Yann Bracegirdle

"The remnants of historic mining and lost rail lines form the spine for a new architecture for refuge and renewal. Ancient and fragmented tales of mythology to ecotherapy were discovered here to create new narratives of dislocated places and tales. King Bladud's recovery from leprosy and St Anne's healing well, intrinsically connected with nature, still run the length of the site.

"This proposal feeds off a system of corridors and habitats to provide a place with a refuge, centred around the timber three-layered gridshell atrium. A sensitive approach is merging old and new structures and pathways to re-connect the past in the present."

Student: Yann Bracegirdle Course: BSc Architecture, Year three Tutor: Mike Kane Email: yann.bracegirdle[at]gmail.com

An Urban Escape, Bringing Balance to Bristol by Adam Dobson

"With the increasing pressures of modern-day life combined with the demise of natural habitats and the climate emergency, this project looked to create an outlet by repairing, re-purposing and rewilding Bristol's Temple Church, a Grade II* listed ruin.

"The proposed public mental health and well-being service provide ecotherapy whilst subsequently increasing the biodiversity within the urban context.

"Adopting a regenerative design approach, the project looked to utilise locally-sourced reclaimed materials, whereby 'whole system thinking' was integrated into the design, creating a resilient site-specific intervention that aims to leave the ruin, the people and local wildlife in a better condition."

Student: Adam Dobson Course: Master of Architecture (MArch), Year one Tutor: Design Research Unit 2: Regenerative Design – Radical Retrofit & Adaptive Reuse. Academic Lead: Dr Izabela Wieczorek, Studio Practitioners: Diana Dina and Martin Lydon (Haworth Tompkins) Email: a.j.dobson[at]student.reading.ac.uk

The Cultural Kitchen Project by Daniel Hellyer

"The project is centred around regenerative design and radically retrofits a Grade II* listed church ruin in Bristol into an educational kitchen. It seeks to encourage community interaction and collaboration through urban food production and the celebration of cultural events throughout the year.

"Allotment spaces are designed to collectively grow food, which can be harvested and used within the cultural kitchen for events and education as well as donated to vulnerable communities suffering from food poverty.

"Whilst demountable construction techniques respect the site's heritage, the choice of materials and environmental strategies, such as rainwater harvesting, biodiversity gain and renewable energy production help to limit the project's total embodied carbon."

Student: Daniel Hellyer Course: Master of Architecture (MArch), Year one Tutor: Design Research Unit 2: Regenerative Design – Radical Retrofit and Adaptive Reuse. Academic Lead: Dr Izabela Wieczorek, Studio Practitioners: Diana Dina and Martin Lydon (Haworth Tompkins) Email: danielhellyer13[at]gmail.com

Inspiring Art through Nature | Inspiring Communities through Art by Ethan Cherrett

"The proposal for the Weston Island redevelopment project sought to reshape the existing landscape of the island to accommodate public inhabitation, inspiration and future flood mitigation.

"The project aimed to reinvigorate the island and promote the bridging of the surrounding communities regardless of the demographics they find themselves situated within, as well as to radically reuse both the existing structures and the landscape to form the proposed structures.

"Rammed earth was utilised as a driving component throughout, where 40 per cent of the build-up of walls were derived from the excavated subsoil from the proposed terraced SUDs System."

Student: Ethan Cherrett Course: Master of Architecture (MArch), Year one Tutor: Design Research Unit 1: Collaborative Design – Working to Empower Communities to Make Change. Academic Lead: Prof. Lorraine Farrelly, Studio Practitioners: Piers Taylor (Invisible Studio) and Georgie Grant (Onion Collective Watchet) Email: ethancherrett[at]gmail.com

Partnership content

This school show is a partnership between Dezeen and The University of Reading. Find out more about Dezeen partnership content here.

The post Ten end-of-year architecture projects from students at the University of Reading appeared first on Dezeen.

[batonrougeinfo]

What Not To Miss On A Baton Rouge Vacation

Baton Rouge, Louisiana, is a beautiful southern coastal city located on the banks of Lake Pontchartrain. This region was settled by the Frenchmen after they settled in nearby Acadiana. The French were one of the most successful groups of settlers in America. They established key towns and cities including Baton Rouge. Independence Park, situated in the heart of East Baton Rouge Parish is an important historic park which is located on the banks of the lake.

Schools in Baton Rouge are ranked among the nation's best. There are many sports teams including baseball, basketball, football, soccer, tennis, swimming, golf, hunting and other outdoor recreational activities. City residents also take great interest in museums and historic landmarks which span various historical periods in Louisiana history. Many people visit Baton Rouge for vacations and family visits. Many Baton Rouge Restaurants offer special catering services to entertain family and friends on their trips to this popular destination.

The City of Baton Rouge has developed into one of the nation's top vacation destinations for both residents and tourists. The City is filled with fun activities that provide a variety of entertainment and exercise. Several outdoor recreational parks are located in the City of Baton Rouge such as Bal Harbor Park, East Baton Rouge Park and Folly Beach Park.

Baton Rouge is home to many public parks that provide a place for recreation. The City is also famous for its diverse natural landscape and abundant wildlife. In addition to the natural scenic beauty, Baton Rouge is also known for its diverse cultural heritage. The Baton Rouge Parks and Recreation Department are responsible for preserving our parks and natural resources for future generations.

The Baton Rouge zoo is the largest zoo in southern Louisiana. It is the site of the state's most popular annual event at the Jazz Festival. This beautiful zoo is the preferred location for national and international touring shows. The state park system is also in charge of providing state-of-the-art bird watching, canoeing, and swimming opportunities.

The local wildlife population is also well protected by several large and small parks. In addition to the large metropolitan cities, the parks are found throughout rural parish in Baton Rouge. The largest of these parks is Folly beach park which is about an hour's drive from downtown Baton Rouge. Wildlife populations prosper in swampy areas that are surrounded by water. In addition to numerous bird species, the state park system is a major source of baton rouge parks & recreation.

Another popular recreation venue is the Baton Rouge Community Park. The community park is a great place to take a picnic or to enjoy a quiet evening walking along the beach. Several local events occur at the community park including baseball, swimming, biking, and volleyball. The community park also features a concession stand, bathrooms, picnic tables, pavilion, and kiddies play area. Several Baton Rouge restaurants are located near the parks.

The state of Louisiana has numerous unique geographical features and wonderful attractions. If you are looking for a vacation or just want to see a good place to visit, there is no better place than Baton Rouge. No matter where you want to go, it is important to keep in mind the unique geography and wildlife resources that make Baton Rouge such an interesting place to visit. The uniqueness of this city makes it one of the premier places in Louisiana to visit and spend a vacation!

One unique feature of Baton Rouge is its natural terrain. The city is bordered by the Mississippi River on two sides and sits in the middle of crawfish beds. Crawlies can be seen in the shallow river banks of Bay and Torture. In fact, this area is known as a crocodile farm because so many turtles and crocolisks come here to lay eggs. The area surrounding the community park is one of the most heavily visited areas by game seekers.

Baton Rouge is also home to many hot spots for extreme sports. The region has multiple National Parks, including the Cedar Swamp National Wildlife Refuge and the Midway National Seashore. The area also has numerous hunting reserves, including the Crooked River State Wildlife Preserve and the Pelican National Wildlife Refuge.

Sports fans will find plenty of action at the Baton Rouge airport. The Baton Rouge International Airport offers commuter transportation to all nearby cities. The terminal is located less than a mile from downtown and is close to I-12 and I LSU. There are also parking facilities for your automobiles. The terminal offers a wide variety of flight options, including Continental Airlines, American Airlines, Delta Airlines and United Airlines. The airport was constructed mainly as an economical means of transporting employees and their families to all locales in the area.

[perfectirishgifts]

Here’s How The Biden Presidency Will Impact Markets, Climate And Energy

New Post has been published on https://perfectirishgifts.com/heres-how-the-biden-presidency-will-impact-markets-climate-and-energy/

Here’s How The Biden Presidency Will Impact Markets, Climate And Energy

Biden and Harris, Nov. 9, 2020.

Joe Biden and his transition team have not been shy about telegraphing an intention to kill coal, ban new oil drilling in federal lands and waters, and turn the regulatory screws once more on America’s most carbon-belching industries. In transitioning from intent to strategy, the Biden team has been evaluating a raft of policy initiatives designed to achieve their climate goals. 

Titans of industry should not be surprised by any of the game changers that are on the way. For more than a decade, a vast majority of the U.S. electorate has declared its tacit approval of policies ensuring massive reduction in greenhouse gas emissions. State governments from California to Texas have been leading the charge for renewable energy with mandates, carbon markets or subsidies. In many parts of the country, the feds will be catching up with the states.

Here’s what to expect.

If the goal is a major reduction in GHG emissions, the simple approach is best. Increase the price of carbon-intensive fuels with a carbon tax. Following Econ 101, consumers will shift demand to less expensive substitutes and reduce fossil fuel consumption. Carbon capture, use and sequestration—which would be rewarded under a carbon tax—will expand. Tax proceeds will be used to offset negative impacts to preserve employment. 

Social justice is not just a rhetorical consideration. Many are frightened that the energy transition will eliminate their livelihoods.  And government actions will be tempered by the necessity of change, weighed against the need to preserve energy supply chains for the economy and for national security.

The Biden administration will rejoin the Paris Agreement to demonstrate commitment. However, leadership is required. The Paris Agreement and earlier Kyoto Protocol have had no impact on the trends of both increasing carbon emissions and decreasing carbon intensity per unit of global GDP. The administration will likely implement the Climate Club plan of Nobel winner William Nordhaus in order to change the trajectories—reduce carbon emissions and greatly accelerate the decreasing carbon intensity per unit of GDP.  Under the Nordhaus plan, the U.S. would institute a domestic carbon pricing mechanism and then impose a tariff on goods from countries that did not follow suit.  The European Union is on track to implement a similar plan with a carbon border tax.

The Climate Club will also need to address issues concerning social justice. World energy use is increasing as energy poverty is eliminated. The global population is expected to grow by 3 billion by 2050 due to decreased mortality rates in developing nations, exacerbating the conflict between the growing demand for energy and the imperative to reduce GHG emissions.

Enlisting the major energy companies will not be difficult. They have been out in front of Congress and the last two administrations with their Oil and Gas Climate Initiative. They have lobbied for the certainty of a carbon tax since the days of the Waxman-Markey bill. Impose the carbon tax at the wellhead, the mine mouth or the port of entry for fossil fuels, and industry will get behind the administration.   Oil companies are important to the transition for several reasons. First, because they have the current cash flow, product distribution network and much of the technical expertise necessary to lead the transition. Some companies, such as BP, have announced a divestiture of oil and gas properties. Others, such as ExxonMobil XOM , are pursuing effective carbon capture, use and sequestration avenues.  The growth in green hydrogen will be driven by oil companies and major electric utilities. 

The “correct” amount for a carbon tax will be open to analysis and debate. Oil companies have anticipated an initial carbon price of $40 per metric ton of CO2. California’s Low Carbon Fuel Credits market is currently trading at $195 per metric ton of CO2. At a carbon tax of $100 per metric ton, U.S. consumers would pay an additional$0.89 per gallon of gasoline and $100 per 1,000 kWh for electricity generated exclusively from coal.

What would the carbon tax proceeds fund?

Congress and the administration should work to minimize the disruptive impacts of the carbon tax, in part by funding advanced research and development for increased agriculture/carbon reuse such as that underway at the Salk Institute, developments with synthetic photosynthesis, winter crop development and green hydrogen. The tax can fund rebates and investment credits for greater conservation in buildings and building materials.  Most importantly, the tax will fund rebates and investment credits for switching capital equipment to lower carbon fuel sources such as New York City’s garbage truck fleet, the nation’s fleet of heavy trucks, and farm equipment.

How will it be implemented?

For a carbon tax to be effective at changing consumer buying habits, the tax must be implemented at the source—the wellhead, the mine mouth, or the port-of-entry. The cost will flow through the economy without regard to who produces it or who consumes it. The cost will be incorporated into our daily lives. Consumers and producers will respond as less carbon intensive energy sources become relatively cheaper to use.

But, failing concerted action by Congress, the administration has the tool of the Clean Air Act to regulate emissions of CO2 and other greenhouse gases. Restrictions could be mandated but would certainly be more disruptive than providing economic carrots and sticks.

For the domestic oil and gas industry, the administration could return to President Eisenhower’s oil import quota or, alternatively, impose a significant tariff (more than $30 per barrel) on crude oil imported into the U.S. from countries other than Canada and Mexico.  Such import restrictions would necessarily raise the domestic price of crude oil. This higher price would speed development and sales of electric vehicles. It would also provide an economic boost to domestic oil producers, who will need the funds to reduce methane emissions and continue environmental remediation.  Further to this point, the revival of the domestic oil industry would increase GDP, send hundreds of thousands of people back to work, and return royalty and tax revenues to communities, schools, cities and states.  With respect to foreign policy, reduced dependence on foreign supplies will allow the U.S. to reduce the military umbrella over the Middle East oil producers.

A frackmatic policy

Banning hydraulic fracturing in oil and gas development would revive the coal industry and reverse the last 10 years of decreased carbon emissions in the U.S. and increase dependency on foreign supplies of crude oil.  For all the bluster about saving coal, coal production during the Trump administration has dropped by more than a third. The annual savings to consumers from lower natural gas prices is $195 billion per year. The problems? The Oklahoma Corporations Commission and the Texas Railroad Commission have stepped in to reduce and eliminate the earthquakes associated with the disposal wells for wastewater from fracking. Obama administration research and award-winning Yale research have shown no significant impact on groundwater hydrology from the practice of hydraulic fracturing.

Energy’s other major priorities

The nation’s electric grids are not homogenous. More than 3,000 entities work in concert each minute to provide power—all the more noticeable when a mishap in one state causes the lights to go out across many states. Grid reliability is necessary.  Of the currently available zero-carbon fuels, only nuclear provides reliable electricity. California demonstrated the folly of moving too quickly to wind and solar but recent actions by the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission and, in Texas, the Electric Reliability Council of Texas, which is not subject to FERC regulation, have removed obstacles to adding battery storage operations to the grid. It is important to note that battery storage contributes to lower carbon emissions by providing off peak accumulation of excess electricity generation from any source: nuclear, gas, coal and renewable resources. Providing investment incentives for merchant battery installations will hasten the retirement of fossil fuel plants that heretofore have been used for baseload and peaking.

Practical policy limitations, considerations and implications

For the sake of completeness, these points will also figure into the Biden administration’s climate and energy calculus.

·      Carbon use is becoming cost effective even without a carbon price, as companies bring products including carbon-negative vodka, carbon-negative hand sanitizer and other products to market.

·      Hydroelectric dams have interfered with the natural fisheries of the nation. Eliminating some dams will be beneficial for restoring these fisheries.

·      Battery production currently relies heavily on the mining of rare earths. While this is a recognized problem, little has been done to ameliorate the impact of ever increasing battery production. The promise of green hydrogen may be realized and become the disruptive technology that pushes lithium-ion batteries out of transportation.

·      Continue efforts to harden the grid against cyberattacks and Electromagnetic Pulse attacks.

·      Nuclear waste management remains a public policy conundrum.

Longer term implications

Policymakers today must be mindful of the second order impacts that will be felt years later—and the benefits of changing technologies.  President Nixon’s abandonment of the Eisenhower import quota in tandem with price controls imperiled U.S. national security and increased the nation’s dependence on OPEC. National security and ill-conceived price controls on natural gas led to the passage of the Power Plant and Industrial Fuel Use Act of 1978, which knowingly and directly pushed the nation into a multi-decade dependence on coal-fired electricity at the expense of the environment. 

Laws and regulations necessarily address the issues of the day. Climate has made tomorrow the issue of today.

From Energy in Perfectirishgifts

[3dsrendercom]

The Makers: Design/Build at the Tulane School of Architecture

Since 2005, design/build studios at the Tulane School of Architecture have focused on making design services accessible to those who are underserved by the profession. Whether at the scale of the house or a pavilion, students learn technical skills while gaining an understanding of the broader social, economic, and policy issues that shape our built environment. Working with community partners, students recognize the power they have as architects to address these issues, as well as the limits of their knowledge and expertise.  Open to graduate and undergraduate students, these research studios take two forms:  URBANBuild is a two-semester, residential design/build studio focused on housing prototypes primarily in New Orleans’s Central City neighborhood. For this studio, URBANBuild partners with Neighborhood Housing Services, a nonprofit organization with a mission to create and sustain healthy and vibrant neighborhoods through real estate development, education, and community-building activities.  Small Center Studio is a one-semester design/build studio taught out of The Albert and Tina Small Center for Collaborative Design, the community design center of the Tulane School of Architecture. The Center believes that everyone should be empowered to shape where they live, work, and play and that an engaged design process can serve as a capacity and coalition builder. Many of the Center’s projects come through an annual request for proposals, where nonprofit organizations bring specific design and planning needs to the Center. Through a collaborative design process with these partners, students bring a project from design to completion in 15 weeks. This pace, and commitment to collaboration, offers students invaluable experience in engagement strategies, design and making, and project management. Students are also challenged to respond to “real-world” consequences that go beyond traditional classroom settings.   “ taught me the importance of getting uncomfortable. Occasionally, being locked in the studio you can forget the outside world and that architecture is not for other designers and critics, but the users. Design/build taught this aspect better than any other studio”. —Anonymous survey response from an alumni survey conducted in spring 2019 Gander Point  In the fall of 2017, students partnered with the City Park of New Orleans to design and fabricate Gander Point, a new public space offering access to the water’s edge. Located in the middle of New Orleans and bounded by eight neighborhoods with diverse socioeconomic and racial demographics, the 1,300-acre park is one of the largest and oldest of the nation’s urban parks. Until 2019, the park received no dedicated funding from the city of New Orleans. A long-time partner of the Small Center, City Park has played host to several projects including Grow Dat Youth Farm and the LOOP NOLA Pavilion. The park has a variety of programmed and unprogrammed spaces including open spaces, trails, playgrounds, soccer and football fields, an art museum, a sculpture garden, golf courses, and now: Gander Point.

Figure 1: Completed gathering area underneath cypress canopy provides space for individual reflection and collective gathering. (Photo credit: Small Center)   “My favorite part of Gander Point was how the design and build mirrored my personal experience. The project allowed me to appreciate an area of the city I was familiar with but hadn’t paid much attention to and the design offers others this same opportunity for discovery and exploration.” —Elliott Petterson, Tulane University Alumnus City Park staff identified the need for a formalized fishing and family gathering space that provided access to the often inaccessible water’s edge. They also wanted this area to be adjacent to the public soccer fields and playgrounds. The students chose the specific site through careful research engagement strategies including: time spent surveying on land and water, conversations with families and individual users, and gathering information from surveys and park staff. Additionally, students gained craftsmen skills through shop tutorials and material exploration. Diagrams and feedback from users on initial schemes, based on early observation and analysis, played an important role in defining the focus points for the projects: engaging the water, engaging families using the nearby soccer fields, security, and permanence.

Figure 2: Students constructing project onsite. (Photo credit: Small Center)

Figure 3: Students constructing project onsite. (Photo credit: Small Center)

Figure 4: Students constructing project onsite. (Photo credit: Small Center)    

Figure 5: Site diagrams explored programmatic adjacencies and access to the waterfront informing final design scheme. (Photo Credit: Small Center)   The final design responds to these points and is defined by key elements including: an axial path that creates a visual connection across the river to a discoverable folly—an alligator, a permeable metal screen that defines the spaces and offers a sense of enclosure, a gathering space along the path, and a ramp down to a fishing pier at the water’s edge. Full scale mock-ups allowed students to make critical decisions about each element of the project and, together, these elements frame natural vistas, create space for families and groups to get together and enjoy the natural setting, and allow for intimate waterfront access for fishing, birding, and contemplation. 

Figure 6: Alligator folly installed across the lagoon to encourage further park exploration (Photo credit: Neil Alexander)

Figure 7: Outlook provides fishing and viewing access. (Photo credit: Neil Alexander)   “It was the project in my portfolio with which my current employers were more interested during my interview. It also was my only class where I felt challenged to critically think about how my design might be built.” —Anonymous survey response ”… was a once in a lifetime experience that helped shape the way that I approach everyday life, the profession, community…” —Anonymous survey response At the core of the Tulane design/build experience is a belief that community engagement and design excellence are not mutually exclusive. Students gain a broader understanding of societal issues and an intimate understanding of the challenges and needs of their community partners. They also learn more traditional, technical design skills and recognize that their expertise is only one component of a collaborative project. These studios offer invaluable experience by shaping professional and personal trajectories while training the next generation of architects to understand the power of design.

Figure 8: Design ideas explored through public engagement on site. (Photo credit: Small Center)   — Learn more about URBANBuild: http://urbanbuild.tulane.edu Learn more about the Small Center and follow us on Instagram: http://small.tulane.edu Instagram: @smallcenter.tulane Learn more about City Park: https://neworleanscitypark.com Learn more about the Tulane School of Architecture: http://www.architecture.tulane.edu   Special thank to the entire Gander Point team! PROJECT LEADS Seth Welty (Design Lead, Adjunct Professor)  Nick Jenisch (Project Manager, Small Center staff) Sue Mobley (Engagement Advisor, Small Center staff) STUDENTS Antonia Butwell Monica Marrero Ciuro Carson Hall Carolyn Isaacson Izabela Lotozo Magda Magierski David Maples Christie Melgar Rachel Neu Elliott Petterson Rachel Rockford Nicole Saville Diego Schubb Jesse Williams SUPPORT City Park New Orleans Mr. and Mrs. (Erin) John-Paul Hymel SPECIAL THANKS Neil Alexander Photography Jenny Snape, PE (Batture, LLC) Maya Alexander Dan Etheridge Tyler Havans Tom Holloman Nick Perrin Dan Splaingard Dana Brown & Associates, Inc. Dash Lumber Tulane University offers a NAAB-accredited professional undergraduate degree (B.Arch), a professional graduate degree (M.Arch), and two related degrees (M.Arch II, post-professional), and a Master of Arts in Historic Preservation. Read more about the University here.    The post The Makers: Design/Build at the Tulane School of Architecture appeared first on Study Architecture | Architecture Schools and Student Information. Source link Read the full article

[rimramruff]

goblin week post 1 (Sunday).

okay, it’s time to reveal what i am doing for GOBLIN WEEK this year, since i am not good at drawing.

the first idea was to do like a song cycle, or mini-musical, a fun little goblin-related song in sheet music form every day. but then i got carried away writing the introduction, and it turns out this week’s thing will be a little more unnecessarily ambitious and obtuse. it’s called “The Goblins of Shuntbridge.” in the spirit of GOBLIN WEEK, i don’t really know where it’s going or what it’s about, and it may not be interesting to anyone but me, but it’s fun to make!

i think at the end of the week, if the project is complete, i will typeset the whole thing so that it’s actually convincing as a found document. but for now, quantity over quality is the spirit of GOBLIN WEEK. and so, onwards with a wall of text.

Sunday’s entry for GOBLIN WEEK is the rather long text introduction to “The Goblins of Shuntbridge”, and it follows under the cut. enjoy!

Preamble

In all my extended peregrinations across the great and glorious landscape of these United States of America, among all the strange and unnatural practices which I have witnessed, none has so shocked me, none has so insidiously infested my memory, none has granted me more sleepless nights, than my observations of the rituals performed by the residents of Shuntbridge, Ohio. To see good Christian men and women so perversely turned to savages, even while professing their allegiance to our Lord, to see such a thing is to see the face of the Devil. It has been years now, and I have never returned to Shuntbridge, nor sought out any news of it (an endeavor likely to be futile in any case), but my soul is still haunted by the memory of the practices I observed in that town. Goblins still dance in my dreams.

This pamphlet consists of a transcription of the least shocking of the Shuntbridge rituals, that which Mrs. Endicott called the “Seven Songs Of Seven Goblins.” This is the only one of the rituals I witnessed which I can in good conscience preserve in published form. It will perhaps be said that preservation of such a thing is an evil in itself, and that I should let it fall into obscurity, and allow the practices of Shuntbridge to reach no further than the far-flung and forsaken town itself. But to justify my actions, I can only invoke the sentiments of wiser men than myself: namely, that the preservation of knowledge, even evil knowledge, is in itself virtuous, for all things are within God’s design, and nothing fails to find a purpose within His great plan, and further, I will protest that by recording and preserving and remembering even the most base manifestations of human folly, we may aspire to have a closer knowledge of our Creator Himself.

In addition, I must confess to a certain fascination which the Shuntbridge rituals worked upon me. Even in reviewing my transcriptions of the “Seven Songs Of Seven Goblins,” years later, an arcane Oriental chill still creeps along my spine. And back then in the time of Old Tippecanoe’s presidency, upon viewing the ritual itself, Mrs. Endicott at the pianoforte, the small group of hooded choristers, the ordinary men and women of the town singing those dissonant and blasphemous songs: well, the inscrutable feeling I had then, of which my current chill is but a shadow, could only be described as a mystical one. I will further confess that such a metaphysical experience, having been provoked by an esoteric pagan rite, led me into uncharted realms of uncertainty and doubt. While I have since allowed such doubt to be washed away by the unfathomable sea of God’s love, yet some fragments of it may still cling to me. But enough. My uncertainty will be resolved by the Final Judgment, and I leave myself, as must we all leave ourselves, at the mercy of God.

In the interest of clarification as to the circumstances in which I experienced the ritual, and in order to better establish my own disavowal of the transcription herein presented, which is given as I witnessed it, and which is not at all intended to corrupt the minds or souls of those who read it, but rather to serve as a cautionary exhibition of the monstrous practices of which those who have turned their faces from God are capable, in order to establish these things, I say, a brief contextual note must follow.

It was a finer, simpler, more civil time than our own when it happened that I came upon the town of Shuntbridge. Occupying the office of the President was William Henry Harrison, Old Tippecanoe himself, a President who, after his election, caused an auspiciousness to be felt by all wise men of the country, auspiciousness second perhaps only to that felt by the constituents of General Washington himself upon his inaugural ascent to that same glorious office. Harrison’s untimely death, it has often been said, was akin to the death of the innocence of this immaculately conceived country, as its descent into sin and inequity would take place soon after, or thereabouts.

It was my first visit to the state of Ohio, and I knew little about it, but that great man (Harrison) having been a longtime resident and representative from the state, my hopes were high that my time there would be better spent than my time in Pennsylvania. My destination was the city of Columbus, where I would meet some fellow adventurers with whom I had corresponded. The journey was for the most part uneventful. I travelled alone on horseback, as has usually been my custom, and stayed at a succession of unremarkable inns in the small towns through which I passed. One of these towns, in point of fact the first town that I would visit in Ohio proper, happened to be Shuntbridge.

The town seemed unremarkable enough at first: the populace of farmers and tradesmen reticent but generous, the usual curious stares at the unusual sight of a stranger. News of the East Coast of the country was desired by the townsfolk, and was eagerly attended when I gave it at the inn after nightfall. It was almost as though the cities bordering the Atlantic were as exotic to them as the great metropolises of the Orient would be to myself. I believe I ingratiated my person further with these Ohioans by singing the praises of President Harrison, in whom the people of Shuntbridge seemed to invest a particular pride. This was likely owing to his long residency in the state of Ohio, in addition of course to his fine personal qualities which any true American could not fail to notice and eulogize.

I found the artless and rustic questions of the townsfolk to be quite charming, but could not help but notice two faces in the crowded inn watching me with something less than awestruck hospitality. In point of fact, these two faces, belonging to two women of harpyish aspect, regarded me with something approaching hostility. I did my best to ignore the two unfriendly onlookers as I absorbed the adulations of the simpler people of the town. But after the inn had mostly emptied, it being late, the two women remained, staring from the corner. I thought it only right to inquire as to what they wanted before I retired, and I therefore approached them.

Their names, it transpired, were Mrs. Wilhelmina Endicott, widow of the late farmer Mr. Jacob Endicott, and Ms. Christina Fowler. They were about the same age, that age being not young but not old either. Mrs. Endicott had a face, framed by light brown hair, that may once have been pretty, but that had been scored by grief and hardship. Ms. Fowler was entirely plain, remarkable only for her agitated manner. Both wore the simple dresses favored in the farming towns of the region.

The two women seemed quite interested in my presence in the town, but it was clear that neither had designs of a flirtatious nature. Indeed, both continued to look at me exclusively with an expression of sardonic disdain, a sharp expression which I came to notice was to be seen on their faces no matter what the object of their observation, except in the occasional moments when they would catch each other’s eye, at which moments each of their gazes would seem to soften somewhat, only to snap back into scorn upon their attention returning to me.

Mrs. Endicott and Ms. Fowler asked me about my travels, and I asked them about the town of Shuntbridge, the conversation proceeding in a straightforward enough manner. My curiosity only heightened as the inn continued to empty and the dialogue continued to seem cut of the most quotidian cloth. Mrs. Endicott, I guessed, had something that she wished to tell me, while finding it impolite to say it before the requisite niceties of conversation had been completed. But it was Ms. Fowler who first changed the subject of our meeting, and from whom I first heard about the unusual situation of this town.

Ms. Fowler began, in her agitated and hurried way, to explain that the excitement of the populace was not due only to the novelty of a stranger in the town, nor only to the recent inauguration of Old Tippecanoe. It was a great anniversary, she said, and then halted and stammered. Mrs. Endicott caressed her face to calm her, after a minute of which Ms. Fowler was able to continue. It seemed that Shuntbridge, twenty years previous, had been the victim of remarkable tribulations and privations. The roads were beset by bandits and other rogues. The last harvest had been meagre and the coming harvest promised to be still worse. The spirits of the townsfolk were low and their faith wavering. It was then that an awful plague descended upon the town, keeping the able-bodied from the fields and even killing two or three of the infirm and several infants.

At the height of these troubles, some of the children of the town began claiming to have seen goblins lurking in the woods and cornfields. They were described as minuscule green creatures with long pointed ears and faces like pigs. Rather than reprimand the children for such blasphemous foolishness, several of the adults of the town were so frustrated with recent events that they actually encouraged the children, with wry indulgence, to solicit aid from the goblins. The children soon reported that they had asked the goblins for help, and that their request had been granted. The adults laughed, but the very next day, the sick residents of the town rose from their beds simultaneously, formerly wilted plants straightened and budded, and word came that the bandit gangs had vacated the county, as if frightened off. Ever since that diabolically miraculous event, the townsfolk had held these mythical goblins in reverence, and regarded the anniversary of their problems’ end as a particular holiday.

A faraway look possessed Ms. Fowler, and she spoke more slowly and calmly, as she described some of the qualities that the goblins were said to have. They were mischievous, but benevolent, their main aim being to encourage the prosperity of the human community near which they hid. They sustained themselves with the energy emitted by strong emotional sentiment, whether religious, romantic, or revelrous. Such sentiment, in light of the tribulations the town had been enduring, was deadened by that empty, colorless emotion men call despair, and so the goblins had decided to reveal themselves to the town and intervene.

The reverence with which Ms. Fowler spoke of these goblins put me ill at ease, as it struck me as a rather pagan sentiment. Mrs. Endicott said nothing all this while, but nodded sagely at certain points, as if with approval for the articulateness of her companion’s explanation. At last, Ms. Fowler’s monologue trailed off, and the two of them looked at me with slightly softened disdain, I having listened, I will confess, entirely rapt.

It being a Saturday night, the women desired me to attend the church service with them on the following morning, to which I gave my assent with unfeigned enthusiasm, grateful for this apparently unambiguous demonstration of Christian sentiment. They mentioned that I would then be welcome to stay at the inn another night. The innkeeper, they told me, would likely accommodate me gratis due to my popularity among the residents of the town, who had purchased and consumed much of his fare that night. I assured the pair of them that I had no intention to stay any longer than a single night, and planned to continue on my way toward Columbus, at which they both smiled and said that, in that case, I would be missed, but that their best wishes for my safe travels would be with me on the morrow. Still somewhat uneasy in their presence, I bade the two women good night and retired.

In the morning, I rose with the dawn, hoping to explore the environs of the town a bit, but upon exiting the inn I saw that the people were already up and about, and on their way to the church. I followed them dutifully, entering the already crowded sanctuary, and looked for Mrs. Endicott and Ms. Fowler to join them. Ms. Fowler I found, and sat by her in her pew, but Mrs. Endicott was up at the chancel, conversing with some well-dressed men of the town. I exchanged pleasantries with Ms. Fowler, but her attention seemed primarily to be directed toward Mrs. Endicott, as well as being colored by a faraway look like that of a man engaged in theological contemplation. I fell silent and left her to her thoughts.

Eventually, all the congregation had found their places, and Mrs. Endicott had seated herself at a mildewed pianoforte in a corner of the chancel. At no signal that I could determine, all in the church rose for the singing of a hymn, which I did not recognize and which I cannot now recall. Upon the conclusion of this hymn, the day’s sermon began, but imagine my surprise when I saw that it would be no minister who would deliver it, but Mrs. Endicott herself! While it was not uncommon in these country churches for sermons to be delivered by those with little formal knowledge of theology, for a sermon to be delivered by a woman struck me as, if not blasphemous exactly, at least very odd. I confess that I was unable to pay much attention to the words of the sermon due to this unusual circumstance. It seemed a rather familiar sermon in any case, the usual stultifying exposition on some banal saying of our Lord and Savior. Half of the townsfolk seemed asleep, the other half restless.

This lack of attention dissolved immediately, however, upon the tepid conclusion of the sermon. Now, Mrs. Endicott stood, and raised her arms briefly in the air. As those in the pews sat up straight and stared forward, from the back of the church filed a small procession of figures, each dressed in Sunday clothes but adorned with a gray hood. These hoods did not obscure their faces, and I recognized several people from the inn the previous night.

I did not realize it at the time, and so made no objection other than a smirk at the curious costumes, but I was about to witness one of the pagan rituals of Shuntbridge, venerating the goblins which they believed to have saved the town. After the ritual, I would realize what was happening, but I would find myself less inclined to object, for which I beg God’s forgiveness. The ritual was that of the “Seven Songs Of Seven Goblins.” I would be an appalled attendant at many rituals during my time in Shuntbridge, but this was the first, and, as I have said, the least blasphemous, of them, and one which I would hear on several different occasions. It was a perfect ritual to serve as first glimpse of the secrets of Shuntbridge, though, as I have said, my intention is not to draw the reader to believe that he may find aught of truth in the ritual, but only to document it. Any truth that is to be found here is the reader’s own affair, and I will take no responsibility for it.

The choristers having assembled before the altar, a hush fell, not a pew creaking, so that the only sounds to be heard were coming from outside the church. The cool wind of early spring through the thin trees, the callings of birds both forlorn and joyous, the chatterings of squirrels: all these formed the backdrop to the intense and serious silence which now befell the congregation of Shuntbridge. But then Mrs. Endicott smiled a wry and warm smile as she sat down again at the pianoforte, and the congregation smiled with her. I noticed Ms. Fowler beaming with pride, the most content I had yet seen her.

They began, solemnly yet heartily, to perform the strange music presented on the following pages, which I at the time faithfully and honestly transcribed, and which I resolved to keep safe until a time when I could deem the world ready to receive it in published form: namely, the present.

I remain, in your humble service and in God’s,

The EDITOR, Mr. Samuel Alleyne. January 20, 1847.

[homeschooladventureleague]

Lorax Tree Party, Saftey Harbor

Lorax Tree Party, Saftey Harbor Tomorrow Saftey Harbor Recreation is hosting a Lorax Tree Party to celebrate Dr. Seuss' Birthday. The party will be at Folly Farm Nature Preserve from 10 AM to 11 am. This party is geared towards ages 4 to 9.

Tomorrow Saftey Harbor Recreation is hosting a Lorax Tree Party to celebrate Dr. Seuss’ Birthday. The party will be at Folly Farm Nature Preserve from 10 AM to 11 am. This party is geared towards ages 4 to 9 and will have nature-themed activities, games, and crafts. It costs $5 per child to attend.

“Join us to celebrate Dr. Seuss’ birthday this Saturday, Feb. 29th from 10-11am with a…

[pktechgirlus]

World Honey Bee Day

Photo: LDeans

[gethealthy18-blog]

What Are Natural Wines?

New Post has been published on http://healingawerness.com/news/what-are-natural-wines/

What Are Natural Wines?

It’s no secret I love wine. Over the years I drink far less than I used to (RIP to my college years) but when I do drink it’s far more intentional and really about enjoying the drink itself and the people I’m with. Gone are the days of drinking litre bottles of Kangaroo Trail (please tell me anyone in Montreal remembers this!) in preparation for a night on the town. I’ve officially become a wine snob and I’m not mad about it.

Now, I’m no expert on wine. I acknowledge my own shortcomings and the amount I have to learn. However, as I’ve expanded my knowledge on the food industry and how to make more sustainable choices I couldn’t help but extend this to the wine industry. Moving to California doesn’t hurt either as my exposure to wine is much higher. Over the years I’ve had the opportunity to try and learn a lot about natural wines and I figured this might be a topic some of you would be interested in learning more about. So with that let’s begin a discussion about natural wines as well as some of my favorites to choose from.

What is a natural wine?

As with all products deemed “natural” there is not one definition for what a natural wine is. From the farming practices to the actual winemaking there are upgraded processes being used from conventional wine. There are no additives used and the wine is typically made in small batches because of how intentional the process is.

The farming could be considered biodynamic, organic or sustainable. While there is a lot of overlap in these categories, they all have different fundamental ideas.

Organic Wine

Organic wine follows the same restrictions and practices as organic farming. I’ve done a deep dive into if organic really matters and reasons to choose organic and the same information applies to wine! Organic wine is made from organic grapes, no GMO’s and no added sulfites. All additives (fermentation and preservation ingredients) must also be organic.

Biodynamic Wine

Biodynamic farming thinks about the entire farm or vineyard as being connected, a single organism where every step affects the rest. Wine Folly describes biodynamics as the “holistic view of agriculture.” Like organic wine, everything is farmed and fermented organically but taken a step further through certain types of planting + harvesting practices (following a lunar cycle) and more diverse planting processes. An example of this would be a biodynamic farm which also includes farm animals who eat the plants grown whose excretions then become compost etc…

Sustainable Wine

Like I mentioned, there is a lot of crossover with these definitions! Sustainable and biodynamic are very closely related but sustainable winemaking really focuses on reducing waste. Sustainable winemakers take into account how much water and energy they’re using in the farming and wine making processes so they may be powering their machinery using solar or depending on natural rainfall rather than irrigation.

Certifications: There are many different certifications that natural winemakers can get but not having the certification does not make wine produced naturally less sustainable. If organic is super important to you, look for the USDA organic seal or Demeter Certified Biodynamic for biodynamic wines but keep in mine not all small wine producers can afford and/or have the time to apply for these certifications.

Is Natural Wine Healthier?

This is a controversial topic as wine is still wine after all. There is still a lot of controversy out there regarding whether organic (or biodynamic) foods or wine is healthier, so I’m not going to make bold claims here. In my personal opinion, consuming things without added pesticides is better for your health – this is especially true of glyphosate.

Which brings us to a conversation about sulfites. Sulfur Dioxide occurs naturally in the winemaking process at very small amounts. However, 99% of conventional wine contain added sulfites. Sulfites are added to maintain freshness of wine due to its natural antibacterial properties. Now, sulfites themselves are not inherently bad, however according to the FDA 1% of the population is sulfur-sensitive meaning they lack the natural enzyme to break down sulfites in their body. But many foods actually have more sulfite than the amounts found in wine so it isn’t anything to worry about unless you have a sulfite-sensitivity or allergy.

One thing I will add is that natural wine is without question better for the environment. So from an environmental perspective you are better off choosing natural wine over conventional.

My Favorite Natural Wines

One of my favorite activities is wine tasting and due to proximity to Napa and Sonoma but suggestions for natural wines tend to congregate in those areas. However, natural wines are not limited to these areas. Generally, a lot of European wines tend to use more sustainable and natural wine-making methods and the label “natural” is less popular there. It tends to be more of a North American thing. But if you happen to be in the Northern California wine region I highly recommend you check out some of these wineries or see if they ship to you!

DaVero Farm and Winery (Biodynamic)

C and I are actually members at this Healdsburg/Dry Creek Winery. All of their grapes are Italian varietals and unbelievably delicious. Our favorite is their 2016 Primitivo but honestly all their wines are good.

Preston Farm and Winery (Biodynamic)

This winery will always hold a special place in our hearts as we went here right after we got engaged with both of our parents. The farm is STUNNING. The food, including their home grown cured olives and homemade bread is so good and their wine is fantastic. A not-to-miss stop in Dry Creek.

Porter Bass (Biodynamic)

Low-key, relaxed, small family-owned vineyard in Guerneville. We love it here but are particularly big fans of their zinfandel.

Red Car Wines (Organic)

One of our favorite organic rosés and a beautiful tasting room just outside downtown Sebastopol.

Medlock Ames (Organic)

You may remember that C and I went here on our honeymoon. We did the full farm tour which I highly recommend! Geyserville was also hit hard in last year’s fires and while Medlock Ames’ vineyard was not affected, the lack of tourism to the region absolutely has an impact so if you can go here, please do!

Scribe Winery (Biodynamic)

Probably one of the most popular biodynamic wineries in Sonoma. This place is truly magical. Their skin-ferment chardonnay is incredible and if you have the time I recommend doing the full wine and food-pairing tasting at their Hacienda.

Tablas Creek Vineyard (Organic)

This winery is actually down in Paso Robles (about 3.5-4 hours south of San Francisco). We stopped here on our way home from our Southwest Road Trip. This winery has an interesting history as it was started as a sister winery to two organic wineries in France.

* * * * *

Honestly, there’s so much more I could say on this topic but I’ll stop things here. As always, this is not meant to scare you or force you to throw out all of your wine. I still drink conventional wine but when it comes to tasting and/or buying wines at home we like to stick to natural when possible. I’ll continue to add to this list as I discover more. C and I are headed to New Zealand next month and I’m excited to add some natural New Zealand wines to this list. Stay tuned!

Do you have a favorite natural wine brand or winery? Let me know below.

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[jacobsvoice]

A Dead Gaza Baby

Last month Israel began to confront a daily barrage of fire kites and burning tire smoke across its Gaza border, igniting fires that destroyed thousands of acres of farm land and nature preserves. The day after fifty Palestinians were killed when they attempted to breach the border, The New York Times ran a front-page story accompanied by a four-column wide photo of a dead Gaza baby who had inhaled “acrid gas” during the fighting. The photo was taken by a Gaza photographer whose self-described specialty is parents weeping beside lifeless little bodies.

The reported death of baby Layla Ghandour sparked the memory of 12-year-old Muhammed al-Durrah. A decade ago the Gaza boy was reported by the Times as “fatally shot” by Israeli soldiers, falling dead into his father’s lap just when a free-lance camera man for France 2 TV happened to photograph him. An Israeli investigation subsequently concluded that Muhammad’s “killing” was staged.

Tragically, Layla Ghandour’s death actually happened. Times Cairo bureau chief Declan Walsh, who reported it, described “the rules of grief” in Gaza society that transform private suffering - for which Israel, not Hamas, is routinely blamed - into a political frenzy. One day later Layla’s father carried her body wrapped in a Palestinian flag while leading a crowd chanting slogans about “Israeli blood lust.” The Times could not resist memorializing Layla Ghandour as a tragic symbol of Israeli cruelty.

It turns out that the story was more complicated and less truthful, undermining the reflexive Times narrative to blame Israel first. Layla was taken to the Gaza border area by her 12-year-old uncle. Several hours later, when she began to cry, the boy carried her to the border to find their grandmother, who was busy shouting at Israelis across the fence. Tear gas fell nearby; one hour later Layla died. In the Times, Israel was to blame.

End of story? No. The Times of Israel reported (June 21) that a 20-year-old Palestinian member of Al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigade was indicted by Israel on terror-related charges for attempting to cross the border to torch an IDF post. During his interrogation he revealed that Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar had paid his parents $2,206 to falsely inform the media that his baby cousin Layla had died from inhaling Israeli-fired tear gas. Layla’s mother obliged, claiming: “The Israelis killed her.”  

What really happened? Layla, it turned out, had a pre-existing blood disease, attested to by a Gaza doctor, which one year earlier had also killed her brother at the same age. The tragic folly of family members bringing Layla to the border area, and keeping her there while Hamas militants launched their fiery acrid kites, may strain credulity but is beyond dispute. They got what they were paid for: in addition to their money Layla’s funeral received world-wide media coverage and, best of all, Israel was blamed for her family’s appallingly callous indifference to her fragile health. Her death parade, The New York Times reporter noted, was designed to win “international sympathy.” The Times took the bait and honored the scam on Page 1. To date, there has been no public correction for its gullibility.

The lingering question seems to be whether The New York Times can relinquish, or at least moderate, its reflexive blame-Israel-first coverage. Perhaps that is the real story worth investigating. The editorial page would be the appropriate place for a mea culpa. Until then, readers should rely on the other Times, The Times of Israel, for all the news about Israel that’s fit to print.

The Algemeiner (June 25, 2018)

[frederickwiddowson]

Paul’s letters to the Corinthians - Introduction

Outside of the Bible our information on how the early church functioned is very limited. I will focus on what the Bible says and then supplement it with historical documents, mostly primary documents written by people who mostly were pagan witnesses. I want to focus on the first century as that is the time frame we are studying although I may have to bring in accounts from just a little later. The letters to the church at Corinth are very important to our understanding of what a New Testament church was really like and how it functioned. We will explore it together and I invite your comments, suggestions, and even your disagreements as I learn a great deal as I study the Bible.

Pliny the Younger was the governor Bithynia in what we know today as Turkey, geographically Asia Minor. He wrote a letter about Christians to the Emperor Trajan around 115AD. Here is the content of what we have today. Paul could not go to Bithynia but Peter may have gone there.

Acts 16:7  After they were come to Mysia, they assayed to go into Bithynia: but the Spirit suffered them not.

1Peter 1:1 Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ, to the strangers scattered throughout Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia,

Here is one translation from the Latin between the two men.

“Pliny the Younger to the Emperor Trajan

It is my practice, my lord, to refer to you all matters concerning which I am in doubt. For who can better give guidance to my hesitation or inform my ignorance? I have never participated in trials of Christians. I therefore do not know what offenses it is the practice to punish or investigate, and to what extent. And I have been not a little hesitant as to whether there should be any distinction on account of age or no difference between the very young and the more mature; whether pardon is to be granted for repentance, or, if a man has once been a Christian, it does him no good to have ceased to be one; whether the name itself, even without offenses, or only the offenses associated with the name are to be punished.

Meanwhile, in the case of those who were denounced to me as Christians, I have observed the following procedure: I interrogated these as to whether they were Christians; those who confessed I interrogated a second and a third time, threatening them with punishment; those who persisted I ordered executed. For I had no doubt that, whatever the nature of their creed, stubbornness and inflexible obstinacy surely deserve to be punished. There were others possessed of the same folly; but because they were Roman citizens, I signed an order for them to be transferred to Rome.

Soon accusations spread, as usually happens, because of the proceedings going on, and several incidents occurred. An anonymous document was published containing the names of many persons. Those who denied that they were or had been Christians, when they invoked the gods in words dictated by me, offered prayer with incense and wine to your image, which I had ordered to be brought for this purpose together with statues of the gods, and moreover cursed Christ--none of which those who are really Christians, it is said, can be forced to do--these I thought should be discharged. Others named by the informer declared that they were Christians, but then denied it, asserting that they had been but had ceased to be, some three years before, others many years, some as much as twenty-five years. They all worshipped your image and the statues of the gods, and cursed Christ.

They asserted, however, that the sum and substance of their fault or error had been that they were accustomed to meet on a fixed day before dawn and sing responsively a hymn to Christ as to a god, and to bind themselves by oath, not to some crime, but not to commit fraud, theft, or adultery, not falsify their trust, nor to refuse to return a trust when called upon to do so. When this was over, it was their custom to depart and to assemble again to partake of food--but ordinary and innocent food. Even this, they affirmed, they had ceased to do after my edict by which, in accordance with your instructions, I had forbidden political associations. Accordingly, I judged it all the more necessary to find out what the truth was by torturing two female slaves who were called deaconesses. But I discovered nothing else but depraved, excessive superstition.

I therefore postponed the investigation and hastened to consult you. For the matter seemed to me to warrant consulting you, especially because of the number involved. For many persons of every age, every rank, and also of both sexes are and will be endangered. For the contagion of this superstition has spread not only to the cities but also to the villages and farms. But it seems possible to check and cure it. It is certainly quite clear that the temples, which had been almost deserted, have begun to be frequented, that the established religious rites, long neglected, are being resumed, and that from everywhere sacrificial animals are coming, for which until now very few purchasers could be found. Hence it is easy to imagine what a multitude of people can be reformed if an opportunity for repentance is afforded.

Trajan to Pliny the Younger

You observed proper procedure, my dear Pliny, in sifting the cases of those who had been denounced to you as Christians. For it is not possible to lay down any general rule to serve as a kind of fixed standard. They are not to be sought out; if they are denounced and proved guilty, they are to be punished, with this reservation, that whoever denies that he is a Christian and really proves it--that is, by worshiping our gods--even though he was under suspicion in the past, shall obtain pardon through repentance. But anonymously posted accusations ought to have no place in any prosecution. For this is both a dangerous kind of precedent and out of keeping with the spirit of our age.”(1)

(1)   http://www.earlychristianwritings.com/text/pliny.html. (accessed 3.28.2018).

Corinth was in Greece, over a thousand miles to the west of where Pliny was writing from in present-day Turkey. Corinth, Greece, had been an important commercial center with a rich and long history but was captured and destroyed by the armies of Rome in about 146BC. Julius Caesar founded a Roman colony there in 44BC and brought in Roman colonists. It became an important administration and trade center. There were many religious cults and temples based there including one to Aphrodite, the Greek version of the Roman Venus, who is also the Greek version of the Babylonian Ishtar, Astarte, and the Ashtoreth of the Bible.

Paul traveled to Corinth in his missionary work as you can see in Acts 18.

 Now, let’s go backward in time about 60 years to see what the Holy Spirit of God has preserved for us as a primary source, two letters to the Corinthian church.

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The puppets of the Moneymen

In his excellent book The Babylonian Woe, David Astle stated: “It seems that almost none of the scholars make any serious effort to throw light on the real meaning of  private monetary emission, and the disastrous effects that it has had, and in finality, will have, towards the defining of the remaining period of time of man upon this earth, as being brief and uncertain. Those strange decisions of kings signalling the opening of wars as frightful and disastrous to the European peoples, as the last two so-called “World Wars,” decisions so deprivating, but more than that, abnegatory of the best interests of the peoples they represented before God, far from being the directives of benevolent force, are the directives of a force which cannot but be described in any way but as being wholly malevolent.”

In the same way Leon Tolstoy declared: “Universal historians will be valuable only when they can reply to history’s essential question: What is Power? History can only be explained by introducing a Power which they apparently do not recognize.

Mr. Astle created in his book a vivid description of what most historians have feared to reveal. It remains the same today, and after reading his work we know the reason why it’s been cloaked or occulted!

In his foreword, Mr. Astle notes that “All priest-kings and priests, in ancient City States of Mesopotamia came to forget that the foundations of the power given to them from on High towards the maintenance of the right living and tranquil procession through life, of their peoples, were the laws of distribution of surpluses as written on the scribes tablet; laws instituted by the god himself each ordering a specified dispensation from the surpluses in his warehouses in the Ziggurat, to the holder of the tablet. They too fell into the error of believing that silver with value created as a result of its being used as a balancing factor in international exchange could become a perpetual storehouse of value… They themselves became consumed in the scramble for this gleaming metal, so conceding it, through its controllers the power to set itself up in opposition to the law of the gods; to raise itself up in its own right, god in itself. The fiat of the internationally minded group of merchants or bullion brokers that arbitrarily dictated the exchange value of such silver, being in actuality determination internationally of the value of money, placed such groups controlling silver exchanges above and beyond local law and the law of the local god, and indeed conferred on them the power to influence kingly appointment. It made of them the servants of a one god, a god above all gods; thereby somewhat relegating the god whose order on the state warehouses as inscribed on clay by scribe or priest, had been the law governing exchanges, to the place of their servant, the instrument…”

Astle writes that the same power base that controls reality spins it in a deceptive way, usually cloaked in the sanctimonious drivel of a religion.

“…But who was who, or why, or what, little concerned that brain centre in Babylon or Ur, or wherever it was… Whoever they professed to be, or to belong to, meant nothing. Out of death and destruction was their harvest, whether those they said were their own, were theirs or not. The only reality was control of precious metal… Out of death and destruction came the releasing in that day of the all important hoards of stored bullion, and the renewal of the slave herds to be consumed in mining ventures in distant places, garnering the increase of such precious metals…”

Since archaic time, it has all been shrouded in the secret sanctimony of religious ritual.

“While the purpose of the temple was to cause the people to live godly lives according to the customs of the day and to preserve them from straying out of the ways of righteousness, as it were, the secret and private money creative power, being more concerned with the opposite, the needs of the anti-god, the destruction of the people’s lives, whether of king, priest, nobleman, or merchant, or he who laboured in the field, loaned without such discrimination…”

“Out of the resulting confusion amongst rulers could come nothing but advantage to themselves and their purposes; out of the break up of family and home and tradition, all that the dedicated servant of the god has in life, would come an exhausted and confused people, more ready to accept slavery. Corruption of the priesthood, as in today, was the chief aim of money conspiracy, and by causing such priesthood to lose sight of its high purpose and itself as the voice of god on earth, success in all its other purposes naturally followed.”

  This battle was over a long time ago, as Mr. Astle demonstrates:

“After the final triumph of the international money creative fraternity which may be identified in Mesopotamia with that period of conquest, reconquest, and conquest again that began with that invasion of Sumeria by the Gutim in 2270 B.C., and ended with the collapse of the Empire of Ur of Ibi-Sin before the Elamite rebels with their Amorite allies in 2030 B.C., and their taking away to Susa as captive, both the cult statue of the Lord Nannar, the Moon God together with the King Ibi-Sin himself, earthly viceroy of that God, those agents of International Money Power, quickly concluded the work of destruction through liberalism and permissiveness, no doubt, so that by 1900 B.C., the Sumerian had totally lost his national and racial identity and will to be… What continued from then on was, without a doubt, a mixed breed with no special allegiance to anything other than “money”.”

The trail of betrayal, blood and tears, all bound up in lies, stretches from the very dawn of civilization down to our present day. Astle continues:

“World Government is total government worldwide in which no independent race or people shall be except the rulers, who necessarily will have to be an exclusive caste. Total consent of all presumptuous, if not imaginative, bankers will never be ; but out of the weakness and confusion created by them amongst us towards these their own vain purposes, the world Government they mutter about, may come through conquest, though it is not they who will be the conquerors, though indeed, they will be the principal instrument. There would be no way of bringing about that total monopoly of money, industry and empire, which is world government, save through the manipulation of the credulity of mankind, and the pathetic trust he still maintains that his rulers are the voice of God on earth for him, as he blindly stumbles on, except it be by armed conquest.”

. . . in their folly the men of the city are willing to wreck our great city, being won over by wealth. False are the hearts of the people’s leaders. — Solon, 600 BC

“So to sum up the situation so far as pre-Solonian Athens was concerned, a simple unlettered people offered all the luxuries of another world as against the new money whose function is so little understood by lettered people even in this day, without going back 2500 years, had become swamped in debt. The law in respect to this debt had been upheld by a corrupted nobility in favour of the bankers. No doubt it had been represented to them by these same bankers that this pressure of debt on the growing population would keep the masses docile and tied to the land as was indicated by the prevalence of the mortgage tablets on the farms of Attica. This condition, favouring the corrupted nobility of Greece and the international money power, ignored the needs of the new-rich manufacturers of Athens, who were neither able to obtain sufficient supply of local free labour, nor to obtain slaves.”

The squeeze employed by the international bankers was exactly the same one they use today.

“The situation is very clear. The kings and aristocracies as descended from ancient days, as a derivative of their folly in permitting the unrestricted activities of the new bankers, who were now well established in all the major cities of Greece outside of Sparta, saw a class of manufacturers and entrepreneurs come into being, largely foreigners and men of lowly origin. These men, more often than not with the means of nobility but the outlook of slaves, were clearly a serious threat to kings and nobility and the order they represented.”

“The tyrant, therefore, was that force by which international money power as it derived from the control of silver bullion and the slave markets, destroyed all resistance to its total ownership of life and labour and human hope …”

“The tyrant was one who the banker could rely on to put through his “Levelling” programme, or in the double talk of today, could be relied on to “Press ahead with Democratization”. The tyrant had to be one completely in accord with that so-called “democratic” political attitude, which the banker always seemed to espouse … His ostensible purpose had to be to “Level”; such levelling meaning of course, tearing down everything above themselves, (and above the banker too! …)”

We can only conclude that from earliest times and apparently without exception down to the present day, the leaders of nations have been the puppets of moneymen and their sytems who hire them to rob the people they pretend to rule.