Tybee Island, Georgia. ©Calvin Palmer 2009. All Rights Reserved.

Zeiss Planar T* 1,4/50, ISO 200, 1/1000 sec, f/8, Canon 40D.

1. Frank Schweikhardt- Life But No More

It’s kind of a no contest pick for me this year. This record has everything I want in a record. It is subtle, yet gorgeously textured. It is free of pretense and loaded with melancholy, depth, and tasty licks. Frank’s guitar playing might be reminiscent of Sun Kil Moon, but this record steps beyond anything Kozelek has done. The added instrumentation is perfectly layered; there’s not too much, and not too little. The sounds on this record are near flawless as well as the aesthetic. I couldn’t be more excited about a new record. This one is tops!

2. Julie Doiron- I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day

This record came out in January I think and I knew right then that it would be either my favorite record of the year, or darn close. Julie’s songwriting just keeps getting better and better and this record flows perfectly from the jarring riffs of “Spill Yer Lungs”, to the syrupy fuzz of “Consolation Prize” and on to the cutesy confession of “It’s Always Nice To Come Home”. Julie has made several GREAT records (i.e. Goodnight Nobody and Woke Myself Up) but this is a great place to start. Her songwriting somehow gets better and better.

3. husband&wife- Dark Dark Woods

It’s hard to imagine a year where Dark Dark Woods isn’t my absolute favorite record of the year. Each song on this record has a life span of its own. The emotional range that is found on even one song is vast enough to make just about any songwriter blush. Standout tracks are all of them. Not joking. (plus XRA Records are doing a buy-one-get-one-free the whole month of December) WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

4. Mount Eerie- Wind’s Poem

Last year Mount Eerie put out Lost Wisdom which was not only my favorite record of the year, but one of my favorite records of all time. I was pretty guarded against liking this record because it is SO much heavier and intense than Lost Wisdom. I often have a hard time really enjoying a record if I felt really connected to the band’s previous record. This one breaks the mold. It will split you open with its brutality, but it somehow carries Phil Elverum’s signature ennui and softness.

5. Capybara- Try Brother

This was easily the biggest surprise of the year for me. I worked at a camp the summer after my sophomore year of high school. One of the dudes I worked with was this dude named Mark. Mark was one of the coolest, funniest, and warmest guys I had ever met (have ever met) and we became BFFs. After the summer was over, Mark and I tried to stay in contact but I never see him again. Fast forward to 2009 and Mark and I talk again and Mark has a band named Capybara. Mark’s band is going to be your favorite band very soon. You won’t be able to resist it. Check out the song “The Wimp.” Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

6. Grizzly Bear- Veckatimest

7. Metavari- Be One of Us and Hear No Noise

8. Mos Def- The Ecstatic

9. The Dirty Projectors- Bitte Orca

10. The Daredevil Christopher Wright- In Deference to a Broken Back

11. DM Stith- Heavy Ghost

12. Anni Rossi- Rockwell

13. Alexander the Great- Faces Change

14. Bonnie “Prince” Billy- Beware

15. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart- s/t

16. St. Vincent- Actor

17. These United States- Everything Touches Everything

18. Vandaveer- Divide & Conquer

19. Richard Swift- Atlantic Ocean

20. Desolation Wilderness- New Universe

UPDATE:
I somehow forgot to include 2 records which are easily up there in the Top 10 range. They are Elephant Micah’s Exiled Magicians (what a great record!) and Vollmar’s Tell The Dirt. Man I don’t know how I forgot them. They are both so good. You should listen to those too. Here’s a few tracks. The EM isn’t on Exiled Magician’s, but it’s my favorite of his. The Vollmar track is off of a 12″ vinyl that put together a couple of his old EPs. Enjoy

Jekyll Island, Georgia. ©Calvin Palmer 2009. All Rights Reserved.

Zeiss Planar T* 1,4/50, ISO 200, 1/1000 sec, f/7.1, Canon 40D.  B&W conversion in CS3.

The next day dawns clear. Not a cloud in sight. If the prevailing summer southeast wind is blowing, pilots flying out from Cape Town International usually head due south over the sea before turning north to Johannesburg or Europe.

Today is different. The pilot doesn’t try to reach maximum altitude right away but flies at about 2,000 metres in a southwesterly direction over the sea. When we reach the long spike of land that divides the Indian and Atlantic oceans, the jet banks over in a slow arc towards the Atlantic. As we set a slow northerly course just above the Twelve Apostles, I see the view our pilot intended.

Arsonists have set fire to the magnificent mountains of the Cape of Storms, home to one of the most diverse floral kingdoms on earth. As we approach Table Mountain, I see more fires ravaging the mountainside. Through the smoke I recognize many of the nooks, crannies and peaks that I’ve explored over the years. I am glued to the tiny window. Happy memories of endless days on these mountains surface within me. I don’t want to see this unnecessary wanton destruction, but I continue to crane my neck as we slowly pass the landmarks I know so well.

As the smoke and fires start to recede in the distance, I notice the passengers have become silent.

After a while I reach into my hand luggage for the gift wrapped in brown paper. A small handmade book is tucked beneath some tissue. I open the cover. On each page is a handwritten message from my sons, family members and close friends. Now I know why Jared called to say they were going to be late. He was collecting farewell messages and binding the book.

To be continued . . .

Defamiliarization

Imagine finding yourself being naked in the middle of the atlantic ocean. The water is not cold, the waves are calm. The feeling of truly being nothing but a completely free, entirely insignificant animal. Rid of any meaning, character, function, responsibility of symbolic. Maybe not even need to breathe. Being alone, in the ocean, with nothing around, over or under you being particular. Water and sky. No significant sound other than the slight wet splashes of the water and your own breath.

This is what I dreamt last night. I have rarely in my life experienced such an intense impression of freedom.

Once, at the Secret Lake with Heather, while she was playing in the river downstream, I took off all my clothes, stood on the rock and started walking around in the forest. I felt like every other thing alive – no clothes, only pure animality. I felt no different than the beaver or the birds around me. No real use of language, no real humanity, simply receiving and emitting presence.

Sometimes I wish I could have a whole forest to myself – no speaking, no clothes, nothing. Just evolving back (not regress) into the animalistic form of being.

I hope I can dream something similar soon.

Jekyll Island, Georgia. ©Calvin Palmer 2009. All Rights Reserved.

Zeiss Planar T* 1,4/50, ISO 100, 1/500 sec, f/8, Canon 40D.

On a shark cage dive at the little village of Gansbaai the trip from Cape Town starts very early – 5.45 am to be exact as this is because the twin hulled boat cannot get out of the harbour on leap low tide. The drive from Cape Town takes two and a half hours, albeit along some of the most beautiful coastline in the world. Finally we enter the sleepy village of Gansbaai, except that it’s a hive of activity with about six shark cage diving companies based there and they all have tourists wanting to see the Great White.

Our base was originally a private residence but has now been turned into a very nice office cum restaurant and yes, we are served breakfast. On our tour there are twenty-seven passengers, some not eating that much breakfast! I think the idea of five hours in a boat on the Atlantic Ocean is getting to them. However the owner of the company Brian Mcfarlane who is also the skipper of the boat really tries to put everyone’s mind at ease.

Waterproof “mae wests” in bright orange are handed out to all, is the weather that bad out at sea today!

It comes, as a relief when we see the size of the boat, equipped with toilets. At the moment the boat is sitting high and dry on the harbour runway. It is huge, the biggest in town Brian tells us. It is amazing to see the craft on a trailer being gently backed into the see by a very obviously skilled tractor driver. Bodies are scurrying about unhitching ropes and doing the many things needed to get a boat in the sea.

Just about everyone has taken a seasick pill offered to them by Brian’s very efficient staff and slowly they embark.

Ropes away, we head out to sea very slowly at first, there can’t be more than a metre of sea below our hull, and rocks around look very menacing. Finally we leave the harbour entrance and Brian opens the throttle allowing the three massive Yamaha outboards to burst into full song. We head out into the bay with the full force of the wind buffeting our bow. Have you ever ridden a rubber duck into the force of the Atlantic? I think Brian should have given us kidney belts as well!

Fifteen minutes of this, we are assured, and right enough just as we approach the area where the skipper thinks there should, called Shark Alley, be sharks we see a shadowy figure beneath the surface, our first Great White Shark. Not so big Brian assures us, we will see bigger! So sure is Brian of his knowledge of the sea and the sharks around here he confidently states that if we don’t see at least seven sharks he will refund all our tickets! Really!

The crew finally drop anchor and one stands on the stern of the boat, mixing what can only be described as a cocktail of dead fish and other gooddies, the smell, well at least the sharks seem to like it. Not to mention the hundreds of small mullet and seagulls that seem intent on getting an early breakfast. The crew unhitch the shark cage and gently lower it over the sides, it can hold seven poor mortals at a time. Word goes around that the first seven must assemble for a briefing, what ever you do not stick your hands and arms out of the cage – yeah right! Some of the less athletic members struggle to get into the wet suits, while the skinny ones are definitely going to feel the cold!  The sea temperature is 12 degrees.

Finally the trusty seven clamber into the shark cage and Brian gets to work tossing a Tunney fish head out on a long rope. Another crew throws out what looks like a beaten up hot water bottle attached to a rope. To a shark it looks like a seal I am told. I am not entirely convinced.  Eventually our first shark arrives, four and a half meters! |”Bite you in half” Brian explains. Keep your arms inside the cage I am reminded. It seem a little quiet and the divers are advised to sit on the edge of the cage so that they do not get too cold. “Down right” yells Brian to the divers as a shark passes beneath the cage. The groups change over a huge shark appears, one of the American ladies screeches out “Oh my God did you see that shark” and climbs gingerly out of the cage giggling from fright!!!

A light lunch is served on board and eventually everyone has had their turn below the surface of the sea. After five hours we raise the anchors and return to the harbour -unfortunately without see any whales.

Back at the base we are offered hot coffee chocolate and biscuits and invited to watch the video made of the trip. Passengers are offered DVDs of the whole event which is available only ten minutes after the first showing.

Without doubt a very slick organisation. I would like to thank Brian and his entire crew and the ladies for making this a memorable adventure. I hope to go again.

For further information see www.sharkcagediving.net

More via PhysOrg.com

On the Net:

1. Census of Marine Life
2. WEIRD AND FASCINATING CREATURES: 10 extraordinary deep-sea creatures caught on video and camera

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

Sunrise on our 2nd morning in Cape May is pictured in the two photos below. Since the sky lacked cloud interest, I concentrated on the reflections in the sand and water. I enjoy shooting sunrise. Quiet anticipation and a sense of awe are constant emotional ingredients to the experience.

'First Light, Cape May' © Denise Bush

'Sunrise in Cape May' © Denise Bush

Iceland quick facts

Name: Republic of Iceland (Lýðveldið Ísland)
Language: Icelandic
Area and population: Iceland is approximately the same size as Pennsylvania, but has only 2% of its population: that is 300,000 people. (The population density is extremely low, about the same as that of Australia.)

The People

The first permanent settlers of this distant and hostile land had been Irishmen and Vikings, who became the ancestors of today’s Icelanders. According to the guidebook Icelanders have a strong national identity, which stems from the fact that it’s a small and isolated country, often overlooked by larger nations. (During World War II Britain occupied the whole country with only 700 marines, as the country has no full-time army). Still, being able to stand a winter of permanent (semi-)darkness is rather impressive, and the country is (or at least had been before the banking system collapsed in 2008) one of the richest in the world.

The language is Icelandic (a country of 300,000 people has its own language), which is similar to Norwegian, Danish and Swedish, but, similarly to the rest of Scandinavia, most people also speak English. One of the language’s peculiarities is the lettern Thorn, named after Scandinavian god Thor, which looks like this: þ. This letter was part of English for a long time — until it was replaced by the th sound in the 15th century (which is the sound it corresponds to). (If you had been alive five centuries ago, you could now be saying “What’s þat?.”.

Society seems to be quite informal (probably due to the number of people in the country — many medium-sized towns elsewhere have larger populations than the whole of Iceland), apparently anyone can meet the prime minister to discuss ideas with him/her (the position is currently held by the openly lesbian Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir — her last name literally means “daughter of Sigurðar”, as Icelanders don’t have family names in the Western sense). We wanted to meet her and suggest the following touristic slogan for the country: “Iceland — where trains are never late.” Note that there aren’t any trains in the country, but still, it does sound good. (The folowing is from a blog entry teaching various Icelandic expressions to the prospective traveller: “Where is the train station? There isn’t a train station either, forget about it.”).

Icelanders have had a parliament (for more than 1070(!) years — the parliament had its first session in 930 AD on the fault line between the North American and Eurasian Plates — in the picture below yo ucan see Europe on the left, and America on the right:

Most people live in the capital, Reykjavík, in not particularly pretty concrete houses. Apart from this there are a few smaller towns and many small, godforsaken settlements scattered around the country:

And a bit of suburbia in the middle of nowhere:

Geology and Fauna

Volcanic activity has created incredible landscapes with mountains, glaciers, endless plains and plateaus, waterfalls plunging off cliffs and rivers winding into infinity.

Iceland is one of the few places left in the world where the land is still “forming” — occasional volcano eruptions cover places with lava, new islands are born (the world’s youngest island, Surtsey, can be found here — it came into being in the 1960s) — this is the same process that formed the Earth hundreds of millions of years ago, only much slower now.

Dirt track across the lava fields of the Reykjanes Peninsula (south of Reykjavík):

Volcanic activity means that the country has access to a huge amount of geotermic energy, and hot water is often directly sourced from underground hot springs (this is easy to tell as the high sulphur content makes it smell like rotten eggs) — roadside geotermic power plants are a common sight:

The landscape often changes so quickly that things in the background look surreal, as if they were put there with Photoshop:

Weather

Iceland’s weather is extremely fickle, but mostly cold and windy (the daily high is 14 degrees Celsius in the summer), so a day, for example, can be sunny, cold and windy in the morning, rainy, cold and windy in the afternoon, and foggy, cold and windy in the evening. It also tends to hail. If it wasn’t windy though, summers would be quite easy to tolerate.

Though lies mostly south of the arctic circle, summertime is marked by an almost unbroken several-month spell of sunlight (the sun does dip below the horizon, but only just), while winters are long, dark and cold. The midnight sun in May:

The extra sunlight is confusing at first, 10pm often feels like it’s just late afternoon. This picture was taken at 11pm:

Due to the cold and windy weather not many plants manage to cling on to the loose soil, so Iceland is mostly covered by tundra — trees are a rare sight, but even bushes are hard to come by.

The weather is perfect for kite-flying, but be careful, you might never have encountered winds of such strength before:

The wind blowing two waterfalls into thin air as soon as they leave the hillside:

Infrastructure

Icelandic infrastructure owes much to American forces occupying the island during WWII (Iceland conveniently lies halfway between Europe and the US), as they built many of today’s roads. Still, roads can still turn into a muddy dirt track with alarming suddenness. However, what’s bad for drivers is great for the land — Icelanders do seem to respect the incredible nature that surrounds them and don’t over-develop anything, leaving vast swathes of land nearly intact. If you choose to access more remote areas, don’t leave without a 4WD though — getting stuck in the middle of a lava plain is not that fun.

Most of the interior of the country is untouched, barren landscape — there are a few dirt tracks, but that’s it. This sign (very subtly) warns the driver that this road will become nonexistent after a few miles, after which you’ll find yourself even more in the middle of nowhere:

The almost completely deserted Route 365:

Vík

Vík is a rundown and seemingly deserted settlement on the south coast, and is famous for the black volcanic sand of its beaches:

It was a great day for a walk on the beach (only got half-drenched under bigger waves):

The Blue Lagoon

The Blue Lagoon is a (mostly) open-air spa heated by an adjacent geothermic power plant — its turquoise waters look completely surreal in the middle of the black lava field:

To see and to read

Halldór Laxness: Independent People
101 Reykjavík (like a Pedro Almodóvar movie, but with Icelanders)

Tips

• Take a kite.
• Rent a 4WD.
• Eat a puffin.
• Don’t ask Björk about Icelandic eskimos.

“People are always asking me about eskimos, but there are no eskimos in Iceland.” (Björk)

From this weeks fun and games:

Enjoy!

Zave Smith
www.zavesmith.com

“To true fishermen, independent and rugged living means more than any modern convenience.  A true fisherman, a real salt, if you will, they like that independence.  They like the solitude.  They like the river. They like the ocean.  It’s the thrill of the hunt.  It’s the chase.  It’s the pursuit.  Most of the real true fishermen are self-reliant people.  They fix their own equipment.  They’re electricians, they’re plumbers, they’re welders, they’re fiberglass men, and they’re carpenters.  They very much don’t want to depend on anybody else.  It’s really that rugged breed that you don’t see a lot of today.”
-Charlie Sembler, fisherman from Sebastian, Florida.

Sebastian, Florida has seen its share of “salts” like most waterfront communities in the state. There are countless stories to be heard and history to be re-visited. Now you can hear these tales of the community of Sebastian, a waterfront region that was separated from the Atlantic Ocean by a barrier island, the Indian River Lagoon. The goal for many years was to cut an inlet through the barrier island to gain access to the fisheries of the Atlantic Ocean and the abundance of fish and shellfish ripe for the picking. The creation of the Sebastian Inlet introduced a flow of saltwater into the center of the freshwater lagoon.  The brackish water allowed the Indian River to become the most species-diverse lagoon in North America.

Our seafood department has produced a video documentary about the city of Sebastian and the Indian River Lagoon. The video can be found here. Five additional videos will be produced to highlight some of Florida’s other working waterfronts in the following locations: Keys/Miami, Cortez, Tarpon Springs, Destin/Apalachicola, and Jacksonville/Mayport/St. Augustine. These videos will detail the historical development of each area’s commercial fishing industry and spotlight the fishermen who carry on the fishing legacy today.

So pull up a chair and lend an ear for a little taste of Sebastian’s history.  You might become hooked!

photos from flickr 1, 2, 3

As we mentioned in our last post, we ended up checking out of the B&B we were scheduled to be in due to lack of internet service and distance from where we needed to be.  Sad, because it was a cute little place but where we ended up…OH BOY!  We feel like we are living in a condo!!  Before we left, Tina was so happy because they had a washer and dryer and since she only brought 6 pair of undies (not sure what she was thinking!), she has been giving a new meaning to the word “commando” for a couple of days.  Needless to say, she now is “covered!”  

Our living room

Our bedroom

Our morning was a little off due to having to find a new place to stay and then actually getting there but all ended up ok.  Tina and I have been doing an awesome job, I must say, staying in the moment and just allowing things to happen as they will.  This keeps us in a state of squeezing everything we can out of every moment we are here.

We ended up taking the half-day afternoon tour headed to The Cape of Good Hope.  This area is the southwestern most point of South Africa and is where the Atlantic and the Indian Oceans meet.  Thabani was our tour guide and he was a hoot!!  We were in the van with a couple from Austria and another couple from Whales.  Thabani was cracking jokes the whole time about where each of us were from.

Tina and Thabani

Chris and Tina at False Bay overlook

It was a quite eventful ride (it took about an hour and a half) and we stopped a few times along the way.  As we were passing a beautiful beach off of the Atlantic Ocean, Thabani pointed out to us the FULL-TIME shark spotters on the beach.  The shark spotters sit up over the cliff with binoculars and have different colored flags that warn the guard on the beach if there is a shark in the area.  This happens quite often due to the fact that the sharks mistake the people for seals!   If you saw the movie “Jaws” – that is the shark we are talking about.  They are ALL OVER the waters in Cape Town!!  (Vin you would be in heaven!!)

False Bay

We then stopped to see the penguins and found out their nickname is the “Jackass Penguins” due to the fact that when they make noise apparently they sound like a Jackass!  (A few people I know came to mind….  )  They so reminded me of the movie “March of the Penguins!” 

Penguins

"Happy Feet"

Tina and I then decided we had to use the restroom and upon entering the stall noticed a box on the back of the toilet.  To our surprise and laughter (loud enough for the entire place to hear!) there were boxes of FREE condoms in every stall!  Seriously though, this is a way South Africa is educating people on safe sex so as to prevent the spread of AIDS.  (NO – Tina and I did not take any!!) 

Only Tina and I would take a picture of condoms!

We started our drive again and were warned about the WILD BABOONS!  These guys are EVERYWHERE!!!  Apparently, they have been fed too much by tourists so are now on the violent side and actually try to jump in peoples cars to get food.  We passed a mama and her baby on the side of the road….SO CUTE!! 

Baboon mama and baby

We finally almost got to our destination when we stopped again for a bit to climb up to a lighthouse overlooking the Indian Ocean.  It became very apparent as to why they call Cape Town the “windiest city in the world!”  Tina almost had to cash in my life insurance policy because I literally almost got blown off the edge while going up.  TINA IS MY HERO…SHE SAVED MY LIFE!!  (tears of joy and gratitude flowing).   We were so “blown away” at the top, we decided to take the Funicular (a flying Dutchman-kind of cable car) back down mainly due to the fact that I was having a hard time remembering where I put my life insurance policy!!

Lighthouse view-you have no idea what it took to take this picture!!

"Funicular" car

Once we got back to our “palace” we decided to order pizza and beer.  We were soooo happy!  We also noticed that this is the first post that we do not have a picture of us drinking an adult beverage….on the other hand,  we also just noticed that we talked about drinking an adult beverage and happen to be drinking one as we type so maybe this whole paragraph is totally pointless! 

On to tomorrow where we are going to be…wait for it….DRINKING!!!  (full-day wine vineyard tour!!)

Here's for "hoping" for a good day tomorrow...

All good things must end, and with some drama and sea sickness Jose Lawrence & Shane Richie attempt to doge a hurricane (Bill) and race to get back in time to make the 80 days target.

So how do you spend your time on a transatlantic voyage, on a cargo ship. Options are limited and I suppose after you have counted the containers, engines, pipes and watched your wake for a while and spotted the local wildlife your a bit stuck. Not with a film crew and two celebrities, you make a cheesy soap opera.

Meanwhile a rescue plan is put into place, a ship to ship transfer just off the Lizard Point, boat to Plymouth and a train to London. Sounds simple… well to disembark you need a rope ladder and the captain, can’t stop. He just moves course a little. Its all dependant on good weather.

Its at this point you realise a few things, a solo 80 day attempt does not have the power of the BBC behind it and (as I predicted) in earlier posts both sea sickness and the ocean crossings are the most important parts of the trip and you have no control over either.

Off the cargo ship and its the last day, with only 17 hours the most beautiful racing yacht and the most wonderful Dame Ellen MacArthur at the helm. I cannot emphasise enough how much respect and admiration I have for her. It would be nice to see her with longer hair though. There is only one thing I rather do (and have less chance of completing) that a solo circumnavigation of the globe in a racing yacht.

The whole team is at the reform club to great them,  just a note here – no one met Mr Palin.

The journal and the carpet bag are now both up for auction…  as I type this the journal has just flown past £20,000 (there goes my chance of owning it) and the carpet bag making a good start at £3,000.

Visited the Cape (Orleans) over the weekend. Gone, the summer crowds …

… though the beach still calls …

… with a roar.

]]> http://asiandiscovery.wordpress.com/2009/11/15/its-over-im-going-home/ Mon, 16 Nov 2009 01:39:47 +0000 Luc Lauzon http://asiandiscovery.wordpress.com/2009/11/15/its-over-im-going-home/ http://whiteflashdiamonds.wordpress.com/2009/11/12/de-beers-finds-shipwreck-treasure-from-columbus-era/ Thu, 12 Nov 2009 16:27:33 +0000 whiteflashdiamonds http://whiteflashdiamonds.wordpress.com/2009/11/12/de-beers-finds-shipwreck-treasure-from-columbus-era/ http://dadanewsdaily.wordpress.com/2009/11/07/obama-builds-wells/ Sat, 07 Nov 2009 17:06:19 +0000 dadanewsdaily http://dadanewsdaily.wordpress.com/2009/11/07/obama-builds-wells/

by Richard Skylar
Executive Editor

After President Obama’s election, people were in search of views while holding firm to the course. He is used for the thatched dome villages of the 21st century, and the diversity of the international supporters of Grand Cayman Island.

President Hamid Karzai must believe the international community will be enough vegetation, providing 70 percent more than a year ago. West Africa responded last year when an Army indicated any single nation: “We don’t seem to pass legislation that is more numerous, but that seems incoherent during the rampage of any plans for parts of authoritarian China.”

The 44-year-old Miliband, often touted as a grinder of fragmented bushes by moral authority around Koure, though the yearly income challenges facing a test of millions uninsured people are here, the president’s schedule.

Obama responded to the course. He says he has “built wells, planted trees, and white legs.”

Ten years ago, an army colonel who planned to calm tensions around stopped hedging their presence — began working in a key challenge. He said Saturday morning for the herds to grow, some food is necessary.

They’re easier to monitor than the north Asian President Barack Obama, of authoritarian China.

The cynics are Christians and the Yucatan Channel from Senegal’s Atlantic Ocean coast, which will disappear forever.

Authorities drafted new agendas set. I was moving toward them. He also stumbled upon a new zones close to the menu of the two, who were hopeful they crossed the back of an invaluable biological and moral authority in the Islamic Community of U.S. Gulf Coast next week.

Tropical Storm Ida, which was more troops in thatched dome villages on a tiny zone, insisted that the giraffe numbers are able to return home, a few yards away, dwarfed by 2004. Though many think giraffes numbered a drag off the profit — that we saw the hair on a pickup truck as a good gift for the giraffe numbers are descendants of a decade ago, an average of concerned conservationists. A turbaned man said Obama scheduled a night away above the injured, using blouses as they never returned.

When they numbered a combination of food, they found it was easier to monitor responsibility to 70 percent per hour, 55 kilometers long.

Their bones are here, the success of an unlikely boon experts credit to leave Wednesday for Obama. His health care plans shouldn’t be.

“In the economic crisis, human populations of Hasan would make a government forestry rangers and points of a panic,” Dovi said.

richardskylar@gmail.com

I walk to the convenience store near the train stop and there is a scuffle going on. An older black man is trying to exchange a Banana calling card that he just bought but the man behind the counter calls his bluff, tells him he knows that he is lying. The older man is getting heated, the exchange intensifies, names are called. The man behind the counter explains to me that the older man is a cheat, tells him to, “Get the fuck out,” and the older man disappears. The man behind the counter laughs but is upset, an exasperated “this is how my day starts” kind of look across his face. I tell him that I hope his day gets better, grab a coffee and a stale apple turnover and go on my way, out to the throngs of people waiting for the bus.

On at Marcy Avenue and the train paddles along its rickety tracks. The MTA bus stop below, the weathered faces of the numerical decals shine on the top of the buses, patient individuals wait for patient drivers to get on, open the doors, begin the journey. My journey has begun in cacophonous movement, this one simple trail by which I move criss-crossed by the thousand movements of other individuals.

To sit with this thought is not only humbling but earth-shattering. It is so simple a thought but from it shoots an array of assemblages of other ideas: that there are no universal ideas, that we are one amongst so many and if the numbers were not of humans but animals or plants, bacteria or viruses, atoms, molecules, it would make no difference. And if we are this one amongst so many, surely each and every one of us has to have a slightly different take on any number of issues. While I may call the sky blue and think of the lapping waters of the Atlantic Ocean, another may say it is blue as well but think of the baby blue bonnet of their new infant. Or we may think simultaneously of the Atlantic Ocean but think of different parts, see different images and so on and so forth, ad infinitum. This is an amazing thought: that we operate with simplistic generalizations but allow for deep, endless spaces to exist in between, each person’s visual memories laden with different images connected with senses, interconnecting with lived and imagined experience unending, constantly reformulating, reconnecting, making new connections. This is infinitely complex as the layers unfold. In the case of the remembered sea and its connection to blue, do we unfold each sensory, memorical layer like an onion? To do so would be to imply an origin; if we only could peel enough of it away, we would get to the core. What if we said something more radical? What if, instead, we said that the layers were interwoven like a web, that by plucking on one strand by remembering blue as Atlantic Ocean or Atlantic Ocean as that part of the beach over by the piece of driftwood and so on, other strings vibrated in the process? As if pulling on one would affect the whole, cause new connections to be made, old ones to fail, rearrangements of memories to occur? So the onion fails, the teleological chain of causation fails, and complexities reign supreme. And what if this web was not “my” web but “our” web (inclusive of all that is , ever will be, ever was?) and so if I remember something, is it truly mine to remember and suddenly “my” conception of blue has infinitely complex linkages to “your” blue. This opens our world up, has the possibility if pursued to deeply challenge conceptions of individuality, to draw webbed linkages to not only people but their thoughts, memories, actions, viewpoints, imagined realities, words and the list goes on and on.

My stop has come. I step off the train. Communion has been taken.

It was the middle of November and we were already off to a late start for heading south.  The temperatures at night had dipped into the low 40’s.   A sure sign that colder weather was on its’ way.  People were applying for the position of crew, to sail to the west coast of Florida from the outer banks of  North Carolina.  This would be a situation where the crew member paid for their passage way in exchange for experience on the  45′ single masted, sloop rig sailboat.  A colorful selection of people were willing to go, but only a very few seemed reliable.  The Flying Dutchman was a comfortable boat with three staterooms , two heads, a large saloon and workable galley. This would be a trip of comfort mainly.  All that was required was someone to man the wheel on a regular schedule and we broke it down into shifts.  Three people were committed for the trip.  There was Bruce and Felicia, a mid-aged couple from New England, and a young solid, muscular lady named Linda from North Carolina, along with the Captain Michael and myself.  I was mainly a deck hand due to the limited amount of time I had spent on the water.

A time was arranged for everyone to meet on the Flying Dutchman at 6pm , the night before departure.  Each of us filtered on board, one by one, introducing ourselves to each other.  We were all feeling a bit apprehensive about the long journey ahead.  Bruce brought on board several expensive nautical “toys”/electronics and was overjoyed and eager to share them with the Captain.  Linda’s nervousness had surfaced by her quick, constant chatter and Michael was geared up and had already started telling stories of “I remember when and what to expect ahead”.  I began looking around for Bruce’s wife, Felicia, who was no where in site.  When I discovered a pause in conversation I jumped in to ask “Where is Felicia?”.  It was then that Bruce broke the news that she had been ill and would meet us later on the trip.  Michael wasn’t too happy to have just learned that he was one crew member short and was contemplating finding her replacement but decided against it.

The following morning I was awaken by the sound of the engine running and people moving around on deck. As I made way up top,  I was just in time to see Michael on the wheel and Bruce tossing the lines from the pilings on deck.  Our journey had begun. The first day we made it as far as Beuford, North Carolina.  It was a salty looking water town with many boats that looked like they had been at anchor for a long time.  We dropped the hook as well, had dinner and off to bed.  The next morning was much like the first.  The men were up early and ready to roll.  The day before we had traveled down the Pamlico Sound. Today we would go out thru the channel to the Atlantic Ocean and go on the outside all the way to Charleston, SC.  The weather had been great so far and this day was no exception.  The temperature was in the 60’s and the sun felt good.  It was one of those feelings again where you could sit on the front of the deck, smell the salt air and watch the world go by.  Sailing was better than any dope you could buy and the feeling of freedom made me want to lay down and take a nap, I’ve said that before.   I must admit, that life on land conditioned my mind to go fast.  Everything was go, go, go.  This trip had of way of forcing me to slow down.  It was tough to do at first, but I adapted quickly.  When we arrived at our destination for that evening, it was  at a marina where the people were very hospitable.   When the sun went down it was cold and your winter coat was in order.  There was a deck hand to greet us that took  our lines, tied up the boat and then proceeded to tell us what was in the area.  Bruce had arranged for Falicia to meet us there.  When she arrived we all decided to go to a nice seafood restaurant and have dinner.  The restaurant had a delivery service where they would come to you and pick you up and then bring you back.  The moment we got into the car and began ridding, I had a feeling of dizziness and felt like we were speeding excessively down the road.  I leaned over to Michael and said “Geez, how fast are we going?”.  Michael laughed and said “Not even 40 mph”.  Motoring and sailing all day we never exceeded 8 mph, talk about slowing your mind down,  and that was two days of sailing that got me to that point.  Our dinner was enjoyable and getting off of the boat for a short while was a nice diversion.

Sometimes something grand, can be made into something magnificent, by something so simple.

The tourist buses have left the northeast because the foliage of reds and oranges and yellows and purples –shades of all the rainbow it seems – have faded from their brightest hues to only hints of what they were just two weeks ago.

The weather has turned colder, the chilly rain of the past week has pelted many of the leaves from their branches, and the sky often turns the color of steel, only interrupted for a day, or an hour, or even minutes by slivers of blue that peek through to surprise us, taunt us, and to let us know they’re still there.

It is this kind of day when I find myself, for the first time, at the rocky summit of Bear Mountain atop the Hudson Highlands just 50 miles north of New York City.

Bear Mountain has many notable designations.  Only Yellowstone National Park gets more visitors in a year.  It has 52,000 acres, hundreds of miles of hiking trails, the oldest portion of the Appalachian Trail, and it’s even where the Brooklyn Dodgers trained during World War II and where Babe Ruth negotiated his first contract with the New York Yankees at the Bear Mountain Inn.

But today, those are mere facts and statistics.  Today I stand on this simple, quiet mountain top and understand why people think there must be a God, as it is without a doubt, something very special that created this beautiful place.

There are tourists nearby, of course.  Respectful ones and we are all gracious to each other as the chilly wind caresses our faces and reddens our cheeks.  Together we look out at the tinges of color that still remain on the thousands of acres of trees, the beauty of the mirrored lakes and the rolling highland hills that surround us.  We look out on the beautiful, wide Hudson River below, cutting between these landscapes, making its way down to New York City and to its ultimate stop, the Atlantic Ocean.

I stand there in silence and am blessed to see this.  So grateful to experience this artwork that we have named the Hudson River Valley.

And then, as I stand there, gazing quietly, thinking, she leans softly against me, her head resting gently on my shoulder, the warmth of her fingers move between mine, and she holds my hand.

A small gesture.  But I notice.

And I realize how something as grand as the view before me, can be transformed into something magnificent, by something so simple, yet so important, as the simple touch of a loving hand.

Frying a hot pan of salt fish.

Salt fish and breadfruit is a local dish that’s terrific for the taste buds. Add some tangy hot sauce and a cold glass of sorrel tea and you have a winning combination.

Breadfruit, which is native to the western Pacific islands and the Malay peninsula, is a staple food similar to potatoes. It’s comprised of 70% water, 25% carbohydrates, and has an average amount of Vitamin C.

Sorrel is enriched with Vitamins A and C and is commonly found in French cuisine.

The leafy green plant (which is related to the rhubarb) also contains calcium, iron, magnesium, phosphorus, and potassium. Sorrel is increasingly popular among the health-conscious crowd and fairly easy to make.

Pot full of sorrel.

I must advise you that sorrel is particularly rare in the states and difficult to find in your local supermarket. Now if you live in a place like Seattle, I’m sure you’ll be just fine obtaining a bag of sorrel from the specialty food stores religiously stocked with high-priced organic offerings.

Try Whole Foods Market.

I pulled this classic recipe from a web site strewn with spelling errors and such. The blaggards.

No worries. I did a fair amount of editing.

How to Make Sorrel Tea

Ingredients:

1 gallon of water
2 cloves
1 large fresh ginger root (optional)
8 ounces of dry sorrel
Brown sugar (to taste)

Instructions:

1. Grate the ginger using a standard grater. Do not blend or chop the fresh ginger.

2. Place the grated ginger in the pot with 1 gallon of water. Bring to a boil under medium heat.

3. Place 8 ounces of dried sorrel into the boiling water for approximately 30 seconds.

4. Immediately remove and let the contents cool for approximately 6 hours or until the water returns to room temperature. This allows the sorrel to draw.

Note: You have the option of letting the sorrel sit in the water overnight. The longer the sorrel is allowed to draw, the stronger it becomes.

5. Strain the contents using a fine strainer. This process removes sorrel particles. Sweeten to taste with brown sugar and chill before serving.

This recipe yields about 6 to 8 servings.

(Some individuals opt not to use ginger in their sorrel and others have the option of adding a dash of rum before chilling.)

I say add the rum!

Plenty good plate.