I have been lucky this year. Not only has my daughter entered the world bright eyed and smiling, but even my fig tree is baring fruit. Figs are unique in the world of fruits, I never had the opportunity to eat one fresh until my sojourn here in Japan and ever since they have been my favorite. The Japanese character for the fruit even means the fruit with a flower (無花果). This is the tree I bought last year and have been surprised to see fruit on as the man who sold it to me said it would take three or more years before fruit started to appear. Lucky me, lucky indeed!

Author In His House

Les Stroud is probably now the most famous survival expert out there. His show Survivorman was a tremendous success and has helped many people survive life threatening ordeals through a combination of entertainment and instruction in a real world setting. I personally found his show a great viewing experience.

When it came to his book, Survive!: Essential Skills and Tactics to Get You Out of Anywhere – Alive, I was a little more hard on him. I expected a lot of good advice, and that he did communicate, but one word can sum up my biggest criticism of the book: repetition. I think he said many stories and anecdotes at least three times, and talked about making several items more than was needed. He made it clear that it is hard to make specifics when it comes to surviving in many places because each situation is different. Fair enough and back up in his anecdotes, but he could have said it much more concisely than this book put forward. So that brings you to the other feeling-it was sort of stuffed to look like it had more in it than it really had.

In the Acknowledgments he talks about how the book was basically ghost written by Mike Vlessides who gleaned most of the information to fashion the book through phone conversations with Les. Plenty of people do this, and I know Stroud isn’t a writer so that doesn’t bother me, it is just the unending repetitions that make the book duller than it could be.

What did I like about it? Many things, including a stress on drinking water whenever possible. In my hiking experience water is often the point that can brake you. The ability of a fire to keep you alive and mentally calm is heavily stressed. He makes it clear that attitude trumps animals, that little efforts can produce the best results, that rest is essential and that a good balance of conservation of energy and expenditures to get you out are very important. So I learned from his book and you can too. It is a good book for people who don’t know anything at all about being in the woods. If you’ve been out there for any length of time you already know a great deal and his book will only aid in helping you see things in a more creative way. Much of it boils down to common sense and a person’s ability to stay calm or focused in a rough environment.

I will say this, Les Stroud does what he can to communicate to people their need to be alert and knowledgeable about the world in which they live. Survival situations do happen and people would benefit from preparing for the worst. That way all of us can still enjoy beautiful places, but get back home alive.

Today I checked how many people were posting about this, the second month of 2011. An amazing number of posts, many of which were by organizations posting this month’s events or bands posting their upcoming gigs.
Wishing everyone on WordPress a great month of blogs!

Shutting the book of Japanese ornamental gardens he picked up the phone and dialed slowly.

“Good morning Mr. Blake, what are you up to today?”

“If you need to ask you already know.”

“Blake it is a courtesy to ask, besides you really are doing nothing, am I right?”

“Hard to find a chance to see you admit you were wrong.”

“I was thinking to go for a ride. I might even end up taking a few steps on the Trail.”

“I’ll be outside my shack.” He spoke as if crestfallen, but TL knew he was interested by the way he took the initiative in going outside without prodding.

The car pulled up and Blake stepped into the big car.

“When was the last time you thought about buying a new car?”

“1979, but we don’t even care.”

“What?” His side glance stuck to him. “Have you been drinking?”

“No, just a thought. 1979 is the answer Blake, I bought this car from a little old lady who had only ever driven it to church on Sundays and the grocery once a week.”

“Well wouldn’t it be better to have a smaller, more economical machine to drive?”

Maudlin pointed to his passengers shirt as he drove.

“I didn’t know the Devils advocate wore plaid shirts and tan slacks. If you think I go in for all that smaller is better, gas mileage, space saving mumbo jumbo you should check my trunk for Elvis’s real body and sniff the gas tank to see if this thing runs on grain liquor.”

They were already out of town and the trees glided past.

“Roll down your window. It’s a big window and a lot can be heard through it. Birds, chipmunks, the leaves as they are whipped up when we pass.”

Blake manually rolled down the window and breathed in the forested air. It was sunny but not too hot. The birds were around, but too far off the road under the shade of the forest to be heard with any recognition. Mr. Blake closed his eyes.

“This brings back memories.”

“Everything does.”

“Oh, not really. My house brings back a lot of hard memories. Times I got angry when I should have been constructive. Mistakes on the daily level, you know what I mean.”

“Yes, my house has a few of those memories too.”

“But this, the sound of the road, the sound of the road through the trees, this reminds me of Sunday drives.”

They were silent for a long time until the car, as if by some psychic power unknown to either of them, pulled off the road and stopped in a gravel patch big enough for three cars to park. TL wasn’t entirely sure why he had chosen this particular spot, then again it might have been the car.

“Let’s get out and have a look.”

They shut doors behind them, the feeling of being in the shade of big trees on a sunny day made them feel 30 years younger. They stepped up to a barred gravel road and stood there looking around for a moment.

“Maudlin, look!” And there on an ancient oak tree, older then themselves and just as solid, was a white blaze painted on its bark.

“There are no coincidences. Shall we go for a stroll?”

“We haven’t got anything with us. No water, no food, no packs.”

“What do we need them for? Let’s actually look around and listen and look from side to side for a change. The only goal is being here and I am happy already, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am.”

The two men walked up the gravel road until the trail diverged into the woods. Soon they were seemingly miles from the car, decades from themselves. Dirt pounded by other hikers come before. Rocks and trees and deer tracks and rabbit scat and fallen leaves in brilliant colors.

“You never answered my question TL.”

“What one was that Mr. Blake?”

“Does she have a sister?”

“She does, but I am afraid she is married to a firefighter in California.”

“I can’t fight fire with fire. But being in the woods helps me get a little bit more back from what daily living can steal from you. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Hmm. Houses and comfort help us live longer I suppose, but nature has a raw power that can stir the soul and strengthen the bones. That’s why I always wanted to be a farmer.”

“You did?”

“The farmer owns the barn but the barn ends up owning the farmer you might say! Not really in my mind. Being outside is a great thing. It gives back what it takes. Theroux knew it, he just couldn’t fit his vision into the shoes of a farmer. Sort of sad really, he had to farm his bean fields to keep things up. Being outside is where the art of the forest and the dance of light is really. Forgive me Blake, walking and talking are blood brothers for me.”

“I don’t doubt it TL. So she doesn’t have a bacheloret sister.”

“My goodness are you still thinking about that?”

“It’s the nature. It makes me have ideas Maudlin. It tricks me because there’s no reflection of my age here. The rocks never aged, the trees only got a little taller and a little fatter since last I walked this path. So I feel in good company.”

“I can concede to that.”

“Where is she today, this young lady?”

“I don’t know exactly. Some parts of her life are still a mystery to me. Perhaps I like it that way. I knew everything my dear wife did, where she went, who she knew, though I loved her there was very little in the way of mystery involved. Maybe only that she still loved me after all those years, that is the greatest mystery of all.”

“What about Sally?”

This made TL stop in his tracks.

“What on earth do you mean?” TL said, a grin appearing on his face.

“Do you think I would get along with Sally?”

“Like vinegar and smoke! Are you serious?”

“No, but it made you stop walking so I could take a rest.”

“You can respect and admire Sally, and yes even find her a tad bit interesting, but only in a fiery platonic sense. She sells books, how could a man like you NOT like her on some esoteric level?”

“A quickly mounted defense, but I’m still interested in her. She’s got that stuff-Geneva vespa.”

“What?”

“Genovese sequens…”

“Do you mean je ne sais quoi?”

“Of course I do Maudlin.” To which Mr. Blake began stomping along the trail with a straightened back and a brisker walk.

“Ha!”

They walked further down the trail until reaching a look out. The forest spread out below and the breeze came over the tree tops to them in a friendly way.

“That’s a view.”

Mr. Blake said in a hushed, gruff voice, to which TL didn’t turn. He let the moment pass, gave Mr. Blake his moment. He didn’t want to embarrass his friend, turning to see if he was crying.

“Billy killed Angel you know.”

He was looking out the window past the snow covered field, looking at the line of tall pine trees. An eagle hung out there in summer, waiting for neighborhood cats to venture out on their lawns. Waiting, like he was waiting, to see what she would say.

“You might think so, but no one in town would believe you.”

“A few might. They knew Billy was doing something wrong, even if he was good at hiding it.”

“The evidence seems pretty slim Hal.”

“No, evidence is often more internal than physical. Some metaphysical sense is telling me Billy killed Angel without letting me know how.”

“They haven’t found her. She might be alive.”

“But Billy told everyone she was dead.”

“Billy’s been up to no good all his life, you shouldn’t believe what comes out of his mouth.”

Venom tastes bitter, at least that’s what Hal thought Linda might say about it. She was full of bitter venom at that very moment looking out at the cold rear end of a Maine winter. Only one more month of white and then it would be muddy for another month, then hot and dry, then cold again for 7 more months. She was not getting enough sun shine. He wasn’t getting much of anything out of life either.

“So Billy killed her then. You’ve got your mind made up on it.”

“It’s what it is. You think they would have lasted?”

She was looking out at the same line of trees, looking at the undergrowth of dead branches tangled together like all the people in the small towns around here. She was wondering how it would end up. People used to do something with their lives. Then they all moved on. Drugs. It’s killing more than Angel or Billy. It’s killing them all.

“So what if I decided you’re right and Billy killed that girl of his, on purpose or by accident. What does it matter at the end of the day?”

Hal wasn’t sure how to answer that question. It was the deepest question his wife had every asked.

So I remember hearing about this book and how it had been one of those novels that wouldn’t be aloud in High school libraries. This didn’t matter all that much to me because there were lots of guys at my High school who thought it was cool to sit in the dry, industrial warehouse known as the library and read Mein Kampf.  So I downloaded it and started reading it. I got 69% of the way through then figured Agatha Christie’s biography would be a more rewarding endeavor.

So what is my beef with J. D. Salinger’s famous novel of teenage angst? Maybe I was just annoyed by his turns of phrase, his constant use of the Lord’s name and of course a constant running fascination with sex. The novels anti-hero, Holden Caulfield, is a strange mix of older personality in a younger person’s body. A 17 year old who is able to buy a drink and pose as an adult. Maybe it’s just the lying that gets me. He lies too well for a 17 year old actually. His constant idea of having an intellectual conversation equates to having a talk either about sex or complaining, or complaining about sex. New Yorker’s are a people who like to complain, it is part of who they are, but to call it an intellectual conversation is sad. To be honest I thought On the Road was a much better read, an adult talking about adult things. Often with eloquent turns of phrase and interesting observations about his generation.

Well I won’t complain, I just change up my reading list. The Kindle has been good for getting me reading again, but with an added problem: I had to return books I has stopped reading because I’ve been reading too much on my Kindle instead!