Gettin' High at Edisto

I just finished up a ride of nearly 100 miles, and I feel a little tenderized.  I had not been out to Edisto Island since I worked for the County, many years ago, and it was just the right day for it. There were at least 4 road-killed raccoons, 1 bloated, buck white-tailed deer in a ditch, 3 or 4 heaps o' opossum, and a few smashed snakes along the way, but I was lucky enough to return in one piece (thanks, again, to my reflective vest and reflective triangle with which I always travel).   

I wish I could give more of the credit to the motorists I encountered, but most gas addicts are still moving around as if the fluid was being sold for $1 per gallon (lots of peeling out, revving-up, unnecessary trips, and related my-driving-style-represents-my-stunted-emotional-development antics), which leads me to my current consternation.  Why is domestic oil suddenly so acceptable to so many elected officials and others?  When it comes to domestic employment, they shove their heads into the very holes in our planet for which they are rallying.   It is dishonest for them to brandish the flag of energy independence in an attempt to seem patriotic at the same time they are making it easier for companies to eliminate or relocate jobs.  If you had the choice, would you vote for one more good job in your community that would support a family for a lifetime or cheaper gasoline for a few more years?

Meanwhile, I carted the kayak to a local landing the other day on the X-tra Cycle.  I used a couple of bricks for ballast on the opposite side, and it worked quite well.  The only couple of rubs were that there was no good place to lock the bicycle and I was paddling a whitewater boat in flat, tidal areas.  Such a boat has nearly no tracking ability, so I was only out for about an hour before I tired of the constant corrections required to move in a straight line.  It has me considering the purchase of a sit-on-top, which would not only provide a good track, but which is designed for bringing along fishing gear.  I've grown more and more convinced that I need to make the occasional fish a part of my diet, in order to replace some of the carbon excess associated with soy being my staple source of complete protein.  Besides, once the girls are here and onto solid foods, I want them to have some choice in the way their diets develop.  If they are going to eat animals, I want them to be aware of how food gets to their plates.  Hell, we may even do some hunting, though I'm still a little undecided on what species I/we may pursue.  I'm leaning toward Canada goose or some such other pestiferous species that is less likely to possess the sentient capacity of large mammals like deer that are so often targeted, but we've got some time to make this decision.

It feels a little weird to be writing of killing animals for food, but I've grown less and less convinced that an entirely plant-based diet is efficient and ecologically sound unless a large part of it is raised by the consumer.  Recent, light gardening efforts have helped me realize just how difficult it is to produce an appreciable amount of food without hornworms, aphids, or others tearing apart a harvest.  It makes organic food prices much more understandable, and it makes one wonder what sort of monitoring and maintenance (fossil fueled?) must be required when pesticides and herbicides are not employed.  Anyway, we'll still plant, and I hope to get at least 4 or 5 good crops in this year (some leafy greens, some peppers and tomatoes, some garlic, and others), but we may be using those crops to adorn a few fast-twitchers of the piscine variety, here and there.

Dave and I got in the ride that I was hopeful would happen last weekend.  We arrived just before hunting closed for the day and may have ruined somebody's shot, as we pedaled around a bend and noticed 4 or 5 deer milling about in the center of the road (a no-shoot zone, if I'm not mistaken), about 1/2 mile distant.  Perhaps they knew where to hang out to avoid their demise? 

It was a great ride, save for the many huge, fresh piles of horse dung we had to bob and weave to avoid.  Dave was on a new single-speed 29'er and, as usual, had no problem steaming up my tail, regardless of my use of 3 or 4 gears, but it wasn't a high stress ride.  We got in about a lap and a half, pushed a medium pace, for the most part, and finished up just in time for me to get back to work on time.  I signaled my satisfaction with the ride by smoothly rolling up to the car, failing to unclip my foot successfully, and falling squarely onto the wound on my shin that was barely starting to heal from a few days previous (regardless of having been riding clipless pedals for a few years, now).  Dave calmly inquired, "Are you done?"  I could only laugh.    

Redneck Rain Barrel

Well, I've entered the realm of the rain harvester for real, this time.  At the old house, I merely had a trash can placed under a diverter on the roof, but I've elevated my enterprise to include an honest-to-goodness gutter and mosquito-proofed my trash can.  The gutter wasn't a perfect installation, since it held about 1/4" after the fact, but I simply drilled a hole, mid-way, to eliminate the excess, in a spot that will later accommodate another downspout.  The one on the end, meanwhile, is filling up within minutes in heavy rain.  I tried a meager garden hose for overflow, only to discover in the "test rain" (a.k.a. Tropical Storm/Hurricane Hannah) that a 3" wide downspout will do very well at backing up a 1/2" wide garden hose outlet.  So, one bout of rain in the garage later I am left with the assembly you see represented here.  While I may go with a more aesthetically pleasing barrel in the future, it is hard to argue against the total expense, so far, that has left me far shy of the cost of some of the commercially-available barrels ($60-200), alone (and that's including my garden hose misjudgment...what a band name, huh?).

The day leading up to this screened-top and large hose attachment was largely filled with nearly 4 hours spent registering at Babies 'R Us.  We were not prepared.  I should have known as much when I saw the brochure the helpful staff member pushed our way that creepily issued "Thanks for becoming one of Us," while informing us that we would need to scan 150 items.  I'm not sure if 150 is a requirement, but we had a tough time getting there.  I'm sure the intention is to make money, regardless of the more than friendly service we received, but we were double scanning things we felt most important, just so we didn't put anything extraneous on the list (though our printout was certain to remind us that we had forgotten some "essentials").  Besides, through the generosity of friends and family, we've already got some necessities (cribs, some clothes, and a few other items).  It was not a terrible experience, but by the time it was 1:30pm, we realized we had arrived at 9:30am, and the dregs of society literally started filling the store, we were getting impatient.  Yet another comment was made (this time by staff members of a baby supply store; read more sensitive) on how "small" the wife looks.  Luckily, her doctor has advised her to pay no mind and that the babies are just right.  Just imagine that you are a pregnant woman that has a family history of premature or abnormally small babies that puts her or the baby/ies at risk, and you are the one that sends her home in a shower of tears.  Not pleasant.

As we speak, the financial crisis that is being framed as trivial by our overlords is making its way into the understanding of the many...yours truly, included.  After listening to Dean Baker, Robert Scheer, and Bernie Sanders on Democracy Now!, I'm fuming about it, but at least I now know that advisors to the current "candidates" (read American Idols) had their hands in deregulating financial markets back in 1999 and are, therefore, largely responsible for getting us into this mess.  Perhaps the most upsetting thing is that all those times we, the people, have clamored for decent wages, health care, good jobs, equitable education, social security, and others have been met with the same old song of "Well, it sounds good, but there just ain't enough money to do it."  

So, basically, the argument goes something like this:  We need tax breaks and deregulation for the wealthy so that they can invest money to "grow" our economy (what a euphemism for the root of all evil, no?).  The jobs they create will lack benefits, barely pay beyond the minimum wage, and consist of menial tasks that are planned with obsolescence in mind (eventually to be taken care of by computer systems or shipped to other countries).  Meanwhile, our tax burden remains the same or goes down slightly, our social security is invested in the same markets that are collapsing before our eyes, our children are only educated if we are lucky enough to have the money to send them to private schools, and public services continue to dwindle to the point that fire, police, and road maintenance are the only things left.  I want to believe that capitalism can succeed, and I, by no means, have a full understanding of how this all works, but I can't help feeling like some of this is so obvious.  When we don't assist in educating, insuring, housing, and employing each other, we should not be surprised when many of our citizens turn to crime, especially when the role model that is being cast from more elevated tiers reflects that it pays to do so.  This realm is a little beyond my level, and I don't wish to get too frustrated about it, so I'll move on to brighter things.

I got in two laps at Marington Plantation the other day.  The toughest part was convincing myself that it was alright to get in the car and drive somewhere by myself.  It had been nearly two months since I had done this.  I've increasingly grown to detest the practice, and constantly hearing about all the traveling of others in my peer group, I am left wondering if my generation really grasps the seriousness of our energy situation.  There are all kinds of beneficial things being done to soften our impact, but traveling seems to always fall towards the bottom of lists.  I know people need to travel, I just think the definition of need is blurry.  As for me, I could certainly try riding out to Marington for a lap every now and then, instead of driving, but just the road distance winds up being at least 30 miles (not the most pleasant knobby-tired, MTB ride), with the trail adding another 12, at least.  Maybe I'll try catching the bus as far as it will go.  The trail, by the way, is as fast as ever, excepting the Foster Creek loop.  However, that loop provides a nice, kind-of-tricky creek crossing with lots of large stones, so I did it twice just to make it a little more challenging.  Success, though, also, a sore ass, was mine.  I cannot say enough good things about this trail and Don Watts, the stalwart manager of the property.  What an oasis we have in this system.

I got in a great 30+ mile ride last night.  Though I started with the crew from the shop, I quickly realized that I wasn't up for another twitchy ride consisting of short sprints, then easy riding, short sprints, then easy riding, ad nausea.  I want more distance and more consistency.  I don't ride a bicycle so that I can do better in my next race.  I want to see things other than the ass in front of me while I'm riding, you know?

I'm hoping Dave and I will get in a ride at Manchester this weekend, too (one of the best trails in the state, as far as I'm concerned, regardless of the fairly unfriendly monitors of the property...see one of my first posts for details).

This thing is getting way too long, so I'll hang it up, for now.  Look for something further next weekend and have a great ride, walk, conversation, meal, etc., etc.

 

 

Rain 'Kep a Rollin'

Like a stowaway serpent aboard a raft of vegetative flotsam, I spun and writhed around the bottom bracket of the newly painted steel rig.  After having just finished Culley's book about being a Chicago messenger and painting petroleum jelly on his face to keep his skin from freezing in the winter, I committed to hitting the almost certainly rainy passage to the part-time gig this morning.  After all, it wasn't salted roads and solidified mucous ahead of me.  It was just rain, right?  Yes, well, I'll have to do a little extra maintenance, but it was one of the best rides I've had in months.  The reflective vest tied to the pannier, the reflective triangle under my ass, and the small, red blinking light were just enough to keep me from getting clobbered by a wall of water, and I don't even remember a single car horn.  Sometimes you've just got to eat it...or drink it, as it was...it nourishes/hydrates the soul.

The Raleigh is riding like a champ, despite the "enormous" heft of 24 or so pounds (probably 3 of which could be blamed on my candybar bag full of roadside essentials that exceeds what most would bring).  I don't even notice the weight, but the limited gearing (12 speeds...total) has made me push a little harder.  Simply knowing that the bicycle is nearly my age (nearly 40) assuages any slight dissatisfaction with something so banal as weight, and I feel as if I'm riding atop a work of art.  The "sunbeam" (safety-yellow touring bicycle made by a company that shall forever hence remain nameless; even negative publicity is publicity), while a proven workhorse, only looks artful due to my adornment (Berthoud fenders, etc.).  The Raleigh looks like something that was intended to not only be ridden, but gazed upon at length.  Once the leather bar tape and the honey B-17 saddle are installed, I'll throw an image up here.  

I missed the tour around Lake Michigan with my brother from college.  I'm looking forward to an ebb in our very wet weather, so that I can get in another bicycle camping trip before the twins arrive in November/December.  Bob, I hope you all had a blast, and I was with you in spirit, you must trust.

As for the twins, they will be beauties and not beasts.  She will be with them for the first few months or so, at which point I will take over and begin the indoctrination.  I'm looking forward to the break from work, and I'm sure they will keep me busy.  I'm hoping to make some long-needed headway on the creative fronts with them, and I can't wait until their metamorphoses into garden bugs.  I am anxious to share their inevitable wonder and questions about the natural world, and what I hope will be their inevitable continued questions about this world.  It is exciting to think of how they may or may not share my perspectives and of the conversations about such similarities and differences.  We could all stand a little more humility.  I love my little babies, already.

I do not, however, love the job at this point in my bicycle repair career.  I am not too bent out of shape about it, since I'll be breaking from it in less than 10 months, but retail can really chew you up and spit you out, sometimes.  It is difficult to contain the anger at being treated as less than human, especially when one is cognizant of the even worse treatment suffered by those not quite as white (or male, or middle-aged, or fill-in-the-blank).  That sort of knowledge invalidates any hurt feelings, I believe, and, while I should be uplifted by my relative rapport and consequent comfort, most often, I am not.  I find this acceptable, if frequently upsetting, because I become better at avoiding such interactions with every exchange of stern looks and harsh words.  I like to dream of a future that finds me answering only to myself, in which I am able to operate my mind fully for the purposes of communication.  I do not work for an ass (far from it), but I still feel like I work "for" another individual more commonly than I would like.  This is not an insurmountable problem, but working for an institution, an agency, or the public seems so much easier, sometimes.  At least when a flaming hoop must be traversed within a corporation, a government or other institution, there is a constituency to absorb the corresponding negative reaction.  When the target for such negativity is a "boss" and a good friend, it makes things more delicate.  The hoops to which I refer are relatively few.  In fact, there is really only one, and that is having to "play nice" to a sometimes supremely undeserving audience.  It is not as if I feel I would ever be fired for being "short" with a customer.  Rather, it is the hard time I have capping my temper with those that denigrate the tremendously honorable profession of which I am a small part.  They display their ignorance of economics and the symbiosis of this discipline with ecology and human rights when they do not accept that prices in the market barely provide a decent living for some of us.  I am one of the luckier ones, but I still don't have my own health insurance that would make taking care of the wee ones less expensive, and I work "unpaid" overtime nearly every week.  I say "unpaid" because I may get a few "free" things from the shop here and there, but there is no such thing as an overtime check in my life.  I say "free" because I also donate things to the shop on a regular basis that zeros out the whole game, in effect.

Again, I am one of the lucky ones, and, while I am complaining, I am happy.  I get to work with some of the most dependable, intelligent, and interesting people with which I have ever associated, and we all share the mild frustrations, making their severity seem less pointed.  

Potatoes are going like mad in their pots, the four pineapple plants look as spiny palms of foliage, opening their hands to grope at sky and sun, and the basil and chives, since transplant from their old pots, are breathing easily and plumping.  We're looking forward to the spinach and lettuce season, and are planning a cinder block garden to cradle such edibles.  I also spoke with the local blueberry farm about getting some seedlings to plant in the early part of next year.  We're hoping to land 8-10 or so, enabling us to harvest enough for a pie or two a year that will bring smiles to the girls' faces.  

Speaking of the girls, by the way, the going names for the girls are decided, but I'll hold off on getting them involved, here, since they've not yet signed their release forms (though I do expect them to do well on their morse code examination on me lady's belly next week).  Rest assured, they are good old southern gentlelady names that will connect them to their roots on both sides of the tree.

I just finished "Into the Wild," finally.  I don't know why I put it off for so long, but it reminded me of "Grizzly Man."  I know the author conveys that the protagonist was not so careless, but it seemed like another misdirected effort at becoming closer to the planet.  It was really nice, then, to read "The Immortal Class" right afterwards.  Travis Culley pulls the reader up and down his roller coaster, but he not only doesn't come off the track, he keeps his hands up.  I really liked that two of the most depressing AND inspiring things in the book are explored in the last few pages.  Some of what he writes reminds me acutely of that article I linked within this blog about cities as ecosystems or organisms.  It makes me feel better with our decision not to move from the city, however smaller than his Chicago, of Charleston.  I'm hopeful that school quality and other "familial" concerns will not drive us away from this creature but towards improving it.  It is time to get back on the political treadmill.  I'll write once I've got something (maybe after the maintenance course for the City of North Charleston bicycle force next week...a possibly interesting engagement).  

Oh, and the bombyliid fly, Xenox tigrinus (?), was on the screen in the garage the other day.  BugGuide.net lists it as a larval parasite of carpenter bees, which would explain the pile of sawdust and fecal matter I found a few days later under a small table in the garage.  Hanging next to the massive hole in the table (made by a carpenter bee), was an exoskeleton that reminded me of a tachinid fly.  Only a few weeks earlier, the wife had trapped a small "cricket-fly," as she called it.  It turned out to be a parasitic wasp of some sort.  I suspect it feeds upon cockroaches, based on the number that have turned up, lately, and I seem to remember identifying one like this years ago.  If I see another, I'll try to catch a good image, in the hopes of preventing some of them from being smashed by my more "nervous" readers (no, they do not pose a stinging hazard).  It is nice how little worlds work themselves out all around us, whether we are paying attention or not, huh?  

From the world of the six-legged (two wheels, four limbs),

Brad   

  

Season of Spend

This is the first entry since the old computer crashed.  We got an iMac for two reasons.  The first is that it is made with real metal and real glass (regardless of Apple's not-so-hot rating with those that rate such things as environmental sensitivity, the absence of that much more plastic can only be a good thing) and the second is that it is more functional for what we do most of the time (e-mail, online news, music recording, digital photography, blog entries, etc.).  I could get into more about this subject, but such a debate is better left to people with much less to do than I.  

Our good friend from Missoula way stopped in, recently, so we took the opportunity to finally visit the blueberry farm I used to pass on the way to work every day.  We walked out of there with nearly 2 gallons of the finest ericaceous edibles known to man and only paid $15.  Man, if ever there was a way to be sustainable, this would qualify.  All we need is a few such farms (they need not be the 10 or so acres that this one was) in strategic locations (recently acquired county greenspace property?), and we've got the start of a community garden network.  Charlotte was an inspiration in this respect, as we passed one of their gardens a few times during the course of the certification class, and it was at least a few acres in size and full of people and plants.  They were obviously doing something right (perhaps the fence around the garden was locked to keep out those that would ruin such a good thing by stealing food others had grown?).

I suspect the existing greenway in our area would be perfect for this, but I also suspect that there are a few jerks that would ride their motorcycles through the plants, let their dogs crap on the garden, or otherwise ruin it for others.  I don't like to be pessimistic about it, I just know that humans are not the most respectful animals on the planet.  

I think most of our effort will be in the new back yard, especially since I'd like the little ones to have an established garden once their able to help out.

Speaking of the little ones, tomorrow is the expected appointment at which we'll be learning whether it'll be two bruisers or two beauties.  I'd be happy with any permutation, but I'm still expecting the former.    

As for media to consume, I've not been able to peruse much, lately, but I did just read the newest book about turn-of-the-century bicycle racer Major Taylor, and I did just see a great documentary about an inner-city school called "I Am a Promise."  Both worth a look.

Finally, the bicycles I sent for painting are done.  Turns out the Surly probably had rust before the first paint job was applied, which is why I got problems with rust within two and a half years, while the Raleigh I also sent was only having significant problems after 30.  Looking forward to this last big bicycle build-up before the babies come a' bouncin'.  Hopefully, I'll be able to recover some of the expense by selling a few bicycles I've had laying around for some time.  I hate to part with them, but I'm just not using them much anymore, and I'd like to get down to 3 bikes (1 MTB, 1 tourer-commuter, and 1 road race model). 

Hope you all are well, and send me a comment or e-mail when you can (especially you, Costa Rican...I accidentally deleted your e-mail address).  

  

Tobacco and Queen Anne's Lace

I've lots to unload, so I'll start with the most important news. It is official. We have two little peanuts in the making. Baby 1 looks like a snuggler, while Baby 2 looks like a thinker. We were not planning the pregnancy, but we are, nonetheless, very happy at the prospect and only a little nervous.

There was a time when I was not so thrilled at the idea of procreating. I preferred to think that it was something I was not up to due to selfishness, or that other people only did because they were convinced that it was what was expected of them.

I cannot point to any one thing that changed our situation, I can only say that we are two people that very much enjoy teaching and communicating with children and that have high hopes for the future of our planet. There is no delusion that we are raising the next Ghandi, Mother Jones, Woody Guthrie, or Dennis Kucinich, but we are happy to think that they may live in a world with just such personalities and to share with them the ones by which we have been influenced. As I write this, I am struck by the fact that there is really no supreme argument when it comes to having or not having children. Being trained and educated in the biological sciences, I tend to lean towards the genetic imperative, however subtle its hand (it's not as if we were thinking of the fate of the world or our own fate when we were conceiving). It could just be that we love each other so much and are content with our finances and general health and comfort, at this point in our lives, that we were able to cease thinking of sex as something that need be regulated or altered by birth control. The certain thing is that the motivation no longer matters. We are pleased with the result, and we look forward to sharing our happiness with our family and friends.

We will be doing this from a new vantage point if all goes well. We have a ratified contract on a new, old home down the road. It is a cedar-framed, brick beauty that has a large yard and plenty of space for two new sets of paws. The only hurdle left is getting our current place past inspection and fixing some of what they request without breaking our bank doing it (they already nickel and dimed us on the offer and the closing costs). I'm sure there are a few little things that could use attention, but we've taken care of all the big items and the place is, obviously, totally inhabitable. It just depends on whether they are picky jerks or realistic, good people (we only asked for the owners of the place we're buying to throw in around $200 worth of repairs, for what it's worth). We're looking forward to getting out of this vinyl village more than most of you know. It's all fine and dandy to visit us, here, and note what a swell place this is (thanks to the old lady's decorative penchant), but living here is a different story when you consider our feelings regarding sustainable accommodations.

I just got back from Charlotte, where I obtained my League Certified Instructor status from the League of American Bicyclists. It was nearly two full days of instruction and presentation that, while somewhat redundant for those that have extensive time in the saddle, was incredibly valuable for the future. I do intend to teach this stuff in schools, and I will post progress on that front.

I also got the rare chance to hang with my older sister and her two girls on the last day of the trip. I passed what appeared to be the world HQ for Philip Morris on the way. Interesting that most of the front of the property was pastoral with lots of what looked like prairie restoration or natural succession areas (former tobacco plots?), while the entrances echoed the fortress-chic that one would expect at military bases (who are you, what is your business, and where are your papers?). There was tons of Queen Anne's Lace in bloom.

Do not stand up in the waters of Lake Tillery in North Carolina. There are thousands and thousands of leeches under those waters. I suspect it has something to do with the solid floor of dead and dying introduced Corbicula sp. clams. Check your feet!

Oh, the moth at the header is a pterophorid (Geina sp., I believe) that may or may not feast upon your grape vines. He/she showed up on the back porch a few weeks ago. Also, cool commercial sent by mi hermano:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mTLO2F_ERY

The Little Prince

The doorbell rang on Saturday at around 3pm. I expected a teenager requesting that I buy magazine subscriptions that I don't need but that would, nonetheless, hurtle him towards success or somebody else on a mission from God looking to hurtle me towards the same.

It was not. It was Roq (or Rock...I'm not sure).

The new boy next door stood there with a popsicle in one hand and kicking at the ground to assuage his slight fear. He asked me if I had any kids and explained that he was new to this area and didn't really have any friends. I asked him his name, told him mine, and shook his hand and told him that although we did not have children, we may be expecting some within the year. His eyes flared and his popsicle dripped as he considered the prospect. He then innocently requested, "When they turn ten, let me know."

One day later, I'm at work, and I overhear a conversation among a frustrated new bicycle owner and two of my co-workers. The rear wheel was not being engaged by the turn of the cranks. It simply made a pathetic clunking noise, as if a piece inside the hub was just broken in half or something. After the other two made a case for responding to the situation, his anger remained. He continued, for a few more minutes, to vent fumes that suggested we had intentionally screwed him. It turns out, he had been told to bring it in and that we would take care of it. Unfortunately, the person with which he had spoken, even had he been around today, underestimated the situation and led him to believe it was a "turn of the wrench" kind-of-thing. It was not, and we aren't going to waste the time trying to fix what should be warrantied, besides.

Although such passing of the buck happens more than one would like in life, it is rare that one later gets a phone call from the irate person apologizing for tearing ass while in the shop. He explained that we were inappropriate targets for his griping and that the individual that had led him to believe things were ship-shape had done us wrong.

There is hope, friends. There is hope.

The pictures are from Caw Caw, but I will add more, soon, as I've just been hired to do some contract work rewriting a marsh program for Drayton Hall Plantation. I'll be taking the camera with me, out there, looking to get some shots that I can incorporate in the program materials or in other literature they produce in the future. Visiting there the other day was yet another reminder of how much I miss educating.

Why I Love and Hate South Carolina

The image sums it all up. If the sofa had been a glass bottle or a cardboard box or any number of other things that would have a negligible impact on the water, air, and soil health of the forest and might even benefit the local organisms in some way, then I would not have even taken the picture. As I saw it, however, there sat the flame-retardant-impregnated, carcinogenic bomb amidst pale angels of the hydrostatic layer. It lay in such a place that suggested its former owners were intent on making a statement that trumpeted their opposition to all-things-considerate. While their ancestors and neighbors would have at least found a hidden stretch of road or dead end, these brazen folk proclaimed their indifference and ignorance with pride. Which leads me to yet another recent, annoying article from our local paper, The Post and Courier.

It was an Earth Day soap box piece about litter, for the most part. The implication was that litter is hurting our planet. Is it? Does it really matter whether trash is gathered in a container or strewn about the landscape? I think the answer is...maybe. At least in a landfill, there is a liner, however impermanent, that prevents leaching of toxins to some degree. It also confines (concentrates?) any leaching that does take place to a particular locale. Of course, if groundwater IS contaminated near a landfill, there is a much greater chance that the infiltration will be at such levels as to make it a human health hazard, especially considering population density near landfills. There are too many issues and arguments to settle such a question in such a forum. One thing, however, is certain...there should be fewer things to throw away.

The article totally missed the opportunity to remark on just how much stuff we "consume." The need for landfills would be nearly eliminated if we simply used less and used that which is durable or reasonably biodegradable. It is ironic that the term "consume" is used beyond the market of food, now, since very few of us actually consume anything we buy (if anything, most of what we buy consumes us by competing with our quality of life for limited resources).

It has been said that "recycling rewards consumption." I believe it was William McDonough, and I believe he is absolutely correct (please read his incredible book, "Cradle to Cradle"). We all feel better about ourselves when we are led to believe that recycling will fix our planetary problems, and it keeps us from thinking twice about buying more and more stuff. Reuse trumps recycle every time. Buy durable things and we spend less in the long run, besides.

http://www.storyofstuff.com/

As for the image at the header, I rode the 100 or so miles to the parents' place the other day, which takes me through the Francis Marion National Forest on Hwy. 17. The image was taken near the South Santee River. It was a terrific trip with a mild tailwind and perfect weather. The rest of the images were taken at Lewis Ocean Bay near Myrtle Beach. Sundew, frog's breeches pitcher plant, and yellow trumpet pitcher plant were all in bloom, though no luck on Venus' fly trap. The other two images are from the huge bicycle lane on the huge Cooper River Bridge on the way out of town. I plan on doing more long Friday rides this season and putting the new tent through the paces of a Charleston summer, so more images are definitely to come.