Canyon Country Zephyr page 19

<<Prev                                                   Home                        PDF                              Next>>

www.packratnest.com

to gather whiskey and beer bottles to stock backyard spreads we called "bottle horse ranches." Whiskey flasks were the cattle, beer bottles the horses. We reveled in possession. And we wandered fields and meadows and mountains, knowing whose buck fence or barbed wire we climbed over or ducked under. There were times when we damaged someone's oats or hay or barley, or tangled with their dogs or horses or cattle, and got called down for it, learning at first hand about property rights. But there was that other right, the roaming right. Last year I talked with someone from those times. He reported that the big willow patch behind the old Skaggs grocery had been obliterated, replaced by upscale tourist traps. He has gained a calm acceptance, seems to be satisfied by nostalgia. I'm not.

Big outfits taking charge of homelands, happens all the time, trespass on a grand scale. Is that the way it's going to be? Peter Matthiessen, in his new book, /the Birds of Heaven/, claims to see a change. "The corporate world that dictates policies to the Western governments appears to be coming to its senses."

Question: Must every human outreach beyond self be tagged "religious"? Answer: No, religious loses authenticity when stretched that far.

Deference? Trouble there too, the word gives off a whiff of patriarchal condescension toward nature, an outsider's gesture.

Berry writes as an "uneasy believer in the right of private property," holding that therein lies hope for "intimacy in the use of the land." Is he implying that ownership is the only way toward intimacy with habitats? I hope not. Intimacy dwells in many places. Consider a farm worker tending grapes, apples, stawber-ries on someone else's land; or a herder from Peru in the mountains of Nevada with someone else's sheep; or a communications tech, diagnosing, repairing and modifying corporate-owned poles, cables, wires, terminals. These jobs are steady presences, intense dwellings on stubborn earth under changeable sky. Not that workers notice everything or even mull over every aspect of what happens, but owners don't do that either; they can't, being merely human. I hope that somewhere in his writings Berry acknowledges that a lifetime of authenticity can't take account of all that is there, and all that has been.

Sorry, that's a wrong reading of the scene. Remember that single-hulled tanker that went down off the coast of Spain, various ownerships involved, not one of them claiming responsibility? Do you see Anaconda and its offspring moving bigtime into Butte, Montana to do something about that toxic lake, formerly the biggest open pit copper mine in the world? In Navaho country is someone from the corporate world taking a decisive lead in safe disposal of radioactive waste? No, the corporate mentality coming to its senses would mean opting out of its role in the imperial reach of our country. They're not about to do that, they've been in charge for generations; too late now, retreat is out of the question. Rescue will have to come from elsewhere. Where's that? From the world's other superpower, the people.

Yes, I know, "the people" has been out of favor for quite some time, condemned on three counts, sentimentality, naivete, romanticism. And I know it tends to make some people grit teeth and growl. But there is a question that won't go away: where else is the countervailing power?

A little south by east of a certain sweep of western terrain there's a rugged valley bottom that you have to cross to reach federal (public) land. The place is overgrazed, cattle dominate, but the cattle there are Longhorns, wild critters who are prone to get up quickly and gather and stare with very thoughtful interest and then take off for higher ground in long-legged lopes. Those rangy critters have a certain style, even standing still, that sets them dramatically apart from other breeds, the stolid, beef-bound Herefords, Angus and the like. But wait, these are matters of body shape and manner and too easy to get off on a narrow track. Let me explain.

East of that longhorn stronghold, in sagebrush highlands, late in the day, I'm looking for a prairie dog town. I come to a gateway with a big sign that names a land-and-cattle corporation. "Violators prosecuted to the full extent..." I drive through, looking for a place where I can ask permission, but there are no headquarters buildings, no home base. Chartered sageland rolls on and on, high rises and deep falls of land. There's a passing into that loneliness you meet in wide open, un-fenced country. I keep driving, needing that dog town. (Found one later, just off I-80). I meet a small herd of cattle, Herefords, blocky and branded, but they're suspicious, been out here a long time on their own. They don't have the dull, seemingly hopeless quietude that takes over in a meat-processing feed-lot. They have attitude. They get up and turn to face my pickup. One of them decides to take off, the others follow in that quirky gambol that's all their own, muscle action moving their hides that glow in sunset color, the sage in front of them seemingly endless, ownerships slipping away.

Once in a while I find boot tracks in snow or mud at the back end of "the property." I follow and get a sense of where they come from and where they're headed. Once the tracks were of a moose, a rare trespass. Sometimes fishers pass through, and coyotes and foxes. They live by scent and sight, hearing and touch, nerve and muscle.

I once thought the solution was simple:

abolish private property,

hold everything in common.

That was youthful enthusiasm grabbing

grand abstractions, evading realities of

my particular, somewhat peculiar, homeland,

these United States of America.

Nature lovers, what about us and our pride in paying careful attention, noticing every little thing? Let's admit that we too move in limited awareness. Every species has its own abilities, and its own lacks, blind spots. No one has the big picture. No one can even say for sure that there is one big picture.

Luckily, human experiences tend to overlap; we are one species, after all; we can compare notes. Bruce Patterson, a former logger in redwood country, speaks to that:

"Maybe the environmental activist who could best share a campfire with an old time redwood logger would be young Julia Butterfly. If spending two years perched in a redwood tree has made Ms. Butterfly a bit crazy then the old timer could sympathize with that. And whatever tales she could tell of having witnessed 'magic' in the woods the old timer could match with stories of his own." (/Anderson Valley Advertiser/, 49/10).

And here's a different kind of overlap, trespass by beings other than human: "Because if you let the overall range of the spotted owl tell you where and on what kind of lands it could be found, or has historically been found, it covers private, corporate, state, county, and federal lands. And I would like to think of being able to provide for a species ...across different land ownerships and then guide the ownership goals such that they become one key focal goal." Bruce Mar-icot, biologist, quoted in Steven Yaffee, "The Wisdom of the Spotted Owl," Island Press, 1994.

These thoughts are not only things to contemplate, they offer ways to look beyond local and private worlds, to take seriously the other spirits and know-hows out there, and maybe, just maybe, build an alternative, a force of authority. I am choosing words with care. By "authority" I mean grassroots democratic majority that gathers authenticity only by sharing of views, taking account of diversity and disagreement. By "force" I mean prevalence against tyranny. A march in Washington, D.C. is a force. So is a union standing tall for its rights, or a spirited election campaign, even a voice crying in the wilderness listening for another.

In my small town we kids visited the back yards of saloons, and searched under their board sidewalks to collect beer bottle caps. We visited the same saloons

<<Prev                                                   Home                        PDF                              Next>>

	<<Prev Home PDF Next>>

	www.packratnest.com to gather whiskey and beer bottles to stock backyard spreads we called "bottle horse ranches." Whiskey flasks were the cattle, beer bottles the horses. We reveled in possession. And we wandered fields and meadows and mountains, knowing whose buck fence or barbed wire we climbed over or ducked under. There were times when we damaged someone's oats or hay or barley, or tangled with their dogs or horses or cattle, and got called down for it, learning at first hand about property rights. But there was that other right, the roaming right. Last year I talked with someone from those times. He reported that the big willow patch behind the old Skaggs grocery had been obliterated, replaced by upscale tourist traps. He has gained a calm acceptance, seems to be satisfied by nostalgia. I'm not. Big outfits taking charge of homelands, happens all the time, trespass on a grand scale. Is that the way it's going to be? Peter Matthiessen, in his new book, /the Birds of Heaven/, claims to see a change. "The corporate world that dictates policies to the Western governments appears to be coming to its senses." Question: Must every human outreach beyond self be tagged "religious"? Answer: No, religious loses authenticity when stretched that far. Deference? Trouble there too, the word gives off a whiff of patriarchal condescension toward nature, an outsider's gesture. Berry writes as an "uneasy believer in the right of private property," holding that therein lies hope for "intimacy in the use of the land." Is he implying that ownership is the only way toward intimacy with habitats? I hope not. Intimacy dwells in many places. Consider a farm worker tending grapes, apples, stawber-ries on someone else's land; or a herder from Peru in the mountains of Nevada with someone else's sheep; or a communications tech, diagnosing, repairing and modifying corporate-owned poles, cables, wires, terminals. These jobs are steady presences, intense dwellings on stubborn earth under changeable sky. Not that workers notice everything or even mull over every aspect of what happens, but owners don't do that either; they can't, being merely human. I hope that somewhere in his writings Berry acknowledges that a lifetime of authenticity can't take account of all that is there, and all that has been. Sorry, that's a wrong reading of the scene. Remember that single-hulled tanker that went down off the coast of Spain, various ownerships involved, not one of them claiming responsibility? Do you see Anaconda and its offspring moving bigtime into Butte, Montana to do something about that toxic lake, formerly the biggest open pit copper mine in the world? In Navaho country is someone from the corporate world taking a decisive lead in safe disposal of radioactive waste? No, the corporate mentality coming to its senses would mean opting out of its role in the imperial reach of our country. They're not about to do that, they've been in charge for generations; too late now, retreat is out of the question. Rescue will have to come from elsewhere. Where's that? From the world's other superpower, the people. Yes, I know, "the people" has been out of favor for quite some time, condemned on three counts, sentimentality, naivete, romanticism. And I know it tends to make some people grit teeth and growl. But there is a question that won't go away: where else is the countervailing power? A little south by east of a certain sweep of western terrain there's a rugged valley bottom that you have to cross to reach federal (public) land. The place is overgrazed, cattle dominate, but the cattle there are Longhorns, wild critters who are prone to get up quickly and gather and stare with very thoughtful interest and then take off for higher ground in long-legged lopes. Those rangy critters have a certain style, even standing still, that sets them dramatically apart from other breeds, the stolid, beef-bound Herefords, Angus and the like. But wait, these are matters of body shape and manner and too easy to get off on a narrow track. Let me explain. East of that longhorn stronghold, in sagebrush highlands, late in the day, I'm looking for a prairie dog town. I come to a gateway with a big sign that names a land-and-cattle corporation. "Violators prosecuted to the full extent..." I drive through, looking for a place where I can ask permission, but there are no headquarters buildings, no home base. Chartered sageland rolls on and on, high rises and deep falls of land. There's a passing into that loneliness you meet in wide open, un-fenced country. I keep driving, needing that dog town. (Found one later, just off I-80). I meet a small herd of cattle, Herefords, blocky and branded, but they're suspicious, been out here a long time on their own. They don't have the dull, seemingly hopeless quietude that takes over in a meat-processing feed-lot. They have attitude. They get up and turn to face my pickup. One of them decides to take off, the others follow in that quirky gambol that's all their own, muscle action moving their hides that glow in sunset color, the sage in front of them seemingly endless, ownerships slipping away. Once in a while I find boot tracks in snow or mud at the back end of "the property." I follow and get a sense of where they come from and where they're headed. Once the tracks were of a moose, a rare trespass. Sometimes fishers pass through, and coyotes and foxes. They live by scent and sight, hearing and touch, nerve and muscle. I once thought the solution was simple: abolish private property, hold everything in common. That was youthful enthusiasm grabbing grand abstractions, evading realities of my particular, somewhat peculiar, homeland, these United States of America. Nature lovers, what about us and our pride in paying careful attention, noticing every little thing? Let's admit that we too move in limited awareness. Every species has its own abilities, and its own lacks, blind spots. No one has the big picture. No one can even say for sure that there is one big picture. Luckily, human experiences tend to overlap; we are one species, after all; we can compare notes. Bruce Patterson, a former logger in redwood country, speaks to that: "Maybe the environmental activist who could best share a campfire with an old time redwood logger would be young Julia Butterfly. If spending two years perched in a redwood tree has made Ms. Butterfly a bit crazy then the old timer could sympathize with that. And whatever tales she could tell of having witnessed 'magic' in the woods the old timer could match with stories of his own." (/Anderson Valley Advertiser/, 49/10). And here's a different kind of overlap, trespass by beings other than human: "Because if you let the overall range of the spotted owl tell you where and on what kind of lands it could be found, or has historically been found, it covers private, corporate, state, county, and federal lands. And I would like to think of being able to provide for a species ...across different land ownerships and then guide the ownership goals such that they become one key focal goal." Bruce Mar-icot, biologist, quoted in Steven Yaffee, "The Wisdom of the Spotted Owl," Island Press, 1994. These thoughts are not only things to contemplate, they offer ways to look beyond local and private worlds, to take seriously the other spirits and know-hows out there, and maybe, just maybe, build an alternative, a force of authority. I am choosing words with care. By "authority" I mean grassroots democratic majority that gathers authenticity only by sharing of views, taking account of diversity and disagreement. By "force" I mean prevalence against tyranny. A march in Washington, D.C. is a force. So is a union standing tall for its rights, or a spirited election campaign, even a voice crying in the wilderness listening for another. In my small town we kids visited the back yards of saloons, and searched under their board sidewalks to collect beer bottle caps. We visited the same saloons

	<<Prev Home PDF Next>>