Meet Jack English, a 93-year-old legend who lives in a cabin isolated deep in the Ventana Wilderness, California.
While on a hunting trip he learned that an old homestead was put up for auction by the estate of a childless heiress. He put a bid on the property and won. On the land he built a small cabin using materials from the land and milling trees by hand. When his wife passed away, Jack effectively left “society” and moved to the cabin full time.
Filmed and contributed by Grace Jackson.
Such a life is certainly not for everyone, but I have to believe that our society benefits from those few who remind us that thrift, hard work, and independence are virtues to strive for.
In a rare television interview, this visionary author, environmentalist and farmer discusses a sensible, but no-compromise plan to save the Earth.
“There are no sacred and unsacred places; there are only sacred and desecrated places. My belief is that the world and our life in it are conditional gifts.”
“We have the world to live in on the condition that we will take good care of it. And to take good care of it we have to know it. And to know it and to be willing to take care of it, we have to love it.” -WB
Benjamin Franklin, concluding speech to the Constitutional Convention, 1787 (via laphamsquarterly)
Wouldn’t it be nice to have statesmen/women like him again in certain regards?
I find these sorts of people to be inspiring.
I found myself overcast this morning. I stayed in bed far longer than I could justify as appropriate. It was because the thought of having to face yet another day of sunshine seemed drudgery. It felt obligatory, not depressive.
My heart aches today with a deep longing for the safety of a cloudy sky; for a climate that would mirror my own. I am worn from constant exposure to a roofless world. It is not a fear, or need to feel hidden from heaven. It is not because I am ashamed. It is because I am yet still so bound in youth that the expansive freedom afforded by perpetual blue skies is at times a burden.
My outward eyes are tired by the glare. My inward eyes have spent so much time straining to scan the horizon of who it is I am now becoming that they dry. Oh, for the comfort of a forest canopy or a blanket of mist and rain. That they would hide me from the mountains for just a time. Let my world grow small so that I must search them out in memories rather than see them face to face. Sometimes to be hidden is the grace I need. To be not seen. To be not heard. Often, here in California it is only the darkness of night that affords such a cloak. Yet, in truth at times I still fear the darkness. Not for what it contains. The terrors of the night that haunted me in my youth have long since lost their power. I fear instead the darkness that bubbles up from within as night deepens. For then the night brings with it no rest from myself, for myself. I do not lie fallow as I should. Instead, a dark frenzy builds, and what man can escape himself? Its inertia carries on into the hours where i lie dead to the world, and i feel its cost in the morning.
To feel hidden, not for escape’s sake, but so that the budding goodness might have time to sink her roots deeper yet. There are gardens within that need growing; bits of shade, slivers of sanctuary. I will be all forest and farm one day, of that I am certain. Some days however, I feel overcast, impatient for the inevitable to become the actual.
Kings Canyon Part 3 by Joseph Carlson
"The forever-maddening part is being able to see them, the trout that is. The crystalline waters of the Kings River are particularly unforgiving in this respect. The aquamarine depths of even the largest pools yield themselves easily to an eager and educated eye. Similarly the clear, quick currents of the shallower runs were hosts to the shimmering’s of smaller trout. Beyond that, Kings Canyon just feels fishy. Like you should be getting into trout right and left…"
I took some picture and did some writing for my brother Elias’ blog about an adventure we took to Kings Canyon. It’s mostly about fishing.
The woman who wrote the post following the hyperlink above attended the non-fiction MFA program at UNH while I was getting my masters degree.
I recommend reading this for its honesty. In the wake of public injustices like this, I think it’s incredibly important to examine ourselves, and discover ways that we are complicit in these injustices—on both conscious and unconscious levels.