These columns were published in the local newspaper before its publisher evidently decided that my liberal views were inappropriate for this conservative area; here is an excerpt from an email I received from the editor: "...Andy McNabb, the publisher, gave me a call ... He said from now on I’m supposed to make all my columns localized to issues pertaining to the county and its people – not national issues, religious issues, and other controversial subjects. He also asked that I have any guest columnists do the same, if possible."

A friend once told me that the most powerful person in a community is the publisher of the local newspaper. I agree.

Friday, December 08, 2006

What’s in a name? Everything

Civil War. Brings to mind the bloody conflict between the South and the North in America’s past. Lebanon. Bosnia. All of them long lasting and brutal. Wikipedia defines civil war as a war in which parties within the same culture, society or nationality fight for political power or control of an area. Seems concise and accurate. Conveniently enough, the US military in its doctrinal manuals requires that a civil war have five conditions, including the requirements that both sides have regular armed forces and a functioning government; by that definition, Iraq cannot be in a civil war.

It’s obvious that George Bush prefers the military definition, as he and his administration steadfastly refuse to characterize the Iraqi conflict as a civil war. But then, he also believes that we are winning in Iraq, that nearly 3,000 US soldiers have died in a noble cause, and that democracy is on the march in the Middle East.

Since the war began the administration has gone to extraordinary lengths to control the message about the war. Media coverage of flag-draped coffins returning from the war is banned. Prior to every escalation of violence, the administration was out in front of the bad news, telling us to expect more violence for such and such a reason, letting us know they’re on top of the situation. Perhaps pressuring the Iraqi Health Ministry to stop including execution-type slayings in its body count. And, of course, never counting the numbers of Iraqi civilians killed by coalition forces.

Until the November elections, the US corporate media was largely complicit in towing the administration’s line, but the wave that swept the Democrats into power has seemed to stiffen the spine of some outlets. The LA Times and the New York Times have quietly begun using the “CW” phrase, although often with qualifiers such as “on the brink of”. Now, MSNBC’s Matt Lauer has stated bluntly that “…the situation in Iraq with armed militarized factions fighting for their own political agendas -- can now be characterized as a civil war."

Perhaps the Wikipedia definition will become more and more the norm for defining the Iraq war in the months and years ahead as the Bush administration loses its control of the message.

There is a lot at stake for the administration in the characterization of this war: public support for the war, steadily falling for many months, is likely to plummet even further if the American people believe that our forces are caught in the middle of a civil war in Iraq. And so George Bush does everything he can to put a pretty face on an ugly situation.

In my ideal world, George Bush would leave his state of denial behind and level with us about how grave the situation is, and what he’s going to do about it. Rejecting out of hand many of the Iraq Study Group’s recommendations seems a bad way to start. Perhaps George will always believe that denial is just a river in Egypt, and that civil war is just a football game between the OSU Beavers and the U of O Ducks.

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Friday, December 01, 2006

A summer’s day of music and fun

It was a day to remember, a day to celebrate living in Klickitat County. The morning on that August day in 2003 dawned clear and warm, t-shirt weather. The sky held a few scattered clouds at times, just so many soft cotton balls drifting to the east.

At 6:10 pm I drove south on US 97. The sun was two fists above the western horizon, the Columbia River Gorge below me as I began the descent of the Maryhill grade.

At 6:25 I parked way east in the parking lot, knowing from experience that when the concert was finished barely controlled chaos would ensue.

By 6:40 I was settled on the grassy terrace with Adie, whose husband Bill was a volunteer taking tickets at the gate. There wasn’t a whisper of breeze. The westering sun was now below a large building, casting a welcome shade over the gathering crowd. An incredible panorama was visible from my seat: An immense swath of the gorge stretched from east to west. Still sunlit were the dry Oregon foothills above Biggs.

And then, at 7:05, the Los Lobos Bluesband took to the stage and entertained the crowd with four guitars, two drummers, baritone sax, keyboard and accordion. Many people stood and danced in place; others walked down to be near the stage and then gyrated with abandon.

At 7:45 sunset had reached the Oregon foothills. The air was now decidedly cool for my shorts and t-shirt. My bare feet wiggled deliciously in the soft green grass. The music flowed around and through the crowd and, I imagined, high in the Columbia Hills behind us. Vineyards stretched to either side of the stage; perhaps their ripening fruit were dancing to the music.

At 8:15 Los Lobos finished up with “My Generation”. The crowd became restless, many trips now to the restrooms and food courts. At 8:30 an announcement of the “sunset law” that has to do with purchasing alcoholic beverages after sunset.

Finally, at 8:52, Buddy Guy, the man we’ve all been waiting for, walks on stage and fills the whole place with his unique blend of smooth music.

Stars are now visible. I can see Mars, making a rare close encounter with Earth. As the music swells I am overcome with feelings of contentment and joy. Too soon, at 10:15, Buddy Guy ends the concert with “Bright Light.”

The place I’ve been writing about, of course, is Maryhill Winery. Many people were disappointed that there were no concerts in 2006, but Vicki Leuthold assures me that the changes they’ve made this year will improve the coming concerts in 2007 for everybody. That’s right, there will be concerts at Maryhill next summer.

It seemed such an appropriate time to recollect the Buddy Guy concert, with the snow and freezing rain and bitter cold we’ve had lately. That summer day still warms my heart.

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November 16, 2006

A lump of coal for the GOP

After 12 years of Republican rule—12 years that saw generous tax breaks mostly for wealthy individuals, and the reduction of programs that don't primarily benefit the wealthy, such as health care, education, environmental protection and housing—it seems that the Democrats, come January, will do something about the many millions of Americans who labor at or near the federal minimum wage of $5.15 an hour.

The administration has seen a steady loss of credibility as it paints glowing pictures of the economic situation in America: “Some say [the economy] is doing pretty well - well it may be,” Bush said, [but] “People need more money in their pocket, as far as I’m concerned.”

Some concern: Bush may as well have said the word “wealthy” before he spoke the word “people” for all the help he’s given to poor people in the USA.

So, with the GOP still in charge, it’s no surprise that the latest USDA report on hunger in the USA shows about 37 million Americans go hungry regularly, or to put it in the USDA’s obfuscating words, “experience food insecurity.” The Bush administration is saying they’re on track to cut the number in half within five years (good luck to the other 17 million!), although over $500 million in cuts to food stamps over five years was proposed in his 2006 budget, along with the elimination in his 2007 budget of the Commodity Supplemental Food Program (CSFP) that ensures about half a million Americans who fall through the food “safety net” get enough to eat.

Some “safety net.” This net has holes so large that 37 million Americans manage to fall through every year.

There’s no denying it: This has been a prosperous 12 years in the US for wealthy individuals, pharmaceutical and energy companies, and Halliburton. For the middle class and for the poor, it’s been a continuing squeeze.

With inflation eroding the minimum wage, it’s difficult to understand how Republican’s can be proud of their work when every year since 1996 (the last year the minimum wage was raised) they have forced more and more people into poverty. Their endless pronouncements, like Bush’s, that the economy is doing just fine, ignores the “food uncertainty” that so many people experience every day.

A decent boost in the minimum wage would go a long way to help answer questions posed every day by many of our fellow Americans: Should I pay for food or pay the utility bill? Should I pay for food or my medications? Should I pay for food or a visit to the dentist for my child?

Hopefully, the Democrats will provide better answers than the Republicans have, but not in time for this Christmas. Make that two lumps of coal.

November 10, 2006

Perhaps the wait is finally over

Now that the elections are over, it’s time to reflect on what changes are in store for the nation. Those people who voted for a change in direction for the country are hoping that Washington will listen, and deliver. Those people who voted to “stay the course” with the current Republican leadership must resign themselves to the coming changes and work to make sure that their voices are heard, too.

I have closely been watching this election since last spring when the campaigns began in earnest. At first it seemed a stretch that the Democrats would win the House, and a complete non-starter that they would also win the Senate, given the many ways that Republicans have worked to keep their majority. Congressional districts around the country, under Republican leadership, have been gerrymandered into tortured shapes to exclude pockets of Democrats, Blacks and Latinos. At every turn, the administration stoked fears of terrorism. President Bush stated that “terrorists will win if Democrats win”. Anyone who was not with the administration’s Iraq policy was a “cut and run” Democrat.

The Republican game plan was apparent: What seemed to work since 9/11—fanning the flames of fear—would make the electorate fearful of electing Democrats.

Happily, that did not work this time. Seems that most people had finally had enough and decided that the only way this country could dig itself out of the quagmire in Iraq, deal with pressing national issues like health insurance, immigration, minimum wage, and prescription drug costs, and restore confidence in Congress, was to give the Democrats a chance.

I have trouble remembering anything of significance that the current Congress has accomplished, although I do remember George Bush cutting his vacation short and hurrying to Washington to sign Republican legislation to restore Terry Shiavo’s feeding tube. Always legislating for their corporate and religious extremist base, the Republicans succeeded only in alienating the rest of the country.

But woe to the Democrats if, like the Republicans have done for the past six years, they cut out the Republicans from the legislative process. It must be mighty tempting to turn the tables on the GOP and dish out the same treatment. But the Democrats must be above this, or gridlock will surely continue.

Wouldn’t it be truly wonderful to feel that the select group of 535 citizens whom we have elected to such high office are doing their best to do what’s right for the country? The need for health insurance knows no political distinction; the poor of all parties and religious persuasions would be helped by a boost in the minimum wage; real help with the rebuilding of New Orleans might overcome the “Katrina legacy” of the administration and congress.

I’m setting aside, for the moment, my disdain of the Republican Party, and George Bush in particular. They have an opportunity to work with the Democrats to enact long-overdue legislation that will help all our lives. Many of us have been waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

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October 23, 2006

An opportunity for great change

All my life I’ve heard criticisms of Congress, starting with the rants of my grandfather Harold when I was a small boy. He would really get going, waving his hands and shouting at the far-distant ne’er do wells that they were nothing but a bunch of—well, he would curse a blue streak with my grandmother yelling at him to stop using such foul language. If he were living now, the noise in his house would be intolerable.

Seems like there’s always room for criticism of Congress. The Democrats—when they were in the majority—showed themselves unable to use the power of office to bring health insurance, for example, to the many millions of people without it. And the Republicans have fared no better.

I have been without health insurance for the better part of my life, so it’s an issue of particular importance to me. With a one-year exception when I had the Washington State plan for poorer people, I’ve had the ‘pay as you go’ plan or the ‘bankrupting bills’ plan since leaving college in 1973.

I wish there were a viable third alternative. My regard for the Republicans is at a historic low, but I have contempt for the Democrats as well. My granddad and I would find common agreement on the sad state of political affairs this year. Both of us would agree that it’s long past time to throw the bums out.

The one thing that has the power to change everything in Washington is term limits embedded in the Constitution. I just can’t believe that the nation is best served by a system that so protects incumbents that challengers face a formidable obstacle to getting elected; that members can serve a lifetime into feeble old age; that so much of the members’ time is spent raising money for reelection; that the welfare of the nation is less important than the selling of members’ votes to well-financed special interests. But I very much doubt the ability of either Republicans or Democrats to reform a system that benefits them all.

Voting my conscience and choosing a Green, Libertarian or Independent candidate would diminish by a tiny fraction my hope that the Republicans will lose control of the House and Senate.

The only sure thing I’ll do is vote, although there have been times I’ve wondered if my vote really mattered, such as when George Bush lost the popular election but won the presidency. It’s not really one man, or woman, one vote: The Electoral College gives different weights to residents of different states. But not voting is not an option, and the absentee ballot I get in the mail makes it easy to vote, if not to choose.

I urge every reader of this paper, if they haven’t already asked the county auditor to start sending them absentee ballots, to do so immediately. The time has come for great change in Washington, so let’s let our voices be heard.

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October 18, 2006

There must be something in the air

Ahhh, the fall colors, the cool days, the crisp nights; the rain showers, the regular Boom! Boom! Boom! of hunting rifles; a sense that our quiet county road has suddenly become an important link between a large residential area and a shopping center. Only, the trucks, cars, travel trailers, pickup campers, fifth-wheels, and motorhomes all creep past at 15 to 20 mph. You’d think they were in a funeral procession but for the bright orange coats and hats and the fact that every person in the vehicle is looking everywhere but straight ahead.

Two years ago one of these vehicles stopped about 50 yards east of our property. The out-of-town husband shot a deer that was 20 yards southwest of his SUV. Another 75 yards southwest of the deer was our home. I went out to speak with the couple and was told that the husband was always a careful shooter. I pointed out our home with an outstretched arm but the hunter was not penitent in the slightest. I walked away shaking my head.

The first and last time I shot at a deer was in 1970. I had taken Dad’s International Scout up the 4wd road to Leesburg above Salmon, Idaho, just road hunting. On the way back I saw a 4-point buck just 20 yards from the road. I stopped the Scout and turned off the ignition. I pointed Dad’s .30 caliber Army carbine complete with 30-shot clip out the window, aimed at the deer and pulled the trigger. The deer ran off, uninjured.

I sat and thought about that deer for some time. Thought about why I wanted to kill it. Thought about slitting its throat and gutting it and hauling it back home. Thought about how I’d forever remember the deer’s eyes calmly but alerting watching me as I put the open sights on its chest just behind the foreleg. I thought about all the venison and elk I’d eaten all my life, the bounty from a dad who was an avid hunter. Thought about how I enjoyed eating beef and chicken and turkey from the market but didn’t want to take part in the killing of the animals themselves.

The end result of all this thinking left me with conflicting thoughts and feelings; those same thoughts and feelings are present today, unchanged from that moment in Idaho. I don’t hunt for game anymore, although I have no qualms about killing animals to prevent my own starvation. I still eat meat from the market but still have uneasy feelings about it, knowing that modern corporate meat producers have no feeling for the animals they slaughter. I don’t deride hunters for I feel that many people are simply following a hunting instinct that is as old as mankind.

Somehow, though, I don’t have that instinct. And it’s just as well: The numerous deer we feed here, and give names to, would be way too easy to kill. I could kill Sheila with my .40 caliber pistol while I fed her with the other hand. Still, I’d love some venison from a hunting friend or neighbor. Sigh…

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Thursday, October 05, 2006

A Place to Get Away From it All

In the mid-70’s I was living in a neighborhood of San Francisco called Noe Valley with my first wife, Melissa. We had moved to San Francisco from Clayton, Idaho primarily to obtain Primal Therapy at the San Francisco Center. Primal Therapy is a way of dealing with the accumulated reservoir of bad feelings from our childhood. Both of us went through the therapy, beginning with a three-week residence at the Center. This experience transformed my life in many important ways.

Being raised in a small isolated town in Idaho and disliking the congestion of San Francisco, I left The City (as they call it) with the intention of finding a remote location and writing a book about my experience with the therapy. Through a circuitous route I ended up in Meyers Cove, a place west of Challis, Idaho about eight miles east of the Idaho Primitive Area (now called the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness Area; jeez, what a mouthful!). Number of year-round residents? About four in an area of perhaps a hundred square miles, cut off in the winter by deep snow. Nearest electrical service and paved road was 40 miles away. No telephone, no TV, no running water.

I lived at Meyers Cove for a year, caretaking first an inactive fluorspar mine, then an empty dude ranch. I wrote the novel that winter; learned to be alone for weeks at a time; became comfortable with the isolation and lost my fear of the wilderness. Like Primal Therapy, the experience transformed my life.

Meyers Cove—the place and the name—came to represent a state of mind, an attitude, a new way of looking at myself and the world. I try to express that attitude in these columns in The Sentinel: one of deep regard for all life; a commitment to sustainable use of resources; a desire to be honest and fair in my dealings with people; a need be an independent thinker; and a desire to be free of fear.

My experience at Meyers Cove was unique in my life. I found some of my personal limits and expanded them. I learned to be very self-reliant. By meeting life-threatening challenges I learned that I am capable of much more than I would have thought possible.

I wrote about my experience at Meyers Cove in a story entitled “Coyote.” You can find it on my blog at meyerscove.blogspot.com.

I returned to Meyers Cove a few years ago. Although little had changed I did find 14 separate No Trepassing/Keep Out-type signs on the gate to the Rams Creek dude ranch. Seemed to me that the people in the new housing development up there had a whole different experience of Meyers Cove than I had. I guess they were looking for a beautiful place to get away from it all. Their warnings at the gate told me that they hadn’t succeeded yet.

© 2006 by Grady Bradley, All Rights Reserved
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August 22, 2006

A Faint Voice in a Howling Wind

It was a cold day in February of 2003 as I and several other residents of my small town stood on the sidewalk outside the post office. All of us held a sign, crudely made or professionally lettered, and waved it at passing motorists. My good friend Robert, standing next to me, gave his irrepressible grin as he beseeched drivers to read his sign. Others in our small crowd hunkered down in their winter coats and suffered frozen fingers and toes as they tried to gain the attention of the passing traffic.
Despite the differences in the words and phrases, our signs all had one message: Stop the march to war in Iraq.
I have been a news junkie for years, especially with the advent of the Internet. With the Internet I have been able to read not only a wide mix of US-based news, but also English editions of foreign news sources. And not just major news outlets like CNN, The New York Times and The Guardian, but individual voices from around the world.
What I found as I perused the news was that major US sources accepted Bush administration pronouncements without question and passed them on word-for-word. Allegations of weapons of mass destruction and Al Qaeda links to 9/11 went unquestioned. Even the host of my favorite TV news show, The News Hour with Jim Lehrer, gave Donald Rumsfeld a pass in his interview in September 2002.
Where, I increasingly asked myself, is the media in this country? They seemed to be the administration’s pawns and did the administration ever use them!
From overseas, though, there were many voices clamoring for a stop to the rush to war. They weren’t heard here. US journalists, editors and publishers simply gave up any independent analysis of war topics. No wonder, then, that most of the nation came to believe that Iraq was directly linked to the World Trade Center disaster, and that Iraq was working on nuclear weapons.
A current CBS poll shows that 53% of US citizens now believe it was a mistake to invade Iraq, and no wonder: the 308 billion dollars spent so far could have provided 15 million four-year university scholarships, or given every child and many adults in the US full health coverage, or added over five million public school teachers. And the money pales in comparison to the death, mutilation, and misery forced on tens of thousands of men, women and children.
At the time, some residents gave us rude gestures or studiously looked away as they passed. It was a very patriotic time in the US and our message was not a popular one. Robert and I have seen nothing to change our minds on the Iraq war but many others have. I hope that one day, soon, those same motorists will finally have had enough and will demand an accounting for the lies and deceptions that led us into this senseless war.

© 2006 by Grady Bradley, All Rights Reserved

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August 1, 2006

A Quiet Place in a Busy Life

In 1988 I followed an old skid trail that began at the east edge of my property where there were the remains of a loading deck. The trail crossed the property to the southwest where it climbed the western side of the butte and joined a logging road that circled around the butte to the south and led to a gravel pit. This skid trail was the beginning of my trail system.

I’ve been a hiker all my life so it was a no-brainer that when I had many hundreds of acres available I would make my own trails. I first got permission from adjoining property owners and then began. The top of the butte was always my goal. Sometimes I improved deer trails and other times built new ones.

Seen from above, if you could somehow make out the trails in the midst of the trees, the trail system would resemble a spider web, with many cross trails offering alternate routes and loops. I don’t know exactly how long the trails are but years ago a friend walked them with a pedometer and reported three and a half miles.

Most years I rake the main loop which begins at the cabin, switchbacks up the northwest side of the butte to the top then drops down the southern side to the overlook, and then returns to the cabin by circling around the west side of the butte, a total distance of perhaps a mile. Once the trail is raked there is an almost indescribable pleasure in following a narrow path of order in the midst of the forest’s chaos.

This year I’m way behind schedule, having worked as a long haul truck driver this winter and spring, then driving semis to and from forest fires to the present. Still, every chance I get I’m up there with a rake, removing a year’s worth of leaves and twigs and branches and rocks.

Yesterday, on a gorgeous, cool summer morning, I left the rake behind and climbed to the top, a vertical rise of five hundred feet. I followed a newly cleaned trail down through the quiet forest, past ancient snags and new saplings. In one place I’ve worked for ten years where the trail leads through a dense growth of ten to 25 year old firs; here the trees trunks are inches from my shoulder with all their lower branches removed. A cool, shady, twisting tunnel. I felt the familiar sense of renewal and awe as I broke out of the forest and arrived at the overlook. I wrote a poem about the trail system; you can read it at The Overlook

Over the years I’ve asked many people to join me on hikes of this Klickitat County jewel, but few have come; too busy, I guess. Or maybe I’m asking the wrong people. On the other hand, the fewer people who know about it the more likely that the butte will not be developed, and I can continue building and raking and walking for a few years more.

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July 31, 2006

The Golden Rule, Modern Version

I wouldn’t have thought my disgust with the GOP could sink any lower, but the recent passage by the House of Representatives of a bill to raise the federal minimum wage and at the same time give more tax cuts to the wealthy has done it. The GOP leadership did not allow an up or down vote on just an increase in the minimum wage.

Remember when Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist said last winter about the nomination of Supreme Court Nominee Samuel Alito: “We're gonna get an up or down vote on the Senate floor.” He was angered when the Democrats threatened to filibuster to prevent just that. Now the GOP has prevented an up or down vote on a minimum wage increase, evidently having misplaced their principles for the moment as they force the Democrats into yet another box: fail to give yet more money to the rich and be faced with GOP ads this fall accusing the Democrats of ignoring the poor, or give the GOP what it wants.

The Republicans are against minimum wage increases, of course, having held the wage to $5.15 since 1997, but they very much want to reduce the inheritance taxes of 13,000 very wealthy Americans. So a modest $2.10 increase of the minimum wage spread over three years, which wouldn’t even let the fifteen million Americans working at this wage support a family of two above the federal poverty level, is an acceptable price to pay.

My first job at the federal minimum wage was as a weekend projectionist at the Roxy Theater in Salmon when I was 16. I made $1.25 an hour which, adjusted for inflation, should now be $7.45. Keeping the minimum wage below the level of inflation means poor people must work even harder just to stay even.

Since 1983 the top 1% of America’s wealthiest citizens have increased their proportion of all the wealth in the USA from 31% to 42%. I guess the GOP feels that the rich don’t have quite enough money yet and so must cut the estate tax. This, after quietly giving themselves a raise a few weeks ago; looks like the only bad raise is a decent raise in the minimum wage.

I’m constantly reminded of what my then-ten-year-old son said was the Golden Rule: he who has the gold makes the rules. Seems to me that the rich in this country have made the rules for far too long.

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July 16, 2006

Big Trees

Last summer I thinned an area of our forest about 300 feet square, removing 35 trees. It was agonizing at times, deciding which trees to take. The area had been crowded with trees for many decades and sunlight seldom reached the ground. In one place the choice was very tough: a large Ponderosa pine standing between a somewhat smaller pine and fir. To resolve the dilemma I asked myself the same question I’ve been asking for the nearly twenty years I’ve managed this forest: what would be the best long-term (i.e., hundred-year) solution?

Our largest trees are Ponderosa pines, around 32 inches in diameter. The stump of a fir logged many years ago is 40 inches across and had an age of about 250 years.. These are big trees for our area in Klickitat County where we receive an average of just 17 inches of rain a year.

I’ve found several definitions of old growth forests: some say size matters most—30 to 40 inches. Others say an age of over 200 years, or that it’s the mix of different canopy heights, large snags, etc. And still others say it’s all of these things. One thing is for sure as I note the stumps and snags in my forest: there was an old growth forest here at one time.

No longer. From the evidence I’ve found, the last logging of my forest was about 85 years ago. When they logged they probably clearcut, as was the practice then. My largest present trees were likely saplings and survived.

For most of my adult life I’ve been an environmentalist. Some would call me a tree-hugger. From having lived close to the land for so long I’ve gained an appreciation for how ecosystems are impacted by human activity. But I’ve never put trees above people; rather, I’ve always advocated a balance between present needs and future generations. Back in 1921, when my forest was clearcut, there seemed to be no vision of the future. “Take them all,” seemed to be the attitude. Not one old growth tree left standing if it easily could be reached with logging equipment. Seems so shortsighted

Regarding the first question I asked: What would be the best long-term solution? I decided to girdle the large pine, making it the second large pine I’ve girdled here, creating room to grow for its neighbors and creating habitat for birds, insects and squirrels for perhaps 40 years. I gave thanks to the tree for giving its life and will watch for the rest of my own life as it dies and decays and provides a home for owls and woodpeckers and Douglas squirrels. This tree may fall down about the time I die, two old-timers who grew old together.

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July 9, 2006

Truth and Lies

One of my stepdad’s best qualities was his honesty. Maybe that’s where I got mine. Dean always “fessed up” to mistakes, and demanded the same from his children. Or perhaps I was just born that way. In any event, I find it far easier to tell the truth than to lie. And a liar needs a good memory, which leaves me out. But honesty is not the same thing as being frank. I think being frank, although more difficult to achieve, is better than honesty. I think of honesty as telling the truth in reply to a question, and frankness as offering the truth without being asked. I prefer frankness to honesty.

I’ve been long disabused of the notion of expecting honesty, let alone frankness, from politicians. And I well understand their need to be careful of what they say, with video and audio recorders capturing every public utterance. Still, I believe there are times for honesty and frankness from our politicians and public servants. Instead it seems that the very people whom we entrust with the running of this country find it extremely difficult—if not impossible—to level with us.

I blame both Democrats and Republicans equally for this state of affairs. I’ve never held the two major parties in more contempt than I have for the past few years. The Democrats are afraid of speaking the truth for fear they’ll diminish their chances of reelection next fall, and the Republicans are similarly afraid but for a different reason (although they too seek reelection): if the truth be known and widely believed their party would lose its control of Congress and the Presidency. This has been the most secretive administration in my memory, and when they’re not secretive they have a big problem with honesty.

Where is the truth about the civilian casualties in Iraq? About the so-called Social Security trust fund? Health insurance for the forty million Americans without it? Medicare’s Congressionally mandated inability to negotiate prescription drug prices?

I’ll always remember a Pogo comic strip I read many years ago that had this caption: “We have met the enemy, and the enemy is US.” I fear that until my fellow Americans demand honesty, even frankness, from our leaders, we’ll continue to be misled, fed half-truths and outright lies, and be sheltered from painful facts. The truth is, we have a problem with honesty ourselves, and we don’t want to hear the painful facts or be inconvenienced with uncomfortable truths. We continue to vote against our self-interest and return to office the very politicians who could help our lives and instead diminish them.

Honesty. Seems to be out of fashion here in the USA in July of 2006. We can change that in November, but only if we can be honest with ourselves.

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July 9, 2006

Home Sweet Home

I grew up in Salmon, Idaho, about halfway up the state and just south of the Idaho/Montana border. Our family moved there in 1955 when I was seven. My stepdad, Dean, worked for the Idaho Power Company until retirement, and transferred from Pocatello to Salmon for the outdoor recreation it offered.

Salmon is much like Goldendale, although more so in nearly every respect. It’s nearest neighbor larger than itself is Hamilton, Montana, 140 miles to the north. The Salmon River bisects the town. Ponderosa Pine forests on high mountain ranges surround the town. There were a seemingly endless number of creeks that we fished and a limitless number of places to camp. There wasn’t much rainfall, but plenty of snow and cold snaps, the elevation being 4500 feet. The Lemhi Valley stretched to the south all the way to Leadore, and offered outstanding fishing in the Lemhi River.

My friends and I, at twelve years old, floated the Salmon on inner tubes from Williams Creek to Carmen, a distance of about eight miles. No lifejackets. Also at twelve we camped alone above the timberline on the four-wheel-drive trail to Leesburg. There was a huge amount of personal freedom and we took advantage of it without knowing we had it.

I settled in Goldendale eighteen years ago when I bought a five-acre parcel from Tom Cuff. Next year I bought an adjoining five, and ten years later, with my wife Joy, we bought an adjoining ten. For eighteen years I’ve been thinning and grooming the forest, only taking smaller, diseased, overcrowded trees, and have built about three miles of walking trail from our cabin up and around the butte.

As I walk these trails, and work in my forest, I could imagine I was living near Salmon. Large Yellowbelly pines and Douglas firs that have been here for well over a century, cicadas in full song in the heat of the day, sounding like so many small New Years noisemakers that you twirl round and round; deer, squirrels and raven aplenty; the gentle rush of wind that tosses the tops of the trees; quiet nights only punctuated with crickets and coyotes. The only thing missing is running water.

There must be many homes like mine in Klickitat County. Homes that offer spaciousness and privacy and quiet, lots of wildlife, and a sense of peace and harmony. I moved here to escape the congestion of Portland/Vancouver—where I had lived and worked for eleven years—and still be close to my school age son. I stayed for all the above, and more. My fervent hope is that I’ll be here, at my present home, for another eighteen years, and continue into old age the loving process of caring for this twenty acres in such a way that my grandchildren’s grandchildren may admire the now-old-growth forest with its immense trees and be awed by the stunning views from the trails I made so long ago.

I guess this has more to offer than Salmon, after all.

Meyers Cove

About Me

Tuesday, November 01, 2011

Newspaper Columns

What’s in a name? Everything

A summer’s day of music and fun

A lump of coal for the GOP

Perhaps the wait is finally over

An opportunity for great change

There must be something in the air

A Place to Get Away From it All

Truth and Lies

Home Sweet Home

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