I am a virgin. I have never before participated in a web-log (BLOG in the vernacular) community.  A dear friend of mine, in fact my dearest friend, spends quite a bit of his time on this site, so I wanted to “see” for myself what the allure was.  The idea of meeting like minded individuals or having rampant discussions with those of opposing views is very much to my liking, though I prefer to meet and discuss with people on the Terra Firma; the idea of speaking with a wider base of humans in Cyber-Space also has its distinct benefits.

I’m going to make a real effort to keep up with this BLOG; however, I try to keep my life pretty full, in order not to miss much that is happening back my ‘Terra Firma’ life, which can be at times fairly hectic.  Balancing work and play, could be a full time occupation in and of itself.  To quote one of the greatest American philosophers,

 "One final paragraph of advice: Do not burn yourself out. Be as I am-a reluctant enthusiast... a part time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it is still there. So get out there and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, encounter the grizz, climb the mountains. Run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, that lovely, mysterious and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to your body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much: I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those deskbound people with their hearts in a safe deposit box and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this: you will outlive the bastards."

 To find the proper balance is never easy.  But if you can’t enjoy life, why bother fighting for it?  To truly live, you must have purpose.  Finding that purpose can be difficult.  Difficult but not impossible.

Some men spend their time, seeing how many notches they can put on their gun-barrel. But when they meet their maker can they say that they lived the best possible life that they could?

Every one of us has two things in common.  We were born and we will die.  How we spend the time in between is the difference.  Every second that passes is, either wasted or put to good use.  The real question is what mark do you want to leave on the world.  Spend your time idly playing or working for the greater good.  It’s your choice.    

I write a monthly column, that focuses on a different native plant, for a organic gardening magazine, that I thought I would share with all of you. 

There are many plants that easily make the transition from Prairie plant to Native Texas bedding plant.  One of my “perennial” favorites is a member of the Mallow family.  It is wide-spread through-out Texas and much of the Great Plains and provides the modern viewer with true beauty.  Earlier peoples not only enjoyed this wildflower’s form, but also its function.  For it is a source of highly nutritional food source for man, as well as, countless beneficial insects and higher life forms.  It was also used by indigenous peoples as a medicinal plant.  Called pezhuta nantiazilia   or “smoke treatment medicine” by the Lakota people.

 Now days most of us don’t speak much Lakota, so we use the much simpler name of Winecup.  The botanists name for this plant, Callirhoe involucrata, might be even harder to pronounce than the Lakota name. 

As the common name implies this low trailing plant is covered with deep dark purplish red or wine colored cup shaped blooms.  It will grow in most soil types in either the sun or shade and can be found in the wild though-out most of Texas.  Winecups usually grow from one foot to eighteen inches tall and from twenty-four to thirty-six inches wide.  This makes them great to use as a perennial border plants in the flower bed or as an interesting and beautiful hanging basket.  In the wild Winecups generally bloom from April through the end of June or early July, depending on how quickly our summer becomes hot and dry.  In the home landscape the bloom time can be greatly extended by dead-heading the old blooms and giving the plants occasional supplemental watering.

Winecups are easily transplanted from starter pots found at local nurseries or grown at home from seed.  Or for large areas and flower beds the seed can be planted directly in the soil.  The best times for sowing Winecups seeds is either the late summer to early fall or in the spring time .

These drought hardy plants can tolerate both extreme heat and bitter cold.  They rarely have problems with insects or disease and add lasting beauty to your landscape.

The following story takes place at Enchanted Rock SNA, to have a better feel for the places and names used click on the link for a PDF map of the area provided by the Texas Parks and Wildlife Dept.   (MAP)

Enchanted Rock

Last Saturday I convinced myself that it wasn’t going to be very hot outside, so I decided to head out for a day of hiking around Enchanted Rock State Natural Area, which centers around a billion year old, 640 acre, granite batholith near Fredericksburg, Texas.  The park itself is about 1,600 acres and provides great hiking trails and camping spots and is a really cool place to go rock climbing. I’m not too sure why I felt that it was going to be cooler on that particular day, but I was dreadfully wrong.  It was just shy of 100 degrees outside with high humidity and not even the slightest breeze outside.  It would have been miserable, if not for the breath taking surroundings.

I started out on the trail leading from Sandy Creek to the summit, deciding to save the best for last I cut over to the Frog Pond, which with our excessively dry June, turned into a cracked mud flat, devoid of any water.  Turning away from the sad sight of the frog and waterless frog pond, I cut between Freshman Mountain and Turkey Peak to head over to Buzzard’s Roost, where I hoped to collect some choice bryophytes that abound on the rocks. (Quick note: A scientific permit is required to gather any type of fossil, rock, plant or animal.) Buzzard’s Roost is a steep 300 foot climb to reach the summit which lived up grandly to its name.  As I neared the top a pair of Turkey Vultures, more commonly called Buzzards, were resting their wings and sunning themselves on one of the many huge granite outcroppings.

After reaching the summit and collecting the specimens that I was after, I rested for a while and watched the world from the Buzzard’s perspective high above the valley floor.  Few creatures stirred down below and the solitude was magnificent. 

I climbed down the steep rocks and picked my way through the areas of heavy brush to reach the Loop Trail, that would lead me over to the Moss Lake Primitive Camping Area, so that I could scout out a few locations for a future camping trip in the area.  There were some nice spots, but very little level ground.  The lack of choice sites was made up for by the stunning views of Enchanted Rock.  I marked a few of the better camping places with my GPS, so that I could find them again.  The heat was becoming quite intense so I sat on a fallen log, in the shade of the live oak trees and sipped from my canteen, and took in the smell and sounds of the forest.  After my brief rest, I worked my way around, following the Loop Trail, to the back side of Little Rock (its only 1790 ft tall) and climb up to one of my favorite formations.   I’ve always been fascinated by rocks that have been weathered by the powers of wind and rain so that they have a hole drilled through them.

When I was a child, I believed that such rocks were portals to other worlds and possible window to the future and to this day I have a soft spot in my heart for such formations. 

On my descent from Little Rock, I noticed a blaze of color in the otherwise parched landscape.  Growing out of small patch of soil on the side of the slick rock was a Lantana in full bloom. Its color rang out oblivious to the summer drought and heat.  All around the Lantana, Gulf Fritillary Butterflies fluttered by and stopped on the flowers  deeply drinking the sweet nectar, before moving on to attend to important butterfly business.  

After reaching the valley floor once again, I headed out for the Walnut Springs camping area to a nice place where I stop and have lunch.  I dined near the springs under the shade of an old Juniper.  I filled my canteen from the spring and supplemented my lunch of trail mix with some delicious Prickly Pear Cactus Tuna (fruit) before leaving my serene picnic spot.

After a light lunch and the refreshing spring water, I decided it was time to strike out of the Enchanted Rock summit.  I walked along the Echo Canyon Trail, until I came upon a group of volunteers that were laboring to repair a section of trail.  Caught up in the spirit, I postponed my summit climb for a while, in order to help them haul bags of rock and sand up the steep trail to fill in spots prone to erosion.  When the volunteer crew leader called for a rest, I said my good-byes and headed on up the trail.  I had decided to take a short cut up the side of the rock instead of going a around the rock to the Summit Trail.  My way was shorter, but much steeper and more rugged terrain, so I’m not so sure that it was much of a time saver.  It did, however, give me the chance to see up close a side of Enchanted Rock that most people don’t make the effort to get to.  I scrambled to the summit and what little breath that I had left was sucked from my lungs by the awesome view of the surrounding hill country.  It was hot, humid, hard work to get to the top, but it was worth every second of hardship to behold the beauty that lay all around.

When the cities are gone...and all the ruckus has died away, when sunflowers push up through the concrete and asphalt of forgotten interstate freeways, when the Kremlin and the Pentagon are turned into nursing homes for generals, presidents and other such shitheads, when the glass-aluminum skyscraper tombs of Phoenix, "Arizona barely show above the sand dunes, why then, why then, why then by God maybe freemen and wildwomen on horses, free women and wild men can roam the sagebrush canyonlands in freedom--goddamit! Herding the feral cattle into box canyons, and gorge on bloody meat and bleeding fucking internal organs, and dance all night to the music of fiddles! Banjos! Steel guitars! by the light of the reborn moon!--by God--Yes!"

Edward Abbey

Here's a quick recipe for a foliar spray for plants.  It helps landscape plants do their best and helps vegetable gardens produce higher quality and more produce.  The picture above is at our seed farm and the tractor in the back ground has 250 gallons of this mixture.  Jimmy is helping me spray our Winecups, by handling the 150' hose and I'm doing the spraying.

1 cup manure-based compost tea
1 ounce natural apple cider vinegar
1 ounce liquid seaweed

1 ounce molasses

 in one gallon of water

For disease and insect control add:

¼ cup garlic tea or
¼ cup garlic/pepper tea
or 1 ounce of orange oil

For homemade fire ant killer add:
2 ounces of citrus oil per gallon

All too often we think of wildflowers being just a spring time event. But there are many fall blooming Texas Natives that grace our roadsides, parks, gardens and rangelands. With the cooler autumn temperatures and beneficial fall rains, the hardy survivors of the harsh summer burst into bloom and cover the landscape once again with tantalizing color. One of my favorite fall blooming plants is Liatris mucronata. Also know as Blazing Star or Gayfeather. Gayfeather typically grows one to three feet tall on the surface, but this highly drought tolerant plant will have a much larger bio-mass beneath the surface. Its roots will grow down up to sixteen feet deep in search of nutrients and water. When a Gayfeather seed germinates it sometimes take two to three years for it to start to bloom, during that time it is establishing its extensive root system. Gayfeather will grow in even the poorest soil types, but prefers a well drained to slightly dry area to grow in. the long purple bloom spikes first start to appear in mid to late August and the Gayfeather will continue with its colorful show until the first hard frost, which for most of Texas is in November or December. The Gayfeather is also a very useful plant. Its large starchy potato like roots have been used for centuries as an energy packed food source. The nectar the Gayfeather provides is very important food source for the fall butterfly and hummingbird migration. The blooms make beautiful, long-lasting cut flowers for floral arrangements, as well. This plant also has a reputation as a herbal medicine that cures every thing form a sore throat to rattle snake bites. Gayfeather is a sun loving, long lived perennial plant found in the wild growing in hillsides, slopes, upland prairies and woodland edges from the deserts of Mexico to the great plains of Nebraska. It is a plant that definitely deserves a spot in most every landscape and will provide years of enjoyment to the person who provides a home for this outstanding Native plant.

 ...in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes—something known only to her and to the mountain.

Aldo Leopold

merdivorous - ( mur DIV uh ruhs)   One who eats excrement, usually used to describe insects.  I like to use it in refering to politicians

These recipes are for divine, but I hope every one will enjoy them.

Whole Foods Granola Bars

2 cups raw almonds

1 cup apple sauce

1 ½ tea spoon cinnamon

1 ½ cups water

1 ½ cups dried Peaches or Apricots

½ cup dried cranberries

½ cup chopped pecans or walnuts

½ cup ground flax seed

½ cup whole wheat flour

5 cups Old Fashioned Oats

 Honey or other natural sweeter to taste

Soak the almonds in water for at least 5 or 6 hours.  Drain.

In a blender, combine almonds, applesauce, cinnamon

and the 1 ½ cups of water.  Thoroughly process the mixture in the blender, then pour into a large mixing bowl.  Add the remainder of the ingredients to he bowl and mix.

 Take ¼ cup of the dough and plop onto a parchment or wax paper lined cookie sheet or dehydrator tray if you have one.  Flatten each glob to about ½ inch thick.  It should be 24-28 bars.  Dry in dehydrator until the bars are hard.  If you don’t have a dehydrator, put the bars on a cookie sheet into the oven on the lowest temperature and leave the door cracked open for a make shift dehydrator.

Trail Balls

½ cup peanut butter

½ cup honey

1 cup powdered soy milk

1 cup Old Fashion Oats

¼ cup toasted wheat germ

Combine peanut butter and honey.  Add soy milk powder and oatmeal.  Mix it up, then shape into balls.  Roll the balls in the toasted wheat germ.  Wrap individually with wax paper or plastic wrap.  Makes a couple of dozen balls.

Breakfast Bars (good any time of the day

2 2/3 cups old fashion Oats

½ cup plus 1 tablespoon whole wheat flour

6 tablespoons all-purpose bleached whole wheat flour

½ cup sesame seeds

½ cup brown sugar

¼ tea spoon cinnamon

1 ½ tea spoon salt

1/3 cup powdered soy milk

½ cup vegetable oil

¾ cup honey

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.  In a bowl, mix all the dry ingredients together. Heat oil, honey and vanilla in a pan, then add to the dry ingredients in the bowl.  Stir well.  Pat the batter into a 9x13 inch parchment lined pan.  Bars should be about ½ inch thick.  Cook for 30 min.  Cool then slice into 32 bars.

After staying up way too late and drinking a few too many beers last night, I decided that it would be a good idea to get up early this morning and go stretch my legs for a bit.  So about 7:00, I headed out for the state park, so I could hike around for a few hours along some of the trails at the Wildlife Management Area. (link) I parked at the locked gate that blocks the road leading in the WMA and grabbed my canteen and hit the trail.   There is a pretty extensive trail system in the approximately 2,200 acre park, and I wanted to try to cover most of the trails this morning.  The terrain is fairly rough, with steep limestone hills that are densely covered in Juniper and escarpment live oaks.  After walking along for a couple of hundred yards, I started thinking about people who trail run for fun.  I have never really understood the allure of the sport, for me part of the fun in being outside is observing my surroundings, which is hard to do if you are concentrating on the trail ahead of you.  I am the type of person that generally doesn’t discredit an activity with out first giving it a try.  So I found a place to cache my canteen and I started to jog up the trail.  As my leg muscles began to loosen, I picked up speed.  Scrambling over the loose rocks and gravel that made up the path, it seemed like the world around me disappeared.  I focused on the pathway, making my way over the hills at a pace that was far faster that I thought that I could manage.  Much sooner than expected, I had completed the outer loop trail (about 8 or 9 miles) and was coming up on the spot where I stashed my canteen.  I stopped to fetch my water and drank heartily form the spout.  I was pretty well worn out and my legs felt like jelly, but it is a peaceful feeling.  As I walk back to my vehicle, too tired to even think, I look up at the clouds that are forming overhead, lost in their formless beauty.  On the way out of the park, as I reach the river crossing, I can’t resist pulling over and going for a quick dunk in the water.  I’m already drenched in sweat, so I jump in clothes and all and let the cool refreshing water wash over my tired body.  Not a bad way to spend a morning.   

The word is my country, mankind my brethren, and to do good my religion.

Thomas Paine

After several requests for different types of recipes, I decided on three genres of cuisine.  The 1st is a vegetarian/vegan recipe, the 2nd conventional healthy cooking and the 3rd focusing on camping and backpacking.  Almost all my recipes are stolen from other people, but I’m not sure who, so I’m not able to give them their due credit.  I have tried them all out and they are delicious.  Enjoy.

Spicy Vegetarian Peanut Noodle Salad

2/3 cup creamy peanut butter
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1/3 cup rice or red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon red chile flakes
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon coarse ground coriander
2 tablespoons naturally brewed soy sauce
1/2 cup canola oil
1 pound spaghetti, cooked and refreshed
1 English cucumber, halved and 1/8-inch slices
1 red bell pepper, julienned
1 bunch scallions, sliced
1/2 cup chopped roasted (salted) peanuts for garnish

In a bowl, whisk together the peanut butter, sesame oil, vinegar, chile, sugar, Dijon, coriander and soy until smooth. Whisk in the canola oil and check for seasoning. In a large bowl, toss dressing with the pasta, cucumbers, bell pepper and scallions. Check for seasoning.

Curry Chicken Pot Pie

4 cups frozen vegetable mix, peas, carrots
1 to 2 tablespoons canola oil
3 tablespoons butter
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup chopped celery
1 1/2 cups low sodium chicken broth
1/2 cup milk
3 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon curry powder
2 tablespoons dried parsley
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper
2 cups cubed cooked chicken
1 package puff pastry

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Toss frozen vegetables with canola oil and spread evenly onto a sheet pan. Place into oven and cook until golden brown.

In a saute pan heat 1 tablespoon of butter and sweat the onion and celery. In another saucepan, heat the broth and milk. Add 2 more tablespoons of butter to the celery mix and cook out the water. Add the flour and curry and cook for 1 to 2 minutes. Whisk in the hot milk mixture and cook until thickened. Add the parsley, salt and pepper. Toss the browned vegetables and the chicken. Pour into a shallow baking pan, or a large terra cotta pot base, lined with foil, and top with 6 to 8 circles of puff pastry. Place into the oven and cook until puff pastry has browned and the mixture is hot and bubbly, about 25 minutes.

Grizzly Berry Granola 

At Home:
1/4 cup canola oil
1 (18-ounce) jar  Blackberry Jelly
2 cups chopped, lightly salted cashews
1 (16-ounce) bag Bob's Red Mill 5-Grain Rolled Hot Cereal
1 cup shredded sweetened coconut
1 ounce Just Blueberries-brand dried blueberries
1 ounce Just Strawberries-brand dried strawberries
1 ounce Just Blackberries-brand dried blackberries

In a large pot, heat oil and jelly until thin. Chop cashews and add to pot along with the cereal and coconut. Stir until liquid has covered the mixture evenly. Spread in a non-stick jelly roll pan. Bake at 225 degrees F for 2 hours. Stir periodically. Allow granola to cool after baking. Once cooled, add dried fruit. Store in large Ziploc bags for the trail.

On the Trail:
Optional: dairy or soy milk powder to taste

To prepare 1 serving, mix 1 cup of cereal with milk or soy powder and water, or eat straight out of the bag. Serve either hot or cold

Ed: So, what do you do last night?

Me:  Some little piss ant cowboy with a Napoleonic complex stabbed me with his pocket knife.

Ed:  Sounds like you had a good time.

Me:  yep  

Ed: you should have gone camping instead.

Me:  Yep

        Now this is the Law of the Jungle--
        As old and as true as the sky;
        And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper,
        But the Wolf that shall break it must die

                                       Kipling

WASHINGTON, DC—President Bush unveiled an aggressive initiative Monday that would make the U.S. free of petroleum dependence by the year 4920, less than three millennia from now.

Above: President Bush presents his plan for our nation's far future.

"Our mission is clear," Bush said in a speech delivered at Fort Bragg in North Carolina. "We must free ourselves from dependence on fossil fuels within 85 generations. A cleaner, safer America is my vision. And it is our great, great—great-times-80 grandchildren who will realize that vision." Bush promised a legislative package that would mandate severe cuts in oil-production subsidies and provide new funding for alternative-energy research and development. According to the timetable he presented, these bills could be introduced as early as 3219, and U.S. energy consumers could start to see radical changes by the early 42nd century. "If we don't end our dependence on oil by 4920, when will we end it? 5580? By then, it may be too late," Bush said. Bush called on both Democrats and Republicans living 1,200 years from now to work together to pass the program. "It would be a shame if, by the 33rd century, these bills were still tied up in committee. I urge the 712th Congress to pass this legislation with minimal partisan gridlock," Bush said. The president's science advisor, John Marburger, provided more details of the energy plan in a press release issued late Monday. "It is the president's hope that hydrogen fuel cells, nanotechnology, or the recycling of human beings into fuel will hold the key," Marburger wrote. "Whatever the people of the 50th century feel is appropriate."

Above: U.S. soldiers prepare to withdraw from Iraq in the unfathomably distant future.

In a detailed policy statement, Bush elaborated on the plan, expressing the hope that a third party, perhaps one comprising robots or super-intelligent, genetically engineered man-beasts, will help reduce America's dependence on fossil fuels. "I am calling on the popularly elected cyborgs of tomorrow to support this sensible measure to ensure the security of the nation," Bush said. Some industrialists, particularly major auto manufacturers, expressed reservation over Bush's initiative. "As admirable as Mr. Bush's visionary pronouncement is, I worry that the timetable he proposes is far too ambitious," General Motors CEO Richard Wagoner Jr. said. "It is simply not realistic. The automotive industry would require an additional three or four thousand years to develop engines that can run effectively on renewable or cleaner-burning fuels." Exxon Mobil CEO Lee Raymond said the petroleum-producing company shares Bush's hopes for a cleaner environment "well before the sun turns into a red giant and dies." "Mobil Oil has already made great strides in protecting the precious air and water within the television-commercial environment. And we plan to golf closely with the U.S. Department of Energy and oil-industry lobbyists to ensure that President Bush's initiative comes to pass in the unimaginably distant future." Responding to reporters' questions, Bush admitted that our progeny could face challenges in pursuit of the goal, such as the earth's degrading orbit and eventual destruction of the moon by tidal force, or the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. "Our distant relations will have some hard work to do," Bush said. "But hard work is what built this nation, and I have every faith that they will succeed." The proclamation comes on the heels of Bush's plans to pay off the national debt by the early 6300s, and win the war on terror by 7450.

Stolen form theonion.com

As I was about to take a shower last night, a big storm blew in.  So I took these photos out my bathroom window while standing around nekkid in the bathtub. Angry Cloud

Stroke of Lightning

Forked

Pretty Little Clouds

heteroclite

\Het"er*o*clite\, a. 1. Deviating from ordinary forms or rules; irregular; anomalous; abnormal 2. Any thing or person deviating from the common rule, or from common forms

My heros have always been heteroclites and they still are it seems.

People like Willie Nelson, MLK, Thor Heyerdahl, Sir Richard Francis Burton and Theodore Roosevelt

The first recipe is a tasty vegan summertime treat.  The second is probably the best meatloaf that you'll ever eat.  And the third is a great meal for out on the trail.

Asian Grilled Eggplant Wraps with Garlic Sauce

Makes 12 wraps      

12 8-inch flour tortillas
1/2 tsp. salt
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tsp. tamari or soy sauce
2 tsp. rice vinegar
2 tsp. dark sesame oil
2 small eggplants (about 1 1/2 lb.), cut into 1/4-inch sliced
Vegetable oil for brushing eggplant
1 cup plain soy yogurt
1 Tbs. sesame seeds

Directions:

Heat oven to 250F. Wrap tortillas in foil and bake about 10 minutes, or until heated through. Alternatively, wrap tortillas in damp paper towels and microwave on high for 30 to 60 seconds.

Meanwhile, in small bowl, whisk together garlic, tamari or soy sauce, vinegar and sesame oil. Set aside.

Preheat stove-top grill or griddle according to manufacturer’s directions. Brush eggplant lightly with oil and place, oiled side down, on grill. Cook over medium-high heat for 4 to 5 minutes. Transfer eggplant to a platter and brush with garlic sauce, then cut each slice into three.

To assemble, place 2 to 3 pieces eggplant in each tortilla. Garnish with dollop of yogurt and sprinkling of sesame seeds. Wrap tortilla around filling ingredients.

Awesome Meatloaf

6 ounces garlic-flavored croutons
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 onion, roughly chopped
1 carrot, peeled and broken
3 whole cloves garlic
1/2 red bell pepper
18 ounces ground chuck
18 ounces ground sirloin
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 egg

For the glaze:
1/2 cup catsup
1 tablespoon ground cumin
Dash Worcestershire sauce
Dash hot pepper sauce
1 tablespoon honey

Heat oven to 325 degrees F.

In a food processor bowl, combine croutons, black pepper, cayenne pepper, chili powder, and thyme. Pulse until the mixture is of a fine texture. Place this mixture into a large bowl. Combine the onion, carrot, garlic, and red pepper in the food processor bowl. Pulse until the mixture is finely chopped, but not pureed. Combine the vegetable mixture, ground sirloin, and ground chuck with the bread crumb mixture. Season the meat mixture with the kosher salt. Add the egg and combine thoroughly, but avoid squeezing the meat.

Pack this mixture into a 10-inch loaf pan to mold the shape of the meatloaf. Onto a parchment paper-lined baking sheet, turn the meatloaf out of the pan onto the center of the tray. Insert a temperature probe at a 45 degree angle into the top of the meatloaf. Avoid touching the bottom of the tray with the probe. Set the probe for 155 degrees.

Combine the catsup, cumin, Worcestershire sauce, hot pepper sauce and honey. Brush the glaze onto the meatloaf after it has been cooking for about 10 minutes.

Cashew Rice Curry (Makes 2 generous servings)

Ingredients:

1/4 cup dried milk
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp curry powder
3 1/2 cups water
2 cup instant rice
1/4 cup cashew pieces
2 oz grated cheddar cheese

Directions:

Mix dry milk and enough water to form a paste.  Add remaining water, mix well and bring to a boil.  Stir in rice.  Cover and simmer until water is absorbed and rice is soft (about 20 minutes). Stir in nuts and cheese.  Serve when the cheese is melted.

How many times can a man turn his head

and pretend that he just doesn't see.

I was planning to hit the River this morning, but the thunderstorms are getting in the way.  Don't get me wrong the rain is welcome, but I really wanted to go play outside.  I'm at the JCT on the map and even though it has been raining the past 4 to 5 hours it doesn't look like it is going to stop any time soon.

I’ve been working with the local Nature Conservancy people to create a better set of maps and directions using GPS to get to the Eckert James River Bat Cave Preserve, which is not to far from where I live.  After many hours of work, both on the ground and on the computer, I finally got all the information and high quality topographic maps of the surrounding area put together and ready for them to have for their visitors.

The bat cave is only about 35 or 40 miles from my house but the drive is amazing.  Along the back country roads passing places like Tea Cup Mountain, Red Creek, Poverty Hill, the Blue Mountains, Cedar Gap, Little Devil’s River, Steam Mountain, Salt Creek, and other strangely named places that makes one wonder about the history of the surrounding area.

The wildlife viewing is always great on the way to the Bat Cave.  Usually I’ll see 50 to 60 Whitetail Deer, but on this trip there were only about 20.  In addition to the deer, there were also a couple of dozen Rio Grade Turkey, a Llano Pocket Gopher, a couple of Raccoons, a Hispid Pocket Mouse, several Cotton-tail Rabbits, a Bobcat, an Opossum, numerous birds, a Coach Whip Snake, a Bigfoot (just kidding), and of course, about 6 ½ million Mexican Free Tailed Bats.

It was the perfect way to spend a Saturday evening.  The Nature Conservancy has a real jewel here, which it shares with the public.  It is one of the best places to go and see a bat emergence.  I’ve been to dozens of places to view bats and none come close to the intimacy and up close perspective that the James River Bat Cave provides.

One of my all time favorite words.  Not one that is needed very often, unless I'm having computer problems, but a nice word to have floating around in my head.

defenestration
n. - the act of throwing a thing or person out of a window

I thought that the colors in this photo were interesting and the suject matter also appeals to me.

Go little damselflies, Go.

This is part one of a three part series that I will be posting up on Fridays for the next few weeks.  I hope ya'll enjoy it.

Part 1:The Pre-Settlement Prairie
An "Ocean of Grass"

When the first European explorers crossed the middle of the North American continent they were met with an awesome expanse of grassland. They didn't even have a word for it - the French, in a characteristically dismissive vein, described it as a meadow. The English were apparently more awed; they adopted the romance of the French language, if not its literal meaning, and called it a "prairie." Later, one of the early settlers wrote, in 1841, that "for miles the prairie gently sloped, hardly presenting a bush to relieve the eye. In the distance, the green skirting of woods, which fringed either border of a large stream, softened down the view. Occasionally a deer would jump suddenly from his noonday rest, and scamper off..."

Before the arrival of the Europeans, this sea of grass is estimated to have contained approximately one person per 5000 acres. The native peoples lived off the land, as hunters of vast herds of bison and the pronghorn antelope, deer and elk that roamed the prairies. They used hides for their clothing and shelter, and supplemented their diets with native plants; some built homes using the abundant prairie grasses.

Their relationship to the land was a spiritual one; they said that the trees spoke to them, and that the animals were their brothers and sisters. The sky was their father, and the earth was their mother. It was a relationship that lasted perhaps 10,000 years before the white man came.

Before 1850, the great mid-continental grasslands stretched from southern Wisconsin to western Montana, from central Texas to Canada. In wet periods the tall grasses of the eastern edge of the prairie might advance deeper into the midgrass territory. In years of drought the hardier short grasses, which extended all the way to the foot of the Rocky Mountains, might expand their range to the east.

These grasslands had existed, in one form or another, for millions of years, as a result of the innumerable interactions of sea and wind and earth which formed the world as we know it today. Fossil evidence indicates that most plants of the modern prairie were present during the Pleistocene time, about a million years ago. At the time the United States was being settled, however, few of the settlers had any botanical training, and most descriptions from journals of the time are written by people who described the grasses in layman's language. Those who did know plants were not very much better off - these New World species were for the most part unfamiliar to them. Whatever we know today about the composition of these prairies must be inferred from the few relicts which have survived the grazing, agricultural and urban uses of the past hundred and fifty years.

Because of the geographic position of Texas, and its complex biotic history, it contains a great diversity of both plant and animal species. The state is located at the crossroads of the eastern deciduous forest, the coastal plain, the grasslands, and the Sonoran desert and Tamaulipan biogeographic provinces. Over 5000 vascular plant species occur within Texas, and over 500 species of grasses. More species of animals occur in Texas than any other of the continental states.

The natural landscape of Texas is, in fact, rarely the unbroken stretch of grassland which characterized much of the native tallgrass prairies to the north. Because of the heterogeneity of soil and climate conditions and the presence of many river systems, the Texas grasslands, except some portions of the High Plains, have always been part of a mosaic which includes riparian areas, bottomland woods, and intermittent streams, making them unique in all the prairie regions of the country.

I just found this on Yahoo News. I didn't think that the hrricane was that big of a deal until I read this. Oh, please don't let it be true. Its like every thing that Amerika stands for is starting to crumble. Oh, the humanity.

 In the wake of the devastation caused by the catastrophic storm, Idol producers have decided that Memphis-based auditions for the show mustn't go on. The talent-search tryouts, scheduled for Monday, have been nixed, as the city busies itself coordinating extensive hurricane relief efforts and takes on tens of thousands of refugees from Louisiana and Mississippi. A Fox spokesperson said the auditions would not be rescheduled in Memphis and that the show would determine another city for Idol tryouts to take place. Auditions were scheduled to continue in Denver on Sept. 11 and Chicago on Sept. 16. "Obviously we're disappointed like everyone is," Paul Sloan, vice president of creative services at Fox affiliate WHBQ-TV Channel 13, told Memphis' Commercial Appeal. "But I think everyone would agree that we didn't want to do some happy 'hey look American Idol has come to town!' while covering hurricane victims." Idol isn't the only show to have its production hampered by the hurricane.

obstreperous \uhb-STREP-uhr-uhs; ob-\, adjective:
1. Noisily and stubbornly defiant; unruly.
2. Noisy, clamorous, or boisterous.

AH, the obstreperous youth are in the streets once again clamouring for liberty.

This is part two of a three part series.  I posted part one on the previous Friday.

Part 2: The 1800s
The Rise of "King Cotton"
The End of the Red Man's Civilization

The European settlement of the prairie marked the end of the civilization that had sustained it and been sustained by it for thousands of years. The settlers were pioneers in the truest sense - with a determination to survive and thrive under the harshest of conditions, and to use the bounty of the earth to enrich not only their own lives but the lives of others on this continent and around the world. But the end of the red man's civilization was a violent and bloody one. During the process the land also changed dramatically, and in an incredibly short time.

Before the Civil War, between twenty and sixty million bison roamed the North American plains. By 1900, less than a thousand were still alive. As Black Elk, the famous Sioux Indian chief recalled, "I can remember when the bison were so many that they could not be counted, but more and more Wasichus (white men) came to kill them until there were only heaps of bones scattered where they used to be. The Wasichus did not kill them to eat; they killed them for the metal that makes them crazy, and they took only the hides to sell. Sometimes they did not even take the hides, only the tongues; and I have heard that fire-boats came down the Missouri River loaded with dried bison tongues. You can see that the men who did this were crazy..." The activity of the white man in slaughtering the buffalo was as incomprehensible to the natives of the plains as was their own "primitive" lifestyle and nomadic behavior to the European settlers.

An old holy woman of the Wintu tribe, reflecting on the strange ways of the settlers, said, "The white people never cared for land or deer or bear. When we Indians kill meat, we eat it all up. When we dig roots we make little holes. When we build houses, we make little holes. When we burn grass for grasshoppers, we don't ruin things. We shake down acorns and pinenuts, we don't chop down the trees. But the white people plow up the ground, pull down trees, kill everything... How can the spirit of the earth like the white man? Everywhere the white man has touched it, it is sore."

It was only a matter of a few years before the European settlers, with their belief in man's "dominion over the earth," and their ingenuity in finding ways to conquer and exploit nature and its resources, had fundamentally changed the character of man's relationship to the land, and with it, the character of the prairies themselves.

Cattle Country
The first Caucasian occupants of the Texas Blackland Prairie were not farmers; the thick sod and heavy, droughty black clay soils - later to be called the "dinner bell" soils, too wet to plow before dinner and too dry after dinner - were almost impossible to cultivate with the wooden mold-board plow in use at the time. So those who wanted to take up farming when the Spanish first opened Texas to colonization in the early 1800s settled in the southeastern part of the state near the Gulf Coast, where the soils were more amenable to cultivation with wooden implements.

Early land grants in the Blacklands were mostly taken by cattlemen, where the tall grasses - "high enough to hide cattle and long enough to tie in a knot around a horse's back" - made excellent forage. The grazing patterns of the cattle differed from those of the buffalo, and this introduction of domestic livestock was the first major disruption of the grasslands. While the buffalo grazed the land intensively, they soon moved on, giving the grasses time to recover. Under human management, cattle grazing was concentrated in smaller areas, over longer periods of time. The natural species competition and succession of the flora was disturbed, favoring weedy annuals, the shorter, more grazing-tolerant species of grass and species unpalatable to cattle.

The Sodbusters
It was not until the 1870s and 80s that farmers became interested in cultivating the Blacklands, when the development of the steel plow and other implements had made it possible to cut through the thick prairie sod. The roots were so dense - up to five miles or more of roots might be found in one square meter of grasses - that the prairie literally rang, or twanged, when the steel plows turned over its dense underlayer - "a storm of wild music" was the poetic description given by one wheat farmer's daughter several decades later.

By 1900 most of the Blackland Prairie was under cultivation and was recognized as one of the foremost cotton producing regions of the world. Ellis County in Texas was at the center of this extraordinary accomplishment, and many grand old Victorian homes in the cities of Waxahachie and Ennis still exist, as reminders of the fortunes that were made in those times.

Cultivation was also, however, a catastrophic disruption of the prairie ecosystem. It was a common farmers' joke to tell the story of an old Indian who, having seen a plowed field for the first time, said to the farmer, "Wrong side up." The story was taken to be an illustration of the Indian's ignorance, but in fact when the native grasses are turned under and the soil aerated, the organic matter decomposes faster. This creates a flush of nutrients available to cultivated crops, but when the crops are harvested the nutrients are removed with the harvest, and the soil continues to be depleted year after year. Today's dependence on chemical fertilizers is evidence that perhaps there was more wisdom in that old Indian's statement than was recognized at the time.

Certainly in terms of recovering the lost prairie, his statement was true. Once the roots of the prairie are broken, and its recovery cycle interrupted by conventional agriculture, the grasslands never heal unaided. The prairie ecosystem is so vulnerable to manmade disturbances that the wheel ruts left by the migrations of the mid-nineteenth century are still visible, more than 140 years after the covered wagons carried pioneers on their westward journeys. Similar traces can be seen in prairie remnants of the Chisolm Trail in Texas, including one site near Waco where signs of the wagons which accompanied the great cattle drives can be seen.

Now is the time of year to think about planting wild flowers.  The is no easier way to get Native plants in our landscapes than to sow wild flower seeds in the fall so that we can enjoy their beauty for years to come.  It is an excellent time to get things like Bluebonnets, Lemon Mint, Indian Blanket, Cutleaf Daisy, Indian Paintbrush and many others started, so that they can develop a strong root system and burst forth this spring in all their glory.  Here are some tips to help you have success at growing your own wildflower meadow.

SITE SELECTION

Select an area that is suitable for the type of seed you are planting. Take into consideration the soil type, sun exposure and the moisture needed to germinate and maintain that species. Adequate moisture is required for germination. By planting at the right time, natural rainfall can be taken advantage of.

WHEN TO PLANT

Cool season plants like most of the wildflowers germinate in the early fall when rainfall is most likely to occur.  Best time to plant wildflowers is September and October, however germination can continue to occur through early spring in some cases.

    Warm season plants such as most of the native grasses germinate and grow from when the night time temperatures are at 50 degrees for ten consecutive nights, or when the soil temperature is 65 degrees or above.

SITE PREPARATION AND PLANTING

You will get a higher rate of germination and healthier plants by sowing seed in a prepared seedbed. Good seed to soil contact is essential.

Native Wildflowers   

Scalp any existing grasses and remove the clippings so the seeds can make contact with the soil. Rake the seeds lightly into the soil. Gently press soil on top of seeds.  Be sure not to cover more than twice the diameter of the seed. Never plant wildflowers into nonnative winter grass or clovers.

Native Grasses

It is best to start with an area free of  weeds when planting native grasses. Till the soil no deeper than 2 inches. Be careful not to till too deeply because this will stir up unwanted weed seeds that have been lying dormant. Remove debris from the area, rake level, and smooth. Scatter the seed evenly across the area, rake in, then roll to press in less than half an inch deep. The goal is to place the seed just deep enough to stay in adequate moisture for a sufficient amount of time to allow germination to take place.

Be careful not to plant the seeds too deeply. A good rule of thumb for planting depth is no that the seed should never be planted deeper than twice the width of the seed.

WEED CONTROL

In most cases, it is advisable to consider weed control in two phases - as part of site preparation prior to planting, and as an important component of the post-germination maintenance program. Before planting, remove existing weeds by pulling, tilling under, solarization or a combination of these things.

    Once wildflowers and grasses have germinated, further weed control is usually necessary. If practical, pull or hoe all weeds as soon as they can be identified, or selectively cut weeds with a string trimmer. Be sure to remove weeds before they reseed. Weeds invariably appear after seeding, and controlling them is one of the most difficult problems in establishing grasses. Because weeds grow faster than your newly planted seedlings, you must control them or they will out compete your desired plants.

The detrimental effects of weeds include shading your seedlings and competing with them for moisture. One way to control weeds is to water and mow correctly. Watering too early or too late in the season and over watering are practices that encourage weeds to grow. Since many weeds are annuals, keeping them mowed off during the first year, you will have a strong effect on the future year’s weed populations.

IDENTIFICATION TIP

Sprinkle a few seeds in a clay pot and keep by the house where you can water and watch grow. Use these seedlings for identification in your planted areas.

ESTABLISHMENT

All seeds need ample moisture to germinate and to develop into healthy seedlings and plants.

Native Wildflowers

If little to no rainfall, you can remain patient until rainfall occurs. That’s the benefit of using native wildflowers! If your patience runs thin, you may water using the Watering Guidelines below. Caution:  If you begin watering, do not allow your new seedlings to dry out!

Native Grasses

Most native grasses are warm season perennials. Take advantage of spring rains, and plant during this time to aid large planted areas that are difficult to water. For  quickest establishment of lawn grasses use watering guidelines below.

WATERING GUIDELINES

For germination, water lightly and frequently to keep top of soil constantly moist. Depending upon weather conditions, you may be initially watering several times per day. After seeds have sprouted and seedlings are approximately 1” in height, give less frequent but deeper and more lengthy watering. This allows for healthy establishment of the root systems of your new plants. Once native plants are established, supplemental water is not required, though they will appreciate a  drink during drought conditions.

BE PATIENT

Patience is important. Annuals are usually the quickest to germinate, grow and bloom. Perennials take more time getting established. Native grasses and wildflowers are eternal, not instant!. Much energy is spent in growing deep, strong roots the first few years, just like a good family!

Be of good cheer: We'll live to piss on the graves of our enemies.

Edward Abbey

We could use a few more latitudinarians in our current federal administration.

latitudinarian \lat-uh-too-din-AIR-ee-un; -tyoo-\, adjective:
Having or expressing broad and tolerant views, especially in religious matters.

noun:
1. A person who is broad-minded and tolerant; one who displays freedom in thinking, especially in religious matters.
2. (Often capitalized) A member of the Church of England, in the time of Charles II, who adopted more liberal notions in respect to the authority, government, and doctrines of the church than generally prevailed.

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." (Exodus 12:11)

“Alcohol won’t solve your problems, but then again, neither will milk."

As far as I can tell there are two root causes to unhappiness and depression.

The first, and most hard to address, stems from a cultural misconception that we have the right to be happy and the constant bombardment of advertising that tells us that if we buy certain products, it will make us happy.  The advertising companies prey on the young and the weak and fill our heads with an unattainable state of glory which can be ours for only $19.99.  This, of course, is not true.  Shopping at the GAP, won’t make you popular.  Drinking Coke doesn’t really make you smile.  Yet the American public continues to act as wage slaves at jobs they despise, to earn more money, to buy more cheap plastic crap, in a vain effort to fill a void (unhappiness) that dwells within.  People must take responsibility for their own happiness and not rely on the rest of the world to sell them a pill, a drink, a toy or some other shiny placebo that brings a person nothing but more clutter and garbage to weigh down their lives.

The second cause of unhappiness ties back in with the idea that a person should be responsible to their own happiness.  Depression, feelings of guilt, and general unhappiness are a bio-chemical reaction in the brain that is often triggered by our own actions.  It is a case of self imposed negative reinforcement.  When a person touches a hot stove, the pain makes them pull away.  It hurts.  If they touch the stove again the pain will return.  The same sort of reaction takes place when a person has to pay the consequences of a bad decision in life.  Instead of a blistered hand the pain comes on an emotional level.  But the message is the same, when you do something wrong it hurts.  The feelings of guilt and depression also serve as a primary motivator.  If you don’t like being sad, then it is time to make changes.  Most of the time a person knows exactly what the problem is in their life.  However, they lack the strength of character or courage to make the needed changes to break free of the unhappy situation. 

This may sound oversimplified, but life really is pretty simple.  If you want to be happy then you have to chase it down.  Life doesn’t come and knock on your door, while you sit on the couch eating potato chips and watching Tee Vee, and ask if you are ready to come out and play.  It will pass you by, with out a thought to your existence.  By taking responsibility for your life and your own happiness a person can reach for greatness and glory.  Otherwise a person is stuck in a depressive cycle, blaming others for their own unhappiness and never get off their couch to better themselves or the world around them.

Part 3: The Prairie in the 20th Century
A Vanishing Ecosystem

Although overgrazing and cultivation were the most dramatic disruptions of the natural prairie ecosystem, there have been a number of simultaneously occurring phenomena which have contributed to the destruction of all but a few isolated prairie relicts, and to the degeneration of many of these surviving remnants.

In the early days of cultivation of the Blackland Prairie, mules were the source of power. Many farms maintained a hay meadow where the native grasses were cut for hay or used for pasture. As late as 1930 the practice of maintaining these hay meadows was still common. And although the mowing and grazing altered the species composition of these small "prairies," their root systems and seed banks still contained a living map of the complex prairie ecosystem that had once spanned the continent from north to south, and covered more than 13 million hectares in Texas alone. However, with the advent of tractors most of these meadows and pastures were plowed.

Another very significant early disturbance was the settlers' natural desire to eliminate fires. Periodic prairie fires had for centuries kept woody species to a minimum and had cleared the ground of dead vegetation, enabling the tall grasses to thrive and creating new opportunities for secondary and tertiary grasses and forbs to establish themselves. Once the fires were eliminated, a rapid invasion of woody plants followed.

Most of the prairie remnants found today are those in out-of-the-way places, difficult to cultivate. These too are often invaded by woody species, along with exotic non-native plants which have been cultivated or allowed to spread on nearby land, and then introduced by wildlife or carried on the winds to these otherwise native areas. The Kachina Prairie in Ennis is a typical example of these surviving remnants, and is in the process of being managed back to health through controlled burning and selective weed control in the hope that it can serve as a seed source for prairie restoration efforts on land acquired for the Superconducting Super Collider Laboratory.

The Texas Blackland Prairie: Situation Critical
Before the European settlers arrived, the moist eastern prairies of Texas were dominated by the tall grasses such as big bluestem, Indian grass, little bluestem, eastern gamagrass and switch grass. The short grasses such as buffalograss, blue grama and common curly mesquite were dominant in the drier western regions. And in between, mid-grasses such as sideoats grama, little bluestem, silver bluestem and Texas cupgrass were abundant. Running through these belts of grasslands were the Post Oak Belt to the East, and the East and West Cross Timbers to the west of the Blackland Prairie. Throughout the Blacklands, as well, could be found rivers, streams, and bottomland hardwoods.

Today, more than 90% of the area of the main belt of the Blackland Prairie of Texas has been plowed. Many areas, because of exhaustion of the soil or soil erosion, have been returned to permanent grass. But in most cases these lands have been planted to exotic pasture species such as African bermuda grass and lovegrass, Eurasian "King Ranch bluestem," and Mediterranean Johnson grass.

In 1970, a survey was conducted by graduate students of Texas A&M University, across the main belt of the Blackland Prairie. Approximately 100 ungrazed, excellent condition prairie relicts were located, totaling nearly 5000 acres in all. Most of the sites were small, but a few were as large as 700 acres.

In 1980 the area was resurveyed. The number of sites had decreased from 100 to 35, and the area from 5000 to 2000 acres.

The Blackland and associated prairies and woodlands in Texas contain four out of the ten most threatened or endangered plant community series in the United States, as recognized by the Natural Heritage Commission. The total area of fair or better condition plant communities is lowest for the Blackland Prairie, at 0.004% of the area originally covered by this complex ecosystem.

After a busy work week, I decided that instead of spending my Saturday morning cleaning house and doing laundry that it would be a perfect time to go outside and play.  So I grabbed my little orange boat, a bag of trail mix, a canteen of water and a good book and headed down to the river.  It has been horribly humid here the past few days, almost as bad as Houston, so unless there is a good place to cool off, being outside is pretty darn miserable.  With that in mind, I paddled to my favorite swimming hole. 

It is remote enough for skinny dipping and has a little waterfall, and if you sit in the falls just right, the action of the water feels like a hundred dollar an hour back massage.   

When I arrived at my swimming hole, I found it already occupied.  There were a couple of buzzards that were sunning themselves on a nearby dead tree.  They didn’t seem to be too bothered by my presence and I enjoyed their company, so I parked the kayak.

 After a quick swim, I relaxed in the morning sun to dry and proceeded to munch on my breakfast of home-made trail mix and ice cold water.  After breakfast, I found a nice comfy spot on the banks of the river to sit and the shade and read.  I find that I enjoy Tolstoy the most when I’m surrounded by nature and there is no one around to interrupt my leisurely reading. 

While I read, the temperature was steadily climbing.  When the first drop of sweat hit the pages of my book, I figured it was high time to go for another swim.  After another short but vigorous swim, I sat in the water fall and let the powerful flow of the river relax my sore muscles and wash away my cares. 

Unfortunately, I had a few things that I needed to get accomplished today, otherwise I might still be out there sitting in the water.  Overall it seemed like a great my to start my day.

I thought that it might be fun to have a plant ID contest, where the winners recieved seed of plant that they properly identified, so they could grow them at there own home.The first five people to respond with the correct common name and botanical name will win a package of seed.  Please send your answers to plant_identificaton_competition@yahoo.com .

Description This spectacular red flowering biennial attracts butterflies and hummingbirds galore! It thrives in a wide range of soils from caliche to rich bottom lands. Grows from North Carolina to Florida to Texas. Plants bloom the second spring after planting. After its blooming period the second year, the plant reseeds readily before dying. Seedlings can be transplanted in late fall. The plants are highly popular as cut flowers, often lasting a week or more.

*edit* so far we have had alot of entries but few correct answers.  Here are some photos of the plants that were not right. 

And shouldst destroy them, which destroy the Earth.

Revalations 11:18

If you build it, we'll burn it! ELF

Yeah! My work is one of the 5 most dangerous jobs in America.  Anyone want to go for a tractor ride.

1. Timber cutters
2. Airplane pilots
3. Construction laborers
4. Truck drivers
5. Farm occupations

 I think that I chose a plant that was too hard for everyone to identify for the mystery plant this time.

So, I decided to declair every one who decided to play a winner.  The correct answer was Standing Cypress or Ipomopsis rubra. I'll be shipping out the prizes tomorrow, so make sure that I have the proper address at mailto:plant_identificaton_competition@yahoo.com.

The only people to guess right will get a bonus prize, they are : krommos , sojouner ,  environgirl  and one other person whose Mindsay name I'm not sure of.  Thanks for playing everybody it was fun and we'll have to do this again soon.

A Nation Once Again

Starting tomorrow, I will begin a ten stretch in which I will be eating no food.  The reason for this fast is to display support of ten brave men who gave their lives in the battle to live in a country that is not occupied by an enemy force.  In 1981 a portion of the country of Ireland was, and still is, occupied by hostile British military forces.   The men who gave their lives were political prisoners in Ireland’s fight for freedom from foreign rule. 

They had five demands, which they felt due to them as political prisoners.

1. The Right not to wear a prison uniform;
2. The Right not to do prison work;
3. The Right of free association with other prisoners;
4. The Right to organize their own educational and recreational facilities
5. The Right to one visit, one letter and one parcel per week

It took ten men dying of hunger before the Crown gave in to the prisoner’s demands.  I chose not to eat for the next ten days in honor of the sacrifice that these men gave in the attempt to secure the rights of the many.  Over the next ten days, I’ll be posting a brief update on my personal sacrifice and giving a short biography on each of the men who so nobly gave their lives.

SAOIRSE

For more info on the struggle for Irish freedom please see:

http://sinnfein.org/

http://cain.ulst.ac.uk/

http://www.demaction.org/dia/organizations/irishnorthernaidcommittee/petition.jsp?petition_KEY=101

http://cain.ulst.ac.uk/ethnopolitics/index.html

BOBBY SANDS was born in 1954 in Rathcoole, a predominantly loyalist district of north Belfast. His twenty-seventh birthday fell on the ninth day of his sixty-six-day hunger strike. His sisters Marcella, one year younger, and Bernadette, were born in April 1955 and November 1958, respectively. All three lived their early years at Abbots Cross in the Newtownabbey area of north Belfast. A second son, John, now nineteen, was born to their parents John and Rosaleen, now both aged 57, in June 1962.

The sectarian realities of ghetto life materialised early in Bobby's life when at the age of ten his family were forced to move home owing to loyalist intimidation even as early as 1962. Bobby recalled his mother speaking of the troubled times which occurred during her childhood; 'Although I never really under stood what internment was or who the 'Specials' were, I grew to regard them as symbols of evil '.

Of this time Bobby himself later wrote: ''I was only a working-class boy from a Nationalist ghetto, but it is repression that creates the revolutionary spirit of freedom. I shall not settle until I achieve liberation of my country, until Ireland becomes a sovereign, independent socialist republic. ''

When Bobby was sixteen years old he started work as an apprentice coach builder and joined the National Union of Vehicle Builders and the ATGWU. In an article printed in 'An Phoblacht/Republican News' on April 4th, 1981, Bobby recalled: ''Starting work, although frightening at first became alright, especially with the reward at the end of the week. Dances and clothes, girls and a few shillings to spend, opened up a whole new world to me.''

Bobby's background, experiences and ambitions did not differ greatly from that of the average ghetto youth. Then came 1968 and the events which were to change his life. Bobby had served two years of his apprenticeship when he was intimidated out of his job. His sister Bernadette recalls: "Bobby went to work one morning and these fellows were standing there cleaning guns. One fellow said to him, 'Do you see these here, well if you don't go you'll get this' then Bobby also found a note in his lunch-box telling him to get out."

In June 1972, the family were intimidated out of their home in Doonbeg Drive, Rathcoole and moved into the newly built Twinbrook estate on the fringe of nationalist West Belfast. Bernadette again recalled: We had suffered intimidation for about eighteen months before we were actually put out. We had always been used to having Protestant friends. Bobby had gone around with Catholics and Protestants, but it ended up when everything erupted, that the friends he went about with for years were the same ones who helped to put his family out of their home.

As well as being intimidated out of his job and his home being under threat Bobby also suffered personal attacks from the loyalists.

At eighteen Bobby joined the Republican Movement. Bernadette says: .. 'he was just at the age when he was beginning to become aware of things happening around him. He more or less just said right, this is where I'm going to take up. A couple of his cousins had been arrested and interned. Booby felt that he should get involved and start doing something. '

Bobby himself wrote. "My life now centered around sleepless nights and stand-bys dodging the Brits and calming nerves to go out on operations. But the people stood by us. The people not only opened the doors of their homes to lend us a hand but they opened their hearts to us. I learned that without the people we could not survive and I knew that I owed them everything.

In October 1972, he was arrested. Four handguns were found in a house he was staying in and he was charged with possession. He spent the next three years in the cages of Long Kesh where he had political prisoner status. During this time Bobby read widely and taught himself Irish which he was later to teach the other blanket men in the H-Blocks.

Released in 1976 Bobby returned to his family in Twinbrook. He reported back to his local unit and straight back into the continuing struggle: 'Quite a lot of things had changed some parts of the ghettos had completely disappeared and others were in the process of being removed. The war was still forging ahead although tactics and strategy had changed. The British government was now seeking to 'Ulsterise' the war which included the attempted criminalisation of the IRA and attempted normalisation of the war situation.'

Bobby set himself to work tackling the social issues which affected the Twinbrook area. Here he became a community activist. According to Bernadette, 'When he got out of jail that first time our estate had no Green Cross, no Sinn Fein, nor anything like that. He was involved in the Tenants' Association... He got the black taxis to run to Twinbrook because the bus service at that time was inadequate. It got to the stage where people were coming to the door looking for Bobby to put up ramps on the roads in case cars were going too fast and would knock the children down.'

Within six months Bobby was arrested again. There had been a bomb attack on the Balmoral Furniture Company at Dunmurry, followed by a gun-battle in which two men were wounded. Bobby was in a car near the scene with three other young men. The RUC captured them and found a revolver in the car.

The six men were taken to Castlereagh and were subjected to brutal interrogations for six days. Bobby refused to answer any questions during his interrogation, except his name, age and address.

In a ninety-six verse poem written in 1980, entitled 'The Crime of Castlereagh', Bobby tells of his experiences in Castlereagh and his fears and thoughts at the time.

They came and came their job the same
In relays N'er they stopped.
'Just sign the line!' They shrieked each time
And beat me 'till I dropped.
They tortured me quite viciously
They threw me through the air.
It got so bad it seemed I had
Been beat beyond repair.

The days expired and no one tired,
Except of course the prey,
And knew they well that time would tell
Each dirty trick they laid on thick
For no one heard or saw,
Who dares to say in Castlereagh
The 'police' would break the law!

He was held on remand for eleven months until his trial in September 1977. As at his previous trial he refused to recognise the court.

The judge admitted there was no evidence to link Bobby, or the other three young men with him, to the bombing. So the four of them were sentenced to fourteen years each for possession of the one revolver.

Bobby spent the first twenty-two days of his sentence in solitary confinement, 'on the boards' in Crumlin Road jail. For fifteen of those days he was completely naked. He was moved to the H-Blocks and joined the blanket protest. He began to write for Republican News and then after February 1979 for the newly-merged An Phobhacht/Republican News under the pen-name, 'Marcella', his sister's name. His articles and letters, in minute handwriting, like all communications from the H-Blocks, were smuggled out on tiny pieces of toilet paper.

He wrote: 'The days were long and lonely. The sudden and total deprivation of such basic human necessities as exercise and fresh air, association with other people, my own clothes and things like newspapers, radio, cigarettes books and a host of other things, made my life very hard.'

Bobby became PRO for the blanket men and was in constant confrontation with the prison authorities which resulted in several spells of solitary confinement. In the H-Blocks, beatings, long periods in the punishment cells, starvation diets and torture were commonplace as the prison authorities, with the full knowledge and consent of the British administration, imposed a harsh and brutal regime on the prisoners in their attempts to break the prisoners' resistance to criminalisation.

The H-Blocks became the battlefield in which the republican spirit of resistance met head-on all the inhumanities that the British could perpetrate. The republican spirit prevailed and in April 1978 in protest against systematic ill-treatment when they went to the toilets or got showered, the H-Block prisoners refused to wash or slop-out. They were joined in this no-wash protest by the women in Armagh jail in February 1980 when they were subjected to similar harassment.

On October 27th, 1980, following the breakdown of talks between British direct ruler in the North, Humphrey Atkins, and Cardinal O Fiaich, the Irish Catholic primate, seven prisoners in the H-Blocks began a hunger strike. Bobby volunteered for the fast but instead he succeeded, as O/C, Brendan Hughes, who went on hunger-strike.

During the hunger-strike he was given political recognition by the prison authorities. The day after a senior British official visited the hunger-strikers, Bobby was brought half a mile in a prison van from H3 to the prison hospital to visit them. Subsequently he was allowed several meetings with Brendan Hughes. He was not involved in the decision to end the hunger-strike which was taken by the seven men alone. But later that night he was taken to meet them and was allowed to visit republican prison leaders in H-Blocks 4, 5 and 6.

On December 19th, 1980, Bobby issued a statement that the prisoners would not wear prison-issue clothing nor do prison work. He then began negotiations with the prison governor, Stanley Hilditch, for a step-by-step de-escalation of the protest.

But the prisoners' efforts were rebuffed by the authorities: 'We discovered that our good will and flexibility were in vain,' wrote Bobby. It was made abundantly clear during one of my co-operation' meetings with prison officials that strict conformity was required. which in essence meant acceptance of criminal status.

In the H-Blocks the British saw the opportunity to defeat the IRA by criminalising Irish freedom fighters but the blanketmen, perhaps more than those on the outside, appreciated before anyone else the grave repercussions, and so they fought.

Bobby volunteered to lead the new hunger strike. He saw it as a microcosm of the way the Brits were treating Ireland historically and presently, Bobby realised that someone would have to die to win political status.

He insisted on starting two weeks in front of the others so that perhaps his death could secure the five demands and save their lives. For the first seventeen days of the hunger strike Bobby kept a secret diary in which he wrote his thoughts and views, mostly in English but occasionally breaking into Gaelic. He had no fear of death and saw the hunger-strike as something much larger than the five demands and as having major repercussions for British rule in Ireland. The diary was written on toilet paper in biro pen and had to be hidden, mostly carried inside Bobby's own body. During those first seventeen days Bobby lost a total of sixteen pounds weight and on Monday, March 23rd, he was moved to the prison hospital.

On March 30th, he was nominated as candidate for the Fermanagh and South Tyrone by-election caused by the sudden death of Frank Maguire, an independent MP who supported the prisoners' cause.

The next morning, day thirty-one, of his hunger-strike, he was visited by Owen Carron who acted as his election agent. Owen told of that first visit 'Instead of meeting that young man of the poster with long hair and a fresh face, even at that time when Bobby wasn't too bad he was radically changed. He was very thin and bony and his hair was cut short.'

Bobby had no illusions with regard to his election victory. His reaction was not one of over-optimism. After the result was announced Owen visited Bobby. "He had already heard the result on the radio. He was in good form alright but he always used to keep saying, 'In my position you can't afford to be optimistic.' In other words, he didn't take it that because he'd won an election that his life would be saved. He thought that the Brits would need their pound of flesh. I think he was always working on the premise that he would have to die."

At 1.17 a.m. on Tuesday, May 5th, having completed sixty-five days on hunger-strike, Bobby Sands MP, died in the H-Block prison hospital at Long Kesh. Bobby was a truly unique person whose loss is great and immeasurable. He never gave himself a moment to spare. He lived his life energetically, dedicated to his people and to the republican cause, eventually offering up his life in a conscious effort to further that cause and the cause of those with whom he had shared almost eight years of his adult life. In his own words: "of course can be murdered but I remain what I am, a political POW and no-one, not even the British, can change that."

I am really hungery this morning.  It has been less than 48 hours since I have eaten and I can feel my body starting to rebel.    My mind knows that I'm ok but my stomache wants its daily dose of morning granola and maybe a piece of toast. I know the pangs of hunger will subside, once my belly realizes that I'm not going to give in to its whims. krommos gave me much needed support last night as he described to me the wonderful supper that he and his family had last night.  It is nice sometimes to be able to live vicariously thru ones friends.  The tales of shrimp really made my mouth water.

Here's a short bio on Francis Hughes, the second man down in the H-Block hunger strike of 1981.

THE SECOND republican to join the H-Block hunger-strike for political status - a fortnight after Bobby Sands - was twenty-five-year-old Francis Hughes, from Bellaghy in South Derry: a determined, committed and totally fearless IRA Volunteer who organised a spectacularly successful series of military operations before his capture, and was once described by the RUC as their 'most wanted man' in the North.

Eluding for several years the relentless efforts of the British army, UDR and RUC to track him down, Francis operated boldly throughout parts of Tyrone and north and south Antrim, but particularly in his native South Derry, with a combination of brilliant organisation and extreme daring - until his capture after a shoot-out with the SAS - which earned him widespread popular renown, and won general support for the republican cause, as well as giving him an undisputed reputation as a natural-born soldier and leader.

ROOTED

Francis Hughes was born on February 28th, 1956, the youngest son amongst ten children, into a staunchly republican family which has been solidly rooted, for most of this century, in the townland of Tamlaghtduff, or Scribe Road, as it is otherwise called.

His parents who married in 1939, are Patrick Joseph Hughes, aged 72, a retired small cattle farmer born in the neighbouring town land of Ballymacpeake, and Margaret, aged 68, whose maiden name is McElwee, and who was born in Tamlaghtduff.

A quarter-of-a-mile away from the Hughes' bungalow, on the other side of the Scribe Road is the home of Thomas and Benedict McElwee - first cousins of Francis. Benedict is currently serving a sentence in the H-Blocks. Thomas - the eldest - embarked on hunger strike on June 8th, and died sixty-two days later on August 8th.

In Tamlaghtduff, as throughout the rest of Bellaghy, sympathy as well as active support for the republican cause runs at a very high level, a fact testified to by the approximately twenty prisoners-of-war from around Bellaghy alone.

Francis was an extremely popular person, both to his family and to his republican colleagues and supporters.

His father recalls that as a boy he was always whistling, joking and singing: a trait which he carried over into his arduous and perilous days as a republican, when he was able to transmit his enthusiasm and optimism both to Volunteers under his command and to Sympathisers who offered them - at great personal risk, food and shelter

It was qualities like these, of uncomplaining tirelessness, of consideration for the morale of those around him, and his ruling wish to lead by example, that have made Francis Hughes one of the most outstanding Irish revolutionary soldiers this war has produced and a man who was enormously respected in his native countryside.

BOY

As a boy, Francis went first to St. Mary's primary school in Bellaghy, and from there to Clady intermediate school three miles away.

He enjoyed school and was a fairly good student whose favourite subjects were history and woodwork. He was not particularly interested in sport, but was very much a lively, outdoor person, who enjoyed messing around on bikes, and later on, in cars.

He enjoyed dancing and regularly went to ceilidh as a young man, even while 'on the run', although after 'wanted' posters of him appeared his opportunities became less frequent.

His parents recall that Francis was always extremely helpful around the house, and that he was a "good tractor man".

DECORATOR

Leaving school at sixteen, Francis got a job with his sister Vera's husband, as an apprentice painter and decorator, completing his apprenticeship shortly before 'going on the run'.

In later days, Francis would often do a spot of decorating for the people whose house he was staying in

On one occasion, shortly after the 'wanted' posters of him had been posted up all over South Derry, Francis was painting window frames at the front of the house he was staying in when two jeep-loads of British soldiers drove past. While the other occupants of the house froze in apprehension, Francis waved and smiled at the curious Brits as they passed by, and continued painting.

It was such utter fearlessness, and the ability to brazen his way through, that saved him time and time again during his relatively long career as an active service Volunteer.

On one such occasion, when stopped along with two other Volunteers as they crossed a field, Francis told a Brit patrol that they didn't feel safe walking the roads, as the IRA were so active in the area. The Brits allowed the trio to walk on, but after a few yards Francis ran back to the enemy patrol to scrounge a cigarette and a match from one of the British soldiers.

A turning point for Francis, in terms of his personal involvement in the struggle, occurred at the age of seventeen, when he and a friend were stopped by British soldiers at Ardboe, in County Tyrone, as they returned from a dance one night.

The pair were taken out of their car and so badly kicked that Francis was bed-ridden for several days. Rejecting advice to make a complaint to the RUC, Francis said it would be a waste of time, but pledged instead to get even with those who had done it, "or with their friends."

Notwithstanding such a bitter personal experience of British thuggery, and the mental and physical scars it left, Francis' subsequent involvement in the Irish Republican Army was not based on a motive of revenge but on a clear and abiding belief in his country's right to national freedom.

INVOLVEMENT

During the early part of 'the troubles', the 'Officials' were relatively strong in the South Derry area and Francis' first involvement was with them.

However, disillusioned, as were many others, with the 'Sticks' unilateral ceasefire in 1972, he left to set up and command an 'independent' military unit in the Bellaghy area. About the end of 1973 the entire unit - including Francis - was formally recruited into the IRA.

Francis' involvement brought him increasingly to the attention of the British army and RUC and he was regularly held for a few hours in Magherafelt barracks and stopped on the road by British patrols; and on one occasion he was held for two days at Ballykelly camp.

As the 1975 IRA/British army truce came to an end Francis, fearing his imminent arrest, went 'on the run'. From that time on, he led a life perpetually on the move, often moving on foot up to twenty miles during one night then sleeping during the day - either in fields and ditches or in safe houses; a soldierly sight in his black beret and combat uniform, and openly carrying his rifle, a handgun and several grenades as well as food rations.

The enemy reacted with up to fifty early morning raids on Francis' home, and raids on the homes of those suspected of harbouring him. Often, houses would be staked out for days on end in the hope of capturing Francis. Often, it was only his sheer nerve and courage which saved him. One night, Francis was followed to a 'safe house' and looked out to see the Brits surrounding the place and closing in. Without hesitating, the uniformed Francis stepped outside the door, clutching his rifle, and in the darkness crept gradually through their lines, occasionally mumbling a few short words to British soldiers he passed, who, on seeing the shadowy uniformed figure, mistook him for one of themselves.

On numerous occasions, Francis and his comrades were stopped at checkpoints along the country roads while moving weapons from one locality to another but always calmly talked their way through. Once, a UDR soldier actually recognised Francis and his fellow Volunteers in a car but, fully aware that Francis would not be taken without a shoot-out, he waved their car on.

ACTIVE

The years before Francis' capture were extremely active ones in the South Derry and surrounding areas with the commercial centres of towns and villages like Bellaghy, Maghera, Toome, Magherafelt and Castledawson being blitzed by car bombs on several occasions, and numerous shooting attacks being carried out as well.

Among the Volunteers under his command Francis had a reputation of being a strict disciplinarian and perfectionist who could not tolerate people taking their republican duties less seriously, and selflessly, than was necessary. He also, however, inspired fellow Volunteers by his example and by always being in the thick of things, and he thrived on pressure.

During one night-time operation, a weapon was missing and Francis gave away his own weapon to another Volunteer, taking only a torch himself which he used to its maximum effect by shining it at an oncoming enemy vehicle, which had its headlights off, to enable the other Volunteers to direct their fire.

Francis' good-humoured audacity also showed itself in his republican activity. At the height of his 'notoriety' he would set up road-blocks, hoping to lure the Brits into an ambush (which by hard experience they learned to avoid), or he would ring up the Brits and give them his whereabouts!

Such joking, however, did not extend only to the enemy. One day, lying out in the fields, he spied one of his uncles cycling down a country road. Taking careful aim with his rifle he shot away the bike's rear wheel. His uncle ran alarmed, into a nearby house shouting that loyalists had just tried to assassinate him!

BATTLE

The determination of the British army and RUC to capture Francis Hughes came to a head in April 1977. In that month, on Good Friday, a car containing three IRA Volunteers was overtaken and flagged down on the Moneymore Road at Dunronan, in County Derry, by a carload of RUC men.

The Volunteers attempted to make a U-turn but their car got stuck in a ditch as the armed RUC men approached. Jumping from the car, the Volunteers opened fire, killing two RUC men and injuring another before driving off. A hundred yards further up the road a second gun battle ensued but the Volunteers escaped safely.

Subsequently, the RUC issued a 'wanted' poster of Francis Hughes and two fellow republicans, Dominic McGlinchey and Ian Milne, in which Francis was named as the 'most wanted man' in the North.

When his eventual capture came, it was just as he had always said it would be: "I'll get a few of them before they get me."

STAKE-OUT

At 8.00 p.m. on March 16th, 1978, two SAS soldiers took up a stake-out position opposite a farm, on the south side of the Ronaghan road, about two miles west of Maghera, in the townland of Ballyknock.

At 9.15 p.m. they saw two men in military uniform and carrying rifles, walking in single file along the hedgeline of the field towards them. Using their 'night sights' in the darkness, the SAS men observed the military behaviour of the two on-comers and having challenged them, heard the men mumble a few words to each other in Irish accents and assumed that the pair were UDR soldiers.

One of the pair, in fact, was Francis Hughes, the other a fellow Volunteer, and with only a second's hesitation both Volunteers cocked their rifles and opened fire. One SAS man fell fatally wounded but the other - though shot in the stomach - managed to fire a long burst from his sterling sub-machine gun at the retreating figures, and to make radio contact with his base.

Within three minutes, nearby Brit patrols were on the scene and the area was entirely sealed off. The following morning hundreds of Brits took part in a massive search operation.

Fifteen hours after the shooting, at around 12.15 p.m. the next day, they found Francis Hughes sitting in the middle of a gorse bush in a field three hundred yards away, bleeding profusely from a bullet wound which had shattered his left thigh. As he was taken away on a stretcher he yelled defiantly, through his considerable pain: "Up the Provies".

His comrade, though also wounded, slightly, managed to evade the dragnet and to escape.

SURVIVED

How he survived the night of the shooting, possibly the coldest night of that year, bears eloquent testimony to Francis' grim determination to evade capture. After being shot, he dragged himself - unable to walk - across the Ronaghan road and across two fields without a sound, before burying himself in a thick clump of gorse bushes.

At one point, en-route, Francis fell down a sharp drop between fields, and his left leg - the muscle and bone completely disintegrated - came up over his shoulder; but Francis worked it carefully down before continuing to crawl on his way. In his hiding place, he lay through the night, motionless and soundless, till his capture.

When he was found, unable to move through the cold, pain and stiffness, Francis, knowing that both Brits and RUC were on instructions to shoot him on sight, gave his name as Eamonn Laverty and his address as Letterkenny, County Donegal.

Francis was taken to Magherafelt hospital and from there to Musgrave Park military hospital in Belfast, and it was only then that his true identity was revealed. He spent ten months in Musgrave Park where his leg was operated on, reducing his thigh bone by an inch-and-a-half and leaving him dependent on a crutch to walk.

CASTLEREAGH

On Wednesday, January 24th, 1979, Francis was taken from Musgrave Park hospital to Castlereagh interrogation centre where he spent six days before being charged on January 29th. For more than four days Francis refused food and drink, fearing that it might have been drugged to make him talk.

His behaviour in Castlereagh was typical of the fiercely determined and courageous republican Volunteer that he was. His frustrated interrogators later described him as "totally uncooperative".

Nevertheless, at his trial in Belfast in February 1980, after a year on remand in Crumlin Road jail, Francis was found 'guilty' on all charges.

He received a life sentence for killing the SAS soldier, and fourteen years for attempting to kill the other SAS man. He also received fifty-five years on three other charges.

H-BLOCK

In the H-Blocks, Francis immediately went on the protest for political status and, despite the severe disability of his wounded leg, displayed the same courage and determination that had been his hallmark before his capture.

And, just as always wanting to be in the thick of things and wanting to shoulder responsibility for other political prisoners as he had earlier looked after the morale of fellow Volunteers, Francis was one of those to volunteer for the hunger strike which began on October 27th, 1980. He was not one of the first seven hunger strikers selected but was among the thirty men who joined the hunger strike in its closing stages as Sean McKenna's condition became critical.

That utter selflessness and courage came to its tragic conclusion on Tuesday, May 12th, when Francis died at 5.43 p.m. after fifty-nine days on hunger strike.

Yesterday was difficult to get through.  I spent all day at the Renewable Energy Roundup in Fredericksburg, Texas.  Spending all day helping people and answering questions was draining, especially considering that all I wanted to do was to get one of the free organic beers and free organic veggie burgers and go sit under a shade tree and enjoy.  To top it all off, some friends of mine had driven down from Wichita Falls to visit, so we all went out to a nice German Biergarten after the fair closed for the day.  I sucked just sitting there drinking water, while they swilled their fine German beers and ate disgusting large plates of Jaeger schnitzel and piles a juicy wurst.  On a funny note, while I was giving my presentaion, my stomach growled so loud that my microphone picked it up.  Because of Rita every one was woried about the weather.  So as soon as my tummy grumbled, murmurs shot through the crowd, "Was that thunder?"  I just smiled and said "I think it was just a big truck driving by." 

Today is dedicated to Patsy O'Hara, the third victum in the 1981 hunger strike.

Twenty-three-year-old Patsy O'Hara from Derry city, was the former leader of the Irish National Liberation Army prisoners in the H-Blocks, and joined IRA Volunteer Raymond McCreesh on hunger strike on March 22nd, three weeks after Bobby Sands and one week after Francis Hughes.

Patsy O'Hara was born on July 11th, 1957 at Bishop Street in Derry city.

His parents owned a small public house and grocery shop above which the family lived. His eldest brother, Sean Seamus, was interned in Long Kesh for almost four years. The second eldest in the family, Tony, was imprisoned in the H-Blocks - throughout Patsy's hunger strike - for five years before being released in August of this year, having served his full five-year sentence with no remission.

The youngest in the O'Hara family is twenty-one-year-old Elizabeth.

Before 'the troubles' destroyed the family life of the O'Haras, and the overwhelming influence of being an oppressed youth concerned about his country drove Patsy to militant republicanism, there is the interesting history of his near antecedents which must have produced delight in Patsy's young heart.

GRANDFATHER

Patsy's maternal grandfather, James McCluskey, joined the British army as a young man and went off to fight in the First World War. He received nine shrapnel wounds at Ypres and was retired on a full pension.

However, on returning to Ireland his patriotism was set alight by Irish resistance and the terror of British rule. He duly threw out his pension book, did not draw any more money and joined the Republican Movement. He transported men and weapons along the Foyle into Derry in the 'twenties.

He inherited a public house and bookmakers, in Foyle Street, and was a great friend of Derry republican Sean Keenan's father, also named Sean.

Mrs. Peggy O'Hara can recall 'old' Sean Keenan being arrested just before the out break of the Second World War. Her father's serious illness resulted in him escaping internment and he died shortly afterwards in 1939.

Mrs. O'Hara's aunt was married to John Mulhern, a Roscommon man, who was in the RIC up until its disbandment in 1921.

"When my father died in 1939 - says Mrs O'Hara, - "John Mulhern, who was living in Bishop Street, and owned a bar and a grocery shop, took us in to look after us. I remember him telling us that he didn't just go and join the RIC, but it was because there were so many in the family and times were hard.

"My father was a known IRA man and my uncle reared me, and I was often slagged about this. Patsy used to hear this as a child, but Patsy was a very, very straight young fellow and he was a wee bit bigoted about my uncle being a policeman.

"But a number of years ago Patsy came in to me after speaking to an old republican from Corrigans in Donegal, and Patsy says to me, 'You've nothing to be ashamed of, your uncle being a policeman, because that man was telling me that even though he was an RIC man, he was very, very helpful to the IRA!"

FAMILY

The trait of courage which Patsy was to show in later years was in him from the start, says Mr. O'Hara. "No matter who got into trouble in the street outside, Patsy was the boy to go out and do all the fighting for him. He was the fighting man about the area and didn't care how big they were. He would tackle them. I even saw him fighting men, and in no way could they stop him. He would keep at them. He was like a wee bull terrier!"

Apparently, up until he was about twelve years of age, Patsy was fat and small, "a wee barrel" says his mother. Then suddenly he shot up to grow to over six foot two inches.

Elizabeth, his sister, recalls Patsy: "He was a mad hatter. When we were young he used to always play tricks on me, mother and father. We used to play a game of cards and whoever lost had to do all the things that everybody told them.

"We all won a card game once and made Patsy crawl up the stairs and 'miaow' like a cat at my mother's bedroom door. She woke up the next day and said, 'am I going mad? I think I heard a cat last night' and we all started to laugh."

The O'Haras' house was open to all their children's friends, and again to scores of the volunteers who descended on Derry from all corners of Ireland when the RUC invaded in 1969. But before that transformation in people's politics came, Mrs. O'Hara still lived for her family alone.

She was especially proud of her eldest son, Sean Seamus who had passed his eleven plus and went to college.

PROTESTS

When Sean was in his early teens he joined the housing action group, around 1967, Mrs. O'Hara's conception of which was Sean helping to get people homes.

"But one day, someone came into me when I was working in the bar, and said, 'Your son is down in the Guildhall marching up and down with a placard!

"I went down and stood and looked and Finbarr O'Doherty was standing at the side and wee fellows were going up and down. I went over to Sean and said, 'Who gave you that? He said, Finbarr!' I took the placard off Sean and went over to Finbarr, put it in his hand, and hit him with my umbrella.'

Mrs. O'Hara laughs when she recalls this incident, as shortly afterwards she was to have her eyes opened.

"After that, I went to protests wherever Sean was, thinking that I could protect him! I remember the October 1968 march because my husband's brother, Sean, had just been buried.

"We went to the peaceful march over at the Waterside station and saw the people being beaten into the ground. That was the first time that I ever saw water cannons, they were like something from outer space.

"We thought we had to watch Sean, but to my astonishment Patsy and Tony had slipped away, and Patsy was astonished and startled by what he saw."

INCIDENT

Later, Patsy was to write about this incident: "The mood of the crowd was one of solidarity. People believed they were right and that a great injustice had been done to them. The crowds came in their thousands from every part of the city and as they moved down Duke Street chanting slogans, 'One man, one vote' and singing 'We shall overcome' I had the feeling that a people united and on the move, were unstoppable."

IRSP

Shortly after his release in April 1975, Patsy joined the ranks of the fledgling Irish Republican Socialist Party, which the 'Sticks', using murder, had attempted to strangle at birth. He was free only about two months when he was stopped at the permanent check-point on the Letterkenny Road whilst driving his father's car from Buncrana in County Donegal.

The Brits planted a stick of gelignite in the car (such practice was commonplace) and he was charged with possession of explosives. He was remanded in custody for six months, the first trial being stopped due to unusual RUC ineptitude at framing him. At the end of the second trial he was acquitted and released after spending six months in jail.

In 1976, Patsy had to stay out of the house for fear of constant arrest. That year, also, his brother, Tony, was charged with an armed raid, and on the sole evidence of an alleged verbal statement was sentenced to five years in the H-Blocks.

Despite being 'on the run' Patsy was still fond of his creature comforts!

His father recalls: "Sean Seamus came in late one night and though the whole place was in darkness he didn't put the lights on. He went to sit down and fell on the floor. He ran up the stairs and said: 'I went to sit down and there was nothing there'

"Patsy had taken the sofa on top of a red Rover down to his billet in the Brandywell. Then before we would get up in the morning he would have it back up again. When we saw it sitting there in the morning we said to Sean: 'Are you going off your head or what? and he was really puzzled."

IMPRISONED

In September 1976, he was again arrested in the North and along with four others charged with possession of a weapon. During the remand hearings he protested against the withdrawal of political status.

The charge was withdrawn after four months, indicating how the law is twisted to intern people by remanding them in custody and dropping the charges before the case comes to trial.

In June 1977, he was imprisoned for the fourth time. On this occasion, after a seven-day detention in Dublin's Bridewell, he was charged with holding a garda at gunpoint. He was released on bail six weeks later and was eventually acquitted In January 1978.

Whilst living in the Free State, Patsy was elected to the ard chomhairle of the IRSP, was active in the Bray area, and campaigned against the special courts.

In January 1979, he moved back to Derry but was arrested on May 14th, 1979 and was charged with possessing a hand-grenade.

In January 1980, he was sentenced to eight years in jail and went on the blanket.

HUNGER STRIKE

What were Mrs. O'Hara's feelings when Patsy told her he was going on hunger strike?

"My feelings at the start, when he went on hunger strike, were that I thought that they would get their just demands, because it is not very much that they are asking for. There is no use in saying that I was very vexed and all the rest of it. There is no use me sitting back in the wings and letting someone else's son go. Someone's sons have to go on it and I just happen to be the mother of that son."

PRINCIPLES

Writing shortly before the hunger strike began, Patsy O'Hara grimly declared: "We stand for the freedom of the Irish nation so that future generations will enjoy the prosperity they rightly deserve, free from foreign interference, oppression and exploitation. The real criminals are the British imperialists who have thrived on the blood and sweat of generations of Irish men.

"They have maintained control of Ireland through force of arms and there is only one way to end it. I would rather die than rot in this concrete tomb for years to come.

Patsy witnessed the baton charges and said: "The people were sandwiched in another street and with the Specials coming from both sides, swinging their truncheons at anything that moved. It was a terrifying experience and one which I shall always remember."

Mr. and Mrs. O'Hara believe that it was this incident when Patsy was aged eleven, followed by the riots in January 1969 and the 'Battle of the Bogside' in August 1969 that aroused passionate feelings of nationalism, and then republicanism, in their son. "Every day he saw something different happening," says his father. "People getting beaten up, raids and coffins coming out. This was his environment."

JOINED

In 1970, Patsy joined na Fianna Eireann, drilled and trained in Celtic Park.

Early in 1971, and though he was very young, he joined the Patrick Pearse Sinn Fein cumann in the Bogside, selling Easter lilies and newspapers. Internment, introduced in August 1971, hit the O'Hara family particularly severely with the arrest of Sean Seamus in October. "We never had a proper Christmas since then" says Elizabeth. "When Sean Seamus was interned we never put up decorations and our family has been split-up ever since then."

Shortly after Sean's arrest Patsy, one night, went over to a friend's house in Southway where there were barricades. But coming out of the house, British soldiers opened fire, for no apparent reason, and shot Patsy in the leg. He was only fourteen years of age and spent several weeks in hospital and then several more weeks on crutches.

BLOODY SUNDAY

On January 30th, 1972, his father took him to watch the big anti-internment march as it wound its way down from the Creggan. "I struggled across a banking but was unable to go any further. I watched the march go up into the Brandywell. I could see that it was massive. The rest of my friends went to meet it but I could only go back to my mother's house and listen to it on the radio," said Patsy.

Asked about her feelings over Patsy be coming involved in the struggle, Mrs. O'Hara said: "After October 1968, I thought that that was the right thing to do. I am proud of him, proud of them all".

Mr O'Hara said: "Personally speaking, I knew he would get involved. It was in his nature. He hated bullies al his life, and he saw big bullies in uniform and he would tackle them as well.

Shortly after Bloody Sunday, Patsy joined the 'Republican Clubs' and was active until 1973, "when it became apparent that they were firmly on the path to reformism and had abandoned the national question".

INTERNED

From this time onwards he was continually harassed, taken in for interrogation and assaulted.

One day, he and a friend were arrested on the Briemoor Road. Two saracens screeched to a halt beside them. Patsy later described this arrest: "We were thrown onto the floor and as they were bringing us to the arrest centre, we were given a beating with their batons and rifles. When we arrived and were getting out of the vehicles we were tripped and fell on our faces".

Three months later, after his seventeenth birthday, he was taken to the notorious interrogation centre at Ballykelly. He was interrogated for three days and then interned with three others who had been held for nine days.

"Long Kesh had been burned the week previously" said Patsy, "and as we flew above the camp in a British army helicopter we could see the complete devastation. When we arrived, we were given two blankets and mattresses and put into one of the cages.

"For the next two months we were on a starvation diet, no facilities of any" kind, and most men lying out open to the elements...

"That December a ceasefire was announced, then internment was phased out." Merlyn Rees also announced at the same time that special category status would be withdrawn on March 1st, 1976. I did not know then how much that change of policy would effect me in less than three years".

Patsy O'Hara died at 11.29 p.m. on Thursday, May 21st - on the same day as Raymond McCreesh with whom he had embarked on the hunger-strike sixty-one days earlier.

Even in death his torturers would not let him rest. When the O'Hara family been broken and his corpse bore several burn marks inflicted after his death.

Day four of my sympathy hunger strike and I'm not really hungry any more.  I'm tired from the busy weekend that I had.  But aside from that I feel great.  I know that the next six days are not going to be easy, but it will be very doable.  I'm on the downhill streach now.

Today is dedicated to Raymond McCreesh, the fourth young man to die in the 1981 Irish hunger strikes.

Yesterday, it was to hot outside to even think about eating (112), so the fast went rather well.  I took a long "lunch" break, in order to take some friends that were visiting on a tour of the farm and the river.  We were going to go kayaking but they wimped out because of the heat.  I'm really not hungery any more so I think that it will be pretty easy from here on out. 

Todays post is dedicated to Joe McDonnell, who was the fifth man to die in the 1981 Irish hungerstikes.

THE FOURTH IRA Volunteer to join the hunger-strike for political status was Joe McDonnell, a thirty-year-old married man with two children, from the Lenadoon housing estate in West Belfast.

A well-known and very popular man in the Greater Andersonstown area he grew up, married and fought for the republican cause in, Joe had a reputation as a quiet and deep-thinking individual, with a gentle, happy go-lucky personality, who had, nevertheless, a great sense of humour, was always laughing and playing practical jokes, and who, although withdrawn at times, had the ability to make friends easily.

As an active republican before his capture in October 1976, Joe was regarded by his comrades as a cool and efficient Volunteer who did what he had to do and never talked about it afterwards.

Something of a rarity within the Republican Movement, in that outside of military briefings and operational duty he was never seen around with other known or suspected Volunteers, he was nevertheless a good friend of the late Bobby Sands, with whom he was captured while on active service duty.

Not among those who volunteered for the earlier hunger strike last year, it was the intense disappointment brought about by the Brits' duplicity following the end of that hunger strike, and the bitterness and anger that duplicity produced among all the blanket men, that prompted Joe to put forward his name the next time round.

And it was predictable, as well as fitting, when his friend and comrade Bobby Sands met with death on the sixty-sixth day of his hunger strike, that Joe McDonnell should volunteer to take Bobby's place and continue that fight.

RESOLVE

His determination and resolve in that course of action can be gauged by the fact that never once, following his sentencing to fourteen years imprisonment in 1977, did he put on the prison uniform to take a visit, seeing his wife and family only after he commenced his hunger-strike.

The story of Joe McDonnell is of a highly-aware republican soldier whose involvement stemmed initially from the personal repression and harassment he and his family suffered at the hands of the British occupation forces, but which then deepened - through continuing repression - to a mature commitment to oppose an occupation that denied his country freedom and attempted to criminalise its people.

It was that commitment which he held more dear than his own life.

FAMILY

Joe McDonnell was born on September 14th 1951, the fifth of eight children, into the family home in Slate Street in Belfast's Lower Falls.

His father, Robert, aged 59, a steel erector, and his mother, Eileen (whose maiden name is Straney), aged 58, both came from the Lower Falls themselves.

They married in St. Peter's church there, in 1941, living first with Robert's sister and her husband in Colinward Street, off the Springfield Road, before moving into their own home in Slate Street, where the family were all born.

These are: Eilish, aged 38, married with five children; Robert, aged 36, married with two children; Hugh, aged 34, married with three children; Patsy, aged 32, married with two children, and now living in Canada since 1969; Joe; Maura, aged 28 and single; Paul, aged 26, married with two children and Frankie, aged 24 and single.

Frankie is currently serving a five-year sentence on the blanket protest in H6-Block on an IRA membership charge, following his arrest in December 1976, and is due for release this December.

A ninth child, Bernadette, was a particular favourite of Joe's, before her death from a kidney illness at the early age of three.

"Joseph practically reared Bernadette", recalls his mother, "he was always with the child, carrying her around. He was about ten at the time. He even used to play marleys with her on his shoulders."

Bernadette's death, a sad blow to the family, was deeply felt by her young brother Joe.

DATING

One of his friends at that time was his future brother-in-law, Michael, and he began dating Goretti from around the time he was seventeen.

Joe and Goretti, who also comes from Andersonstown, married in St. Agnes' chapel in 1970, and moved in to live with Goretti's sister and her family in Horn Drive in Lower Lenadoon.

At that time, however, they were one of only two nationalist households in what was then a predominantly loyalist street, and, after repeated instances of verbal intimidation, in the middle of the night, a loyalist mob - in full view of a nearby Brit post, and with the blessing of the raving Reverend Robert Bradford, who stood by - broke down the doors and wrecked the houses, forcing the two families to leave.

INTERNMENT

The McDonnells went to live with Goretti's mother for a while, but eventually got the chance to squat in a house being vacated in Lenadoon Avenue.

Internment had been introduced shortly before, and in 1972 the British army struck with a 4.00 a.m. raid.

Joe was dragged from the house, hit in the eye with a rifle butt and bundled into a jeep. Their house was searched and wrecked. Joe was taken to the prison ship Maidstone and later on to Long Kesh internment camp where he was held for several months.

Goretti recalls that early morning as a "horrific" experience which altered both their lives. One minute they had everything, the next minute nothing.

On his release Joe joined the IRA's Belfast Brigade, operating at first in the 1st Battalion's 'A' Company which covered the Rosnareen end of Andersonstown, and later being absorbed into the 'cell' structure increasingly adopted by the IRA.

RAIDS

Both during his first period of internment, and his second, longer, internment in 1973, as well as the periods when he was free, the McDonnell's home in Lenadoon was constant target for British army raids.

During these raids the house would often be torn apart, photos torn up and confiscated letters from Joe (previously read by the prison censor) re-read by infantile British soldiers, and Goretti herself arrested.

In between periods of internment, and before his capture, Joe resumed his trade as an upholsterer which he had followed since leaving school at the age of fifteen. He loved the job, never missing a day through illness, and made both the furniture for his own home as well as for many of the bars and clubs in the surrounding area. His job enabled him to take the family for regular holidays but Joe was a real 'homer' and always longed to be back in his native Belfast.

BOMBS

Part of that attraction stemmed obviously from his responsibility to his republican involvement. An active Volunteer throughout the Greater Andersonstown area, Joe was considered a first-class operator who didn't show much fear. Generally quiet and serious while on an operation, whether an ambush or a bombing mission, Joe's humour occasionally shone through.

Driving one time to an intended target in the Lenadoon area with a carload of Volunteers, smoke began to appear in the car. Not realising that it was simply escaping exhaust fumes, and thinking it came from the bags containing a number of bombs, a degree of alarm began to break out in the car, but Joe only advised his comrades, drily, not to bother about it: "They'll go off soon enough."

Outside of active service, Joe mixed mostly with people he knew from work, never flaunting his republican beliefs or his involvement, to such an extent that it led some republicans to believe he had not reported back to the IRA on his second release from internment.

The Brits, however, persecuted him and his family continually, with frequent house raids, and street arrests. He could rarely leave the house without being stopped for P-checking, or held up for an hour at a roadblock if he had somewhere to go. A few months before his capture, irate Brits at a roadblock warned him that they would 'get' him.

Outside of his republican activity Joe took a strong interest in his children - Bernadette, aged ten and Joseph, aged nine - teaching them both to swim, and forever playing football with young Joseph on the small green outside their home.

CAPTURE

His capture took place in October 1976 following a firebomb attack on the Balmoral Furnishing Company in Upper Dunmurray Lane, near the Twinbrook estate in West Belfast.

The IRA had reconnoitred the store, noting the extravagantly-priced furniture it sold, and had selected it as an economic target. The plan was to petrol bomb the premises and then to lay explosive charges to spread the flames.

The Twinbrook active service unit led by Bobby Sands, was at that time in the process of being built up, and were assisted consequently in this operation by experienced republican Volunteers from the adjoining Andersonstown area, including Joe McDonnell.

Unfortunately, following the attack, which successfully destroyed the furnishing company, the escape route of some of the Volunteers involved was blocked by a car placed across the road.

During an ensuing shoot-out with Brits and RUC, two republicans, Seamus Martin and Gabriel Corbett were wounded, and four others, Bobby Sands, Joe McDonnell, Seamus Finucane and Sean Lavery, were arrested in a car not far away.

Three IRA Volunteers managed to escape safely from the area.

A single revolver was found in the car, and at the men's subsequent trial in September 1977 all four received fourteen-year sentences for possession when they refused to recognise the court.

Rough treatment during their interrogation in Castlereagh failed to make any of the four sign a statement, and the RUC were thus unable to charge the men with involvement in the attack on the furnishing company despite their proximity to it at the time of their arrest.

ADAMANT From the day he was sentenced Joe refused to put on the prison uniform to take a visit, so adamant was he that he would not be criminalised. He kept in touch instead, with his wife and family, by means of daily smuggled 'communications', written with smuggled-in biro refills on prison issue toilet paper and smuggled out via other blanket men who were taking visits.

Incarcerated in H5-Block, Joe acted as 'scorcher' (an anglicised form of the Irish word, scairt, to shout) shouting the sceal, or news from his block to the adjoining one about a hundred yards away. Frequently this is the only way that news from outside can be communicated from one H-Block to the blanket men in another H-Block.

It illustrates well the feeling of bitter determination prevailing in the H-Blocks that Joe McDonnell, who did not volunteer for the hunger strike last year because, he said, "I have too much to live for", should have become so frustrated and angered by British perfidy as to embark on hunger strike on Sunday, May 9th, 1981.

IMPACT

In June, Joe was a candidate during the Free State general election, in the Sligo/Leitrim constituency, in which he narrowly missed election by 315 votes.

All the family were actively involved in campaigning for him, and despite the disappointment at the result both they and Joe himself were pleased at the impact which, the H-Block issue had on the election, and in Sligo/Leitrim itself.

Adults cried when the video film on the hunger strike was shown, his family recall, and they cried again when Joe was eliminated from the electoral count.

MARTYR

At 5.11 a.m., on July 8th, Joe McDonnell, who - believeably, for those who know his wife Goretti, his children Bernadette and Joseph and his family - "had too much to live for" died after sixty one days of agonising hunger strike, rather than be criminalised.

Well I'm about half way through the fast now, I'm tired but otherwise doing, just fine.  I've started thinking of what I should eat to end my ten day strech without food.  hester suggested Mexican food which sounds pretty good to me.  Any other suggestions?

Today's post is dedicated to Martin Hurson, the sixth young man to die in the 1981 Irish Hunger Strikes.

IN THE early hours of Tuesday morning, November 9th, 1976, a series of British army and RUC swoops in the Cappagh district of Dungannon in East Tyrone led to the arrest from their homes, under Section 10 of the Emergency Provisions Act, of three young local men: Pat Joe O'Neill, Dermot Boyle and Peter Kane. Two days later, November 11th, in similar dawn swoops in the area, four other men, James Joseph Rafferty, Peter Nugent, Kevin O'Brien and Martin Hurson, were arrested from their homes.

Over the next few days all seven men were held in Omagh RUC barracks, interrogated about IRA operations in East Tyrone since 1972, and systematically tortured by detectives from the newly established Regional Crime Squad.

The men had their hair pulled, their ears slapped, they were made to stand for prolonged periods in the 'search position' against a wall, they were kicked and punched and forced to do exercises for lengthy periods.

INJURIES

Finally, two men, Peter Nugent and James Rafferty, were released without charge, Rafferty to Tyrone County Hospital in Omagh where he spent four days recovering from his injuries. The remaining five were charged (and subsequently convicted) on the sole basis of statements made during that interrogation.

One of the five is now in the cages of Long Kesh, the other four became blanket men in the H-Blocks.

Four-and-a-half years later with revealing ironic insight into the nature of the British judicial system in Ireland, while four RUC detectives involved in those Omagh interrogations were awaiting trial on charges of assaulting James Rafferty during interrogation, in the prison hospital of Long Kesh, one of those convicted on the basis of a tortured 'confession' - Martin Hurson - lay dying on hunger strike for political status.

CAPPAGH

Edward Martin Hurson was born on September 13th, 1956, in the townland of Aughnaskea, Cappagh, near Dungannon, the eighth of nine children: six girls and three boys.

Both of his parents, John, aged 74, a small hill farmer, and Mary Ann (whose maiden name was Gillespie) who died in April 1970 after a short illness, came from the Cappagh district, and the whole of their family - including Martin - were born into the white washed farmhouse perched precipitously on top of the thirty hilly acres of rough land that make up the Hurson farm.

The Cappagh district is a wholly nationalist area of County Tyrone, composed mainly of farmers, and comprising between two and three hundred closely knit families. The land is infertile, lowland hills, good only for grazing cattle and rearing a few pigs, yet the roots of families like the Hursons stretch back maybe two or three hundred years. The land may not be much but it is theirs.

Over by Donaghmore, a few miles away, where the fields are bigger and the grass more lush, most of the farmers are loyalists.

Martin was close to the land as he grew up. Although he went first to Crosscavanagh school in Galbally, and then to St. Patrick's intermediate in Dungannon, when he was not at school he was more often than not helping out about the farm, driving a tractor, helping to rear 'croppy pigs' or looking after cattle.

A 'typical' country lad in many ways, part of a very close and good humoured family, Martin was a quiet, very religious, and easy going young man, who nevertheless, before his arrest, enjoyed social pursuits such as dancing and going to the cinema, and enjoyed the company of other people, among whom he had a well-earned reputation for being a practical joker and a bit of a comedian.

Like many others, he was capable of being very outgoing and talkative on occasions, while remaining essentially a rather shy and quiet personality.

Perhaps because he was one of the youngest of the family, Martin was particularly close to his mother, whose premature death in 1970 when he was only thirteen, came as a deep shock to him.

It was Martin who returned home one day to find his mother taken seriously ill and who ran to a neighbouring farm to ring a doctor. That day, a Saturday, Mrs. Hurson was taken to Omagh hospital, and from there to the Royal Victoria Hospital in Belfast where she died the following Thursday, April 30th.

Martin was so shocked by the tragedy that he lost his memory completely for a week, only regaining it when a tractor he was driving up a steep slope, with his father, overturned, throwing the pair to the ground, this fresh shock dramatically restoring his memory.

That period of his life was also the time when 'the troubles' began to have an impact.

Although the family did not discuss politics, and internment did not affect anyone from the Cappagh area, it was impossible not to be keenly aware of British oppression so close to Dungannon which - spearheading the civil rights campaign through the late sixties - had fostered such a strong current of republicanism in the process.

However, Martin's personal resistance to that British repression and his subsequent intense suffering at the hands of it were not to occur for several years. In his teens his great delight was to play practical jokes on his family and neighbours, particularly on April Fool's Day and on Hallowe'en.

JOKE

"He liked a joke and a laugh" remembers a long-time friend of Martin's. "Him and Peter Kane were a comical match". Or, as his brother Francis remembers with a laugh, "If he thought it would make you mad he would do it".

Like the time he ran breathless to Paddy Donnelly's to tell him that Sylvie Kane's cows had toppled his milkchurns and the milk was going everywhere. And as Paddy dashed down to save his milk, Martin called out, "Hey Paddy, April Fool" before disappearing through a gap in the hedge.

Leaving school, Martin started work as an apprentice fitter welder at Findlay's, and after a stint there he went across to England for a while, living in Manchester with his brother Francis and his wife, and working for McAlpine's. But not long after Francis and his wife returned to Tyrone, Martin too returned when the particular job he was working on had finished at Christmas in 1974, rather than move to another job.

He had spent almost a year-and-a half in England but wasn't particular about it, a view confirmed early on after his arrival, when he was forced to spend two weeks in hospital having been struck by one of McAlpine's mechanical diggers!

Back in the farmhouse at Cappagh, Martin bought himself a car on hire purchase and got himself a job in Dungannon at Powerscreen International. He paid for the car within a year, having always had a gift for scraping money together.

As a child, whenever he managed to get hold of a penny or a shilling, here or there, instead of spending it he would take it to a nearby farmer and family friend who put it into a box for him until he had enough to buy, once, a white cob, or a pig to rear. He was 'old fashioned'' in that way, his brother Francis recalls.

He also loved to work and was a "great riser" in the morning, his father says, never missing a day's work until his arrest.

BERNADETTE

Late in 1975, he met and started going out with Bernadette Donnelly, at the wedding of her sister Mary Rose to a cousin of Martin's, at which he was best man.

Bernadette, aged twenty-three, comes from Pomeroy: she was extremely active in the hunger strike campaign, along with members of Martin's family, appearing on rally platforms and taking part in marches and pickets all over the country.

Before his arrest, Martin and Bernadette were often both behind the practical jokes he loved playing. His brother Francis was often the victim.

On one occasion, Francis, his wife, and their two children, were asleep in a caravan in the Donegal resort of Bundoran. They awoke however to find themselves not on the caravan site but on an adjacent road, Martin and Bernadette having towed it off-site during the night.

On another occasion the pair borrowed Francis' almost new cine-camera to film the wedding of a friend, Seamus McGuire, in Donegal. Somewhere along the route back from Donegal they found out they'd lost the camera and lost it remained.

Afraid to tell Francis, they kept quiet about the camera for several weeks, before Francis remembered to ask for it back. Instead of owning-up, Martin gave Francis an almost identical replacement hoping he wouldn't notice. But when he did, Martin, not lost for words, just explained: "I left it into a shop for fixing, but they said it wasn't worth fixing."

RUC

But those relatively light-hearted and easy-going days were coming to an end.

East Tyrone, like many other areas in the North, was a centre of highly proficient republican operations against the enemy forces.

To combat the level of republican military activity, deputy chief constable of the RUC Kenneth Newman (shortly to be promoted to chief constable), was one of those behind the restructuring of the RUC in early 1976, which led to the setting up of what were called Regional Crime Squads.

Their primary function was to ensure convictions for all 'unsolved' republican activity by extracting signed statements, in effect to 'clear the books' of an embarrassing list of unattributable republican operations.

Under the torturer Newman, and the then direct-ruler Roy Mason, the Regional Crime Squads only responsibility was to 'get results' (a guarantee of promotion) without undue regard to the methods they employed. One method they did employ was torture.

TORTURE

Martin was arrested and taken to Omagh RUC barracks on November 11th, 1976, along with the six others arrested that day and two days previously.

He was badly, and professionally tortured in Omagh for two days, beaten about the head, back and testicles, spread-eagled against a wall and across a table, slapped, punched and kicked. He heard Rafferty's screams as he was tortured in the adjoining room.

To escape the torture Martin signed statements admitting involvement in republican activity.

He was then transferred to Cookstown barracks, but as soon as he arrived he made a formal complaint of ill-treatment. Back in Omagh barracks, chief inspector Farr, realising this could prejudice the admissibility of Martin's statements at his trial, got the Cookstown detectives to re-interrogate Martin and extract the same statements, which they did by threatening to 'send him back to Omagh'.

On Saturday night, November 13th, Martin was charged, along with Kevin O'Brien and Peter Kane. Dermot Boyle and Pat Joe O'Neill had been charged the day before.

Martin was charged with a landmine explosion at Galbally in November 1975. This charge was later dropped, but he was then further charged with IRA membership, possession of the Galbally landmine, conspiracy to kill members of the enemy forces, causing an explosion at Cappagh in September 1975, and possession of a landmine at Reclain in February 1976 which exploded near a passing UDR landrover.

STATEMENTS

Even though the alleged speciality of the East Tyrone active service unit operating around Cappagh was explosives, the RUC offered not one shred of forensic evidence, against any of the five men, merely signed statements extracted by torture.

These statements, however, were good enough for Judge Rowland at the trial of the five men in November 1977, after a year on remand in Crumlin Road and in the remand H-Block of Long Kesh.

Admitting as evidence the statements Martin made in Omagh, and dismissing doctor's evidence about the extent of Martin's injuries, Judge Rowland sentenced Martin to twenty years for possession of landmines and conspiracy, as well as two other sentences of fifteen and five years respectively, the sentences to run concurrently.

The other four men received sentences ranging from fifteen to twenty years.

Martin appealed his conviction on the grounds that the judge had ignored medical evidence about his ill-treatment. The appeal was dismissed but he was granted a retrial.

At the four-day trial in September 1979, before Judge Munray, the Omagh statements were ruled inadmissible, but instead of Martin walking free the judge went on to accept the admissibility of the Cookstown statements, themselves extracted under threat of renewed torture.

One of the consequences of the retrial was the further postponement of the enquiry into James Rafferty's allegations of brutality in Omagh, on the grounds that it might prejudice the retrial (to the RUC's detriment!).

The enquiry had been reluctantly acceded to by the RUC Police Authority following the persistent endeavours of Authority member, independent Dungannon councillor, Jack Hassard. He, however, later resigned from the Authority, describing it as being "as independent as a sausage without a skin" when the tribunal which was set up failed to begin its enquiries. The tribunal finally collapsed earlier this year when the RUC detectives from Omagh refused to give evidence to it on the grounds that they might incriminate themselves!

Subsequently, four of the detectives who tortured James Rafferty, Martin Hurson and the others at Omagh that November: chief inspector Harold Colgan, and constables Michael O Neil, Kenneth Hassan, and Robert McAdore were charged with assaulting Rafferty.

Those four torturers, however, are only convenient scape-goats representing the tip of the iceberg in what was an orchestrated and widespread attempt during the Roy Mason era to jail republicans on the flimsiest of pretexts by means of torture extracted statements. Such men make up a substantial proportion of those political prisoners in Britain's Northern and English jails today.

Martin Hurson went straight on the blanket after his first trial, and following his retrial he appealed once again against conviction, challenging the admissibility of the Cookstown statements, but his appeal was disallowed in June 1980.

HUNGER STRIKE

On May 29th, this year, Martin joined the hunger strike, replacing South Derryman Brendan McLoughlin who was forced to drop out because of a burst stomach ulcer.

In the Free State general election in June, Martin was a candidate in Longford/Westmeath, and although missing election, obtained almost four-and-a-half thousand first preference votes, and over a thousand transfers, before being eliminated at the end of the sixth count, outlasting two Labour candidates and a Fine Gael contender.

Barely one month after election the Free State government's bolstering of Britain's barbaric intransigence led to the death of Martin Hurson, the sixth hunger striker, at that stage, to die.

Having seriously deteriorated after forty days on hunger strike, he was unable to hold down water and died a horrifically agonising death after only forty-four days on hunger strike, at 4.30 a m. on Monday, July 13th.

The fast is going well.  I've not as much energy as usual and have been sleeping more, but aside from that I feel great.

Today's post is dedicated to Kevin Lynch, the 7th man to loose his life in the 1981 Irish Hunger Strike.

THE EIGHTH republican to join the hunger-strike for political status, on May 23rd, following the death of Patsy O'Hara, was twenty-five-year-old fellow INLA Volunteer Kevin Lynch from the small, North Derry town of Dungiven who had been imprisoned since his arrest in 1976.

A well-known and well liked young man in the closely-knit community of his home town, Kevin was remembered chiefly for his outstanding ability as a sportsman, and for qualities of loyalty, determination and a will to win which distinguished him on the sports field and which, in heavier times and circumstances, were his hallmarks as an H-Block blanket man on hunger strike to the death.

Kevin Lynch was a happy-go-lucky, principled young Derry man with an enthusiastic love of life, who was, as one friend of his remarked - a former schoolteacher of Kevin's and an active H-Block campaigner: "the last person, back in 1969, you would have dreamed would be spending a length of time in prison."

The story of Kevin Lynch is of a light-hearted, hard-working and lively young man, barely out of his teens when the hard knock came early one December morning nearly five years ago, who had been forced by the British occupation of his country to spend those intervening years in heroic refusal to accept the British brand of 'criminal' and in the tortured assertion of what he really was - a political prisoner.

PARK

Kevin Lynch was born on May 25th, 1956, the youngest of a family of eight, in the tiny village of Park, eight miles outside Dungiven. His father, Paddy, (aged 66), and his mother, Bridie, (aged 65), whose maiden name is Cassidy, were both born in Park too, Paddy Lynch's family being established there for at least three generations, but they moved to Dungiven twenty years ago, after the births of their children.

Paddy Lynch is a builder by trade, like his father and grandfather before him - a trade which he handed down to his five sons: Michael (aged 39), Patsy (aged 37), Francis (aged 33), Gerard (aged 27), and Kevin himself, who was an apprenticed bricklayer. There are also three daughters in the family: Jean (aged 35), Mary (aged 30), and Bridie (aged 29).

Though still only a small town of a few thousand, Dungiven has been growing over the past twenty years due to the influx of families like the Lynches from the outlying rural areas. It is an almost exclusively nationalist town, garrisoned by a large and belligerent force of RUC and Brits. In civil rights days, however, nationalists were barred from marching in the town centre.

Nowadays, militant nationalists have enforced their right to march, but the RUC still attempt to break up protests and the flying of the tricolour (not in itself 'illegal' in the six counties) is considered taboo by the loyalist bigots of the RUC.

Support in the town is relatively strong, Dungiven having first-hand experience of a hunger strike last year when local man Tom McFeeley went fifty-three days without food before the fast ended on December 18th. Apart from Tom McFeeley and Kevin Lynch other blanket men from the town are Kevin's boyhood friend and later comrade Liam McCloskey - himself later to embark on hunger strike - and former blanket man Eunan Brolly, who was released from the H-Blocks last December.

SCHOOL

Kevin went to St. Canice's primary school and then on to St. Patrick's intermediate, both in Dungiven. Although not academically minded - always looking forward to taking his place in the family building business - he was well-liked by his teachers, respected for his sporting prowess and for his well-meant sense of humour. "Whatever devilment was going on in the school, you could lay your bottom dollar Kevin was behind it," remembers his former schoolteacher, recalling that he took great delight in getting one of his classmates, his cousin Hugh ('the biggest boy in the class - six foot one') "into trouble". But it was all in fun - Kevin was no troublemaker, and whenever reprimanded at school, like any other lively lad, would never bear a grudge.

Above all, Kevin was an outdoor person who loved to go fishing for sticklebacks in the river near his home, or off with a bunch of friends playing Gaelic (an outdoor disposition which must have made his H-Block confinement even harder to bear).

GAMES

His great passion was Gaelic games playing Gaelic football from very early on, and then taking up hurling when he was at St. Patrick's.

He excelled at both.

Playing right half-back for St. Patrick's hurling club, which was representing County Derry, at the inaugural Feile na nGael held in Thurles, County Tipperary, in 1971, Kevin's performance - coming only ten days after an appendix operation - was considered a key factor in the team's victory in the four-match competition played over two days.

The following season Kevin was appointed captain of both St. Patrick's hurling team and the County Derry under-16 team which went on in that season to beat Armagh in the All Ireland under-16 final at Croke Park in Dublin.

Later on, while working in England, he was a reserve for the Dungiven senior football team in the 1976 County Derry final.

Kevin's team, St. Canice's, was beaten 0-9 to 0-3 by Sarsfields of Ballerin, and he is described in the match programme as "a strong player and a useful hurler". Within a short space of time after this final, Kevin would be in jail, as would two of his team mates on that day, Eunan Brolly and Sean Coyle.

QUALITIES

The qualities Kevin is remembered for as a sportsman were his courage and determination, his will to win, and his loyalty to his team mates. Not surprisingly the local hurling and football clubs were fully behind Kevin and his comrades in their struggle for the five demands, pointing out that Kevin had displayed those same qualities in the H-Blocks and on hunger strike.

He was also a boxer with the St. Canice's club, once reaching the County Derry final as a schoolboy, but not always managing as easily as he achieved victory in his first fight!

Just before the match was due to start his opponent asked him how many previous fights he'd had. With suppressed humour, Kevin answered "thirty-three" so convincingly that his opponent, overcome with nervous horror, couldn't be persuaded into the ring.

At the age of fifteen, Kevin left school and began to work alongside his father. Although lively, going to dances, and enjoying good crack, he was basically a quiet, determined young fellow, who stuck to his principles and couldn't easily be swayed.

Like any other family in Dungiven, the Lynches are nationally minded, and young Kevin would have been just as aware as any other lad of his age of the basic injustices in his country, and would have equally resented the petty stop-and-search harassment which people of his age continually suffered at the hands of Brits and RUC.

The Lynches were also, typically, a close family and in 1973, at the age of sixteen, Kevin went to England to join his three brothers, Michael, Patsy and Gerard, who were already working in Bedford.

Both Bedford and its surrounding towns, stretching from Hertfordshire to Buckinghamshire and down to the north London suburbs, contain large Irish populations, and the Lynches mixed socially within that, Kevin going a couple of times a week to train with St. Dympna's in Luton or to Catholic clubs in Bedford or Luton for a quiet drink and a game of snooker. He even played an odd game of rugby while over there.

But Kevin never intended settling in England and on one of his occasional visits home ("he just used to turn up"), in August 1976, he decided to stay in Dungiven.

INLA

Shortly after his return home, coming away from a local dance, he and nine other young lads were put up against a wall by British soldiers and given a bad kicking, two of the lads being brought to the barracks.

Kevin joined the INLA around this time, maybe because of this incident in part, but almost certainly because of his national awareness coming from his cultural love of Irish sport, as well as his courage and integrity, made him determined to stand up both for himself and his friends.

"He wouldn't ever allow himself to be walked on", recalls his brother, Michael. And he had always been known for his loyalty by his family, his friends, his teammates, and eventually by his H-Block comrades.

However, within the short space of little more than three months, Kevin's active republican involvement came to an end almost before it had begun. Following an ambush outside Dungiven, in November '76, in which an RUC man was slightly injured, the RUC moved against those it suspected to be INLA activists in the town.

On December 2nd, 1976, at 5.40 a.m. Brits and RUC came to the Lynch's home for Kevin. "We said he wasn't going anywhere before he'd had a cup of tea", remembers Mr. Lynch, "but they refused to let him have even a glass of water. The RUC said he'd be well looked after by then."

Also arrested that day in Dungiven were Sean Coyle, Seamus McGrandles, and Kevin's schoolboy friend Liam McCloskey, with whom he was later to share an H-Block cell.

Kevin was taken straight to Castlereagh, and, after three days' questioning, on Saturday, December 4th, he was charged and taken to Limavady to be remanded in custody by a special court. The string of charges included conspiracy to disarm members of the enemy forces, taking part in a punishment shooting, and the taking of 'legally held' shotguns.

Following a year on remand in Crumlin Road jail, Belfast, he was tried and sentenced to ten years in December 1977, immediately joining the blanket men in H3, and eventually finding himself sharing a cell with his Dungiven friend and comrade, Liam McCloskey, continuing to do so until he took part in the thirty-man four-day fast which coincided with the end of the original seven-man hunger strike last December.

LONG KESH

Since they were sentenced in 1977, both Dungiven men suffered their share of brutality from Crumlin Road and Long Kesh prison warders, Kevin being 'put on the boards' for periods of up to a fortnight, three or four times.

On Wednesday, April 26th, 1978, six warders, one carrying a hammer, came in to search their cell. Kevin's bare foot, slipping on the urine-drenched cell floor, happened to splash the trouser leg of one of the warders, who first verbally abused him and then kicked urine at him.

When Kevin responded in like manner he was set upon by two warders who punched and kicked him, while another swung a hammer at him, but fortunately missed. The punching and kicking continued till Kevin collapsed on the urine-soaked floor with a bruised and swollen face.

In another assault by prison warders, Kevin's cellmate, Liam McCloskey, suffered a burst ear-drum during a particularly bad beating, and is now permanently hard of hearing.

DETERMINATION

Even as long ago as April 1978, just after the 'no wash' protest had begun, Kevin was reported, in a bulletin issued by the Dungiven Relatives Action Committee, to "have lost a lot of weight, his face is a sickly white and he is underfed".

His determination, and his sense of loyalty to his blanket comrades, saw him through, however, even the hardest times.

His former H-Block comrade, Eunan Brolly, who was also in H3 before his release, remembers how Kevin once put up with raging toothache for three weeks rather than come off the protest to get dental treatment. It was the sort of thing which forced some blanket men off the protest, at least temporarily, but not Kevin.

Eunan, who recalls how Kevin used to get a terrible slagging from other blanket men because the GAA, of which of course he was a member, did not give enough support to the fight for political status, also says he was not surprised by Kevin's decision to join the hunger strike. Like other blanket men, Eunan says, Kevin used to discuss a hunger strike as a possibility, a long time ago, "and he was game enough for it".

Neither were his family, who supported him in his decision, surprised: "Kevin's the type of man", said his father, when Kevin was on the hunger strike, "that wouldn't lie back. He'd want to do his share."

In the Free State elections, in June, Kevin stood as a candidate in the Waterford constituency, collecting 3,337 first preferences before being eliminated - after Labour Party and Fianna Fail candidates - on the fifth count, with 3,753 votes.

But the obvious popular support which the hunger strikers and their cause enjoyed nationally was not sufficient to elicit support from the Free State government who share the common, futile hope of the British government - the criminalisation of captured freedom fighters.

The direct consequence of that was Kevin's death - the seventh at that stage - in the Long Kesh hospital at 1.00 a.m. on Saturday, August 1st after seventy-one days on hunger strike.

It has been eight days with out food for me, I feel fine, just not as much energy as normal and I've been sleeping about 8 or 9 hours a day, which is alot for me.  I think that I could probably go another 10 days without much problem, but I am looking forward to a nice meal. 

Today's post is dedicated to Kieran Doherty, who was the eigth man to die in the 1981 Irish Hunger Strikes.

WHEN the family, friends and former comrades of Belfast IRA Volunteer twenty-five-year-old Kieran Doherty learnt that he was joining the H-Block hunger strike, as a replacement for Raymond McCreesh, it came as no surprise to them.

Although Kieran had spent seven of the last ten years imprisoned, his complete selflessness and his relentless dedication to the liberation struggle left no-one in any doubt that Kieran would volunteer for this terrible and lonely confrontation with British rule inside the H-Blocks of Long Kesh. Last December he was amongst those thirty prisoners who were on hunger strike for four days prior to the ending of the original seven-strong strike.

Kieran was born on October 16th, 1955 in Andersonstown, the third son in a family of six children. His two elder brothers, Michael, aged 28, and Terence, aged 27, were interned between 1972 and 1974.

Kieran has two younger sisters, Roisin and Mairead; and his younger brother, Brendan, aged twelve, is still at school.

BACKGROUND

Kieran's mother, Margaret, is a Catholic convert from a Protestant background. His father, Alfie Doherty, who is a floor-tiler by trade, is a well-known figure in Andersonstown.

Kieran's paternal grandfather comes from Limavady, County Derry, and after his people moved to a house in North Belfast in the 'twenties, they were threatened that the house was going to be burnt.

This was during the loyalist-initiated pogroms which followed partition.

They had to flee to West Belfast enacting a tragedy which was to repeat itself in front of Kieran's eyes in the early seventies, and stir him to take action.

Alfie's uncle, Ned Maguire, took part in the famous IRA roof-top escape from Belfast's Crumlin Road jail on January 15th, 1943.

Ned Maguire's son, also called Ned, and a second cousin of Kieran, was an internee in Cage S of Long Kesh in 1974, when he took part in the mass escape from the camp during which Hugh Coney was shot dead by the British army. Young Ned Maguire was one of the three who managed to reach Twinbrook before being recaptured. He is now on the blanket.

Ned's sisters (and Kieran's second cousins), Dorothy Maguire, aged 19, and Maura Meehan, aged 30, were shot dead by the British army on October 23rd, 1971, in a car in the Lower Falls area of Belfast. Both were members of Cumann na mBan.

Another relative of Kieran's, his uncle, Gerry Fox, was part of the famous Crumlin Road jail 'football team', who escaped from the jail by climbing over the wall in 1972.

CHILDHOOD

However, Kieran's childhood was relatively ordinary. He loved sport more than anything else, and was always out playing Gaelic football, hurling or soccer.

Kieran went to St. Theresa's primary school, then moved to the Christian Brothers secondary school on the Glen Road, where he studied until the age of sixteen.

A keen Gaelic footballer, he won an Antrim Minor medal in 1971 for St. Theresa's GAC.

Kieran took up cycling for a while, following his brother, Michael, in St. Thomas' cycling club. His mother recalls him taking part in a race with a faulty bicycle: "Although the chain came off at least twenty times through the race, he was so stubborn that he finished with a bronze medal."

St. Thomas' cycling club was later decimated by internment. Kieran, his brothers, and many other Andersonstown boys were to end up behind the wire. To such an extent, that Kieran s young brother, Brendan, asked his mother one day in 1975 when it would be his turn to go where all the 'big boys' were kept. Brendan was then six.

In the summer of 1971, Kieran got a job as an apprentice in heating engineering but was laid-off when the firm closed down a few months later. He worked for a while at floor-tiling with his father.

JOINED

In the meantime, however, internment had burst open the lives of many Andersonstown families. Kieran had never been interested in politics until then: nor had his family ever discussed the political situation in front of him.

Like hundreds of other boys and girls of his age, he was moved by the sight of uprooted families leaving a home in cinders behind them. As all of the evacuees were being catered for in local schools, Kieran and his brothers begged their parents to allow them to go and help. Kieran saw the British army on the streets, his friends and their families harassed. He joined na Fianna Eireann in the autumn of '71.

Kieran proved himself to be an outstanding member of the Fianna. Reliable, quick on the job, he was obviously giving the best of himself to every task assigned him with the aim of being noticed and recruited for the IRA as quickly as was possible.

Even at this early stage of his involvement, he is remembered for his initiative and his discreet ways. Unlike some boys of his age, he never boasted about his activities.

But the British army soon noticed him too and Kieran, his family, and his home, became a target for frequent British army harassment.

On October 6th, 1972, the British army came to arrest Kieran, despite his father's objection that Kieran was under seventeen. The Brits had checked up, they said, and after a heavy house raid they took Kieran away in the middle of the night. His father got him released eventually after waking up the sexton of St. Agnes' chapel and obtaining Kieran's birth certificate.

The Brits were ten days too early.

True to form, on October 16th, the British army were back in force and swamped Kieran's district, waiting for his return from work. But relatives managed to warn him and he was driven over the border to an uncle in Limerick.

He did not much enjoy his enforced exile and, bursting to get back into action, he made his way back to Belfast at the beginning of '73.

INTERNED

A week or so later, he was arrested, taken to Castlereagh, and then interned in Long Kesh where he spent over two years from February '73 to November '75. He was among the last internees released.

Always even-tempered and quiet-spoken he used his time developing his military skills.

In a letter to his mother he wrote: "They might intern all of us, but we will come out fighting."

He made a lot of handicrafts during his two-and-a-half years in captivity.

His parents' home displays a lot of his work, in particular a hand-carved wooden plaque commemorating Dorothy Maguire and Maura Meehan.

On the eve of his birthday in October '74, Long Kesh prison camp was burned. When visits were eventually resumed he did not complain to his parents of brutality but just remarked jokingly on the 'birthday party' he had been given.

He was released from Long Kesh in November '75, as undaunted as he sounded in his letters, and reported back to the IRA immediately. Always eager to operate, he was included in a team of Volunteers from around Rossnareen which gave the British army in Andersonstown many sleepless nights until a wave of arrests in the summer of '76.

As the IRA/British army truce petered out at the beginning of '76, 'Big Doc', as he was known by all, soon had to move out of his parents' house. Raids were a fortnightly occurrence, at least, with furniture wrecked and floorboards lifted.

Mrs. Doherty was tidying up a first-floor bedroom after such a raid when she fell through the carpet, the floor, and partly through the sitting-room ceiling. The Brits had omitted to replace the floorboards. The scar on the ceiling can still be seen.

Many friends who met Kieran after his internment period found him extremely mature for a lad of twenty, not boisterous like most people of his age. He obviously, by then, had thought things out, made a definite choice, and assessed the dangers.

As an operator he was a perfectionist and his comrades recall feeling extremely safe with him. Even in the eventuality of things going wrong they knew Kieran would not give anything away.

ESCAPES

He had many narrow escapes.

One night, as he was shifting 'gear' in Andersonstown, he was chased up and down the side streets for over five minutes by two Brit landrovers.

Another time, as he was driving to a night job as security man for a firm, armed, as he often was, he drove into a British army road block.

He calmly took his tie out of his pocket, put it on, tidied himself up, and, winding down the window, shouted: "What's up lads? Let me through, please, I'm going to my work, over there, security staff."

And the British soldiers opened the way for him. 'Big Doc' was welcome in many Andersonstown homes and highly respected by all who knew him.

Families with whom he billeted remember how security conscious he was, staying away for days, using billets in no regular pattern.

ENJOYED

Through those months of intense involvement Kieran had little chance to unwind. He mostly liked to go to local clubs for a quiet pint with a few friends.

He also had a reputation as a practical joker. One day he rang a friend from a pub and told him they were wrecking the place, simply to have his friend rush over in his car to pick him up.

In July '76, a few weeks before his arrest, Kieran enjoyed one of the rare holidays he ever had since the arrival of British troops on his local streets. With a few close friends he drove to the South and was able to indulge in his love for outdoor activities, exhausting his friends with long walks and swims.

By that time he had met his girlfriend, Geraldine, the only steady relationship he ever formed during his short period of freedom.

They did not get much of a chance, as Kieran's heavy republican involvement often interfered with their dating and since August '76 they only met for a few minutes once in a while under the gaze of prison warders.

SEAN McDERMOTT

Kieran's comrades-in-arms recall one particular operation, of the many he was involved in, when one Andersonstown Volunteer - Sean McDermott - was shot dead.

Kieran got away and was told to lie low for a few days, but nevertheless he appeared at his comrade's funeral.

Sean McDermott's mother has a photograph of the funeral cortege in which Kieran can be seen, standing on the footpath, sombre, alone, looking on as the coffin is carried to Milltown cemetery.

Sean's death, and the arrest of other comrades involved, hit Kieran very hard.

BOMBING

In August '76, as Kieran and his unit were on a bombing mission, the van in which they were travelling was chased by the RUC near Balmoral Avenue in Belfast.

Kieran got out of the van and commandeered a car, which he left some streets away and walked off.

Meanwhile, the others in the van were cornered, Liam White being captured immediately, and the others, Chris Moran, Terry Kirby and John 'Pickles' Pickering - himself later to embark on hunger-strike - finally giving themselves up when surrounded in a house they had taken over.

The RUC picked Kieran up one-and-a-half miles away from the scene, unarmed.

He was later charged with possession of firearms and explosives and commandeering the car. Forensic tests could not link Kieran to the first two charges, and although it was impossible for the RUC to have spotted him escaping, seventeen months later, at his trial, RUC Constable Bryons perjured himself twice in order to see Kieran locked up.

On remand in Crumlin Road jail he met Francis Hughes and developed a great admiration for him. Friends often speak of the similarities between the two, always defiant, always fighting, born free.

In Crumlin Road, Kieran was often 'on the boards' as punishment for his refusal to acknowledge the warders in any way. He carried this attitude into the H-Blocks after he was sentenced, in January 1978, to eighteen years imprisonment for possession, and four years for commandeering the car.

BLANKET

Kieran joined the blanket protest immediately as did his comrades sentenced with him. He spent all but two weeks of his three years and almost eight months in the H-Blocks, in H4-Block (the temporary spell was in H6), before being moved to the prison hospital during his hunger strike.

Recollections of Kieran's experiences in the H-Blocks give an impression of relentless conflict between himself and the warders, who made him a target both because of his height and because of his stubborn defiance of the prison regime.

On 'appeal' visits he always had to be dragged away, ignoring all calls to end the visit. He never looked a warder in the face when one addressed him and never replied to their orders. He always refused to submit to the anal searches over the mirror before and after visits and was beaten for this.

The worst incident occurred in July '78 when Kieran refused a mirror search before a legal visit. Eight warders jumped on him, one squeezing his testicles until he became unconscious. He received blows to every part of his body and was taken to the prison hospital.

Although people who visited him recall how often he arrived pale or with grazes on his arms or bloodshot eyes, he never complained, brushing their questions off with a shrug: "I'm OK. What's the sceal?"

CHESS

Although Kieran had not been taught Irish at school, and had no time to learn it, later he became a fluent speaker in the H-Blocks like hundreds of his imprisoned comrades.

Another skill mastered by Kieran, whilst in the H-Blocks, was playing chess - crude chess men were made from scraps of paper and the game was played on a mock board scratched out on the cell floors.

Displayed proudly in his parents' sitting room is an engraved plaque bearing a stunning yet heartbreaking story in eight words: 'Kieran Doherty, 1980 Champion, Ciaran Nugent Chess Shield'.

And, next to it, another shield, again engraved 'Ciaran Nugent Chess Shield', but this time with twelve metal tags, the top of which bears Kieran Doherty's name and '1980', the other eleven still blank. A clue to Kieran's patience and ability, a clue to the blanket men's grim determination to outlast the H-Blocks.

CAVAN/MONAGHAN

In June of this year, in the Free State general election, Kieran was elected a member of the Leinster House parliament for the Cavan/Monaghan constituency with 9,121 first preference votes - only 303 votes behind the then-sitting Free State Minister of Education.

HUNGER STRIKE

To a friend who visited him after the first hunger strike, which ended last December, Kieran said: "They (the warders) are really rubbing our noses in it. By God, they will not rub mine!"

Asked whether he would not settle down - after all, with five years done and remission, another six years would soon be over. He replied: "Remission has nothing to do with it. There is much more than that involved."

So he went on hunger strike on Friday, May 22nd, having put his name forward for it long ago, as undaunted and full of fighting spirit as when he roamed free on the streets of Andersonstown.

A child, like hundreds of others a product of British brutality and stupidity in the North, who revealed himself to be an outstanding soldier of the republic.

Kieran was a shy, reserved, easily-embarrassed young man who was single-minded and determined enough to have become, in himself, a condensed history of the liberation of a people.

My brain finally let me down last night.  I had a drean of an expansive buffet of the finest seafood and fresh vegetables.  I awoke with my pillow soaked in drool.  During my fast I haven't really thought about food that much, but apparently my mind at least decided it was time for a good meal and went ahead a had one with out my body.  It was so realistic that I even felt like I had a full stomach.   Aside from my dreams of eating and a little heart burn (which is not normal for me), I seem to be doing just fine.  One more day of not after this one and I will have acheived my goal.

Today's post is in honor of Thomas McElwee, the 9th man to starve to death at the hands of the British durning the 1981 Irish Hunger Strike.

THE TENTH republican to join the hunger strike was twenty-three-year-old IRA Volunteer Thomas McElwee, from Bellaghy in South Derry. He had been imprisoned since December 1976, following a premature explosion in which he lost an eye.

He was a first cousin of Francis Hughes, who died after fifty-nine days on hunger strike, on May 12th.

One of the most tragic and saddening aspects of the hunger strike was the close relationships between some of the hunger strikers.

Joe McDonnell following his friend and comrade Bobby Sands on hunger strike and then into death, both having been captured on the same IRA operation in 1976.

Elsewhere, similar close ties, parallels, between one hunger striker and another: the same schools; the same streets; the same experiences of repression and discrimination.

And for those families, relatives and friends most acutely conscious of the parallels there is of course an even more intense personal sadness than for most, in the bitter tragedy of the hunger strike.

But of all those close relationships, none was surely as poignant as that between Thomas McElwee and his cousin, Francis Hughes: two dedicated republicans from the small South Derry village of Bellaghy, their family homes less than half-a-mile apart in the townland of Tamlaghtduff, who were close friends in their boyhood years and who later fought side by side in the towns and fields of South Derry for the freedom of their country.

It came then as no surprise to those who knew them when Thomas and Francis stood side by side again in the H-Blocks (along with Thomas' younger brother, Benedict) in taking part in the thirty-strong four-day fast at the end of the original seven-man hunger strike last December.

And when the deaths of Bobby Sands and Francis Hughes, on the subsequent hunger strike, only months later, failed to break the Brits intransigence, the McElwee family were already certain that either Thomas or Benedict, both of whom had volunteered, would soon be joining the hunger strike as well.

QUALITIES

What are the qualities that make a twenty-three-year-old South Derry man ready to die a painful death on hunger strike, in defence of his political principles and to end, for himself and for his comrades, the horrors of the H-Blocks in which he had already spent almost four years?

The story of Thomas McElwee is not of a uniquely courageous, or uniquely principled young man, any more than were any of the hunger strikers unique in some way.

But it is the story of a fairly typical young Derryman, kind and good-natured, full of life, and with a craze for cars and stock-car racing who is also filled with a love of his country and its way of life, who (like many others) had watched that country overrun by foreign and hostile troops, torn by sectarianism and discrimination, and who had spent over half of his young life striving to achieve the liberation of his country.

Within those few years he had become part of a tradition of the resistance of ordinary Irish people, that will never be criminalised.

CHILDREN

Thomas McElwee, the fifth of twelve children, was born on November 30th, 1957, into the small, whitewashed home built by his father, along the Tamlaghtduff Road in the parish of Bellaghy.

His father, Jim (aged 65), a retired builder, has lived in Tamlaghtduff all his life, coming from a family of farmers which settled in the area at the turn of the century. One of his sisters, Margaret, married into the Hughes family, and is the mother of the late Francis Hughes. Thomas' mother, Alice (aged 56), lived in Philadelphia until she was seven years old, her family having moved there from County Derry but later returning, and she has lived in Bellaghy for most of her life.

Jim and Alice married in 1950 and had twelve children, the oldest thirty, the youngest fourteen. They are: Kathleen, the eldest; Mary; Bernadette; Annie; Enda; Thomas; Benedict; Joseph; Nora; Pauline; Majella; and the youngest James. Even within the Irish countryside where strong family bonds are the rule, the McElwee family are considered to be particularly close and considerate to one another, and there are strong ties too between them and the Hughes family.

As children, Thomas and Benedict and Francis Hughes, along with other neighbours' children, used to walk together each day to the bottom of the Tamlaghtduff road to catch the bus to school, returning home again each evening. They went to St. Mary's primary in Bellaghy, and then to Clady intermediate, three miles away.

Thomas got on pretty well at school. His favourite subjects were English and Maths, and he was also good at Geography and History.

At home he was quiet, very good natured and sincere, and particularly good towards his mother, helping out around the house and with jobs like cutting the hedge and putting up fencing.

He was also, however, very much an outdoor person, and although more serious than Benedict (who would usually have started off the devilment the pair got involved in), he was full of fun, with a strong sense of humour and adventure.

One of the pranks they sometimes got up to along with other local lads, earning them the temporary wrath of neighbours, was climbing on to the roof of a house, blocking the chimney, and then watching as the smoke began to appear in the kitchens. "They weren't too popular when that happened", remembers one of their sisters, laughing.

NEIGHBOURS

But frequently too, Thomas was out-at week-ends and during school holidays - helping neighbours, including Protestant farmers, with their crops and machinery. He also used to go to work, picking gooseberries, at the monastery in Portglenone, staying there for maybe ten days at a time, during school holidays.

He had always been a determined person, arguing his point of view with his sisters and brothers, and if he wanted something, often a present for a member of his family, he would work hard to earn enough for it.

From the time he was eleven Thomas had an intense interest in working with cars and all types of machinery. On one occasion his mother brought a lawn mower which Thomas immediately dismantled, to see how it worked. When he reassembled it, it worked, but perhaps not just quite as well as before!

As he grew older, his fascination for engines grew stronger. He got his driving license as soon as he was old enough, and got his own car. He used to travel all over the place to watch stock-car racing, particularly at Aghadowey near Coleraine, in North Derry, and once he even got his own stock-car for a while.

At weekends he used to go to local dances in neighbouring towns and villages such as Ardboe and Clady. Usually, if it was ceilidh dancing, he had to be dragged along, but he enjoyed it once he was there.

REPUBLICAN

Yet, though full of life, there was a serious, reflective side to Thomas too.

He enjoyed playing records, often of traditional music, sometimes of republican ballads, at a time when the 'troubles' had barely begun. Even before 1969, the McElwees, including Thomas, would sometimes go to folk concerts in the village where many of the ballads recalled the tradition of resistance to British mis-rule.

Given that background and Thomas' personal qualities of courage and concern for his neighbours it was not surprising that he joined na Fianna Eireann when he was only fourteen, and subsequently joined the independent unit led by his cousin, Francis Hughes, which concentrated on defence of the local area and ambushes of British forces, before it was recruited in its entirety, after a period of time, into the IRA.

The following few years, before Thomas' capture in October '76, were active ones in the South Derry area with a succession of successful bomb blitzes of the commercial centres of towns like Magherafelt, Bellaghy, Castledawson, and Maghera, and a high level of ambushes and booby-traps which made the British forces reluctant to wander into the country lanes surrounding Bellaghy.

Thomas had a reputation of a dedicated and principled republican who knew what he was about, and knew moreover what he was fighting to ultimately achieve. He was particularly interested in local republican history and knew what had happened in Bellaghy and the surrounding areas over the past fifty years.

COLLEGE

Because of his discretion as a republican, and, doubtless, good luck as well, Thomas - unlike Francis Hughes - was not forced to go 'on the run' and continued to live at home.

After leaving school he had gone to Magherafelt technical college for a while, but later changed his mind and went to Ballymena training centre to begin an apprenticeship as a motor mechanic. But harassment from loyalist workers there forced him to leave and he then went to work with a local mechanic.

Although not 'on the run' Thomas was still subject to the extreme harassment at the hands of the Brits and the RUC that began to be felt in the area in the mid-seventies, even before the IRA's military campaign in the South Derry countryside, led by Francis Hughes, began to bite deep against the occupation

forces.

Like many young men, whenever Thomas went out he was liable to be stopped for lengthy periods of time along empty country roads, searched, maybe threatened, and abused.

RAIDS

There were also house raids

The McElwees' home was first raided in 1974, and Thomas was arrested under Section 10, for three days. That time it was over twenty-four hours later before the family learned that Thomas was being held in Ballykelly interrogation centre. On another occasion, both he and Benedict were arrested, and taken to Coleraine barracks, after a raid on their home.

The last time that the family would be together, however, was on the evening of October 8th, 1976. That evening the 'Stations' took place in the McElwees' home, a country tradition where Mass is said in one house in every townland during Lent, and during the month of October. That month in Tamlaghtduff it was taking place in the McElwees's and most of the neighbours were there as well. After the Mass there was a social evening, with food and music.

The following afternoon - Bernadette's birthday - at 1.30 p.m. on October 9th, Kathleen answered the phone, to be told that both their brothers Thomas and Benedict were in the Wavery hospital in Ballymena following a premature bomb explosion in a car in the town, shortly beforehand.

EXPLOSION

In the explosion, Thomas lost his right eye, while two other Bellaghy men were also injured: Colm Scullion, losing several toes and Sean McPeake, losing a leg.

Benedict McElwee, fortunately, suffered only from shock and superficial burns. Following the explosion, several other republicans in the town were arrested, later to be charged. These included Dolores O'Neill, from Portglenone, Thomas' girlfriend, and Ann Bateson, from Toomebridge, both of whom joined the protest in Armagh women's jail.

Thomas was transferred from the Ballymena hospital to the Royal Victoria Hospital in Belfast for emergency surgery to save his remaining eye. It was three weeks, however before he was able to see at all.

After six weeks he was transferred again, this time to the military wing of the Musgrave Park hospital, where Benedict also was. One week before Christmas, both brothers were charged and sent to Crumlin Road jail.

At their subsequent trial in September 1977, having spent over eight months on remand in Crumlin Road, Thomas was convicted, although he made no statements, not only of possession of explosives but also of the killing of a woman who accidentally died in a bomb attack elsewhere in Ballymena that day and with which other republicans were also charged.

That 'murder' conviction was, on appeal, reduced to manslaughter but a twenty-year sentence remained, and Thomas returned to the blanket protest he had joined immediately after his trial, in the H-Blocks of Long Kesh.

BRUTALITY

Their imprisonment was particularly harsh for the McElwee brothers who were frequently singled out for brutality by prison warders, outraged at the stubborn refusal of the two to accept any form of criminal status.

For a while they were able to keep in touch with each other as they were both in H6 Block, but they were split up and had hardly any opportunity to see each other at all for over two years.

Both Thomas and Benedict have been frequently mentioned in recent years in smuggled communications detailing beatings meted out to blanket men. On one occasion Thomas was put on the boards for fourteen days for refusing to call a prison warder 'sir'. In a letter smuggled out to his sister Mary, one time, Benedict wrote of the imprint of a warder's boot on his back and arms after a typical assault.

Throughout, though, the brutality and degradation they had to endure served only to deepen yet further, and harder, their resistance to criminalisation.

The McElwee family weren't surprised last December when they discovered that both Thomas and Benedict had joined the thirty-strong hunger strike, as Sean McKenna neared death, but even then the partial breakdown in communications between H Blocks at that critical time meant that the family learnt first that Benedict was going on hunger strike, only to be informed an hour and a half later that Thomas was going on the fast too.

HUNGER STRIKE

Speaking of the hunger strike and her sons and their comrades during Thomas' strike, Mrs. McElwee said: "I know Thomas and Benedict would be determined to stand up for their rights. In the Blocks one will stand for another. If this hunger strike isn't settled one way or another they'll all go the same way. There'll never be peace in this country."

Thomas McElwee died at 11.30 a.m. on Saturday, August 8th. Indicative of the callousness of the British government towards prisoners and their families alike neither had the comfort of each other's presence at that tragic moment. He died after 62 days of slow agonising hunger strike with no company other than prison warders - colleagues of those who had brutalised, degraded and tortured him for three-and-a-half years.

Today is the last day of my fast in support of the ten men who died in 1981 in the Irish Hunger Strikes.  It has gone well and I hope to soon have the time to post about my thoughts and revelations that occured during my 10 days with out food.

Today's post is dedicated to Mickey Devine the last young man to die at the hands of the british during the 1981 Irish Hunger Strike.

TWENTY-seven-year-old Micky Devine, from the Creggan in Derry city, was the third INLA Volunteer to join the H-Block hunger strike to the death.

Micky Devine took over as O/C of the INLA blanket men in March when the then O/C, Patsy O'Hara, joined the hunger strike but he retained this leadership post when he joined the hunger strike himself.

Known as 'Red Micky', his nickname stemmed from his ginger hair rather than his political complexion, although he was most definitely a republican socialist.

The story of Micky Devine is not one of a republican 'super-hero' but of a typical Derry lad whose family suffered all of the ills of sectarian and class discrimination inflicted upon the Catholic working-class of that city: poor housing, unemployment and lack of opportunity.

Micky himself had a rough life.

His father died when Micky was a young lad; he found his mother dead when he was only a teenager; married young, his marriage ended in separation; he underwent four years of suffering 'on the blanket' in the H-Blocks; and, finally, the torture of hunger-strike.

Unusually for a young Derry nationalist, because of his family's tragic history (unconnected with 'the troubles'), Micky was not part of an extended family, and his only close relatives were his sister Margaret, seven years his elder, and now aged 34, and her husband, Frank McCauley, aged 36.

CAMP

Michael James Devine was born on May 26th, 1954 in the Springtown camp, on the outskirts of Derry city, a former American army base from the Second World War, which Micky himself described as "the slum to end all slums".

Hundreds of families - 99% (unemployed) Catholics, because of Derry corporation's sectarian housing policy - lived, or rather existed, in huts, which were not kept in any decent state of repair by the corporation.

One of Micky's earliest memories was of lying in a bed covered in old coats to keep the rain off the bed. His sister, Margaret, recalls that the huts were "okay" during the summer, but they leaked, and the rest of the year they were cold and damp.

Micky's parents, Patrick and Elizabeth, both from Derry city, had got married in late 1945 shortly after the end of the Second World War, during which Patrick had served in the British merchant navy. He was a coalman by trade, but was unemployed for years.

At first Patrick and Elizabeth lived with the latter's mother in Ardmore, a village near Derry, where Margaret was born in 1947. In early 1948 the family moved to Springtown where Micky was born in May 1954.

Although Springtown was meant to provide only temporary accommodation, official lethargy and sectarianism dictated that such inadequate housing was good enough for Catholics and it was not until the early 'sixties that the camp was closed.

BLOW

During the 'fifties, the Creggan was built as a new Catholic ghetto, but it was 1960 before the Devines got their new home in Creggan, on the Circular Road. Micky had an unremarkable, but reasonably happy childhood. He went to Holy Child primary school in Creggan.

At the age of eleven Micky started at St. Joseph's secondary school in Creggan, which he was to attend until he was fifteen.

But soon the first sad blow befell him. On Christmas eve 1965, when Micky was aged only eleven, his father fell ill; and six weeks later, in February 1966, his father, who was only in his forties, died of leukaemia.

Micky had been very close to his father and his premature death left Micky heartbroken.

Five months later, in July 1966, his sister Margaret left home to get married, whilst Micky remained in the Devines' Circular Road home with his mother and granny.

At school Micky was an average pupil, and had no notable interests.

STONING

The first civil rights march in Derry took place on October 5th, 1968, when the sectarian RUC batoned several hundred protesters at Duke Street. Recalling that day, Micky, who was then only fourteen wrote:

"Like every other young person in Derry my whole way of thinking was tossed upside down by the events of October 5th, 1968. I didn't even know there was a civil rights march. I saw it on television.

"But that night I was down the town smashing shop windows and stoning the RUC. Overnight I developed an intense hatred of the RUC. As a child I had always known not to talk to them, or to have anything to do with them, but this was different

"Within a month everyone was a political activist. I had never had a political thought in my life, but now we talked of nothing else. I was by no means politically aware but the speed of events gave me a quick education."

TENSION

After the infamous loyalist attack on civil rights marchers in nearby Burntollet, in January 1969, tension mounted in Derry through 1969 until the August 12th riots, when Orangemen - Apprentice Boys and the RUC - attacked the Bogside, meeting effective resistance, in the 'Battle of the Bogside'. On two occasions in 1969 Micky ended up at the wrong end of an RUC baton, and consequently in hospital.

That summer Micky left school. Always keen to improve himself, he got a job as a shop assistant and over the next three years worked his way up the local ladder: from Hill's furniture store on the Strand Road, to Sloan's store in Shipquay Street, and finally to Austin's furniture store in the Diamond (and one can get no higher in Derry, as a shop assistant).

British troops had arrived in August 1969, in the wake of the 'Battle of the Bogside'. 'Free Derry' was maintained more by agreement with the British army than by physical force, but of course there were barricades, and Micky was one of the volunteers manning them with a hurley.

INVOLVED

At that time, and during 1970 and 1971, Micky became involved in the civil rights movement, and with the local (uniquely militant) Labour Party and the Young Socialists.

The already strained relationship between British troops and the nationalist people of Derry steadily deteriorated - reinforced by news from elsewhere, especially Belfast - culminating with the shooting dead by the British army of two unarmed civilians, Seamus Cusack and Desmond Beattie, in July of 1971, and with internment in August. Micky, by this time seventeen years of age, and also politically maturing, had joined the 'Officials', also known as the 'Sticks'.

He became a member of the James Connolly 'Republican Club' and then, shortly after internment, a member of the Derry Brigade of the 'Official IRA'.

'Free Derry' had become known by that name after the successful defence of the Bog side in August 1969, but it really became 'Free Derry', in the form of concrete barricades etc., from internment day. Micky was amongst those armed volunteers who manned the barricades

Typical of his selfless nature (another common characteristic of the hunger strikers), no task was too small for him.

He was 'game' to do any job, such as tidying up the office. Young men, naturally enough, wanted to stand out on the barricades with rifles: he did that too, but nothing was too menial for him, and he was always looking for jobs.

Bloody Sunday, January 30th, 1972, when British Paratroopers shot dead thirteen unarmed civil rights demonstrators in Derry (a fourteenth died later from wounds received), was a turning point for Micky. From then there was no turning back on his republican commitment and he gradually lost interest in his work, and he was to become a full-time political and military activist.

TRAUMA

Micky experienced the trauma of Bloody Sunday at first hand. He was on that fateful march with his brother-in-law, Frank, who recalls: "When the shooting started we ran, like everybody else, and when it was over we saw all the bodies being lifted."

The slaughter confirmed to Micky that it was more than time to start shooting back. "How" he would ask, "can you sit back and watch while your own Derry men are shot down like dogs?"

Micky had written: "I will never forget standing in the Creggan chapel staring at the brown wooden boxes. We mourned, and Ireland mourned with us.

"That sight more than anything convinced me that there will never be peace in Ireland while Britain remains. When I looked at those coffins I developed a commitment to the republican cause that I have never lost."

From around this time, until May when the 'Official IRA' leadership declared a unilateral ceasefire (unpopular with their Derry Volunteers), Micky was involved not only in defensive operations but in various gun attacks against British troops.

Micky's commitment and courage had shone through, but no more so than in the case of scores of other Derry youths, flung into adulthood and warfare by a British army of occupation.

TRAGIC

In September, 1972, came the second tragic loss in Micky's family life. He came home one day to find his mother dead on the settee with his granny unsuccessfully trying to revive her.

His mother had died of a brain tumour, totally unexpectedly, at the age of forty-five. Doctors said it had taken her just three minutes to die. Micky, then aged eighteen, suffered a tremendous shock from this blow, and it took him many months to come to terms with his grief.

Through 1973, Micky remained connected with the 'Sticks', although increasingly disillusioned by their openly reformist path. He came to refer to the 'Sticks' as "fireside republicans", and was highly critical of them for not being active enough.

Towards the end of that year, Micky, then aged nineteen, got married. His wife, Margaret, was only seventeen. They lived in Ranmore Drive in Creggan and had two children: Michael, now aged seven and Louise, now aged five.

Micky and his wife had since separated.

In late 1974, virtually all the 'Sticks' in Derry, including Micky, joined the newly formed IRSP, as did some who had dropped out over the years. And Micky necessarily became a founder member of the PLA (People's Liberation Army), formed to defend the IRSP from murderous attacks by their former comrades in the sticks.

In early 1975, Micky became a founder member of the INLA (Irish National Liberation Army) formed for offensive operational purposes out of the PLA.

The months ahead were bad times for the IRSP, relatively isolated, and to suffer a strength-sapping split when Bernadette McAliskey left, taking with her a number of activists who formed the ISP (Independent Socialist Party), since deceased.

They were also difficult months for the fledgling INLA, suffering from a crippling lack of weaponry and funds. Weakness which led them into raids for both as their primary actions, and rendered them almost unable to operate against the Brits.

Micky was eventually arrested on the Creggan. In the evening of September 20th, 1976, after an arms raid earlier that day on a private weaponry, in Lifford, County Donegal, from which the INLA commandeered several rifles and shotguns, and three thousand rounds of ammunition.

ARRESTED

Micky was arrested with Desmond Walmsley from Shantallow, and John Cassidy from Rosemount. Along on the operation, though never convicted for it, was the late Patsy O'Hara, with whom Micky used to knock around as a friend and comrade.

Micky was held and interrogated for three days in Derry's Stand Road barracks, before being transported in Crumlin Road jail in Belfast where he spent nine months on remand.

He was sentenced to twelve years imprisonment on June 20th, 1977, and immediately embarked on the blanket protest. He was in H5-Block until March of this year when the hunger strike began and when the 'no-wash, no slop-out' protest ended, whereupon he was moved with others in his wing to H6-Block.

Like others incarcerated within the H-Blocks, suffering daily abuse and inhuman and degrading treatment, Micky realised - soon after he joined the blanket protest - that eventually it would come to a hunger strike, and, for him, the sooner the better. He was determined that when that ultimate step was reached he would be among those to hunger strike.

SEVENTH

On Sunday, June 21st, this year, he completed his fourth year on the blanket, and the following day he joined Joe McDonnell, Kieran Doherty, Kevin Lynch, Martin Hurson, Thomas McElwee and Paddy Quinn on hunger strike.

He became the seventh man in a weekly build-up from a four-strong hunger strike team to eight-strong. He was moved to the prison hospital on Wednesday, July 15th, his twenty fourth day on hunger strike.

With the 50 % remission available to conforming prisoners, Micky would have been due out of jail next September.

As it was, because of his principled republican rejection of the criminal tag he chose to fight and face death.

Micky died at 7.50 am on Thursday, August 201h, as nationalist voters in Fermanagh/South Tyrone were beginning to make their way to the polling booths to elect Owen Carron, a member of parliament for the constituency, in a demonstration - for the second time in less than five months - of their support for the prisoners' demands.

I just got a call at work from one of my friends, who wanted to let me know that a mutual friend of ours had died in a motorcycle wreck. 

I had a really busy weekend.  This past weekend was the Fall Native Plant Sale at the Ladybird Johnson National Wildflower Center.  They always ask our company to set a large booth there to provide Wildflower seeds for their patrons.  We donate all  of the profits to the Wildflower Center so it works out as a nice fund raiser for them and a chance for us to talk face to face with alot of our customers and friends that are envolved in the Native Plant movement.  The weather on Friday was miserable, cold and rainy, but on Saturday and Sunday were beautiful days to spend outside.  Especially in a neat place like the Wildflower Center.  Here are some pictures that I took that will give you an idea of what the place is like.

There are many Native Texas plants that are well suited to both the wild and to the home landscape.  Plants that have both stunning beauty and are easily managed in the common flower bed are plentiful.  But there are some plants that stand head and shoulders above the rest.  One of these flowers is Echinacea angustifolia.  Or more commonly know as Purple Coneflower. 

A close cousin of Echinacea angustifolia has made itself readily available in the nursery industry.  But, the nursery hybrids are not near as tough as the true Native plants.  This hardy Native perennial plant grows well in just about any soil type, as long is it is well drained.  It prefers a spot in the full sun, but will bloom nicely even in moderate shade.  Purple Coneflower typically reaches a height of about two feet and produces stunning pale purple flowers during most of the summer months.  Its heaviest bloom period is usually between May and June, but can produce flowers at almost any time.  Its softly drooping petals hang down and from a large disk or flower head that can range in color from almost white to deep reddish purple.  Its botanical name Echinacea comes from the Greek word echinos, which means hedgehog and is in reference to the spiky look of the Purple Coneflower’s seed head.

Echinacea angustifolia has become quite rare in the wild, probably due to over harvesting of the plant for its medicinal properties.  The Purple Coneflower is said to boost the immune system, purify the blood, and cure sore throats.  It has also been used with great effect as a wash for wounds, a cure for toothaches, to treat mumps and even to heal distemper in horses. 

The Native range of Purple Coneflower is from the prairies of Canada south to Oklahoma and Texas.  It can be found in gravelly or well drained soils of the Edwards Plateau, the Blackland Prairies, and the Plains Country of Texas, where it works as an important nectar plant for butterflies and provides protein rich seed for birds and small mammals. 

Echinacea angustifolia can be grown easily form seed or it can be purchased for select nurseries that deal in Native Texas Plants and is a must have plant for butterfly gardens. 

I'm pretty sure that I have the best damn job in the world.  I spent this morning  going out to take a look at a restoration project that we did this past spring near Georgetown, Texas.

This is a picture of what the site looked like in early March of this year.

And here are the photos that I took today. 

Quite a difference from the picture taken in March.  Not many people get the chance to make these kind of positive changes to the planet that we all  live on, and I feel honored that I have such a wonderful and fulfilling job.

I did a little archery practice, to see if  I was still any good.

Not bad for a white boy. But now I need some more arrows.

The bright color swims

Far bellow the calm surface

Stay dry Drunken Bear

RH

An excellent evening for a walk in the moonlight.  Life’s complications are washed away in the moons silver glow.  As I stroll along the riverbank I think of Tolstoy’s idea, “Words for him took away the beauty of what he saw.”  I found my peace and words can not describe it.

This post is for Hester.

I just wanted to let you know that i was eating well.  For supper tonight I made a Tequila Lime Chicken with organic free-range chicken that was marinated in lime juice cumin, garlic, onion, cilantro, tequila, and a bend of assorted dried chillis.  On the side I cooked up some home-made tortillas, refried beans and fresh pico.  I also made a nice avacado and spinach salad to go with, but that picture didn't turn out. 

I spent my morning digging up plants to send out to my customers.  It is one of the more relaxing things that I get to do, so I enjoy it greatly.  I had the back of one of our golf carts full of plants and it looked better to me than any arrangement that a florist could come up with, so I took its picture to share with the Mindsay people.

On my way back up to the barn I can across one of the many Roadrunners that live on the farm.  I figured I'd share its picture, as well.  The Roadrunner was much healthier looking than the bird pictures I posted last night and hopefully it will stay that way.

I spent some time yesterday teaching girl scouts how to plant wildflowers.  This educational event was done in conjunction with LBJ Wildflower Center in Austin.  We had a turn out of about 200 young ones which we split into two smaller groups.  One group went to an off site location and planted wildflower seed, while the other group saw a brief slide show on the different flowers that we were planted and then went on a short nature hike.  Once each group had completed their activities, we then switched the groups so that all the girls got to enjoy the full experience.   And of course it was a tons of fun and we plan to hold the event again in the spring.

I went on a little hike Sunday, on my my home from Austin.  Here are some pictures of my little juant with descriptions in Haiku form.

Down the lonely road

Through the thickets I travel

Pure running water.

Today was a good day to harvest some seed.  I spent the evening collecting the Liatris seed from out on the farm.  I wrote an article about the Liatris and posted it a while back if anyone is interested in learning more about this neat native plant. http://drunkenoso.mindsay.com/the_natives_are_friendly.mws

Here are some pictures of us harvesting the seed.

Work will set you free. 

The cool autumn mists

Swirl calmly around the hills

New season arrives

I spent the day today doing a land consultation.  We identified some nice old growth cedar and some great habitat for golden checked warblers and black capped vireo, both of which are endangered species.  We also started the steps to writing up a long term land management plan for the owner.  It was a beautiful piece of the Texas Hill Country.  Here are some pictures to show what the area looks like.

Who is the coolest person on Mindsay.  environgirl is, of course.  Check out the the awesome homemade soap that she sent today.

Each bar is carefully wrapped and packaged by hand.  There is a label explaining in detail what each soap is made from and the herbal properties of the the ingredients.  I wish that I could post the smell of them on-line, they are heavenly.

Thanks so much for such a wonderful gift.

Well, I made it back safely and had an extremely interesting trip, but I'm dirty and tired so I'm going to take a shower and go to bed.  Here are a few pictures of my trip.  There are many more to come, but just not right now.

I left fairly early in the morning to drive down near Del Rio to go camping at Seminole Canyon.  It is a secluded little spot on the Texas-Mexico border near the Amistad National Evaporation Pond.  I arrived and checked into the camp grounds around noon and proceded to the area where I had decided to camp.  It has an impersive view of the surrounding country-side and was well away from where anyone else would be staying.  Of course when I arrived there was an elderly gentleman at my camping spot.  He was just there to have a quick lunch and enjoy the view and was going to be leaving shortly, so it was no big deal.  He offered to share his vienna sausages, fritos and cheese dip with me.  I declined and proceded  to break out my lunch of deer summer sausage, assorted cheeses, apples, grapes and home made bread.  I offerd the guy some of my eats, whch seemed to me alot better than his convienence store fare.  But he was happy with his junk food.  He apparently had recently retired and was running away from his kids.  We talked about his job and life in general over lunch and when he left he gave me some tangerines from an organic farmer near San Antonio that he had visited with a couple days earlier.  After lunch I set up camp and relaxed for a bit.

One of the main attractions of the park I was staying at is the Indian Pictographs in the rock shelters along the canyon walls.  They were painted by the Lower Pecos People who settled into the area about 10,000 to 12,000 years ago.  The Lower Pecos people are belived to have began the rock art about 3,000 to 4,000 BP. 

In Seminole Canyon is one of the largest of theLower Pecos People's rock shelters, know as the Fate Bell Shelter.  It is covered with thousands of paintings, some of which are still buried under the 10 to 12 feet of ashes that covers the floor of the shelter.

Many of the rock shelters in the canyons were used only for ceremonial purposes and don't have the same arrangements as the Fate Bell Shelter.  One of the interesting things in the shelter is the large stone that was used as a butcher block for over ten thousand years by the inhabitant of the shelter.  It is a large block of limestone that has turned shiny and waxy from the fats of countless animals soaking into the stone.

There are also holes in other rocks that were used for grinding sotol roots and nuts.

Of  the countless paintings a couple that I found really interesting are, one of a what is supposed to be a screaming panther or mountain lion.  The lines coming out of the mouth are to represent the sound.  To me it looks kinda like a barfing monkey.

Another painting that I liked was the of a bear headed winged shaman and his attendents.

All of the paintings are thought to have been done by the local shamans during ceremonies that involved eating of Datura, Mescal Bean and Peyote.  This combination of alkaloides, allowed the shamans to enter the spirit world and allowed then to fly arround as well.  Many of the paintings have symbolism of door ways to the spiritworld, shamans, monsters and represetations of the sotol plant, which was an important food source to the local people.

On the way out of the canyon stands a cool sculpture by Bill Worrell called "The Maker of Peace", it was inspired by the ock painting that are found throughout the canyons.

After my hike a treked back to my campsite and watched the sun set before cooking supper and heading to bed, so that I would be ready to get up early the following morning for a day of adventure.

On the second day of my trip, I spent most of the day going on a hike, in the surrouding country side and canyons.

Of course, several million years ago the whole area was a shallow sea bed.  And there are tons of marine fossils in the surrounding rocks.

It is amazing to me that a group of people lived in this harsh environment.  It seems like everyything around either has thorns or spikes, will bite you or is a sharp rock.  But even in the sheer rock surfaces, if given even the slightest chance, life will take hold.  As shown by this small clump of Bushy Bluestem.

The predominate flora of the area is Ocotillo and Sotol. Ocotillo is leaf-less most of the year and  looks like a cactus, but is actually closer related to roses.  It will leaf out after a small shower and sometimes produce a beautiful red blooms.

The Sotol was a primary food source for the Lower Pecos People and is pictured heavily in their Rock Art.   the Shaman in this painting is holding a Sotol stalk in each hand.  The red dots trailing down the stalks and onto the ground are thought to be Peyote Buttons, which were used in the ceremonies.

The tall brown stalks are the Sotol talks after they have bloomed and dried in the desert wind.

I had a blast just walking around in this stark landscape.  Down in the canyons the temperatures soared to about 110 degrees, even though it was the first week of November.  I was every so thankful to come across this crystal clear pool of water in one of the side canyons.  The water was about six feet deep, but you can still clearly see the bottom.  The water was cool and tasty.

The day was, of course, finished off by another stuning sunset.

Tommorrow, I'll post more of the Rock Art form another area that I visisted nearby and rant about the fascists that were patrolling the area.

On the third morning of my trip I went to say good bye to the PeaceMaker.

And drove off to visit another area the has more of the Lower Pecos People's rock art, that was just a little ways down the road.  The place is called the White Shaman Perserve and it stands out as one of only a very places where the Lower Pecos People used white paint on the rocks and depicting the White Shaman.

p>

The site is well know for the almost impossible and dangerous hike that leads to the shelter that houses the rock art.  It is a steep and rocky slope and there is little room for mistakes or the hiker could very well end up as part of the ledgend of the canyon.  Just last year a boyscout was lost on the hike and found dead a couple of days later of  dehydration and exposure.  Apparently the entire group was suffering form heat exhaustion and didn't realize that the young man was left behind until it was too late.  On Saturday there was only a small group of us that were wanting to take the hike into the desert.  The middle aged lady almost didn't make but we pulled together as a group and got there and back in one piece.

On the way to the site there are some rock paintings that were done at a much later date and are refered to as the Red Linear Style.  These paintings are thought to have been placed by indians that traveled in the area after the disapearence of the Loer Pecos People.  Most of the Red Linear paintings are believed to have been placed as guardians to protect the travelers from the strong magic of the original rock artp>

Once we got inside the shelter it was simply amazing and well worth the hike into the canyon to just get a glimpse of the art work.  We were close enough to reach out and touch the paintings, in fact we had to be careful not to rub against them as we piled in to the little bit of shade that was in the shelter.  The wall was covered in shaman figures, many which had the appearence of being dead or killed by the fantastic monsters that also decorated the wall.

Unfortunately, after my tour of the White Shaman, it was time for me to head home. The only negative thing there was about my entire trip was that the entire border area was flooded with Border Patrol Agents.  It seems that we as Americans are spending millions of dollars so that we can have hundreds of ass holes with badges running around in the desert.  I know that it is important to protect us from the evils of mary jane, mexicans and fairly priced prescription drugs, but I think that things have certainly gotten out of hand.  I couldn't drive 2 miles down the road before I saw another vechical and every time it was the green and white SUV's of the Border Patrol out burning up gas on a fool's errand, wasting money so that people in Washington can pretend that every thing is just fine and that America is safe.

Decidía escribir en español, hoy en el honor de mis compañeros de trabajo que me ayudaron hoy. Apesadumbrado que no hay español ningún bueno, solamente yo intentará de todos modos.

Pasé la tarde con los wildflowers que plantaban de Beto, de Juanito, y de Jose alrededor de nuestra cabina de la huésped en la granja. La semana pasada rocié el área con un herbicida orgánico. Entonces segamos hoy la hierba muerta muy brevemente y después cultivamos el área con una sierpe. Entonces lanzamos la semilla hacia fuera y rastrillamos el área. Después que rodamos sobre el área para presionar abajo la semilla. Esperanzadamente parecerá agradable este primavera.

La batería en mi cámara fotográfica era muerta, así que no podría tomar ninguna cuadros de nosotros hoy. Aquí están algunos más viejos cuadros de Beto, Juanito, y Jose y la cuenta difícilmente en el trabajo en la granja.

What have you destroyed today?

What can be healed by you?

Where does one start?

Are there really answers?

The end of traditions

There is meaning to life

If one only looks to find it

The purpose and need are there

New beginnings surround us

 This post was inspired by and dedicated to rraspberry.  Here is the recipe.

Zutaten
3 Eier
200 g Zucker
1/2 Zitronengelb ( Schale einer 1/2 Zitrone)
Pr. Nelken
Pr. Kardamon
8 g Zimt
Pr. Salz
50 g Zitronat
150 g gehobelte Mandeln
250 g Mehl

Zuckerwasser aus:
1 EL Zucker und
1 EL Wasser
 

Zubereitung
Eier und Zucker schaumig rühren

Restliche Zutaten nach und nach unter rühren dazugeben bis es ein geschmeidiger Teig wird.
Anschließend mit einem Teelöffel, 2 Teelöffel Teigmasse
auf die Oblaten geben. Diese nun auf ein gef. Blech legen
ca. 12 Min. bei 210 Grad mittlere Schiene

Nach dem backen nun die Lebkuchen mit dem Zuckerwasser bestreichen.

 I used walnuts instead of almonds, since that is what I had laying arround.  I also used Whole Wheat flour because the bleached white stuff is nasty.

Getting ready to get started.

Ingredients sitting on the cutting board.

All mixed up

Final stage of waiting for the glaze to harden.

They turned out quite tasty, but I think when I make them again, I'll put in a bit more of the spices.

Sometimes the most simple of plants holds the greatest beauty.  This month’s Native plant is small and unassuming, yet it is one of the prettiest little flowers that you can find.  Its bright flowers really add a touch of class to any landscape, prairie plot, or natural area.  Know as stiff stemmed Flax, yellow flax or Prairie Flax, even the scientific community isn’t quite sure what to call this little jewel.  The botanical name is either Linum berlandieri or Linum rigidum depending on who you ask. 

Prairie Flax is a low growing annual flower that typically grows to be about ten inches tall.  Its brilliant yellow to copper toned petals are often streaked with red to orange lines that lead to the center of the flower.  It can be found growing in almost any soil type, but prefers at least a half of day of sun to really bloom well.   Its natural habitat ranges from Canada to Georgia westward to Oklahoma, Texas and eastern New Mexico.  It does need well drained soils and can be found in rocky hillsides to lush grass lands.  The Prairie Flax is normally in bloom from February to June and it is an excellent plant to attract pollinators, such as bees and butterflies.  

Linum is the Latin word for flax and Flax plants are used around the world to produce fibers for cloth and thread.  Another important use for this plant is the production of linseed oil.  The species name for Prairie Flax honors Jean Luis Berlandier, who was an explorer and plant collector that was originally from Belgium. 

I find Prairie Flax to be very well suited for use in flower beds in a xeriscape setting.  It also does well as a potted plant and can add a splash of color in even the hottest and driest conditions. Its beauty is most appreciated in a mass planting or as a specimen plant that  is near the viewer, so that they can see the detail of the inviting blooms.  Prairie Flax is very easily grow from seed and can occasionally be found at Native Plant Nurseries across the state.

There are several other Native species of flax that thrive in Texas, as well.  Yellow Flax or Linum sulcatum, Blue Flax or Linum lewisii, Texas Flax or Linum medium, Meadow Flax or Linum pratense and many others all are great Texas native plants.   Everyone has their own favorites, but I think the Prairie Flax is by far the showiest of them all.

I got to spend the past few days at the LBJ Wildflower Center ( http://www.wildflower.org/ ) in Austin, Texas for a conference dealing with the situation of invasive exotic plants for the State of Texas. ( http://www.texasinvasives.org/conference/conference.html )  Our compant was one of the sponsers of the event, so I went to set up a display for the company and to attend the lectures, in order to stay on the cutting edge of information when it comes to dealing with invasive plants and meet more of the people that are involved in the cause.

There was a great turn out of people and it was quite a bit of fun.  I got the chance to see many old friends and to meet numerous interesting people.  All of which are involved in the fight to protect our natural hertiage in various ways.  And, as always, the Wildflower Center is a neat place to hang out.

If any one, except for an eco-freak, like me, is interested in more info, please check out the links that I posted above or just throw your question my way and we'll see if I can answer.

I was cleaning up and sorting some of the photos that I have taken so far this year and found quite a few bird pictures that I don't think that I ever posted.  I figured even if nobody else liked them at least hypnagogic  would get a kick out of them.

I got to spend most of the day today playing educator.  I was at the local Texas Tech campus teaching a bunch of sixth graders about eco-logical restoration.  It was a blast.  We talked about controlled burns and the benefit it has on a prairie eco-system, what are the right conditions for a burn and how to calculate fuel loads, ect.  To top off the event we did a prescribed burn with the help of some folks from the NRCS and then planted native grass and wildflower seeds to complete our short course on restoration. 

It is great to see kids hyped up about getting away from the TeeVee and ready to get there hands dirty playing outside.  It is especially cool when they get the chance to learn a little about the way nature works, in the processs of having a good time.  I can't imagine how much easier my learning would have been if I had gotten the chance to learn about that kind of stuff when I was a kid. 

The seed of knowledge was planted with these kids today.  Lets make sure that we leave them enough of the natural world, so that they can put it to good use someday.

Here are some of the photos that I took today:

We are just starting to have fall weather around here and the leaves are begining to change color.  Here are some photos.

I was told to put my heart in a safe deposit box and replace my brain with a pocket calculator, to not get emotional.  That would harm my argument.  I’d ruin my credibility….

          But goddammit, I am emotional! I am passionate.  I’m angry. I feel something.  I’m not some New Age automaton, some goddamn computer, a pocket calculator.  I don’t have silicon chips up here.  I’m flesh and blood.  The winds fill my lungs, the mountains make my bones, the oceans run through my veins.  I’m an animal and I’ll never be anything but an animal.  When a chain saw rips into a two-thousand-year-old redwood tree it’s ripping into my guts.  When a bulldozer plows through a virgin hillside, it’s plowing trough my side, and when a bullet knocks down a grizzly bear or a wolf, it’s going through my heart… 

We think with the whole world, we’re alive with the whole world.  We’re not blocked off, just these robots, these unfeeling things.  But that’s how we’ve become.  We’re afraid to love somebody else, to love a place. To feel something because we might get hurt.  We don’t want to get hurt.  Don’t care about anything, just cut yourself off, be a happy yuppie robot.  That’s what George Bush wants you to be.  That’s the way Exxon wants you to be….  I happy little robots programmed to consume.

I also included a little rant that I have be thinking about lately, at no extra charge.

Walking through the darkened alley

The cold hard concrete is death beneath my feet

 A place where dreams fade and nothing grows

Life is smothered before it has the chance to begin

Chasing life in the deepest woods

The earth is fresh and warms my soul

Every turn brings new untold wonders

Alive at last in Nature’s wild embrace.

This is my favorite spot in San Antonio.

Many times a major part of any eco-logical restoration project is the elimination of the invasive exotic species that are on the site to start with.  Many years of poor land management has caused what were once fertile prairies to be degraded into fields of exotic weeds.  One piece of property that we have been working on has a particularly nasty invasive thistle ( Silybum marianum ) growing in a patch that is about thirty acres.

We have been working over the past couple of years to get rid of this pesky invader from the Mediterranean.   So far we have been able to reduce the infestation to about four acres, which is a vast improvement over the thirty acres that were originally taken over.  We’ve been monitoring the site to make sure that we are able to go in at the proper time to increase the effectiveness of our control measures.  

So far, we have used several different techniques in battling this particular weed and are starting to see very good results from the actions that we have taken so far.  I will probably take at least two more years to completely eradicate this weed from the area and there is always a the threat of it returning if there is any major soil disturbance, which will expose more seeds from the seed bank of thistle that is in the soil.

Hopefully, that won’t be the case.  It is amazing to me that any one would let an invasive plant like that even get going on their property.  The problem started there with probably one or two plants that cropped up in the cattle pen, which is now no longer in use.  From its genesis in a cow turd this weed spread down the hill from the pen to cover up the field below.  One or two quick chops of a hoe in the beginning would have saved years of work and expense.  

The really scary thing is that this invasive plant is sometime used as a herbal medicine so any old idiot can buy seeds on-line and create their own ecological disaster, if they aren’t careful about what they are doing.

Quite awhile back I made a posting about Texas Conservation and a little bird asked me to post some time about how I felt about the track record and tactics of The Nature Conservancy (TNC).  I figured that I have blogged about 100 times since then so it should be high time for me to fulfill my promise.   

Basically The Nature Conservancy is one of the largest and most successful environmental organizations in the world.  Since, its humble beginnings in the 1950’s this group has expanded into an international group whose focus is on saving habitat  and promoting biological diversity around the globe.  As of 2003 The Nature Conservancy is credited with protecting 15,000,000 acres in the USA and an additional 102,000,000 acres worldwide.  They have also been a key group in protecting over 5,000 miles of rivers around the globe.  Not too shabby for a group that started out as a handful of field ecologists that saw that there needed to be more land protected for habitat.

The Nature Conservancy’s claims that the reasons for their outstanding success are based on these methods:

• We work closely with partners, corporations, indigenous people and traditional communities all over the world, and people like you.
• We have a science-based plan that achieves tangible results all over the world.
• We use a non-confrontational, collaborative approach.
• We continually strive to exercise integrity beyond reproach and to operate openly and transparently as we pursue our mission.

The thing that TNC seems to do best is using the national tax code to find ways that it pays for individuals and corporations to save money by setting aside land for conservation.  By the creation of conservation easements on property The Nature Conservancy works with landowners to make it possible for them to sell their land and insure that the land is protected and the landowner’s financial interests are also protected.   This capitalist approach to environmentalism seems to work and it is very appealing to big business and wealthy individuals.  

I am not personally comfortable with back room deals made with Cargill, 3M, Chevron, Disney, Monsanto and other multinational corporations, but I can’t fault the results that TNC has been able to achieve.   I personally don’t have the self control to sit down with the devil and broker a deal, but The Nature Conservancy does have those types of people on their staff.   I was recently forced to eat lunch with our state governor and it was all that I could do to keep myself from stabbing him in the face with my salad fork, much less work out a deal with him.   So, it is hard for me to understand people that can go out and make deals with the same corporations that are responsible for the destruction of our plant.

But that is just one side of The Nature Conservancy.  The other part is a far cry from the fat cats in their pleated khakis and $150 LL Bean outdoorsy shirts and their polished wingtips.  The part of TNC that I have been closely related to is the field biologists, preserve managers and front line ecologists that are the true root foundation of the organization.  Those hands on people are some of the most dedicated, hard working and passionate conservationists that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

I have worked hand in hand with these people and I am proud to support what they do.  Their long hard hours at low pay make real progress in conservation possible.  No matter what anyone says about The Nature Conservancy as a whole the workers in the field are beyond reproach.

I do have a couple of points that I don’t like about the way TNC does business.  Such as the high pay that the director receives and the way that land donated to TNC can then be sold off in order to buy other parcels of land.  But, I still donate my money to this group and would encourage others to do likewise.  The Nature Conservancy is one of the best things going in the environmental movement today.

Here are some other environmental groups that I highly recommend.

The Rewilding Institute

Sea Shepherd Conservation Society

Earth Liberation Front

Sierra Club

All pictures in this posting were stolen from The Nature Conservancy’s website.  They are a small sampling of the many preserves which they operate in Texas.

This post is for hester , who was wanting my recipe for deer jerky.  Well, here it is. 

First, get yourself a leg of deer, they typicaly come three or four to a package and you can use either one or all of them for this recipe.

Next, whack the meat off the leg bone.  Good butchering skills come in handy here, but are by no means needed to properly prepare jerky. 

After that get out every herb and spice that you own out of the cabinet.  Then liberally apply the seasoning.

The next step is to pour your beer of choice over the seasoned meat and marinate for the next 12 to 120 hours.

After the meat has been properly marinated throw it on to the dehydrator and leave it there for the next few days, until the jerky becomes hard and dry.

There you go.  Now you can make deer jerky like a pro.  Good luck and have fun.

I spent yesterday getting things out at the farm ready for the cold weather.  Nine buildings and four well houses to winterize.  Needless to say it took me almost all day.  Kinda like getting an entire neighborhood ready for winter. 

These are some pictures of how it feels around here.

OK maybe the pictures from the Alaska trip are a bit of an exaggaration.  But it is pretty cold for us Texans.  And I could have sworn that I saw some seals on a ice flow in the river.

I go out walking after midnight
Out in the moonlight just like we used to do
I'm always walking after midnight searching for you
I walk for miles along the highway
Well that's just my way of saying I love you

Walk to meet the dawn

Moving river, frozen air

Life is simple joy

The farm crew is getting ready to leave for South Texas to plant a 900 acre restoration project.  But first we had to get the seed properly mixed and bagged up to take down there.  It sounds easy but trying to mix 8,000 pounds of seed is no simple task.  It took us just about all of two days to mix the seed get it bagged up into 50 pound bags and loaded into the grain truck.

Here's a picture of Jose, pouring the seed onto the barn floor so that it can be mixed.  The pile of seed is only about 800 pounds, so in all we had about ten piles this size to mix and bag.

Because of the volume of seed to be mixed we decided to use the front end loader to help with the mixing.

Here's a close-up of the seed mixture.  There are aprox 1 to 2 million seeds per pound in the mix, so we were dealing with about 12 Billion seeds.  It was kinda cool being surrounded by that much life, just waitng to grow. 

This is a picture of us loading the grain truck.  I was throwing the fifty pound bags up to Johnnie and he stacked them.  Jose had an "important" phone call to make, so he missed out on the fun of throwing the bags

.

This post is for davidsbliss, but I thought it might come in handy for lots of people.

This is the long version of how to do it from begining to end.  From resizing, to uploading to posting on Mindsay.  I have included pictures that help illustrate how to do it.  I wish someone had made this kind of post for me.  I had to bungle around until I figured it out for myself.  Its seems kinda complecated, but once you get the hang of it, posting pictures is really pretty easy.

Step 1

Since Mindsay does not host the pictures in our blogs, you first have to find a photo hosting service.  I use Photobucket ( www.photobucket.com ).  There might be better services out there, but photobucket is free and I have never had any problems with it and I post lots of pictures.

Step 2

After you decide what photo you want to post.  You'll need to get it properly sized.  I use Microsoft Paint and just about everyone should have it on their computer since it comes free with most computers.

Hit CTRL-W in Paint and it will let you strech/skew (resize) the picture.

I try to get my photos to about 700 by 500 pixels.  You can check that by looking at the atributes.

Then save the resized photo.

Step 3

The next thing to do is to upload the resized picture to the hosting service.  Like I said I use Photobucket, so the example pictures will reflect that setup.

After signing in to Photobucket press the Browse button to choose the picture to upload.

After selecting the photo click on the submit button.

Step 4

In another window, open up your Mindsay account and click on BLOG.  Type you blog in like normal and then comes the tricky part.  On the blog screen is a little button the switches the text you just typed in HTML.

Press that button.

Step 5

Switch back over to the Photobucket window.  Under each of the pictures that you uploaded is three sets of routing code.  We want the middle one called TAG.

Copy that code and then switch back to the Mindsay window that you have open.

Step 6

Paste the TAG code from photobucket in the Blog entry, when it is in HTML format.

Step 7

Publish Entry.

It sometimes takes a little while to get all of the sizing just right and you have to be careful not to messup any of the text when you are posting the TAG code into the HTML formated blog entry, otherwise it will screw up the format.  But after a few mess ups you should be able to iron out any wrinkles that may occur.

If anyone has any questions on this, just let me know and I'll try and clarify it.

Innocence or guilt play no part in the justice for a man that is precieved to be an enemy of the State.

And another good man is killed, since that is so much easier than admitting that you might be wrong.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stanley_Williams

I don't usually post stuff like this.  But, since I was asked really nicely, I will oblige.

So here are ten things about me that most of you don't know and probably don't care to know.

1. I hate TeeVee and think that people who watch it should find something better to do with their time.
2. I've been investigated by the FBI
3. I cook almost all of my own meals and don't really care to eat out, unless it is at Tu Hai.
4. I typically read about five books a week
5. I'd rather shoot a man than shoot a snake.  Not because I hate men and love snakes, it is just a matter of proportion
6. I gave my little sister the chicken pox, when she was only a month old.
7. I'm not a Christian, but I know the Bible better than most people who claim to be a Christian.
8. I know that if I go into the ocean I'll be eaten by a giant squid
9. I think that many people who claim to suffer from depression are just lazy.
10. I would rather do something fun like drive bamboo stakes under my finger nails than go to a NASCAR event.

The majesty of the tall grass prairie shines through, even in the dead of winter. 

These are pictures of one of my favorite grasses Panicum varigatum, in all their winter glory.

This grass that can grow up to seven feet tall, comes from a tiny seed that is smaller than the sesame seed on the top of your hamburger bun.

The cover it provides is great for people as well as wildlife.

I being the forward thinking person that I am, made plans back in August to spend the holidays with my family at this place:

But one by one, my siblings backed out.  So, instead of a beautiful retreat, we'll be holding our festivities here:

I know its petty but I'm still pissed, about it. 

I have decided, that even though we miss out on all the snow and rarely ever have a white christmas, that Texas is a great place to be in winter time.  Here are some recent winter pictures to illustrate the point.

Life without it's thorns could weaken the stem which beauty grows

I am really fond of bears.  They are just about the cutest and most playful animals that live in North America.  Even though they are big and strong and can disembowel you with a single stroke of their powerful claws, I think that every one should get to spend some time hiking bear country.  It will do wonders for an anthropocentric view of life.

I especailly think it is interesting to see bears pee while they have a purple butt from eating too many berries.

Here are some interesting plant pictures.  I haven't been taking any new pictures lately because I was a dumb ass and took my camera apart to clean it and I haven't been able to get it put back together again.

Spain’s frontier institutions were made

in the West Indies and further developed

in the fertile Mesa Central around Mexico City,

where the Indians were civilized, sedentary, agricultural,

and, as compared with the nomads of the Plains,

as docile as sheep…

            The labors of the holy fathers were at best

wholly negligible for the Indians and often disastrous to the missionaries.

The wild Comanche and Apache were not amenable

to the gentle philosophy of Christ nor were they tamed

by the mysteries and elaborate ceremonies of the church.

The warwhoop was sweeter to them than evening vespers;

the crescent bow was a better symbol

of their desires than the holy cross;

and it was far more joyful, in their eyes

to chase the shaggy buffalo on pinto ponies

than to practice the art of dry-farming

under the direction of a black-robed priest.

          -------Walter Prescott Webb

Well, my holiday journey has come to an end and I am back in my sleepy little hamlet for at least the next couple of weeks.  I had a great time, visiting with friends and family so the 1200 miles that I traveled was well worth while.  I even had the chance to have lunch at Tu Hai with the infamous, hester.  She is even cooler in person than online. 

Of course, my little red jeep was loaded beyond capicity with the Christmas gifts that were lavished upon me, even though I asked for nothing.

Here's a picture of one of my favorites.  It is a wall tapestry that was made be kromos's wife.  It is awesome.  But I have a thing for wall hangings.

Being gone for almost two weeks has put me far behind on Blog reading, but I hope to catch up in the next few days, but for now i must sleep.

           How happy some o'er other some can be!

           Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.

           But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;

           He will not know what all but he do know:

           And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,

           So I, admiring of his qualities:

           Things base and vile, folding no quantity,

           Love can transpose to form and dignity:

           Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;

           And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind:

           Nor hath Love's mind of any judgement taste;

           Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste:

           And therefore is Love said to be a child,

           Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.

           As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,

           So the boy Love is perjured every where:

           For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,

           He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine;

           And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,

           So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt.

           I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:

           Then to the wood will he to-morrow night

           Pursue her; and for this intelligence

           If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:

           But herein mean I to enrich my pain,

           To have his sight thither and back again.

                                                            BILLY S.

Javelinas

Description. These piglike creatures are characterized by presence of four-hoofed toes on the front feet, but only three on the hind feet (outer dewclaw absent); short, piglike snout; crushing molars; nearly straight and daggerlike canines (tusks); harsh pelage with distinct "mane" from crown to rump; distinct musk gland on rump; two pairs of mammae, inguinal in position; distinct whitish collar across shoulder in adults, rest of upperparts grizzled black and grayish, with dark dorsal stripe; young reddish to yellowish brown, with black stripe down back. External measurements average: total length, 870-1,016 mm; tail, 12 mm; hind foot, 210 mm; height at shoulder, 816 mm. Dental formula: I 2/3, C 1/1, Pm 3/3, M 3/3 X 2 = 38. Weight, 13-25 kg.

Distribution in Texas. Formerly north to the Red River and east at least to the Brazos River Valley. Now restricted to western Texas and the brush country south of San Antonio.

Habits. In Texas, collared peccaries (often called "javelinas") occupy the brushy semidesert where prickly pear is a conspicuous part of the flora. They are commonly found in dense thickets of prickly pear, chaparral, scrub oak, or guajillo; also in rocky canyons where caverns and hollows afford protection and in barren wastelands. Peccaries are active mainly in early morning and late afternoon and often bed down in dense brush or prickly pear thickets during the heat of midday.

They travel in bands ranging from a few animals to several dozen and have a rather limited home range. In the brush country of South Texas, for example, marked individuals moved within home ranges varying in size from 73 to 225 ha. Home ranges of adjacent peccary herds may overlap slightly, but usually only one herd at a time is found in this "border." The boundaries of the home range are marked by scent emitted from the conspicuous musk gland on the animal’s rump, which also serves the individual in keeping contact within the herd.

Legendary tales of the peccary have caused inexperienced hunters to kill them through fear rather than for either sport or food. Through exaggerated tales of the peccary’s ferociousness, it has been charged that peccaries will kill or injure dogs and that they are a menace to deer hunters in the dense brush. It is true that encounters between peccaries and untrained dogs usually end with dead or crippled dogs, but it is also true that in these battles the dog is always the aggressor, and any animal will defend its life to the best of its ability when attacked. The peccary is absolutely harmless to the range, to livestock, and to people.

Peccaries are chiefly herbivorous and feed on various cacti, especially prickly pear, mesquite beans, sotol, lechuguilla, and other succulent vegetation. In areas where prickly pear is abundant, peccaries seldom frequent water holes because these plants provide both food and water. Contrary to the habits of the common pig, peccaries rarely root in the ground but rather, push around on the surface — even where the soil is very sandy and loose — turning up chunks of wood and cactus. Mast, fruits, and terrestrial insects also are eaten.

The collared peccary is the only wild ungulate of the western hemisphere with a year-round breeding season. The number of young is usually two, but litters range in size from one to five. The gestation period is 142-149 days (5 months). At birth the young are reddish or yellowish in color and weigh about 500 g. They are able to follow the mother within a few days, at which time the family joins with the rest of the herd. Young females attain sexual maturity in 33-34 weeks; young males, in 46-47 weeks.

In Texas, the peccary was hunted commercially for its hide until 1939 when it was given the status of a game animal. Perhaps a far greater value is in its relationship to range vegetation as peccaries are able to control (by eating) certain undesirable cacti present on overstocked rangeland

After reading rraspberry's post on the humorous aspects of a foreign tongue, I thought it might be nice for me to share a story of my learning German the hard way.  My senior year of high school was spent as an exchange student near Düsseldorf Germany, and it was overall a wonderful experience which I would recommend anyone do if they have the chance.  My only problem was that when I arrived in Germany, I couldn’t speak the language at all.  I knew a couple of cuss words, could count to ten, say that I was hungry or thirsty and ask where the bathroom was, but that was the full extent of German education.  After about of month of total immersion in the language, I became fluent in German and as able to enjoy my stay.  But that first few days were a trying experience, full of the frustration of not being understood and not having a clue about what was being discussed around me.

The first evening at my host parents’ house taught me very quickly how much I had to learn about the German tongue.   My host father’s niece and her boyfriend had just returned from a vacation in Belize and had come over to share their pictures and holiday stories with my host parents and to take a look at the Texan that had just arrived to stay for a year.  We sat around in the garden, on a lazy August evening, sipping coffee and enjoying tasty German pastries.  I sat in the lounge chair with my foot propped up, in order to relieve the pounding pain in my ankle, which was tightly wrapped in a plaster cast, due to the ripped tendons that were the result of an accident involving a self proclaimed Wiking Warrior and a game of full contact king of the log, but that is another story for another time.  So any way I sat there like an idiot, only able to comprehend about one out of every two hundred words of the conversation, when my host father got all excited and blurted out “Kuk mal, der Eagle.” (Look, an eagle)  At least it sounded like he said Eagle, but what he really said “Igel” which sounds just like Eagle, but as I found out, it really means something else.

So since I heard a word that I thought that I understood, I start scanning the skies, looking for a large bird of prey.  They of course thought that it was hilarious that I was looking to the skies.  My host father says while flapping his arms like wings “Nicht ein Vogel” (Not a bird).  So I that point I had figured out that they were talking about an “Igel” and not an Eagle, but I still didn’t have a clue what an “Igel” was.  I host father’s niece struggling with her limited English tried to translate for me an “Igel” is the German word for what we call in English a shrub pig or a brush hog.  Now I was even more confused, I had never heard of a shrub pig before and started looking out for the off chance that we were about to be attacked by wild boars, and in Texas at least a brush hog is a mowing implement that is pulled behind a tractor.  

Finally, I saw a little ball of spikes over in the corner of the garden under a privet bush and I figured out what an “Igel” or as they told me in English a “shrub pig” really was.

It was just a little wild Hedge Hog, which lived in our garden and helped out by eating pesky insects and adding a bit of interest by the garden gnomes and fish pond.

Well, I spent the day yesterday, going on my first kayak trip of the New Year.  It is amazing how low the water levels have dropped due to our months with out rain.  It gave be the chance to become much better acquainted with many of the features of the river bottom that are normally not visible.  With all of the dry weather, it seems like all of the wildlife has moved down to the river front in order to be close by for a drink of water.  I saw about 50 different species of birds and a large assortment of mammals, as well.  I need to spend a little with my bird field guides to ID all of the little critters that I saw.  Unfortunately, I suck at birding so I’m not sure of the names of all the different birds that I saw.  One bird that I am certain of its name is the Blue Heron that followed me down the river for almost my entire trip.

The only part of my trip that was not enjoyable was at the very end.  I had pulled my kayak out on the shore at the farm and was preparing to carry it up the hill.  I thought it would be best to carefully sponge out water that had gotten into the kayak, so that it would not spill out on me and get me wet where I picked up the kayak to carry it up the hill.   I was standing on a rock ledge in the frigid ankle deep water while I cleaned out the boat.  To my dismay, I was paying too much attention to so the water in the kayak and not near enough attention to where my feet were.  I, of course took that small, yet all important step slightly to my right, and SPLOOSH.  I was over my head in the chilly water, getting to go for a swim that I had not bargained for.

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poets towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you --- beyond that next turning of the canyon walls.
                                                                                          E. Abbey

Here's an advanced look at one of the articles that I wrote for the February issue of an organic gardening magazine. 

Fires rampaging across the state, and there is no trace of rain in the forecast.  It hasn’t rained in months and the land is as dry as a bone.  The Japanese Boxwoods, Asian Jasmine and Siberian Elms are turning up there toes and dying off left and right.  It seems that it would be impossible for any plant life to survive this harsh environment that we Texans seemed to be blessed with.   

As the limited supply of water is stretched further and further, to meet the needs of more and more people, it is high time that we gardeners find plants for our landscapes that can deal with dry and dusty place that we call home.  It might seem hard to believe but the answer to our problems has been here all along growing away peacefully right under our very noses. 

The answer to a harsh climate is, of course, hardy well adapted plants.  And what could be better adapted to our brutal temperatures, poor soils, floods and drought than the Native Plants that have been growing here in Texas for thousands of years with out the help of bags of fertilizer and the comfort of being near a water hose.

Here’s a short list of a few of the best drought tolerant perennial Native flowers that will take on the worst that our climate has to offer and come out blooming a beautiful in the end.

1.    Black Eyed Susan (Rudbeckia hirta)- yellow blooms May to November

2.    Blue Flax (Linum lewisii)- dainty blue flowers May to September

3.    Bush Sunflower (Simsa calva)- low growing sunflower that blooms from April through October

4.    Cutleaf Daisy (Engelmania pinnatifida)- compact plant with yellow blossoms from February to November

5.    Gayfeather (Liatris mucronata)- wonderful purple bloom spikes August to December

6.    Lanceleaf Coreopsis (Coreopsis lanceolata)- mostly evergreen with yellow blooms May to August

7.    Mealy Blue Sage (Salvia farinacea)- displays blue flowers April to November

8.    Prairie Verbena (Glandularia bipinatifida)- covered in purple blooms from March to October

9.    Winecup (Callirhoe involvucrata)- deep purple flowers February to June with a repeat show of color during the fall

10.                    Big Red Sage (Salvia pensteminoides)- the most striking of Sage plants with red flowers from June to October

These are just a few of the great Native Plants that are well suited to the home garden or on a larger scale wildflower meadow.  They are all very easy to grow and are commonly available at many independent nurseries.  They are also plants that can be easily grown from seed (www.seedsource.com).   They are all responsible and eco-logically sound choices for bringing beauty to our homes, offices and landscapes.  Every gardener and landscaper should be using these drought tolerant and hardy plants somewhere in their plantings.  When well adapted plants aren’t used it is not only the natural world that pays the price, but it is also a burden on all of our pockets that pay the price of higher water bills, higher costs of fertilizers and pesticides and of course the ultimate price of the degradation of our environment.

 So forget the exotic imports from over seas this year and get good old fashioned Native Texas Plants back into your landscape.  It’s less work, better for your wallet, good for the environment and just the right thing to do.

I decided to do a quick post, since i neglected to do so yesterday, before I started getting ready for my party.

Here are some pictures of the gift  that environgirl sent to me just before her trip out west.  What could it be.  It looks like a book.

But it is not a book, but actually a really cool hand made box that looks like a book.  Since I am quite partial to books, it is perfect for me. 

It has strange magical markings on the outside, that I'm not really sure what they mean, but wait there is a card inside resting on the velvet linning that explains the symbolism.  Apparently it is the cross of the Templars, and it stands for charity and respect.  Very cool.

Well, its time to start my party.  The guests are all here.  I had invited my broom and mop.  The scrub brush and toliet bowl brush and of course the vacum cleaner as well.  That's right me, my guests and a twelve pack of Pacifico are about to have one heck of a cleaning party.  Just like all the cool kids on Friday night.

Just click the link and LISTEN

http://www.gabcast.com/index.php?a=episodes&query=&b=play&id=177&cast=424&castPage=

I love my job.  I spent all day yesterday hiking around out in the woods for money.  Basically I got to hike around for hours and just make a few notes and mark a few way points and that is what I was paid to do.  We're putting together a land management plan for a guy who owns a nice piece of property in the Texas Hillcountry right on one of the lakes.  He is wanting to manage the land in order to increase the habitat for wildlife.  There are a couple of streams on the place and losts of old growth cedar and live oaks.  And this guy needs to know what would be the best way to care for his land.  To get a plan on paper takes a little field work and that is one of my favorite things to do.  Getting away from it all and just spending time in Nature. 

Now, I have to spend a little time writting up a report of what I saw and lists of things that can be done to improve the environmental quality of the land.  A very small price to pay for getting paid to mess around out in the wooods for a day.

Running the big rapids is like sex: half the fun lies in the anticipation. Two thirds of the thrill with the approach. The remainder is only ecstasy-or darkness.

                                                             E.A.

Its kinda strange how impressionable young minds are.  Always willing to try something new and test the limits that society puts on them.  If I were to say to most adults, "Stick your fingers up your nose so that I can take your picture."  Most would look at me as if a was crazy.  Ask a three year old to do the same thing and this is the typical result.

Performed happily and with out the slightest worry.

Well it looks like, I'm going to be a daddy.  At least that is what Krommos  said to me.  Actually, I did recieve a rather cryptic phone message from a girl I was seeing.  She called and sounded worried and said that she needed to talk to me about something.  right away. I tried calling as soon as I got the message, but her phone had been turned off.   So I have no idea what is going on.  I pan to stop by her house when I'm in Austin on Saturday and find out what she needed to talk about.  Until then its a mystery.

Any thoughts on what it might be about?

On my day off from work I decided it would be a good time to make a quick jaunt over to Austin (260 miles roundtrip) to take care of a few things there that I can't do out here in the sticks.

On the way over I stopped by a client's property to take a look at why they were having such difficulties getting their seed to grow.  The land owner is a fairly famous professial bicyclist, who apparently knows how to pedel more than just about anyone else in the world, but he sure doesn;t know jack about grownng plants.  The problem was fairly simple, his neighbors herd of about thirty goats were breaking through the fence and eating the tender young growth off of the grasses, before the people ever had the chance to se the plants growing at all.  So we spent a little time walking around and identified a huge hole in the fence that needs to be repaired so that the grass can grow. 

The main reason behind this project is to help stop the siltation of Dead Man's Hole.  Which is an awesome natural grotto and swimming hole that is on the property.

The next item to take care of was to visit the young lady who left the curious message on my answering machine (see my post from Jan. 20th).  I went by her house and we had a talk.  It turns out that she IS pregenant, but the child is not mine.  She had missed her period and was not sure what to do.  We talked it over and I ran down the street and picked up one of those handy dandy sticks to pee on.  It came out with the two litle lines, so according to the package that means that she is "with child".    She does know who the father is, but isn't sure what to tell him.  I said that she better figure out damn quick and let the guy know.  She isn't sure if she is ready for a child or not and has a lot of sorting out to do in her own head.  I told that I would be there for her if I could help her out.  She did ask that I be the child's Godfather (quick flash of me ask Marlon Brando), if she decided to keep the child.  I told her that we could discuss it latter, when she was not quite so emotional and could make a little more rational decissions.

While in Austin, I also took the time to run some errands, namely go grocery shopping.

I was shocked on how much I spent.  Almost $330!!!!  But now I have enough good organic food to last me for a month or more.

This is for Myclette 

Damn It Feels Good to be a Gansta

Verse 1

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta
A real gangsta-ass nigga plays his cards right
A real gangsta-ass nigga never runs his fuckin mouth
Cuz real gangsta-ass niggas don't start fights
And niggas always gotta high cap
Showin' all his boys how he shot em
But real gangsta-ass niggas don't flex nuts
Cuz real gangsta-ass niggas know they got em
And everythings cool in the mind of a gangsta
Cuz gangsta-ass niggas think deep
Up three-sixty-five a year 24/7
Cuz real gangsta ass niggas don't sleep

And all I gotta say to you
Wannabe, gonnabe, cocksuckin', pussy-eatin' prankstas
Cuz when the fire dies down what the fuck you gonna do
Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

Verse 2

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta
Feedin' the poor and helpin out wit they bills
Although I was born in Jamaica
Now I'm in the US makin' deals
Damn it feels good to be a gangsta
I mean one that you don't really know
Ridin' around town in a drop-top Benz
Hittin' switches in my black six-fo'
Now gangsta-ass niggas come in all shapes and colors
Some got killed in the past
But this gangtsa here was a smart one
Started living for the lord and I'll last

Now all I gotta say to you
Wannabe, gonnabe, pussy-eatin' cocksuckin' prankstas
When the shit jumps off what the fuck you gonna do
Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

Verse 3

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta
A real gangta-ass nigga knows the play
Real gangsta-ass niggas get the fliest of the bitches
Ask that gangsta-ass nigga Little Shea
Now bitches look at gangsta-ass niggas like a stop sign
And play the role of Little Miss Sweet
But catch the bitch all alone get the digits take her out
and then end up hittin' her ass with the meat
Cuz gangsta-ass niggas be the game playas
And everythings quiet in the clique
A gangsta-ass nigga pulls the trigger
And his partners in the posse ain't tellin' off shit
Real gangsta-ass niggas don't talk much
All ya hear is the black from the gun blast
And real gangsta-ass niggas don't run for shit
Cuz real gangsta-ass niggas can't run fast
Now when you in the free world talkin' shit do the shit
Hit the pen and let the mothafuckas shank ya
But niggas like myself kick back and peep game
Cuz damn it feels good to be a gangsta

Verse 4

And now, a word from the President!
Damn it feels good to be a gangsta
Gettin voted into the White House
Everything lookin good to the people of the world
But the Mafia family is my boss
So every now and then I owe a favor gettin' down
like lettin' a big drug shipment through
And send 'em to the poor community
So we can bust you know who
So voters of the world keep supportin' me
And I promise to take you very far
Other leaders better not upset me
Or I'll send a million troops to die at war
To all you Republicans, that helped me to win
I sincerely like to thank you
Cuz now I got the world swingin' from my nuts
And damn it feels good to be a gangsta

Click here to launch music video

1. DAMN IT FEELS GOOD

Its bullshit and I’m fucking sick of it.  Call it what you like: fibbing, deceit, untruthful, misleading, falsifying, disingenuous, insincere, dishonest, ECT.

It is really all he same thing, LYING, and there really isn’t any excuse for a man to do it.   And I say MAN purposefully, because I don’t (and get ready for the most sexist comment that I’ll probably ever make) hold women to such a high standard.  I think that since they are naturally emotional creatures that they cannot be expected to make the rational and moral judgments that I expect from a male.   Any how, I find it particularly appalling that men bring themselves down to the level of lying dogs.  From politicians to doctors, common workers to Christian leaders, it is too easy to find numerous examples of such deceitful men.  Not only do they lie to others but they also lye to themselves.  And why?  Because it seems easier to weave untruths that to suck it up and be a real man and face the real world.  It’s really quite sad.  But I have no sympathy or respect for such characters.  Their actions are, as far as I’m concerned, completely unforgivable.  They know better, and they are just weak.  They are not only dragging themselves down, but all of the male species and there by all of mankind. 

In this modern cyber age, the lying as become even more prolific than it was in days past.    Men spend their time wooing women with entire falsities.  Creating more lies to cover their trail of deceit, while they weave more and more elaborate webs of untruth.  And we allow this to go on in our midst.   The public stands by these infidels and says that they are just misunderstood.  I say that I have no room for such types in my life and that those who choose to interject their dishonesty into my life.  I feel that such men should be drug into the streets, like the dogs that they are and shown no mercy.  To forgive may be divine, but I am no god, so I am under no obligation to forgive their deception.   If they are not man enough to stand on their own two feet and be who they are, I have no desire to be around them or others that call them friends.  I find that life is far too short to spend it with cowards, the slothful, the untrue, and immoral.  I choose to work my hardest at building a world that is the opposite of those things, so I will in no way condone those people’s actions or allow them to be part of my life.  It may sound harsh and there are times that I must leave people that I care about behind.  But, I must be true to myself, before I can be true to others and by disassociating myself with untruthful people I can live a better life.  The drama and pain caused by their lies is something that I can easily do without.  

As Thoreau said, “Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.”

A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise.
                                            Aldo Leopold

Screaming the night away

With his great wing feathers

Swooping the darkness up

I hear the Eagle bird

Pulling the blanket back

Off from the eastern sky

It seems that with the growth of Mindsay that there seems to also be a growth in the number of people reporting stalkers on Mindsay.  In fact this week it seems to be quite the fashion acessory.  Everyone is sharing their tales of having a stalker except me.  Since I am always one to follow the latest trends, I think that I need to go out and find myself a stalker, so that I can remain in vogue.  (hester  you don't count as a stalker) 

Actually, all joking aside.  This busniess of stalkers is kinda disturbing, I think that ignoring such people is the best way to get them to go away.  Personally, I'm not to worried about someone stalking me, but I'm a big scary guy with swords and it someone is bothering me, I can be very convincing at making them go away.  However, for ya'll out there that might be a little more vunerable, especially you young ones, please be careful.  Don't give out personal infomation about your selves and keep an eye out for suspicious characters.

this is from "what does your name mean"  I stole it from ironworker, who stole it form mindspew, who stole it from....

I thought it was interesting and some what accurate.  I underlined the points taht I especially agree with.

You entered: J*****  M***  M**

There are 13 letters in your name.
Those 13 letters total to 50
There are 4 vowels and 9 consonants in your name.

Your number is: 5

The characteristics of #5 are: Expansiveness, visionary, adventure, the constructive use of freedom.

The expression or destiny for #5:
The number 5 Expression endows with the wonderful characteristic of multi-talents and versatility. You can do so many things well. The tone of the number 5 is constructive freedom, and in your drive to attain this freedom, you will likely be the master of adaptability and change. You are good at presenting ideas and knowing how to approach people to get what you want. Naturally, this gives you an edge in any sort of selling game and spells easy success when it comes to working with people in most jobs. Your popularity may lead you toward some form of entertainment or amusement. Whatever you do, you are clever, analytical, and a very quick thinker.

If there is too much of the 5 energy in your makeup, you may express some the negative attitudes of the number. Your restless and impatient attitude may keep you from staying with any project for too long. Sometimes you can be rather erratic and scatter yourself and your energies. You have a hard time keeping regular office hours and maintaining any sort of a routine. You tend to react strongly if you sense that your freedom of speech or action is being impaired or restricted in any way. As clever as you are, you may have a tendency to make the same mistakes over and over again because much of your response is glib reaction rather that thoughtful application. You are in a continuous state of flux brought by constantly changing interests.

Your Soul Urge number is: 9

A Soul Urge number of 9 means:
With a 9 Soul Urge, you want to give to others, usually in a humanitarian or philanthropic manner. You are highly motivated to give friendship, affection and love. And you are generous in giving of your knowledge and experience. You have very sharing urges, and you are likely to have a great deal to share. Your concern for others makes you a very sympathetic and generous person with a sensitive and compassionate nature.

You are able to view life in very broad and intuitive terms. You often express high ideals and an inspirational approach to life. If you are able to fully realize the potential of your motivation, you will be a very self-sacrificing person who is able to give freely without being concerned about any return or reward.

As with all human beings, you are prone to sometimes express the negative attitudes inherent to your Soul Urges. You may become too sensitive and tend to express emotions strongly at times. There can be significant conflict between higher aims and personal ambitions. You may resent the idea of giving all of the time and, in fact, if there is too much 9 energy in your nature you may reject the idea. You may often be disappointed in the lack of perfection in yourself and others.

Your Inner Dream number is: 5

An Inner Dream number of 5 means:
You dream of being totally free and unrestrained by responsibility. You see yourself conversing and mingling with the natives in many nations, living for adventure and life experiences. You imagine what you might accomplish.

I was just checking out my favorite web site, that gives predictions of the future  (www.noaa.gov) and it looks like I will be forced to spend the day on Sunday playing on the river.

I promised a little bird that I would post pictures of some carvings of bears that I had done.  So here they are.

The first is done from Mesquite Wood.

The second was done in Soap Stone.

I've been spending my time going through my pictures, trying to find some of the best ones to put into a slide show.  This evening I get to speak to about 300 Native Plant Society of Texas members at their monthly meeting for the Williamson County chapter.  I found about 100 good pictures that I have grouped thematically and now I need to figure out what I'm going to talk about.  Usually, I just make up my presentations as I go.  That way I can tweak it as I go along and keep the attention of the audience.  There have been too many times that I have had to sit through somebody standing up in front of a crowd just reading their power point to us.  I can't stand that kind of prensentation.  In fact, I think that power point has almost killed off the fine art of public speaking.

 Excuse my profanity. But what the FUCK are we doing???? Is there any reason in the whole damn world that this should be happening to people?? What is the state of human morality when we produce devices that do this kind of damage to our fellow people?? These aren’t rhetorical questions. I fucking want to know why my tax dollars are paying for this. If anyone out there has an idea of how this is justified, I would truly like to have it explained to me. I for one just don’t get it. Why do I work my ass off, so that my government can fund people getting maimed and having their legs blown to shreds??? I don’t see what GOOD can be accomplished by it. And for me it goes beyond just the government. How can any human participate in this kind of inhumanity? Someone makes their living by making these products of destruction. How can they sleep at night, knowing that today they spent their whole day working at producing devices that blow the legs off of indiscriminate people?? As a society, I think that we have just about hit rock bottom. It seems that there is no way that the human race can sink too much lower than we already have.

PEACE (ITS BETTER THAN THE ALTERNATIVE)

I spent a little time on Sunday going Geocaching.  For those that have no idea what that is, I'll explain.

Basically, Geocaching is a high tech version of a treasure hunt.  People hide the caches and post the GPS coordinates on line, and then other people get to go and find them.  It is much fun and a good excuse to get to go and play outside.  If you have a GPS, I highly suggest that you get in on the game.

Here are some pictures of the cache that I found on Sunday.

Inside the caches are normally little trinkets that can be exchanged and a log book showing who has visited the cache.  I took a beer coozie and left a bungee cord.

The Johari Window was invented by Joseph Luft and Harrington Ingram in the 1950s as a model for mapping personality awareness. By describing yourself from a fixed list of adjectives, then asking your friends and colleagues to describe you from the same list, a grid of overlap and difference can be built up.

This seemed like something fun, so please go to my window and fill it out.

Drunken Oso's Window

And here's a picture:

On another note: Go check out entry from lasr night l1natel1's blog.  It pretty well sums it up. 

I am pretty sure that I have contracted  trypanosomiasis, which is also know as African Sleeping Sickness.  I slept for about 17 hours yesterday and I'm still tired.  I think I managed to pick up this nasty little bug, because I have not been using insect netting when I sleep nor have I taken really any precautions to keep from being bitten by Tse-Tse Flies.  That is combination with the dry and dusty conditions here which favor the Tse-Tse Fly, I believe has led to my catching this diease.  Either that or I have the flu.  Here's a link for more information on African Sleeping Sickness.

On a funnier note, my niece decided last night that she needed to talk to me.  She is just three, so she told her mom that she needed to talk to me really bad, so my sister dialed the phone for her and put her on the line.  As soon as I answered the phone my niece said, "Can you bring me some ass cream"  Apparently she intended to say ice cream, but it came out as ass cream.  She explained to me that she really wanted some ass cream and her mother wouldn't go to the store and get her some, so if I would go to the store for her and bring her some ass cream everything would be just great.  The way she asked me and dire need in her voice, was almost enough to get me to do it, however they are a five hour drive away and I was pretty sure the ass cream would be melted by the time I got there.

I've been writing up a land management plan for a client and was needing  some good aerial photos of the place so that I can divide the land up into several different management areas, based on the terrain and the types of vegetation.  I good over head look is the easiest way to do this.  On the way back from getting the pictures I needed for the job I'm working on, it seemed like it would be prudent to snap a couple of aerial photos of the farm, as well. 

Things are starting to green up nicely, and if we get any of the expected rain this weekend the plants should be off to a good start for the spring.  On the lower left hand side of the picture you can see the river and the center of the photo is the almost 80 acres of cultivated fields.  On the lower right is our storage facilities and equipment.  It all looks pretty small from so high up, but it really is a big task to keep the whole place running.

Coming Soon, fresh vegetables.

Since it was a pretty terrible day to be outside, around these parts, I decided to dedicate my Sunday afternoon and evening to making plans for the local Community Garden.  Emily came over and we spent about six hours working on the plans and drawing up the design. 

With a good plan in place it will be much easier for more people to become involved with the project.  The main goal is to teach people about and to help provide healthy and wholesome organic foods for the community.  Everyone is welcome to join in on the garden and it is totally free for people to come and be a part of. 

The plans are set up to have four large bedding areas.  Three of the area will be planted and the fourth area is a fallow area.  We also drew up designs for a large area for a medicinal and cullinary herb garden.  And set aside areas for fruit and nut trees and for composting.  In the future we hope to also have vermicomposting beds and free range chickens.  And possibly camels.

In all it seemed like a nice way to spend the day.  Doing something that is good for the environment, good for the community and good for the spirit.

We have a big problem with an overpopulation of deer in the part of the world that I live.  The erradication of the wolves, coyotes, bears, mountain lion and screw worm, has led to an extremely high survial rate of deer.  Lots of deer might sound like a good thing, but any time that nature is out of balance, it causes many problems.

The excess deer population, causes severe damage to the native plants.  And is not healthy for the deer.  Instead of the weak deer being culled by predators they are allowed to breed, causing smaller and less healthy deer.  In many areas there is not enough forage for the deer and they end up starving to death.  Its not a pretty site.

Another problem caused by the deer is the safety hazard that they cause.  There are millions of dollors of damage done every year, due to cars hitting the deer.

Around our parts, it is not really an issue of IF you are going to hit a deer, but a matter of WHEN.  Most vechicles are fitted with deer smashers on the front, to keep the driver and car safe when hitting a deer.

This is just one of the issues, that happen when mankind tampers with the natural process and there by throws the natural world out of balance and causes many problems.

This is a short article tht my boss and I wrote together.  Hope you enjoy

In this neck of the woods, there's always one thing you can count on… the harsh climate. Months without rain followed by severe flooding, brutal heat and unforgiving cold, rampant wildfires, dry howling winds, late frosts and early freezes. That is the way of it here on the Great Plains in the new millennium. But what can be done to battle the relentless roadblocks that are thrown in front of today's landowner/ managers? How can we have proper stewardship of the land during these times that seem to rebuke our best intentions? Native plantings are certainly a large part of the answer. Our prairie rangeland plants have lived on this land for thousands of years, with nobody to fertilize or baby them. The idea of water hoses or irrigation pipes is completely foreign to them. Native seeds have endured centuries of flood, drought, fire, dust storms, and general abuse only to bounce back fuller and richer each time nature threw a curve ball their way. The plants that were too weak to survive died out long ago. We folks in modern times are left with a selection of Natives that are perfectly adapted. Native Seeds already contain all the information they need to know exactly how to live right here, without any extra care.

Once Native Plants are established on your property, the need to fertilize, water, replant, cultivate and pamper slowly fades away. The Natives simply don't need that kind of attention; they are fully adapted to our rainfall, soil types and climate. Life is too precious and short to spend it stirring up clouds of dust while mowing, fertilizing, tilling and replanting exotic vegetation every year. What is needed is to do it once, do it right, and sit back to enjoy the benefits that Native Plants provide.

In addition to reduced maintenance and worrisome fiddling, restoring our lands with Native Prairie has other benefits as well. Acre for acre the tall grass prairies, which only recently did grace the middle third of North America, could convert as much carbon-to-oxygen as the tropical rainforests of South America. More simply put, tallgrass prairie makes clean air. In today's world, more and more land is being covered up by Mega-Marts and Big Boxes with vast arenas of asphalt for parking our carbon-belching horse-less carriages.

Now, more than ever, it seems prudent and timely to consider putting a little balance back into this lopsided equation. After all, what is the value of a breath of fresh, clean air to fill our lungs? The tall Native Grasses also have the ability to trap rainfall, so that the water filters slowly into the soil recharging our rivers, lakes, springs and aquifers. Just think about it. After every rain, the bare Earth (plowed farmland) and overgrazed hills, with no grass covering its face, instead gushes down to the ocean carrying away our precious topsoil mixed with oil washing off all the concrete. Many Prairie Grasses produce extensive webs of fibrous-organic roots reaching down a whopping 20 feet into the soil. It is all about saving the face. The world's largest underground lake, the Ogallala Aquifer, is a direct result of millennia of tallgrass prairie collecting and holding our limited freshwater supply, so that it is available for future use. Much of the food crops that feed our nation (and the world) are irrigated from this aquifer. If we don't have the tall native grasses to capture the rainfall and recharge the aquifer, the world's largest underground lake could one day dry up.

Another benefit of restoring land to more bountiful native vegetation is the important role that Native Plants play for wildlife. Native Plants provide the perfect foods and habitat for all types of wildlife. Wildlife came to co-exist with, and depend on, the more intimate aspects such as nectars from the flowers, the nutritious fruits and seeds, to even the unique vegetative structures of the plants themselves. The importance of the "clump" featured by so many of the Native Grasses should not be taken lightly. For example, when contrasted to the matting tendency of a Bermuda turfgrass pasture, there is no comparison at all. This single aspect alone may determine whether a small mammal can even traverse your property, much less find suitable food or shelter. A ripple effect then reverberates throughout the food chain. You have no meadow mice, therefore you have no soaring hawks. You have no switchgrass, therefore you have no painted buntings. You have no eastern gama grass, therefore you have no turkey. You get the idea? And now after a fifty-year-long binge of promoting Bermuda turfgrass for every land use from cattle grazing to school lawns to roadsides, wildlife is fading fast into the past, along with the great North American Prairies. From deer to turkey, quail, dove, javelinas, countless song birds and butterflies, native wildlife depends on Native Plants to survive. Native wildlife provides us not only with sport, recreation and even meditation, but also a rich tapestry of diversity that makes the natural world both alive and absolutely fascinating.

This is the second part of the little article that I posted yesterday.

Will Rogers once said, "Buy land, they ain't making any more of the stuff." Quite true, so we take his advice and get ourselves a 100 acre parcel of land to call our very own. The next step is to turn that patch of dirt and weeds into the paradise that we have always wanted. Eco-logical Restoration of a large piece of land can seem an expensive and hopelessly daunting task. But with a closer look at the process and proper techniques, an environmentally logical restoration plan can be formulated to fit just about any acreage and almost any budget.

Many folks figure that since they have a 100 acre piece of property, and their Native American Seed catalog says that they need 20 pounds of seed mixture per acre, that they are going to need 2,000 pounds of seed to plant on their land. Since that might be too expensive, they give up on the idea entirely. But wait just a minute. Where there is a will, there is a way.

1. The first step is to figure out what species of plants need to be planted. Are there already good stands of certain Native Species? Is it over-run with exotic invasive weeds? Is it just bare dirt? Two key elements need to be examined: Knowing what is already there and having an idea of what "should" be there. This information quickly allows the landowner/manager to create a desired species list. From there, a custom blend of Native Seeds and seeding rates can be developed that are a good fit for the land and its intended uses. These steps sometimes require a little background knowledge of natives and how they work into the bigger picture of nature. Spending time (lifetime) doing research, or a little money for a professional consultation, at this stage of the process could save big bucks by getting you onto the right path to a successful planting.

2. After getting to know the land a little better, the next thing is to focus on areas that are really able to be planted. Out of those 100 acres, how much area is covered by buildings, roads and other such "improvements"? And, of course, you won't be seeding into the stock tanks. There are likely areas of trees or heavy brush that can't be planted as well. So the original figure of 100 acres might actually only be 80 acres +/- that can be actually planted. Now, out of that 80 acres, there are different ways to go about planting it that can have a big impact on the cost of the project. One of the most cost effective ways is the use of a no-till seed drill that is designed to plant Native Seeds. The money and time saved by employing an experienced operator using the proper equipment often makes much more sense than purchasing or even renting the equipment and trying to do the job yourself.

3. Aside from using the right energy andtechnology for the job, there are also many strategic techniques that can be used to stretch the project budget. For example, planting part of the acreage in strips instead of a solid planting can greatly extend the budget for a restoration project. This process is very similar to planting sod for a front lawn in a checkerboard pattern and allowing the grass to fill in. This technique takes a little longer to get the desired end results, but is very effective in seeding large areas of land where it might be cost prohibitive to plant an entire area. Calculating from our original figure of 100 acres, which became about 80 acres once we eliminated the areas that are not going to be planted, let's do a lil' figuring. Maybe it would be best to plant 60 of the 80 acres in strips and 20 acres in a solid planting. That leaves us 20 acres planted solid and half of the 60 acres (30 acres) to be actually planted, for a grand total of 50 acres planted. Already, you can see, we have cut the cost of planting in half. By placing attention on existing vegetation and by creating a custom seed mix, we can bring any project into a price range that is both cost effective and of great value to the landowner and to the land itself.

That is what eco-LOGICAL restoration is all about. Start the healing process on your land while increasing your land's value and productivity. Being among the more fortunate of the planet's citizens, we feel this is our responsibility. Our mission at Native American Seed is to help you to make grassland restoration an economically sound choice for the stewardship and long-term management of your land.

Most of yesterday was spent moving around 60,000 pounds of Native Grass Seed.  On average there are 500,000 seeds per pound.  That tallies up to being about 30 billion little chances of life sitting in our warehouse ready to be put in the soil and get a little rain, so that they can fulfill their destiny as the protectors of our soil and water.

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe
of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women, and
from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old
mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and
children?

They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.

All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
luckier.

Walt Whitman

There is little in the world that is more rewarding to me than to wake up and see this.

It has been awfully strange weather that we have been getting 'round these parts.  Yesterday is was in the lower 90's and it was even hotter the day before.  We were supposed to have a chance of rain, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky.  Actually there was one lonely small baby cloud.

It was so nice out that I could not resist the tempation to go kayaking on the river.  So, at my lunch break, I traded in my bike, for my jeep and kayak and got everything together for a little river trip after work.  I had a wonderful time as always.  It is views like this that make me love playing on the river.

Breakfast Burrito and a Mt Dew             $3.24

Tank of Gas for the 270 mile Drive        $32.60

New Shovel and Pick Axe                      $46.87

Spending the Day Saving Endangered Species   Priceless

I spent the day on Sunday, driving out to near Lometa, Texas which is about 135 miles away.  The reason for this little trip was that I had the rare chance to see one of the rarest and most endangered plants in the State.

These are Dog Tooth Violets, in their far western range.  While fairly common along the east coast, the western ecotype is extremely rare.  I was able to dig up a few speciems to tranplant to our farm, in order to create another little pocket of this cool little plant. 

Since these plants were growing in solid limestone in the middle of dense thickets of Shin Oak, it was quite challenging to get the plants out of the ground.  It took me several hours of intense labor to get just a couple of dozen plants.  It was hard work, but spending my time helping to save endangered species seems to me to be a better way to spend my time than watching celebraties win awards on Tee Vee.

Will the begining of spring weather is certainly arrived.  The soil temperatures have warmed up and the perennial warm season grasses are just starting to push up their new leaves.

Now, if we could only get a little rain things would be perfect.

Here are six things that are strange about me

1) I'd rather kill a man than a snake, not because I love snakes and hate men . Its a question , rather of proportion.

2) I once had long hair put then I shaved it off, I can no longer stand for my hair to be long (over 3/16 of an inch)

3) I read the book Cujo, when I was six.  I still sleep with my closet door tightly shut.

4) As a child I would use almost any excuse to get to go play outside.  I still do the same today.

5)  I look forward to the imminent, industrial/economic collapse.

6) I detest for people to hum inane music around me and  I think that people that smack their gum should have their lips sewn shut.

I guess that was really seven thing.  But I won;t charge extra for the bonus.

Tip #378

Always pay attention to the signs

I'm taking off here shortly to go camping.  So I won't be here tomorrow to wish you all a Happy Saint Padraic's Day  So here's a Half n' Half on me.  Slainte

I rarely go camping at parks that are at impoundments.  The are generally the worst quaility of parks and seem to attract the wrong sort of crowds.  Its hard to enjoy the solitude of nature with shitheads zooming past in their speed boats.  The oily sheen of spilt gas on the water and the danger of lost fishing gear on the shores.  Broken beer bottles and smashed up cheap styrofoam coolers.  This is of, course on top of the severe environmental damage caused by these man made lakes.  The flooding of the prime habitat, so assholes can water their golf courses and have a place to tailgate on Saturday nights, is truly apalling. 

But beneath these stagnant waters lies the once beautiful rivers that the dams flooded.  I say it is time to tear down the dams and let the rivers be wild and living things that they once were.

I have a big day planned for tomorrow.  I need to drive to Austin, do some grocery shopping, run by REI to pick up a couple of items and then wrangle a couple of hundred girlscouts into learning how to plant wildflowers.  It should be much fun.  But today I need to get my shopping lists together and get myself  mentally prepared for the chaos that will insue.

Its been very dry for the past several months, which in turn has just about ruined our spring show of wilflowers.  Here's a cute little Castilleja indivisa that I saw blooming at the Wildflower Center.