All I live at the end of a long down running road. Kids are skating down in the summer and in the winter they have all sorts of things to ride down it. Today I saw a little boy sitting on his skateboard crying outside my kitchen window. He was crying because of the slope was over and he was exhausted and didn't have the energy to climb up to the top again. It reminded me of that the oil age which have let people slide by the oil fired energy for about a century. The oil age is soon at its end and without the energy from the oil we will be back again at this way of life that Tom described so well. Keeping all the knowledge from the time before the oil will be crucial for the survival of the humans regardless of the color of the skin or to what tribe they belong.
The depletion of the old oil fields are accelerating and new finds can't compensate for the decreasing extraction. Every day about 90 million barrels of oil are burned around the world. That is 33 billion barrels annually. 2/3 of that energy is for food production, tractors, fermentation, packaging and distribution etc. People worry about gas prices that threats their car driving habits. Not many are observing that oil depletion affects our food production many times worse. Oil energy is consumed at 51.3 thousand TWh per year. All the 440 nuclear plants on our planet are producing about 5 thousand TWh, less than 10% of the oil energy. About 2016 it will be clear that the majority of the oil fields are running out and there is not any possibility to compensate for this enormous loss of energy extraction. A decrease of 10% of the oil is equal to all the existing nuclear plants in the whole world. There is no possibility to double the number of nuclear plants in 5 years, not even in 15 or 30 years. Uranium and Plutonium aren't growing on threes either. There is no possibiltiy to build alternative energy production at the scale of the oil. There is no possibility to build windmills, nuclear plants, gas and coal fired plants at that scale to compensate for the oil energy that are disappearing from the market in this short time. The oil that will be left will be confiscated by the military forces because without oil they will be nothing. Countries that have oil reserves will keep the oil in the ground as security for their national debt. Oil will be so expensive so regular people will not have a chance to buy it. The price of all other kinds of energy, gas, coal and sun etc will rise and follow the price of oil due to regular market economic forces. If you care about dynamic quality life then take some lesson from Tom Three Deer and his mother. deep regards Jan-Anders 17 sep 2011 kl. 11.31 Dan wrote: > Tom Three Deer > > My name is Tom Three Deer. I was born on the Pine Ridge reservation at > the southern end of the Bad Lands? I am Oglala Lakota Sioux. My father > had a ranch he inherited from his father who had inherited it from > his? where we raised fine horses and splendid ponies and where the > grasses grew thick and where we were happy. I remember the house as a > big place though I was small? it was dug halfway into the ground and > built from fired adobe bricks with a roof of large logs covered by > dirt and grass that sloped so when the cold rains fell it stayed warm > and dry inside. > > Close to the house were corrals and barns and chickens wandering > aimlessly pecking at the ground and sleeping cats in the sun and dogs > licking themselves. Mother would go each morning to her hen house to > gather eggs and three or four times a year father would butcher a fat > hog and the neighbors would come from miles around to help make > sausage and bring their kids. On those nights there would be a bon > fire with men sitting in a circle drumming their drums and chanting > while women cackled in the shadows and we kids gathered green sticks > to slide the fresh hog intestines over inside out running to the creek > to wash off the shit, and then roasting the chitins over the fire, > eating them greedily. > > We fetched our drinking water from the clear creek that ran singing > back of the ranch and we bathed there as well. Mother had a rock where > she slapped our clothes clean and father strung rope between the trees > growing close by on which she hung out the laundry to dry flapping in > the sunshine and the breeze. There was an outhouse not far from the > house where we did our business and every so often I?d help my father > dig a new hole, slide the john over it, and cover up the old hole. In > the summer wasps made nests in the corners and spiders lurked under > the seat and in the winter I recall hurrying lest I freeze to the seat > itself. > > I had two brothers but they both took sick and died when I was too > young to much remember them. I recall they were born, squalled a lot, > and one day stopped. My father wrapped them in burlap burying them on > top of a hill where a lone crooked tree grew and carved their names on > a flat stone apiece. There were other flat stones there too? my > father?s father and mother and his grandparents too and other names > who I didn?t recognize. Sometimes a storm or the snows of winter would > knock down the stones and father would set them to rights again and > mother planted colorful flowers on the graves. But I recollect it was > still a lonesome and a sad place. > > My two sisters were older than I was and they went to the reservation > school miles away. The school required that they wear uniforms that > made them look like little white girls. My father swore when he saw > them but my mother said, ?Hush.? She brushed their long black hair > until it shined putting it up in braids and made them a lunch each > morning before they left for the hour-long walk to school. On rainy > days father might drive them and in the winter they stayed home doing > their numbers on a chalk board mother kept under the Hudson?s Bay and > reciting Bible verses over and over until they got them right. > > In the spring we?d plant a garden and everyone helped. My father > hitched the most docile horse to a plow breaking the soil so we kids > could work it with hoes making it fit for planting. Mother saved seeds > from last year storing them carefully wrapped in handkerchiefs and > placed in jars that she kept in the fruit cellar. After father was > done plowing he?d go off and smoke his pipe and watch while mother > instructed us where to dig the furrows and how deep and then dropping > seeds in each before covering them up again. She made us put up > chicken wire fencing around the garden to keep the critters out and > she shot any rabbits she saw putting them into a stew. > > Most summers were spent playing and swimming in the creek fishing when > we took a mind to and catching frogs and crawdads when the creek ran > low and we could spot them in shallow pools. The days were hot but the > house held the coolness of the nights being half below ground and the > row of cottonwood trees my grandfather?s father had planted provided > shade from the afternoon sunshine. My father sat on the porch all > summer drinking strong parsnip wine he?d bottled the previous year > sometimes laughing with friends who stopped by and my mother sighed > watching them and shook her head. > > In the fall we?d harvest corn and tomatoes and squash and beans and > dig potatoes and onions and garlic and spend weeks putting it all up > with mother boiling up her canning jars and supervising us kids > picking and cutting up and peeling and dicing. We?d spend days > berrying, picking blackberries, mulberries, raspberries, and > gooseberries. Each autumn father would haul the old sand out of the > fruit cellar bringing fresh sand from the creek bottom in wheelbarrows > spreading it on the cool floor thick and deep. I was short and he was > tall so it fell to me to do most of the work down there but I didn?t > mind. I remember it smelled of earth and of home. What we stored down > there lasted all winter and was still palatable next spring. > > In the winter mother made soup sometimes with venison that my father > shot and buffalo meat when we could find it but mostly with vegetables > from our garden. She boiled it up in a huge stew kettle she kept > hanging over an open fire that served both to warm the house and to > cook our food. Sometimes cinders flew into the soup when she opened > the top to stir it but no one seemed to mind. She bought bags of whole > wheat at the general store grinding it herself on a milling stone that > sat out back by the creek to make fry-bread and biscuits. She made > jams and jellies with the berries we picked and dried the rest to > flavor the desserts she concocted from sugar and cream. > > My father was forced to give up his land by the War Department in > 1942. They knocked down our house and barns and put an army base there > and shot big guns and dropped bombs from airplanes. After a time of > staying in rented apartments in town that smelled of death and decay > we became homeless, living in tents or out of the back of an old pick > up truck with a wooden box for sleeping. I was eight years old. My > father received a small settlement check each month from the United > States government as payment for the land they took from him. He > promptly drank it up. He died of alcohol poisoning when I was ten > years old. They found him in the gutter where he had fallen and dogs > had eaten part of his face. Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org/md/archives.html
