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A Story From Mexico

Palms Mexico smaller Mexican Time by Jerry Fenter

“Get in the damned car”, barked Richard from the passenger side in the front seat. “This is going to be an adventure!” Richard never just spoke, he barked.

Like a decorated general from the old English Raj he talked to Nancy and me like he was addressing his troops. Car fully loaded we shot out of the parking lot of the Costco in Puerto Vallarta into bumper on bumper traffic. Traffic on the main highway was particularly slow this morning. We passed small accidents. A crowd of people stood in a circle around a crushed ice cream freezer pulled by a bike. It seems the driver had been distracted by what he thought were three people carrying a kicking goat in the lane next to him. Watching the goat and not the road, he’d rear-ended an old rusty Chevy. The impact caused him to fly through the air into oncoming traffic. He bounced off the hood of a tricked out Ford with a decal of Guadalupe on the back window. His bike and its contents were destroyed in the crash. Traffic was stopped. People watched the ruckus from open windows, cigarettes dangling from their lips. Street dogs were having their fill of the sweet melty liquid spilling out of the tiny broken freezer. They lapped it up. They rolled in it.
“I swear I saw them crossing, the goat was kicking and I didn’t want to hit anyone,” the ice cream man explained.
The Chevy driver was pissed. He hadn’t “seen any fuckin’goats or nothing”. Richard didn’t stop. The accident disappeared from view. Richard pulled out his map.

“By map it’s only two hours to San Sebastian.” Richard shoved the tail end of a Costco kosher hot dog into his mouth. “Piece a cake!”
Nancy rolled her eyes. She knew that two hours Mexican time could mean anything. In Mexico time can be bent, go backwards, even stop. Time will always surprise you. We turned left onto an unmarked road just past the Botanical Gardens. The car stumbled up the vertical highway, over topes, past broken parts of huge boulders, some that blocked parts of the road. Each of us took turns moving obstructions.

“And this is the new road,” said Richard, relaxing into the passenger seat while hooking up the new hand held gadget for driving directions he’d just bought.
“Check this out Nancy. It’s called the Tom-Tom. It’s the latest thing in getting to wherever you want to go. No getting lost. Saw it on TV. Picked it up back at Costco.”

Nancy looked hard at the little screened device. Her attention was fully on the gadget in Richard’s hand. I held on tight as the car absently drifted to the left side of the road just missing a noisy large group of crossing chickens. As we rumbled over loose rocks The Tom-Tom guided us with its feminine voice and detailed map. The voice was confident with a strong English accent. You could trust this that voice to get you anywhere.

Trucks full of livestock, cars stuffed with oxygen tanks and old pickups sped downhill, swerving just in time to miss our car. Signs saying PELIGROSO marked hairpin turns. Yet somehow I felt safe. I had moved into a fearless Mexican mode. I was invincible. I had lost all doubt. We had the Tom-Tom and the English lady’s calm reassurance. Also, luck seemed to always stay close to Richard.

An iguana languidly crossed the road. The blazing sun was gone. We had entered the jungle. Unfamiliar plants entwined road signs. We crawled by dwarfed pineapple trees and overloaded banana plants. A mist rose up from the pavement and clouded our windows. I couldn’t get enough air. It was like breathing under water. I cleared my window. Gold light shined out of small openings in the trees like a promise.

The map on the Tom-Tom was harder to follow as we drove higher. Roads on the screen split, turned and even curled backwards where no roads could exist. The calm female voice repeated that we’d missed our turn over and over despite the fact that there was only one way to go and that was straight up.

We were surrounded by jungle. I imagined ancient animals peering through dark branches. Irrational geography confused the real with the unreal.

We drove around potholes as the pavement became cracked and broken. To our right the trees opened up leaving a half moon shaped clearing by the road. We slowed to a crawl. Too our right was an entire traveling carnival alive with dwarves, sideshow characters and workmen trying to push a dilapidated fallen trailer to an upright position out of a deep muddy rut. People appeared from nowhere just to watch. They talked and smoked as Siamese twins tried to wedge a plank under the trailer’s sunken back-end, every careful movement the exact copy of the other’s. The twins whispered to one another as they struggled with the weight.

“Tamales, tortillas, pan dulce,” a birdlike man called out to the crowd hopping from one foot to the other then setting his platter down to spin around and around. People surrounded him. The food was gone.

Nancy and Richard were arguing about directions. The road grew narrow. Moss dripped with moisture as bright pink leaves and dirty speckled lizards fell on the car. So many bugs smashed to death on the windshield made it hard to see. I turned and watched the circus vanish as we rolled up the steep hill.
The screen on the Tom-Tom went blank.
The English lady went silent.

“Shit, let’s get rid of this God damned thing.” Richard rolled down his window and tossed out the Tom-Tom. It vanished, sucked into the shadow of the jungle wall.

The mountain air was fresh and fragrant with mangoes. I could breathe. Above the mist of the jungle the sky was cobalt blue. Two hours turned into four as we crossed a one lane bridge. We looked down. A creek ran under us surrounded by white water. Standing birds lifted their wings and danced near the shore. We had entered a place where magic could happen. Church bells chimed the hour. The road now was cobblestone. The city of San Sebastian Del Oeste shined white with casas de adobe. We were inside living history full of old haciendas, gold and silver mines protecting ghosts from the past, acres of sharp blue agave plants and broken down tequila tasting stands. Bakeries displayed pan dulces fresh from the oven. We passed the Catholic Church in the square, drove another half mile and pulled to a stop. A statue of San Sebastian pierced with arrows shone in the afternoon light. We had arrived at La Galerita de San Sebastian, once a ruined hacienda and now our destination.

Richard’s voice quieted as he and Nancy settled into their private casita. I was alone with the jungle. Tiny birds moved from tree to tree, each telling their own story. Coffee beans brushed against my face. I carefully pulled one from a cluster carefully leaving the stem. Smoke rose. The roasting coffee smelled amazing. The statue of St. Anthony with his tortured eyes watched as I picked up my bag. I stopped at the door of my own casita. Two dark purple orchids shifted then turned toward me from their tree branch. Their spicy aroma teased me as I walked up the steps into my own private sanctuary.

Hi everyone. I thought you might enjoy a story an experience I had in Mexico. I’m hoping to get a few more people to sign up for my painting workshop. This years Mexico Class is in Melaque, Mexico at www.lapalomamexico.com/. The place is beautiful, and so much fun. Check the last post on this website for a sign up sheet. If you have any questions just give me a call at 509-365-5119 or fenter@gorge.net. Our dates are March 14-18, 2016.

Timber Valley in Moonlight

Moon 1

Moon 1

It has been snowing in Timber Valley almost every night for a week.  It snows during the day and stops at night. Late in the evening the sky clears and a bright moon can be seen off the back deck of the cabin through dense Douglas fir trees.  The sight of the moon through those trees reminds me of why I choose to live here.  I went out on to the deck last night, barefoot in snow, at about midnight to look at the moon.  Even Cody had gone to bed and it was quiet and clear and the air smelled of fir.  I thought about a painting I once painted called “We Share the Moon”.  I did it when I was traveling almost all of the time and missed Timber Valley and Ron and all of our animals.  I had almost forgotten about that painting.  I thought about how the moon is feminine in Spanish…la luna.  Why feminine?  Is it because of the changing nature of the moon, the fullness of the moon?   I remembered the places I’ve lived before and how I saw the exact same moon then and now.

Moon from the deck

Moon 2

Cody likes the moon.  I know all wise scientists say that a dog never looks back over his shoulder but Cody does.  He does this when he looks up at the moon.  I can hear coyotes during all phases of the moon.  I notice it more during a full moon.  Wolves too sing to the moon.  My cats like a dark moon, the moon you can’t see.  It keeps them hidden from juicy night prey.  I read somewhere that a dark moon is a good time to light a candle and burn it until it goes out. That will rid your life of anything that needs to be gone.  Kind of like smudging a house with sage, it will purify.   I don’t know if it’s true.

I watched a documentary on the artist Ai Weiwei last night.  I’m fascinated with him.  He is a brave man and a stellar artist.  He puts himself in danger with each piece of art and each statement he posts on the internet.  He’s not just a flavor of the month as an artist.  His studio is in China, but he finds a way to let the entire world know about the way the Chinese Government lies to everyone.  They tell lies that are outright and lies of omission.  Take a look at his art.  Google him.  Give him a chance. By the way, he sees the same moon as we do.

We Share the Moon

We Share the Moon watercolor by Jerry Fenter

My shoulder is still injured.  I go in for my second cortisone shot tomorrow.  Hopefully that and one next month will keep me from surgery.  Since I can’t paint, I’ve been reading and watching lots of TV.  High point:  The Oscars.  Why? The clothes, the silliness of it and the fact I don’t think I’ve ever missed the awards as far back as I can remember.  I love movies.  They are real.  Low point:  The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.  Yep, I used to watch Beverly Hills 90210 in its heyday, too.  Why? The puffy lips, glass refrigerators, ugly tasteless art and clothing and my never-ending  search for how can they be so unhappy when they have so many shoes in their closet.  Hot shoes too.

Moon 3

Moon 3

I also watched a mini-series called Generation Kill.  It’s based on an article from Rolling Stone by Evan Wright called “The Killer Elite”.  I give it five stars.  Don’t forget to watch the extras on the DVD.  They are worth it.  Also it stars Alexander Skarsgard….always a feast for the eyes.

Now I’m off to read Sanctuary by William Faulkner.  I’m about halfway through.  It’s dark and disturbing.  This is a book that takes some focus to read.

“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” Mark Twain

 

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; Show me the glint of light on broken glass.” Anton Checkov

What are your favorite movies?  Best dressed nominees?  Ideas and thoughts on the moon?  Make a comment!!

Good luck on Wednesday Jeremy.

 

 

 

 

The Season for Sundance

First Stop

First Stop

I had a phone call last fall from a good friend, Sue Martin, an excellent artist from Salt Lake City.  I had been down with a shoulder injury, not writing, not painting and trying to endure the usual Timber Valley cabin fever.  All she had to say was “It’s time for us to go to Sundance again.” I didn’t even have to think. I got a plane ticket to Salt Lake, bought a furry warm coat for Park City and left for the Sundance Film Festival 2013.

Park City, Utah

Park City, Utah

Wow.  I am one of the world’s greatest film lovers.  I can say this with certainty. I remember coming out of the first movie I ever saw “on my own”.  I had seen “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” at the old Hollywood Theatre in Portland, Oregon. When I came out of the theater still lost in make-believe and the magic of film I was convinced that EVERYONE was one of the “pod people” I’d seen in the movie.  I ran home a little scared but so happy and amazed that I could become almost part of the story I’d seen.  I loved the feeling of being somewhere else. Movies have everything that can pull me out of myself and into other worlds.

So I’m just back from Sundance.  Sue and I had a great time fitting in nine movies, lots of galleries, great food while fighting a weather inversion that left Salt Lake in cold icy smog.  But up at Park City, high in the mountains, we were above the bad air and into the snow and sun.  Beautiful landscapes, beautiful people and a world that was full of the excitement of directors, writers, actors and movie lovers.  I LOVED it. Sue and I had made lists of the movies we wanted to see.  After comparing them we picked ten that we both agreed on.  We saw two premieres.

 

Alexander Skarsgard

Alexander Skarsgard

“The East” was one of my favorites starring Brit Marling and Alexander Skarsgard (of True Blood fame).  Eco-terrorism, elite operatives and Alexander Skarsgard made for a tense few hours of great film.  “The Way Way Back” with Steve Carell, Toni Collette and Sam Rockwell was a twist on the “coming of age” story that made you laugh and cry at the same time.  One of the “Spotlight” films we saw was a British dark dark comedy called “Sightseers”.  About two lovers, running away from a horrible mother take a “caravan” (travel trailer) around England.  Things happen.  That’s all I can say. “Cutie and the Boxer” was a movie about art…but more about relationships.  The two artists from the film were there to answer questions after.  They also did a demonstration of their art after the film near the theatre. Zachary Heinzerling, director, won the Directing award for U.S. Documentary in the 2013 Sundance Awards.

I was in heaven at the Tower Theater in Salt Lake.

Line at the Tower

Line at the Tower

“The Whole World is Wild at Heart and Weird on Top.”

                    —David Lynch

I was back in Timber Valley for a week when Ron and I went to see “Django Unchained”, last year’s Quentin Tarantino movie.  It was a kind of spaghetti western/Civil Rights movie so well directed by Tarantino that we were both excited and impressed.  This movie was powerful and unflinching in showing slavery and bigotry in a way we’ve never been able to read or hear about.  Sometimes darkly humorous sometimes violent, it made me proud of Tarantino for being brave enough to approach the subject so directly and unflinchingly.  Movies have power.  Art has power. Don’t ever stop making movies Quentin.

If you haven’t seen the old 1988 movie “Mississippi Burning” with Gene Hackman and Willem Dafoe about the slaying of three civil-rights workers in 1964 you need to stream it or rent it before seeing “Django”.

I also discovered an exciting gallery in Park City called Coda Gallery. www.codagallery.com  I saw some great paintings but fell in love with the work of John Erickson.  Page Juliano was nice enough to take time to show me some of his other work. I also liked the work of Kim Brown, a ceramic sculptor showing at the gallery. I was impressed.  Coda has beautiful work, a perfect setting and a great person to show you the art.  It also has a nice balance of painting, sculpture, color with a touch of humor that will keep me coming back.

 

"Breey Day" by Jerry Fenter

“Breey Day” by Jerry Fenter

 

Did you like Beyonce’s Zumba Workout at the Super Bowl?  How about those Ravens?

Remember the stock market is up, the country is in recovery, Obama is president, maybe Hillary Clinton will run in four years.  Be optimistic.  Buy art!!

Forest Friday

 

A reporter on MSNBC just called it a “fast moving Friday” on the news.  The world is moving fast in the strangest directions.  Everyone has their individual opinions on everything. We live in a confusing, fascinating and uneasy world.

Forest Friday

Friday isn’t moving fast up here if I turn off the TV and the radio. I’ve been feeling like staying around the house and property.  I joke a lot about country living.  But the quiet of the woods is peaceful and simple. Plants and trees are starting to seed.

Last of the poppies

Poppies, sweet Williams, maples, even some of my bloomed out tulips actually have seeds left in pods after blooming. To see them you have to be patient.  Sometimes I get ahead of the slow pace of nature and pull out bloomed tulips or day lilies.  This year I waited.  I’m glad I did.

Sumari from a maple

Fires have been burning all around us.  Smoke stings our eyes. We’ve been lucky.  We haven’t had to evacuate our cabin. We’re told to just be on high alert.  We watch out for our animals and our neighbor’s animals.  The woods are dry.  It’s going to be a dry dusty fall.

Cody on deck

I’ve been spending lots of time outdoors.  It’s cooling off during the evening and nights are cold already.  We’ve ordered wood for the stove.  Birds are everywhere.  So are frogs.

Frog on the run

The frogs at night sometimes drown out the noise of the TV.  The birds love our little outdoor fountain and the big dusty dirt piles near our barn.  Bathing is part of their Friday. They fly from water to dust and back. I’ve been seeing pileated woodpeckers eating bugs on the trees.  The fires on Mount Adams seem to be driving them east.  They are big, over 16 inches long, and their feathers are black, white and red. I chase after them with a camera trying to be quiet. They seem to sense me no matter what.

My animals are quiet and follow me from place to place as I try and take some pictures.  Berry is very happy to be outside after falling from the rafters in the barn and having to make a trip to the vet.  She lost hair on her tail and now looks very much like a poodle.  Cody loves his walks.  Sometimes we’ll walk for an hour and not see a car or a person.

We found a nest on our walk yesterday.  I think it belonged to a robin because of the mud ring around the top.  It had blown out of some high trees.  I have heard that nests that fall are just part of the natural selection.  The bird that builds the best nest wins.

 

Fallen nest

 

Awareness

      by William Stafford

Of a summer day, of what moves

in the trees.

Of your own departing.  Of that branch

no one elses notices.

Of time, what it carries, the sideways

drift of it.

Of hiding important things because they don’t belong in the world.

Of now.  Of maybe.  Of something

different being true.

“Lend and Ear and Listen to my Version”

I've got my fare and just a trifle to spare

My mom passed away last week.  I found myself wanting to call her yesterday even though she’s been in St. Anthony Village with dementia for about seven years and wouldn’t even know what a phone was.   We’ve had our ups and downs over the years, but she was a strong and talented woman who loved to dance and listen to music.  Especially 40’s music.  She once was pulled up on stage with the Ritz Brothers to dance with them.  That night she was wearing an angora sweater and the band, acting silly, pretended to pull  fluffs of angora off of their suits the rest of the night.  She was buried at Rose City Cemetery with a view of Stanich’s Restaurant and Sports Bar…something she would like.  She loved northeast Portland, the Rose Festival and living in Oregon.  Born in Nebraska she was with the part of our family that moved out to the Northwest to live in the late 1940’s.  I’ve been trying to write some sort of epitaph for her.  She was a realtor, worked for the US Forest Service and a mother and housewife.  I found all sorts of smalchy poems and epitaphs but found the lyrics from one of her favorite Glenn Miller songs most appropriate.  She adored Glenn Miller and his music.

Pardon me boys, is that the Chattanooga Choo Choo?

(Yes Yes) Track 29

Boy you can give me a shine

(Can you afford to board, the Chattanooga Choo Choo?)

I’ve got my fare

And just a trifle to spare

There’s gonna be a certain party at the station

Satin and Lace

I used to call funny face.

She’s gonna cry

Until I tell her that I’ll  never roam

(So Chattanooga Choo Choo)

Won’t you choo choo me home.

Margaret West Erickson 1924-2012

Thanks to everyone who helped me care for her over the years.  St. Anthony Village was one great “swingin'” place. She had the best care anyone could want.

Swing Kids

 

I think it’s finally showing a little bit of spring here in Timber Valley.  First came a huge windstorm on Monday night.  We had winds of over 65 miles an hour.  That doesn’t happen here often.  One BIG tree fell across Frontier Road and had to be chopped up and moved out of the way of the traffic…as if we had much traffic.  I was inside watching branches fall, calling to Cody to come in before he “got his head bonked with a humongous branch” (my exact words) But he loved the feel of the wind in his face like all of us mountain people.  So he stayed out until he heard the call for treats.  Then he ran inside by the fire.  There was also a 30 degree temperature outside.

Cody enjoys the wind storm

The day after the storm everything started to bloom and push out of the ground.  Solomon Seals, given to me by one of my favorite watercolor students, Nancy Rooper are pushing up.  I really didn’t think they would come up with the weather being what it is here.  Daffodils of course are starting to bloom. Everything is coming alive.  I haven’t planted much yet since the mountain environment changes so quickly.  This year I’m trying some Chinese Lanterns and more Bleeding Hearts.  We have so much shade it’s hard to find space.

First blooms

Miniature gardens are growing everywhere in the front of our cabin.  Little forests of tiny Douglas Firs all coming up at the same time.  I wish I could shrink down and explore these little worlds.

Tiny Doug Firs

Students remember to sign up now for my “Avatar” class at The Dalles Art Center.  Call me with questions at 509-365-5119.

IN MY FAR COUNTRY… LIVING WITH CABIN FEVER

 

I’ve been curled up in front of our giant TV (Thanks again, Bill) watching movies and old re-runs of Law and Order Criminal intent.  With Cody by my side and the kitties coming and going, I’ve been sitting, wrapped in a quilt in my big…and I mean BIG…chair near the fireplace for about two months now. No, I’m not painting or drawing or doing any important writing. I’m confused but accepting. (By the way did you know you can watch any episode of any Law and Order and still be surprised by the ending). It’s the truth.

 

Some of you know it’s been a rough few months for us. Ron’s mom, Patty,  passed on a few weeks ago and my mom is now on the Hospice program at St. Anthony Village. Things seem to be ending all around me. So I guess I’m quietly waiting for what’s next.

I’m sure I fit all of the classic symptoms of “Cabin Fever”. I’ve looked them up and added my own symptoms to the list.

1. Excessive sleeping

2. Moodiness

3. Waiting for the next Netflix to arrive

4. Restlessness

5. Irrationality

6. Reading and ordering tons of novels from “mail order” library.

7. Crankiness

8. Forgetfulness

9. Sudden bursts of laughter or tears and distrust of other individuals

 

But instead of the the often predicted feeling of a desperate need to escape,  my version of cabin fever has morphed into an “I want to stay in my chair”. Let me warn you that “individuals suffering from the fever can become so frustrated while working or living in a remote situation that they dip to the emotional extreme of appearing crazy or acting in a crazed manner”. From Cabin Fever-Wikipedia. (Remember The Shining)

 

But I’m not feeling crazy. I think my  brain (right AND left) has been so full of creative ideas combined with sorrow,  problem solving, worry and restlessness that it has taken a break on me. SURPRISE…My brain has overloaded. So I’m being easy on myself. I’m just letting the fever run its course.

I did venture out for St. Patrick’s Day with our friends Sara, Jeff, Patty and John. Ron looked great in his totally green clothing. We had a great time at The Sunshine Winery and The Clocktower Pub in The Dalles. But…as soon as I got home. Back in the big chair swaddled with soft quilts and surrounded by my animals.

I’m not mad at myself. I’m not going to try and hurry my brain back into creativity. I’m just going to wait. Until the end of this maliase I’m going to be totally content  just helping Gorin and Eames solve horrible crimes, MAJOR CRIMES and cheering for Mondo to win big on Project Runway Masters.

 “Nothing can be rushed. It must grow, it should grow of itself…” —Paul Klee 1879-1940

The Problem With Moths (continued)

Some moths are beautiful but NOT our Timber Valley buggers

Living in Timber Valley comes with its problems.  Towards the end of October I noticed a few tiny flying moths in my kitchen (mostly around the night light), hanging out on my lamp shades in the living room, and flying around my head in bed while trying to read.  I brushed them aside and ignored them.  As November rolled around, the moth population started to increase by huge numbers.  At night my cheap Fred Meyer lampshades were covered with them.  My “Freak Show” night light in the hallway was also all but blacked out by the tiny creepy things. The small infestation had become a major irritation and a worrisome problem for me.  I hate the flying bugs when they come in big numbers.  I’m a little obsessive about them swarming near my head.  When one actually flew up my nose as I was reading  Joan Didion’s Blue Nights” I lost it. Then  I accidentally sucked one down with my coffee while reading “The Emperor of All Maladies ” by Sid Mukherjee.  I had a situation on my hands.  No flying dusty insect would break my concentration!

I remember my grandma fighting the same sort of problem.  She called these horrible little flyers “moth millers” and if she found even a single one we’d have to go through all of her cupboards, look through the flour, cornstarch and even check her parakeet’s birdseed to see if the tiny caterpillars from the “miller” eggs had hatched out to eat our food.  So my first defense was to go through my entire kitchen and all of the food for anything resembling a “miller worm”.  No luck.  Sorry, grandma.

Add your own flying moths

One night I actually dreamed that the moths  were flying out of my electric plugs to do their evil business while I was asleep.

 

When I found them inside my car I called neighbors.  YES neighbors were having the same problem and it wasn’t coming from our cupboards.  We were being attacked.  Everyone had tried some trick to get rid of them.  We started counting how many we could smash during the evening. It was a contest. Ron got out the vacuum…The Dirt Devil with Bagless Power.  We thought it was helping but each night a fresh platoon of moths joined the battle.  Then my favorite neighbors found the answer.  Jeff, a Search and Rescue Hero, and his wife, the brave librarian from Klickitat School, found what may clear our houses of moths…forever.    Here is Sara’s sworn statement:

MOTHMAN (SWORN STATEMENT)

Living up on Walton’s Mountain (as my brother refers to Timber Valley) is like living in a totally separate climate region from the gorge.  Summers are 10 degrees cooler, which gives us relief from the usual  hot days, but we are also 10 degrees cooler in the winter, which means we often have snow and ice whereas “down below” they don’t. I’m not sure if our crazy topsy-turvy weather of late has anything to do with our “little moth problem” but we have lived here 15 years and have never had to share our home with these little shits.

They dive at our plates of food at dinner time, they swarm the lamps at night, they collect on the window outside the door and all make a run inside when I’m not sneakier than they are. It seems they come in cycles. Jeff (SARS Rookie of the Year for Klickitat County) points out that my obsessive behavior with the vacuum cleaner hose in hand makes it hard to watch TV when I fire it up every ten minutes to capture our enemies. I want to suck those buggers down.

When touched they disintegrate into powder. We’ve torn our house apart looking for hiding places. We find nothing but dust bunnies. I was having whole conversations with anybody that would listen about how to get rid of the little buggers. Finally, when Jeff was as sick of them as I was (or of listening to me complain) He searched the internet. He found NoSquito!!, my foot tall new best friend. We set him on the fireplace mantel. He emits a soft bluish glow so he doubles as a nightlight! The soft sound of the fan inside is somehow soothing and assures me that our catch will not escape. Looks like we found the solution to the moth problem, wonder if it works on crazed deer? Sara

Keeping the air clear in Timber Valley

So now we wait.  Will the NoSquito (by Stingo) solve the problem?  I hope to Hell it does.  If it doesn’t I may start flinging myself toward the bulbs. The war in Iraq may be officially ended but this one continues on the mountain.  Good night John Boy.

Merry Christmas to everyone.

 

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

 

 

 

The Problem With Moths

the lesson of the moth By Don Marquis, in “archy and mehitabel,” 1927

(Jerry: The narrator is a poet reincarnated in a cockroach’s body. He types by jumping on the keys of a typewriter…no caps. This is a good introduction to my next post that will be written tomorrow morning with full explanation if all goes the way I plan.)

i was talking to a moth

the other evening

he was trying to break into

an electric light bulb

and fry himself on the wires

Moths are swarming at the Fenter household

why do you fellows

pull this stunt i asked him

because it is the conventional

thing for moths or why

if that had been an uncovered

candle instead of an electric

light bulb you would

now be a small unsightly cinder

have you no sense

 

plenty of it he answered

but at times we get tired

of using it

we get bored with the routine

and crave beauty

and excitement

fire is beautiful

and we know that if we get

too close it will kill us

but what does that matter

it is better to be happy

for a moment

and be burned up with beauty

and excitement

than to live a long time

and be bored all the while

so we wad all our life up

into one little roll

and then we shoot the roll

that is what life is for

it is better to be a part of beauty

for one instant and then cease to

exist than to exist forever

and never be a part of beauty

our attitude toward life

is come easy go easy

we are like human beings used to be before they became

too civilized to enjoy themselves

 

and before i could argue him

out of his philosophy

he went and immolated himself

on a patent cigar lighter

i do not agree with him

myself i would rather have

half the happiness and twice

the longevity

 

but at the same time i wish

there was something i wanted

as badly as he wanted to fry himself

archy

(Jerry: I will continue with a rant on evil  moths tomorrow morning. My thanks to the late Don Marquis and to whoever took this beautiful picture of the swarm.)