The Order of Bards, Ovates & Druids has an excellent talk on the history of the neo-pagan horned God. I got a lot out of it, so I mention that you may find it nestled in the middle of this 45 minute podcast. There's also happy Celtic pagan music and poetry in there.
Yours truly is happy, and would like to thank Hermes for the many occurrences of late that have contributed to my harmonious state of being. The garden is looking splendiferous, and as I learn more I appreciate it more. Did you know you can grow your own shamanic tobacco, Nicotiana rustica, and your own "southern ginseng", Gynostemma pentaphyllum, and they'll come back and love you year after year? Then there's the realization that happiness is free, and already just sitting there, somewhere deep in your thorax, and it takes about 20 seconds to fish a helping out if you concentrate. Also, some of this continent's much coveted rain has just fallen on us here, and a MIA friend and comrade has returned to MG. Bombs and Shields is blooming with tales of righteous resistance to Leviathan. On top of all that, I just found some excellent bike paniers for touring- check 'em out! Priced right, durable, water proof, easily removable, the right shape and size, and made of rescued plastic. Cheers to you, dear Tao.
-Werebrock
Showing posts with label Mountain Gardens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mountain Gardens. Show all posts
Friday, September 14, 2007
Sunday, May 13, 2007
tearin' it down
Werebrock found Crazy Steve. “you ready to go, man?” Werebrock questioned. “I called ‘em, and it’s cool that we’re coming over.” It was a good evening, ‘specially since it had come to be so before the clock struck 5. “Well, yeah. I got some trout,” he gestured to the pot he was carrying. “I can smoke ‘em and be ready in 15 minutes.” Werebrock considered the merits of eating a fish, just pulled up outta the stream. “I already ate a sandwich, so you can keep it all for yourself.” Of course, Crazy Steve would not hear it, and so the two plus another student at the Joe Hollis School of Mad Wizardry enjoyed their first course. Wild trout is tastier than just about everything when you’re hungry in the holler.
They rolled out on four wheels, riding in high style. Perhaps there’d be a time when such luxuries would be beyond the grasp of the two staunch comrades, but for the time being they lay back and reveled, in their sweet ride. Werebrock appreciated the sunroof because, as an ogre, he had to hunch over in many of the motorized transports he’d ridden in. “I’m interested in this hydrogen fusion thingie our engineer friend is building.” So was Steve, who would maybe resent his car less if it ran on water.
The view of the clouds, above the mountains and veiling the sunset over the cow pasture, was a teacher that kept up with the mercurial auto. The vaporous structures extended lovingly opaque tendrils of nothingness down to the Taoist-flavored cloud ponderer in the passenger seat, shielding his reptile brain from a familiar chatter whose origin, he speculated, emanated from a spectral form who lived and guided him, somewhat, from somewhere beneath his face.
They arrived as the Bears were finishing their meal. “So what’s up, y’all?!” Back and forth banter is not tedious when you’re with friends. The engineering Bear expounded upon his hydrogen idea. “Basically, you expose water to a certain frequency of sound, and one of the hydrogen atoms breaks apart. This releases energy, which you can use for powering anything. It can use salt water, which ends up desalinated after the “H” two “O” molecules re-form at the end of the process. So we can solve our energy wants, desalinate water for drinking or irrigating deserts. And it’s really…” His daughter cut in. “But Da-a-a-d,” she moaned, “didn’t the guy who invented this get killed?” “Yes. He died over a plate of (suspect?) lasagna, and then the Defense Department bought up the patent from his widow.” He did some theater with shaking his head and blinking his eyes. “I just wanna get my car running on water, ‘sall.” His son had been foisting on Werebrock an illustrated encyclopedia of Vertebrates, enthusiastically pointing out the bats. “Theoretically,” Werebrock raised, “could you have a flying machine that skims the surface of the ocean to refuel? It would be like a bat that skims the lake to drink.” “Yes, that sounds plausible.”
The intrepid duo were much impressed by the simplicity of the machine’s design, when Engineer Bear show and telled. It was getting late, and being intoxicated, they decided to stay over. There was good bullshitting for hours into the night.
The next day was spent communally, the whole Bear family and their friends deconstructing a barn. It was strenuous. Electric screwdrivers whizzed the lumber back into component pieces, which were cleaned and sorted for reuse. Huge chunks of concrete were heaved, fiberglass insulation removal was endured; upon taking down the last ceiling panel, a large blacksnake fell on and past Werebrock, who was somewhat embarrassed to have called out to Jesus in a room full of pagans. Upon being re-pharmakoed, he decided it had been an omen, the Universe’s way of indicating that he was either a.) thinking too much, or b.) missing the point. He knew both were happening, and decided to ease off pushing his search for meaning up the hill.
Dirty jokes were smutted across the room, the uselessness of the president of the United States of Leviathan was speculated upon, and the denizens of the Bear Den autonomous zone struggled to get their minds around the vacant space their efforts were spreading across the lawn. The energy, the counterpower, the sweat and the sledgehammers. What a fine day. Cash did not change hands- company was shared, food was lovingly prepared, and Werebrock arranged to come back the next weekend and work some more, this time as a part-time employee. The bonds of friendship would subsidize the wages, to everyone's glee. Werebrock hearts the Bears!
They rolled out on four wheels, riding in high style. Perhaps there’d be a time when such luxuries would be beyond the grasp of the two staunch comrades, but for the time being they lay back and reveled, in their sweet ride. Werebrock appreciated the sunroof because, as an ogre, he had to hunch over in many of the motorized transports he’d ridden in. “I’m interested in this hydrogen fusion thingie our engineer friend is building.” So was Steve, who would maybe resent his car less if it ran on water.
The view of the clouds, above the mountains and veiling the sunset over the cow pasture, was a teacher that kept up with the mercurial auto. The vaporous structures extended lovingly opaque tendrils of nothingness down to the Taoist-flavored cloud ponderer in the passenger seat, shielding his reptile brain from a familiar chatter whose origin, he speculated, emanated from a spectral form who lived and guided him, somewhat, from somewhere beneath his face.
They arrived as the Bears were finishing their meal. “So what’s up, y’all?!” Back and forth banter is not tedious when you’re with friends. The engineering Bear expounded upon his hydrogen idea. “Basically, you expose water to a certain frequency of sound, and one of the hydrogen atoms breaks apart. This releases energy, which you can use for powering anything. It can use salt water, which ends up desalinated after the “H” two “O” molecules re-form at the end of the process. So we can solve our energy wants, desalinate water for drinking or irrigating deserts. And it’s really…” His daughter cut in. “But Da-a-a-d,” she moaned, “didn’t the guy who invented this get killed?” “Yes. He died over a plate of (suspect?) lasagna, and then the Defense Department bought up the patent from his widow.” He did some theater with shaking his head and blinking his eyes. “I just wanna get my car running on water, ‘sall.” His son had been foisting on Werebrock an illustrated encyclopedia of Vertebrates, enthusiastically pointing out the bats. “Theoretically,” Werebrock raised, “could you have a flying machine that skims the surface of the ocean to refuel? It would be like a bat that skims the lake to drink.” “Yes, that sounds plausible.”
The intrepid duo were much impressed by the simplicity of the machine’s design, when Engineer Bear show and telled. It was getting late, and being intoxicated, they decided to stay over. There was good bullshitting for hours into the night.
The next day was spent communally, the whole Bear family and their friends deconstructing a barn. It was strenuous. Electric screwdrivers whizzed the lumber back into component pieces, which were cleaned and sorted for reuse. Huge chunks of concrete were heaved, fiberglass insulation removal was endured; upon taking down the last ceiling panel, a large blacksnake fell on and past Werebrock, who was somewhat embarrassed to have called out to Jesus in a room full of pagans. Upon being re-pharmakoed, he decided it had been an omen, the Universe’s way of indicating that he was either a.) thinking too much, or b.) missing the point. He knew both were happening, and decided to ease off pushing his search for meaning up the hill.
Dirty jokes were smutted across the room, the uselessness of the president of the United States of Leviathan was speculated upon, and the denizens of the Bear Den autonomous zone struggled to get their minds around the vacant space their efforts were spreading across the lawn. The energy, the counterpower, the sweat and the sledgehammers. What a fine day. Cash did not change hands- company was shared, food was lovingly prepared, and Werebrock arranged to come back the next weekend and work some more, this time as a part-time employee. The bonds of friendship would subsidize the wages, to everyone's glee. Werebrock hearts the Bears!
Monday, April 30, 2007
i'm fond of this little place in cyber space, and i'm gonna keep it. however, i can't write as much as i used to because i'm doing more other shit.
this blog, Out on the Limb, is by my new friend Deb. she came all the way from Washington to Mountain Gardens, and after an all too brief spell she's leaving us again. so it goes. parting is such sweet sorrow.
hmmmm.... Mountain Gardens has a mellow, nourishing atmosphere. it's a combination of the more natural setting, the simpler lifestyle, and the community, i think. whatever the formula is, it's condusive to my reimagining my relationships with everyone, 'specially myself. here's the latest halfbaked batch:
i've been over-hyped about my identity, trying to be a hero in my own little epic for a long time (thanks hollywood). i've had to be tense to carry that burden, trying to mould my life to look like the ever-evolving ideal in my head. with so much attention on myself, albeit on an amazing person i'm really not, i haven't been able to "put my attenae up" as far as i'd like to and see what other people are about. and i've had to willfully ignore the stethescope that would tell me how my heart really beats.
not that the ideals i've been carrying laboriously about, (or idols, if you prefer) haven't brought me some good and unusual things. they brought me to the Zoo Academy, to permaculture and anarchy and Earth First!, to Mountain Gardens. to passion. but if i spend all my time leading the horse to water and willing it to drink, i'll never get to taste the water my ownself.
also, i've caught myself thinking that i'm a fish that is wearing some kind of magick/high-tech suit that lets me play on land.
this blog, Out on the Limb, is by my new friend Deb. she came all the way from Washington to Mountain Gardens, and after an all too brief spell she's leaving us again. so it goes. parting is such sweet sorrow.
hmmmm.... Mountain Gardens has a mellow, nourishing atmosphere. it's a combination of the more natural setting, the simpler lifestyle, and the community, i think. whatever the formula is, it's condusive to my reimagining my relationships with everyone, 'specially myself. here's the latest halfbaked batch:
i've been over-hyped about my identity, trying to be a hero in my own little epic for a long time (thanks hollywood). i've had to be tense to carry that burden, trying to mould my life to look like the ever-evolving ideal in my head. with so much attention on myself, albeit on an amazing person i'm really not, i haven't been able to "put my attenae up" as far as i'd like to and see what other people are about. and i've had to willfully ignore the stethescope that would tell me how my heart really beats.
not that the ideals i've been carrying laboriously about, (or idols, if you prefer) haven't brought me some good and unusual things. they brought me to the Zoo Academy, to permaculture and anarchy and Earth First!, to Mountain Gardens. to passion. but if i spend all my time leading the horse to water and willing it to drink, i'll never get to taste the water my ownself.
also, i've caught myself thinking that i'm a fish that is wearing some kind of magick/high-tech suit that lets me play on land.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
another day in the life of a "Paradise Gardener"
Mead mead mead. That's what I want. We had lots of carboys, so it was just a matter of procuring some honey. And yes, a little yeast and misc. BS from the brewstore. That's covered by our party hardy instructor, so it's just honey we needed.
We asked around at a concert a couple weeks ago, and found a bee keeper. Someone gave him a bunch of already fermenting honey to feed to his bees, and he said we could have some. That rocks. Today we went over to give him a hand with his place, because we were so appreciative. Work trade begins to bleed into gift exchange...
We put horse manure on a couple of his intensive raised beds. Over the winter he planted something like "Prussian Snow Peas", a legume that fixed Nitrogen in the soil. As we turned the soil over in one bed, we could see the little N-fixing nodules. The other cover crop, barley, was just there to add organic structure to the soil.
He said he'd been developing his technique. He'd like to do no till, but he didn't have the people power to sheet mulch the weeds into oblivion. We literally forked the cover crop over, burying it in 8 inches of the soil that was previously beneath it.
We also dug a strawberry patch and saw his far-out circular house, which was timber-framed and filled in not with cob, but with a similar mixture of straw and clay slurry. He said it was 2 gallons of slurry to 1 bale of straw.
So, honey in hand and all abuz with excitement, we made mead. In fact, I'm still in the process of making it. There's a five gallon batch of boiled honey water which I'll add packaged yeast, yeast food and Irish moss to. There are two one gallon batches which, a la Ran Prieur, I innoculated with my mouth and whose honey has never known heat. One plain, as a control to compare with the plain domesticated batch. The second one gallon batch will be C-R-A-Z-Y, because in addition to my microorganisms, the honey's microorganisms and spring water, it has jioagulan, horny goatweed and ginger in it.
Jioagulan is like a more cost effective ginseng in it's effects and potency. Horny goatweed is, you guessed it, an aphrodisiac, from a fable about a goatherd observing his charges eating this plant and promptly getting it on. Ginger is for taste, and also has some microorganisms of its own to contribute.
it's hardy to zone "8", though it's growing outside here in zone "7". question authority, my friends, and smash the state. grow it if you can, for it is mundo healthy.
speaking of which, i'm making some pretty good sourdough wholegrain spelt bread these days. soon to be making more as i get comfortable with the clay bread oven here.
here are a few other plants i've been eating, for my fellow gardeners:
upland cress/creasy greens, a peppery tasting plant that has gone in some sandwiches and a salad
turnips have self seeded all around the garden. they have nice roots some of the time, but their greens in the spring are hard to beat. every Paradise gardener should find something like this, a voluminous vitamin store of a plant that can stand to be weeded out of a bed and come back in the path the next year.
ramps. wild onion/garlic relative, people in Appalachia like this plant so much they throw it festivals. it's only up one month of the year, which hear was this and last month's respective halves.
i should be doing more wildcrafting, but the honey and peanut butter sandwiches beckon. o yeah, one more...
spicebush. i've been breaking off twigs and flavoring our overnight-soaked oatmeal, so we don't always have to use cinnamon. when their fruit comes out in the fall, then we'll REALLY be cookin.
We asked around at a concert a couple weeks ago, and found a bee keeper. Someone gave him a bunch of already fermenting honey to feed to his bees, and he said we could have some. That rocks. Today we went over to give him a hand with his place, because we were so appreciative. Work trade begins to bleed into gift exchange...
We put horse manure on a couple of his intensive raised beds. Over the winter he planted something like "Prussian Snow Peas", a legume that fixed Nitrogen in the soil. As we turned the soil over in one bed, we could see the little N-fixing nodules. The other cover crop, barley, was just there to add organic structure to the soil.
He said he'd been developing his technique. He'd like to do no till, but he didn't have the people power to sheet mulch the weeds into oblivion. We literally forked the cover crop over, burying it in 8 inches of the soil that was previously beneath it.
We also dug a strawberry patch and saw his far-out circular house, which was timber-framed and filled in not with cob, but with a similar mixture of straw and clay slurry. He said it was 2 gallons of slurry to 1 bale of straw.
So, honey in hand and all abuz with excitement, we made mead. In fact, I'm still in the process of making it. There's a five gallon batch of boiled honey water which I'll add packaged yeast, yeast food and Irish moss to. There are two one gallon batches which, a la Ran Prieur, I innoculated with my mouth and whose honey has never known heat. One plain, as a control to compare with the plain domesticated batch. The second one gallon batch will be C-R-A-Z-Y, because in addition to my microorganisms, the honey's microorganisms and spring water, it has jioagulan, horny goatweed and ginger in it.
Jioagulan is like a more cost effective ginseng in it's effects and potency. Horny goatweed is, you guessed it, an aphrodisiac, from a fable about a goatherd observing his charges eating this plant and promptly getting it on. Ginger is for taste, and also has some microorganisms of its own to contribute.
it's hardy to zone "8", though it's growing outside here in zone "7". question authority, my friends, and smash the state. grow it if you can, for it is mundo healthy.
speaking of which, i'm making some pretty good sourdough wholegrain spelt bread these days. soon to be making more as i get comfortable with the clay bread oven here.
here are a few other plants i've been eating, for my fellow gardeners:
upland cress/creasy greens, a peppery tasting plant that has gone in some sandwiches and a salad
turnips have self seeded all around the garden. they have nice roots some of the time, but their greens in the spring are hard to beat. every Paradise gardener should find something like this, a voluminous vitamin store of a plant that can stand to be weeded out of a bed and come back in the path the next year.
ramps. wild onion/garlic relative, people in Appalachia like this plant so much they throw it festivals. it's only up one month of the year, which hear was this and last month's respective halves.
i should be doing more wildcrafting, but the honey and peanut butter sandwiches beckon. o yeah, one more...
spicebush. i've been breaking off twigs and flavoring our overnight-soaked oatmeal, so we don't always have to use cinnamon. when their fruit comes out in the fall, then we'll REALLY be cookin.
Friday, March 30, 2007
water dragons and shinto lanterns
in Ohio, the so-called "hellbenders" are endangered. i think we can fairly call them water dragons. apparently they're so common around here that people are always throwing 'em back when they fish in the South Toe River, down the road. after hearing the local anti-serpent sentiments, it's good to know there's somebody around here that's weird, reptilian and primal. i can't wait to meet one.
in other news, it turns out that those cement Japanese lanterns (tōrōs) that everybody's got in their back yards are cultural artifacts from the entrances of Shinto temples. as we reinvent our spiritualities, chowing down on the buffet of world traditions while already having these around, why not see what kind of magik you can stick back in there? Herbal Gerbil and I hauled one up to a waterfall to aid in communication with ancestors to great effect.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
wooo, yeah, i'm finally here
so Mountain Gardens. yeah. not Cincinnati.
wake up at quarter to 8, cook breakfast over a rocket stove, and then work/play for the rest of the day. all to a soundtrack of small critters. if it's not the squirrels rustling so noisily through the leaves that i can hear them across the holler, or the owls hooting from farther up the mountain in the national forest, it's the worms and mice all around me. sometimes the sound of rain or snow hitting the tin roof, or tumultuous gusts of wind working it's way into every crevice on the three acres. either way, i don't regret not ponying up for an MP3 player.
i'm starting seeds for my own garden. there will be goji berries, several strands of native tobacco and other smokables. st. john's wort, should a spat of inclement weather overstay its welcome with me. and of course, the Jersey walking stick cabbage i posted about here.
most of the hillside terraces that you see as pictures on the Mountain Gardens website were originally trenches dug to bury human excrement, with the soil placed on the downhill side and the rocks piled up to make a retaining wall, possibly with the help of some stakes and planks or branches. this strikes me as a brilliant example of stacking functions, especially considering we use the ash from our cook fires as the drying agent in the composting toilet. and, it working so well and supporting so much life, it starts to feel sacred and beautiful. every day when i wake up and head out the door, i walk through fairy land.
bah. i've only been here a few days and i'm waxing poetic. it was hard to get to a spot to blog. had to hitchhike for 15 or 20 miles, and ride on the back of my friends bike/jog the other 5. but it's worth it to be able to share a good story.
speaking of good stories, i still have 30 pages of Against His-Story, Against Leviathan! to type up. it would be lovely if someone else wanted to take that on, but i'll get it up by the middle of May, anyway. email me if your up to it.
if you're already writing letters, like maybe to some prisoners or your homeless godmother in the Maldives, think about dropping me a line. (i'll remember you better on your birthday.) my address is
546 Shuford Creek Rd.
Burnsville, NC 2874
werebrock out
wake up at quarter to 8, cook breakfast over a rocket stove, and then work/play for the rest of the day. all to a soundtrack of small critters. if it's not the squirrels rustling so noisily through the leaves that i can hear them across the holler, or the owls hooting from farther up the mountain in the national forest, it's the worms and mice all around me. sometimes the sound of rain or snow hitting the tin roof, or tumultuous gusts of wind working it's way into every crevice on the three acres. either way, i don't regret not ponying up for an MP3 player.
i'm starting seeds for my own garden. there will be goji berries, several strands of native tobacco and other smokables. st. john's wort, should a spat of inclement weather overstay its welcome with me. and of course, the Jersey walking stick cabbage i posted about here.
most of the hillside terraces that you see as pictures on the Mountain Gardens website were originally trenches dug to bury human excrement, with the soil placed on the downhill side and the rocks piled up to make a retaining wall, possibly with the help of some stakes and planks or branches. this strikes me as a brilliant example of stacking functions, especially considering we use the ash from our cook fires as the drying agent in the composting toilet. and, it working so well and supporting so much life, it starts to feel sacred and beautiful. every day when i wake up and head out the door, i walk through fairy land.
bah. i've only been here a few days and i'm waxing poetic. it was hard to get to a spot to blog. had to hitchhike for 15 or 20 miles, and ride on the back of my friends bike/jog the other 5. but it's worth it to be able to share a good story.
speaking of good stories, i still have 30 pages of Against His-Story, Against Leviathan! to type up. it would be lovely if someone else wanted to take that on, but i'll get it up by the middle of May, anyway. email me if your up to it.
if you're already writing letters, like maybe to some prisoners or your homeless godmother in the Maldives, think about dropping me a line. (i'll remember you better on your birthday.) my address is
546 Shuford Creek Rd.
Burnsville, NC 2874
werebrock out
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