American Twilight

         A couple of things are pretty certain. The US would not be ruptured were it not for social media and the propaganda networks. Truth, even reliable facts, are hard to find there. Millions have been radicalized and brain washed. MAGA nation, a septic tank of deceit, hate, and lunacy, stirred by con men, is evidentiary case in point-the nation is broken.

technology in the vines

            Most of us are addicted by the brain wiring gadgetry and satisfaction of our screens. All drugs have cost and side effects; the technologies of convenience and communication are destroying civil society.

            These ideas may sound heretical coming from a media/journalism lifer and a first amendment absolutist. The adherence to the canons of old have been dashed, as has almost every tradition, and norm. Once, when newspapers, radio and television were the agents of information, people worked, played and lived harmoniously, often oblivious to political differences. Even in heated campaign years, folks could back opposing candidates and parties and still play golf, go to church, live next door and even be friends. If you were not white, however, your narrative was largely ignored or it was ghettoized. On a lot of things, we had our heads in the sand.

            Mostly people avoided talking about politics and religion in any general social context. They were personal matters, left for discussion with like-minded thinkers and souls.

            Partisan media, and the unhinged platforms where anything is said, despite lack of veracity or civility, bludgeons us with cultural wedges and sledgehammers of sheer ignorance and loud stupidity. We live with the brainwashed. Even the brainwashed get to vote.

      Will a woman’s right to choose, and a defense of democracy produce more votes than personal interests in short term economies, or the ginned-up concern about “crime” and a “stolen election?” Will a wave of reaction to the reversal of Roe generate a voting block? 18-34 year olds are telling pollsters they are worried about the threat to our form of government and almost despondent over climate issues. Will they vote and by what margins? Will the polls be mistaken, again? Do people tell the truth to pollsters?

        We tend to be reactive, perhaps too much so now.

There's been a recent spate of depravity, cruelty and barbarism by brutes like Putin and Republicans who did not speak out against the attack on the Speaker's husband, or who joked about it.  Maybe that will spark some reaction of decency and humanity. 

        There’s a lot of doomsaying about a predicted election of election deniers. 

     Having reported my first election in 1968, I’ve watched as party power rises and falls and as issues come and go. I learned to trust what we used to call the common sense of the American electorate. But that was when people read newspapers and watched responsible television news and listed to authoritative radio news. That was before talk radio, social media, and propaganda networks. It was a time when people could and would think for themselves. That was before politics of division, a time when some things were considered sacred, even as democracy was taken for granted.  

 

        We'll see if common sense is resilient?

    See you down the trail. 

Witches Paddle

         In the nine years since the first Witches Paddle in Morro Bay, the idea has spread up and down the California coast.

        Against the wind and tide some 300 witches and a few friends and family paddled again, for charity.

        Witches hats have a tough time in the wind. 

        There are likely a few muscle tired witches ready for a witches brew, or a California vintage.

See you down the trail.
 

The History of the Future

        We'll share a few moments here on the idea of drought, a drought of spirit and intellect as well as the obvious, depicted here in California's Lake Isabella in Kern County.

        I've been watching Lake Isabella disappear since we became Californians in 2007. These photos were taken recently.

        The stonework in the left of the frame above is the dam.

        There is no recreation in a lake where water levels have dropped to expose the ghost trees that once filled the valley before they were covered. This is an agricultural area too. Similar scenes are visible all over the west.

        We know this, right? It's a global issue. Even if droughts break, it will take years to return to "normal," an idea that is itself probably non-existent. Climate change, for whatever reason, is just that, change!

       From the view of someone who was there to cover the first Earth Day and who has chronicled the ensuing decades, we are not ready for what is coming at us.

        To the northeast of Lake Isabella is a perfect example.

        The great Owens Valley, the deepest in the US, sits at 4-thousand feet rimmed to the east by the Sierra Nevada, west of the White and Inyo Mountains at the western edge of the great basin.

        This vast wilderness is a poster of the moral and ethical drought that can destroy humankind.

        The California Water Wars are legendary, told well in the book and documentary series Cadillac Desert, fictionalized in the film Chinatown, and subject of litigation and battles that go on.

         That island, the remnant of a volcano, sits in the middle of a lake that remains at the middle of the public awareness of theft, deception, chicanery and shortsightedness perpetuated by Los Angeles officials. It began in the late 19th century and to this day LA exists becasue of the water theft.

        Mono Lake, subject of some of the most complex litigation in history, is the largest lake that remains in what once was an Owens Valley flowing with rivers, tributaries, small lakes until LA movers and shakers, destroyed them to feed a real estate boom that led to city of LA we know today. 

        It is a city still dependent on other people's water and those waters like those that feed Phoenix, and so much Southern California, and Arizona, are disappearing.

        Drought should change how we live, but golf courses remain green, builders continue to develop, swimming pools are filled, mindless irrigation continues. When the last drop is used, civilization in those places face a darkness where the drought of spirit, morality and ethics will rise up and create a force that will savage life and society.

        After years of wrangling, Mono Lake is beginning to rise and LA has learned to deal with it. While that may seem to be  good news, LA has instead begun to draw water from subsurface sources in the Owens Valley. 

        Owens Lake is a dry lake bed, as are others. Still the modernity of life in a big city is sucking water from aquifers in a parched area.

        In the early 1900's modern life began the theft. The Paiute tribe and other first citizens had relied on the water for centuries. Settlers had also begun a thriving agriculture that used the accessible water.

        There is no thriving agriculture today. The Paiute and other tribes have watched their paradise be stolen.

        LA is not the only place where this drought of conscience has blinded us to the consequence of our actions. It's a global problem.

        Documentary maker Gabriela Cowperthwaite who produced the expose Blackfish is out with a new investigation that is profoundly shaking up those who have seen it. 

        Based on the seven years of work by Nate Halverson of the Center for Investigative Reporting, it relates how commercial and national interests are buying land with water and food resources around the planet, essentially gaining control. As one analyst wrote "... it is a race against the clock to control food and water..." as climate continues to change humanity. 

       What permits, and what feeds such a sinister effort? A drought of morality and ethics.

       I've tried to avoid head on political analysis for a while. I'm sick of returning to the topic, depressed by the unnecessary division in the US, and anguished about the blatant ignorance and stupidity that is rampant. I've said most of what can be said.

       While we may be appalled and angered by the story of the Owens Valley, and the continued blindness of places like LA, the drought of conscience is apparent in too many places. One place is in the logic of a Republican party that will tolerate a candidate like Herschel Walker, or field candidates who deny the election and who continue to behave as cowards and ethical cripples. 

        We are a people at risk, all of us on this planet. Most of us have a capacity to act. We should.

       See you down the trail. 

       

    

 

Dear Beloved Sanibel...

         Dear Sanibel,

        It is heartbreak and anguish to see you shattered and broken. More heartbreak to ponder the human toll in the physical devastation. Dreams gone, homes, jobs life as normal wiped out.

        My pain is in memories only. Family vacations, anniversaries, book launches, special celebrations, times with friends and the dreams you launched. 

        Our girls grew up counting down until spring vacation and our escape from gray, cold and dark mid-west winters; there was excitement even in the wait until we could jet away. 

        We sensed life was kind when we first drove onto the causeway and felt the gulf breeze. So many years, so many of life's great moments, there on your shell tossed sandy beaches and under your thick canopy.

        Year after year Lana and I would walk your shore, being healed by the sun and Gulf, and be recharged to plunge back into life and careers.

        We watched as dear friends created a business, and converted a corner into an art and hospitality peace, and a piece of paradise. We watched our goddaughter grow as an island girl. We slept on the shop floor in our early vists and took pride in what Barb and Dave created.

        All of those grill nights, dinners at Jean Paul's, the Bubble Room, Mc T's and more. All of the laughter.

       Then precious Sanibel, you were where we planned to retire, and so we bought a house, and our dreams took hold. 

        In time our daughter moved there, we spent more vacation visits adding to the years of cherished time.

        My Sanibel Arcanum and The Sanibel Cayman Disc books were published and you helped me celebrate the success. The clippings and interviews and video tape reports now live in the archives of the Indiana Historical Society. All of those wonderful parties and book signings saved for the future.

        It was not about you, nothing about your tropical charm, but we changed focus. Our retired life was to be in California, another coast, another life, but so fondly and sweetly we remembered you, and our dear friends there and the thousands of memories. 

        Now we grieve. We are lucky, the memories remain. You dear precious Sanibel face another daunting time of rebuilding, repair, re-greening and rebirth so you can again be a haven of hope, laughter, peace, and memories. 

        We are sorrowed by the task that faces not only your communities, but the thousands of individual lives that have been altered.

        The Sanibel of my memory and the Sanibel of my novels was changing, as life does. But no one who has enjoyed your magic, your wildlife and wild nature, your devotion to the environment and love of birds can forget how special you were, and that was never to change. Nature will comeback. Ding Darling will again be a refuge and so too will you, precious Sanibel. You rare, east-west, barrier reef island, walking in the Gulf, you have endured for centuries, have taken hits, and have changed, but you always come back. 

        But for now, we hurt, we hurt for you. 

       See you down the trail.

Moved by the Mountains

 

        It had been 8 years since we visited one of our favorite places on the planet, the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada.

    Spectacular peaks crown the western rim of the vast Owen Valley on one of the great drives in the United States.

        We had booked access to Yosemite National Park, entering it from the east so we could drive the famed Tioga Pass. That thin line at mid mountain is the Pass, heading east.

        Rain fell overnight on the Lodge at June Lake. As we drove north in the morning we saw the surprise on the peaks to the north, the seasons first snow fall. 

    It was our first time to see fresh snow in Yosemite. In good years it becomes a winter wonderland, though we are not inclined to put chains on the tires and drive into the mountains.

    When the heavier snows fall, the Tioga Pass is closed until summer.

     We gave ourselves a couple of days to acclimate to the altitude before venturing out for a hike in the John Muir Wilderness.

        One of our favorite trails wanders along a creek as it winds upward to 4 alpine lakes. The trail head is at about 10,400 feet.

        With aging knees and hips we have begun using trekking poles and found them to be especially helpful.

        Lana and I are exhilarated by the beauty, peace and grandeur of the Sierras. My admiration for John Muir is always deepened as I think about how the Scotsman wandered and mapped the Mountains by himself.

            East of the Sierra is another story that tells us much about the state of the world. That's ahead in a future post.

        See you down the trail.