Jan-Anders Andersson, and Dan....
and faithful reader... Today it is a celebration here in Williston, North Dakota. The 60th Energy Celebration here in the MonDak region, sponsored by Halliburton and friends. I'm not attending at the moment, as its raining on their parada (yay!) and I'm jealous of my limited time in town and would rather use the wifi in front of the Raymond Family Community Center and chat with old friends, than gaze upon the "Miss Williston Basin Energy Queen Pageant" and roughnecker olympics, but the pull of energy is undeniable. I mean, there I was, sitting at home in a comfortable place in Northern California foothills, figuratively and literally, a Sweetland, and here I am in North Dakota, in the rain, avoiding the parade. And damn glad to be here, all in all. I got in 53 hrs last week, I've had three separate offers of employment, and I'm just about to start a big framing project with a new boss for twice the bucks plus an oppotunity for housing for my family next year. Also, I'm supposed to drive backhoe next week and I just LOVE digging nice straight ditches with a backhoe. So much fun to be had on this planet! Its almost easy to forget the cost of all those carbons we burn in our play, and around here, nobody every shuts off their diesels, be it pick-up or semi, be it winter or summer. As long as they're up, their engines are running, warming up and offering life and energy against the cold. I haven't experienced the cold yet. I'm figuring I'll probably skip that part. I mean, I DO have a home and family in California. What do I look like, stupid? When the harvest season is over, one either hibernates or migrates. Smart animals that can, migrate Using fossil fuels to do so. Right now, they are running ads on the radio. Very professional sounding ads they are too, about the great efficacy of extracting oil from shale by a process called "fracking" I could explain it to you in detali, or you could look it up, but it definitely works or there wouldn't be this huge boom going on. The unemployment rate in Williston is 1%, because there are fields and fields of "mancamps" full of workers extracting oil from shale. Something they once said was cost-prohibitive. Well, I guess it depends, like all things, upon your economic balances. at $100 a barrel, it pencils in. Big-time. Halliburton trucks everywhere - Halliburton developed the technology of fracking and thus they are the kingpins of the whole operation. I attend a little SDA church in Williston. Not so much because I'm all that devout about church attendance, but when you're living away from home, it's kinda nice to have a sort of family away from home and church gives you that. At least, the SDA church does. They're kind of a tight-knit and clannish bunch in many ways. Anyways, last week I drove 50 into church from the jobsite, about 12 miles south of Watford City, where we've been pouring the foundation and when I got there I found out from a sign on the door that the church was meeting that day at the Theodore Roosevelt National Park, located about 12 miles south of Watford City. I was a bit chagrinned, at all the driving, but also amused. I Did some shopping, a little internet, and then dashed back, whence I'd come. The farmhouse that our crew was remodeling, was just over the rim from the park. The Bad Lands. Hah. What a misnomer. I wrote a bunch about these "bad"lands, because I compared them with the "GRand" Canyon and found them about 10 times more wonderful, awe-inspiring and gorgeous. The Grand Canyon is a sort of TV spectacle for the eyes. A vast view that makes a big pretentious presentation but after a minute or so, you've seen it and it's time to get back behind your windshield and on to the next view. The Badlands tho, illuminate and invite and inspire like nothing I've ever seen. Their layers are rounded and smoother. If you fall into the Grand Canyon, you plummet and die. If you fall into the Badlands, you roll and laugh. Especially this year, with all the rains, they teem with trees and life, bursting through the seams. "The Badlands, bursting at the seems." Would make a good motto. All they need is a little marketing, but something about North Dakotans makes me think that Marketing is not their deal. Around here, you hear mostly plainspeak, doncha know. There is that constant query (doncha know) in everything. Because northern climes tend to accentuate survival skills such as seeking consensus. You can't afford to argue ephemeral cosmologies when there's a blizzard coming. Even the way they say "North Dakota" comes out "Nordic-ota" which tells you all you need to know about the character and genesis of this people. More blondes than you'll ever see in California. Anyway, back to the badlands and the church service I missed. What I did end up doing is talking to an old indian "medicine man" I guess one term would be, for about 4 hours at a picnic table. One thing I've learned is that the indians you meet at Adventist church tend to be awfully interesting people and by far the most interesting people in the room. We talked about Napolean, the battle of Marathon and Desert Storm and flies and bugs. He showed me a little fly, that if you leave it alone, its vibrations chase off all other flies. What useful information you get from indians! He'd been there at Desert Storm and had some rather interesting stories to share about the French tanks spearheading that little scheme and all. Stuff I won't get into now, because the subject at hand is, and has been ever since THAT adventure, the oil in the ground, and the power that accrues to those that tap it. However, if you ever get tired of living in such a world, there are others. There are lands of limitless possibility, just outside your own back door. Lands of be-ribboned beauty whose magnificence only accentuates with the colors of the setting sun. Well, maybe not YOUR outside door, but mine for sure. On Sat, Sep 17, 2011 at 10:50 AM, Jan-Anders Andersson < [email protected]> wrote: > 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 > 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
