GONE BABY GONE

    I’m riding back to the mountain from the doctor’s office in Goshen and my girlfriend Samm (who’s driving) tells me that she’s tried to read the new blog but as usual was stymied because of my use (and misuse) of punctuation. It (like my shoulder from which the doctor dug out a carcinoma) is a sore spot between us. I’ve written columns, songs, unpublished books, essays, lectures and blogs for forty years and I admit that I still have no idea where to put commas and semicolons. I sprinkle them liberally, hoping a few will land in the right spot. Most people don’t care, choosing instead to concentrate on taking issue with what I’m saying. One can agree or disagree without bashing my “flow” and sentence structure—like Samm does. She can’t help herself. For my love it’s a tick, a roadblock she can’t seem to maneuver around to get at the meat of the narrative. I’m sure I’ve screwed up repeatedly in this first paragraph. It drives me (and her) fucking crazy!

   Nonetheless, she perused down the page enough to disagree with my overall premise of the impending “pastoralism” of the Amazon, as well as my use of finite declaratives like “forever” or “for all time.” “After all,” she points out, "hasn’t the Catskills reverted to a wild state plenty of times over the centuries?” She’s correct. The re-greening of the Catskills and eastern seaboard in the second half of the twentieth century has welcomed back multiple flora and fauna into its chaotic bosom. Pockets of neglect and depression have become the friend of antipastoralism and multiple almost extinct species. The failure of subsistence family farming throughout the Catskills and Orange County, the adoption of coal, gas and oil as primary heat sources instead of wood, has led to the return of the eagle, wild turkey, black bear and whitetail deer, as well as the re-introduction of the eastern coyote or coy-wolf. Sadly, this phenomenon of regeneration is limited. We only have so many second chances. Once the herdsman burns the Amazon and massive warehouses scar the Montgomery hayfields “forever” may be a very short amount of time. Those apple trees in White Sulphur Springs will never return. I say again—NEVER!

    Try as I might to argue this, I get her point. Shit can turn around in spite of ourselves. I don’t want anybody to get the impression that I know how this will turn out—except on a case by case basis. For example: I’d prefer Butch Resnick, John Letourneau and Brett Budde tear down all their fences and let the deer herd return to their ancient travel patterns. Of course, as a deer hunter, this is a little selfish on my part. The Buddes' apples would be eaten and Butch’s ostriches and camels would get hit by egg trucks. It’s not a sustainable solution. As for John and Asher Rothman’s failed attempt at farming, that resulted in an enclosed five acres of beautiful bottom land now populated with golden rod, the fence serves no purpose whatsoever. Like Samm, John and Asher will have to slash and burn their way through all my misplaced commas to read this, and be sufficiently pissed off at my intrusive opinions to care. I’m not too worried.

    One of the difficulties pastoral scholars faced in studying American human chronology was the omission of the shepherd in the four stage development theory of Indigenous peoples. Dogs were domesticated but served only as guards, companions and food. Until recently it was assumed there was no home grown tradition of native domestic herd animals or animal husbandry in North America. Whatever tribal shepherds existed, their flocks were european (horses, sheep, pigs, goats and cows) in origin. Only South America’s llama could be pointed to as a native source animal for transport and wool—the exception to the rule. This omitted the now extinct Salish wool dogs of the Pacific Northwest tribe. Thankfully, scholarship is being revisited and revised constantly. Just so happens Samm’s collie dog Lassie blows out its “wool” yearly and Samm makes it into yarn. She wears a “dog hat” she knitted. Sorry Samm. You can stop googling. Right now there are no more Salish wool dogs in existence. That doesn’t mean one won’t pop up someday.      

    I don’t profess to have the answers to the larger issue of false pastoralism that’s been with us for so long. I’m not naive enough to think we can ever return to a hunter/gatherer system or that burning wood is sustainable or farming and livestock don’t play an integral role in society. All I know is that it’s very much on my mind these days and this is what I want to write about…… until something else catches my fancy. I don’t want to lecture. I want to discuss. But that takes more than one voice. I know from experience it is difficult to get people to engage. Few want to stick their necks out for fear of ridicule. But what the hell, it’s the internet. Nobody really cares what you think or say. I encourage readers to leave comments, point out hotspots of concern or needed activism and hopefully a conversation will ensue—a commonality of purpose. I’ll try my damnedest to clean up the commas and will NEVER ever use FOREVER again!