WALKING THE DONKEYS AGAIN

donkey jack at the lake

 

I went out with carrots for the donkeys this morning early. The thin cloud of morning dew glowed over the grass of the meadows in slanted sunlight. No donkeys. I called for Jack, hoping, knowing better, they were resting and being incommunicative. They were gone. The hole I fixed in the fence was not it. I knew then there is another hole and the hole is along the south fence. I went to the house, filled the grain bucket and took a bag of some carrots out of the refrigerator, picked up car keys and left. I knew by the way the fences around here go, the donkeys would be in the same place I found them the day before, near the lake, water. The land itself and the corridor of fences would lead them to the lake. I drove the two miles to the lake and there they were, happy to see me, like usual. I gave them carrots and fed them grain by hand. They like eating it out of my hand. They use their lips like fingers. They never touch me with their teeth. Their lips pick up the grain. Big soft lips, like camel lips, feel good rubbing on my hand, tender.

 

jenny grazes beside her friend catfish

 

I decided that today I am not walking over the mountain again. Still worn out from yesterday's trek over uneven ground and Christmas tree stumps under knee deep groundcover, the desolation of the once beautiful ground was too depressing to dive into a second time. I'd found a gravel road made by Christmas tree growers that bypassed the house with the dogs. This road made it possible to walk the donkeys out by way of road where I could lead them with the car, grateful they follow the car. I headed out and they followed. They walked the first mile fresh and spirited. Second mile, they grazed the sides of the road and took time outs. I allowed them. They are not used to walking steadily for so long at a time. I wanted them to be comfortable and to nourish themselves along the way. Twice we passed gates similar to the two gates to their meadows. They left the road and stood against the gates like they were home, they were done walking, waiting for me to let them in. No, this isn't it, we have a ways to go. It took some effort to distract them away from the gates. I shook the grain bucket, which always works. They don't see carrots from a distance.

 

jack examines the vegetation

 

The car's engine overheated in the first mile of idling, sometimes in N rolling downhill with foot on brake keeping it down to one to two mph. Rolling uphill, I kept it in low range, foot on brake, watching donkeys in the mirror. One time, they started running and I let the car roll a little faster, staying ahead of them. The running subsided and they were back to grazing along the side of the road. I saw they were both eating brown oak leaves that evidently fell from a tree, connected to twigs, after a wind storm. They stopped in a place where several of these leaves were lying in the grass beside the road. Jenny was chewing on them too. They acted like they'd found candy on the ground after a parade. Donkeys are particular about what they eat, though they eat almost as wide a variety of vegetation as goats. I could see they were more tired as we progressed, thinking two good morning walks in a row would enhance their stamina to a degree. I went through a range of emotions during our two mile journey. Even thought about saying something hurtful, like, "If y'all aren't good, I'm gonna sell you." It was too mean a thought to even think. They were better than good. It was my fault they got out. They followed me back both days so perfectly, so willingly, so by free will, I could not call them anything short of good donkeys, thinking that the moment I held the money for them in my hand, I'd fall into such despair I'd have to jump off a cliff like Judas. It would wreck my entire life. 

 

jack shy of the camera

 

I'm glad they had two very different walking experiences. First day over rough ground, up and down, woods to explore, new scenery. Second day they walked a gravel road and a paved road long enough distance to wear them out. Yesterday, they did not want to go into the first gate and I took them to the second gate close to where I park. This morning they were ready for the first gate. I could not unhook the chain fast enough for them. They had a lightness in their step entering the meadow. They were visibly happy to be home. I poured the last of the grain for them. They spent the day in the shade of their shed, resting. I felt good about them, felt like it was healthy for them to get out and walk a few miles, healthy for me too. It will give them a little more stamina to get through the winter. I rested throughout the day, dreading going out to look for the hole in the fence they went through. I called Justin and asked him, please, to come over and look for the hole in the fence for me. I can't do it. Too spent. It worked out just right. He and another guy were coming up here anyway to fish Willis's lake. He found a place the donkeys could get through and some hair on the wire, a strong suggestion. It was the only place along the south side that would lead them to the lake. The donkeys were so lazy I never saw them out grazing all day. They hunkered down in their shed, their energy center, resting in their barn while I rested in my barn.

  

jack happy to be found

 

 

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MORNING WALK WITH THE DONKEYS

donkey jack and his shadow

A phone call at 11 last night asking if I knew of anybody in Air Bellows with donkeys besides me. What? If so, I don't know about it. Donkeys were in their meadow, the dogs were barking like crazy, and the pregnant pause of unspoken, What you gonna do about it? I said I can't do anything about it. It's dark. I can't see. I'll take care of it in the morning. First thing, before 8, I went out in car and found them in the meadow, as told, near a bunch of cows they'd found. Jack saw the car and came running braying. I drove down to the lake where I thought I'd leave the car and walk over a long hill to a place to cross the creek on the other side of the hill to go out a gate to the road. Could not drive back and have them follow me the way I came. It would mean going back through a bark fest of two dogs with no training. The donkeys would not walk through them. I parked the car, gave them their morning carrots beside the lake with a calm, peaceful surface. I told myself this exercise will be calm and peaceful. I'll walk across the mountain and they will follow. I poured some grain for them before our sojourn.

 

jack vacations at the lake

 

We were not walking long before it was like being out walking with two dogs. They did not always follow me. They explored out to the sides, explored ahead, found some woods and decided to explore them. I had to enter the woods for them to see me. They did not respond to calling. They saw me and followed me out of the woods and on down the hill. This is the farm I worked for seven years, a beautiful meadow covered with Christmas tree stumps and plant life on the ground I'd never seen before, very little of it native, anyway native to my experience. I felt sorrow for the ground. Generations of valuable topsoil blotted out. Next, it will be subdivisions, roads, driveways and lawns. I cherished my mortality all the more. It was a long walk. I was aware of not stressing my blood pressure walking up the long hill. Took my time, walking slowly with a stick in one hand and a bag of carrots in the other. Donkeys follow more of their own free will when I have carrots. The carrots run out, motivation to stay near me goes poof. Without something for them to eat, I'm of little to no importance.  They like me, but I'm not a donkey, don't have donkey priorities. Out on a walk over new territory, there is much going on around them that's more important than me, new greens to eat, new ground to explore.

 

 

jack and jenny found

we walked up the hill behind jenny's back

it's longer than it looks

 

Jenny watches Jack to see if he finds something and Jack watches Jenny to see if she found something, simultaneously while they explore for something new to eat. I don't even figure in their curious search. I was their slow friend who takes awhile to catch up. They figured I was safe, knew what I was about, went where I wanted to go. They followed me down the hill well. It was a fairly steep hill to walk down. Down a steep hill is more difficult than going up. I walk down the hill on my heels, more stiff-legged, and it requires balancing. Up the hill is on the forward part of the foot, flexed legs, leaning forward instead of backward. I saw the donkeys walked carefully down the hill. They walked stiff-legged too. It was fun out walking with them. I don't like them getting out, don't want them getting out, but don't mind them getting out. We had a good walk over a half mile rough ground with growth to my knees, me trusting I won't step on a rattlesnake. It's the only way I could walk through there was trust in the Divine. I've learned to trust going anywhere in peace. I had no ill intent, no ill feelings about the donkeys. Wasn't mad. We went for a walk together to see the world.

 

jack at the lake

 

I like for the donkeys to know the landscape around their meadow. I don't like them getting out, but I feel like it educates them to a degree. Everybody here on the mountain knows they're benign and  people friendly. I walked them on to the gate we went through onto the road. Up the hill and down the hill on the road we walked, donkeys taking their time, tasting vegetation along the sides of the road they recognized that they like. I did not want to push them. I was so worn out, I was in no hurry. I walked the whole course gently without stressing self or advancing my breathing. Walked at a comfortable pace uphill and downhill. The donkeys would walk with me better if I walked at their rate of walking. I'm so slow, it bores them to walk with me. They distract themselves with passing vegetation. We took our time sauntering down the road, a family outing. Fortunately, no cars needed the road. I walked them into the gate, poured some grain for them, and checked the row of fence along the backside of the rhododendron row. I had a feeling it was not there, but thought I'd check it since I was there. Came to the house, watched  a film about photographer Julius Schulman, went to town for a prescription, came home, took a nap. Went to the other end of the meadow and found the place I'm certain they went through. Patched it up and feel satisfied they will be waiting for carrots in the morning.  

 

 

jack sez, hee-haw

 

 

 

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THE AMERICAN TRAGIC FLAW

george bellows

 

 Back in the time fascism was introduced to America with police in the airports, I swore off flying, glad I did. I was taking a short flight and carried a small bag with one day of clothes in it. I was told to stand aside, regarded as a criminal in a police station. A humorless government man went through my things, found nothing but clothes, what a disappointment. I watched to be sure he didn't plant something on me to be found at next inspection station. Standing with my back to the wall being looked at as a criminal curiosity by everybody walking by, I swore to myself I would never enter another airport. Somebody invariably says, "Never say never." I say, "Never. You said never twice." I've let my passport go. I don't want to leave the country. I refuse to submit to fascism. I have no choice, but I do have a choice about going someplace by plane and putting myself through suspicion for being an American citizen, at home, herded like cattle, paying for the opportunity.

george bellows

 

Everyone who lives beyond an hour's drive of my home will not see me in future unless they come to where I am. I don't even like to go to town anymore. One day last week I'd gone to town for groceries, donkey grain and bird seed, and came home to a big Ford 150 pickup parked in my parking space. I thought it was funny at first, presumptuous to the max, and parked across the road by the mailbox. My jewelweed almost waist high grows around the parked car, but for the path that goes around the left front fender to the house. The jewelweed was so tight up against his truck, he had to trample some getting out, and I had to trample some more to walk around the truck to the path. I was ok with him parking in my spot. The place really does look like nobody lives there, exactly the way I want it. I took it as my fault he chose to park there. But it pist me off for the jewelweed to be trampled just as it's orange orchids are opening. He'd also gone over the chain with the no trespassing sign on it. I put a note under his wiper blade noting this is not a parking lot. It wasn't somebody I know, because I don't know anybody with that new a pickup.

george bellows

I've seen disrespect come into the mountains, generation by generation, each generation a little bit more disrespectful of others than the generation before. I don't feel safe leaving the house now for somebody wanting to go look through that old house nobody lives in. Respect for others is a thing of the past. This is the quality of life in police state. The state shows no respect to anyone, and pass it on to the people. The television solves all problems instantly with guns and explosions. I'm seeing a condition of rapid decay, entropy, throughout the American land. I'm seeing a people who have lost touch with the basically practical down to even the last lick of good sense. Two-thirds of a century of television's anti-intellectualism have advanced traditional American anti-intellectualism to anti-intelligence, to anti-learning, to anti-paying attention, to anti-noticing, to anti-awake. In our politicians, Ted Cruz got into Harvard law school somehow and passed the tests somehow and evidently graduated somehow. Bobby Jindal of Louisiana went to Oxford, in England, and he makes Cruz look brilliant. School failed these people. They got nothing from it. This whole generation of the young politicians is college educated airheads.

george bellows

It makes me glad I got my schooling half a century ago. I'm thinking of somebody in my Shakespeare class I ran into a few years after we were out of school. In our conversation I mentioned a memory from the class and was told, "I forgot everything about Shakespeare when I turned in my final exam." This is how Lindsay Graham, Jindal, Cruz, the Bushes went through school, forgot it the moment they turned in the final exam. This is an absurd polar extreme of anti-intellectualism. Hundreds of thousands of dollars put into an education forgotten graduation day. I'm sad, somewhat, to see the USA imploding of its collective willful anti-intelligence. It is not going to reverse any time soon. Television won't allow it. The Koch Brothers and Rupert Murdoch will not have it. The implosion is so far advanced it will have to complete the process before it can start up again. America historically, traditionally squanders its benefits. We're on our downhill run now, created and generated by the particularly American tragic flaw, anti-intelligence.

george bellows himself

 

 

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IT'S ALL ILLUSION ANYWAY

john sloan

 

It has been with me all day today that I have lived my life poor by choice. Went to further education with ambition to make more money, have a nice car, a few really nice suits, a nice place with a good sound system. The Fifties American teenage dream. By the time I'd finished schooling, I didn't want any of it, mostly on moral grounds. Those were the years of developing my morality to live by. Continuous church from age six to eighteen, I was in flight from religion through the college years, wanted no more to do with it. I'd learned no  morality to live by, only No, Don't, and You Better Not. I wanted to break the rules, commit taboo, and, at the same time, look for a real morality to live by. The morality of you-better-not was a coffin. For somebody growing up into his unknown life, I did not want to live my life in the grave. Much as I resent, still, the overkill browbeating of a dead religion throughout my early years, I see in retrospect it set me on my spiritual path as a natural consequence of recognizing what I had was fake, inspiring a search for what is real. Then the question, what makes something real and something else fake?

 

john sloan

 

I looked for a lot of years at that one. In illusion, what's the difference? Start over with collectively agreed upon reality, the reality of the scientific method, physical reality. Kick a table leg barefoot, it hurts. Duality: pain and pleasure, right and wrong, high and low, in and out, to and from, the wedding of heaven and hell. In this reality I attempt to distinguish real from fake with no guidelines or rule book or discourses to go by. I have to go by intuition, by feeling. I recall my friend John, whose bookstore I worked in through the college years, who grew up Catholic, and had the same allergic reaction I had to Fundamentalism, threw the baby out with the bathwater. He called himself an atheist and I understood his reasoning. He was, at once, the most moral human being I have known, along with a few others I've known in the mountains. He kept a quotation from Shakespeare on the wall in the store that I saw a hundred times a day, To thine own self be true and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man. I found it to be so in John, and over the years found it to be true in myself. In a real sense, this is the foundation of the morality I live by. More has grown on top of this, though more or less subtle versions of same. The morality I've come into on my own is not restrictive. It expands.

 

john sloan

 

 

In the dark is the seed of the light---in the light is the seed of the dark. In my time of agnostic thinking and atheist thinking, this quotation from Shakespeare of being true to self was an everyday point in the life, the core of my moral thinking. I didn't need any more verses to memorize of God sez. I needed something to live with that had practical application, something that was not a s'posed-to, but made sense, something I could see applying it in everyday life would, indeed, improve the quality of one's life. I believed God in the early part of the life, but such a twisted version I could not live with it as a rational, or even semi-rational human being, but in denial of my humanity. In the time I was seeking my humanity. Early part of the life, God was Fear. Later part of the life, God is Love. The seeking part in between had in it the seed, To thine own self be true. It is the mountain ethic, be who you are. John has been true to himself all the way along, is now 103, still has a clear mind. When it comes to truly honest people I've known, I'd say more than you'd think, because sometimes I think of a liar as true, true to who he is. Sometimes the lies are self-defense by vulnerable people, and there are an awful lot of different vulnerabilities going around.

 

john sloan

 

What does this have to do with why I live poor? It has everything to do with it. I live below the poverty level and the taxes due from my labor is no support to American military rule of the world and the American people. I do not support it morally, and I do not support it with the fruits of my labor. It's not about politics. It's about morality. Like a conscientious objector. I live simply in order not to pay into the military machine that kills poor people all around the globe and at home. I don't support it morally, and cannot contribute to it with my labor. Patti Smith sings in my head, Outside of society, that's where I wanna be. I live in a self-titled Christian society that hates the poor, the vulnerable, the down and out. How can I live with a moral conscience  in this society and not be one of the poor? I live simply by choice, and in one way of looking at it, by empathy. It's different from being put out of your work and your home. Thanks to Social Security, it bypasses the desolation. I can look the truly poor people I know and come in contact with straight in the eye with understanding, them not feeling like I think I'm coming from a higher place than they are. A few weeks ago I saw someone I know who is the poorest of the poor in every way, we talked awhile and my heart glowed with love for this guy I've known since he was a child, who was born with everything against him, keeps on going with another woman taking care of him, and all I could think was, There but for the grace of God go I. It was a powerful moment. I made myself leave before falling into weeping. I don't want to pay taxes to my government that will not help people unable to help themselves. It's that simple.  

 

 

john sloan by john sloan

 

 

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