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Showing posts from August, 2017

Throwback

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In this world of rapid change, it's refreshing to find something that stays the same.  Almost. Once a year, for two weeks, the little Humbolt County Fair in the small town of Ferndale, California kicks off.  I've heard it's the longest continually running county fair, stretching back to the 1870s if I remember correctly. Let me set the context, because that's part of the appeal.  Ferndale is a tiny dairy community tucked into the mountains of very Northern California, not far from the costal city of Eureka.  This is beautiful country where redwoods meet the pounding sea.  I've been there a handful of times and now I'm thrilled to be able to watch the horse races at the fair from my TV or computer screen given the technology available now.  The fair is like most county fairs with fried everything and lots of animal exhibits and show competitions.  Against this beautiful backdrop sits a little 5/8 mile racetrack, as cute as it is dangerous.  Tight turns, the

Street Dance

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He knows there is something there, Something most of us can't see, So he darts out in the middle of the street to peck the unpeckable. That's what crows do, I see it and want it, but there are cars from both directions cars that can stop his vision in one spasm of the neck. Still he pecks, until the last second, then hops or flies or sometimes walks defiantly, leisurely, as if his life were not at stake. She has a family to feed, nothing can go to waste, Risks envelop everything, they hatch at all hours, so she darts, she flirts with the steel boxes that form the carnival ride of chance. Something I can digest is hiding from those that do not see. Still, she pecks until the sound descends, she flits aside at the last second, as if her life were not at stake.

Hackamore

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Sometimes trying to simplify our lives can get complicated.  Cutting back and letting go of things need not be so difficult.  In fact, the two or three times I've made a concentrated effort to downsize were absolutely exhilarating.  Filling up a dumpster with material things that have stayed too long at the fair is a very visual measurement of how attached we get to the non-essential. I've begun to think about finding new homes for anything I still cling to that might be of some value.  In full disclosure, nothing I currently possess is of significant value that it couldn't be replaced if necessary.  Although, my little collection of historical books and primary source objects, while not really worth much, would be difficult to reproduce. Though my wife worries that some of my most interesting items would be difficult to "place" I constantly assure her that a museum or two would take some and a used record store right down the street would be the place to take m