Jack Burns Lives!

Heading out on the trail, folks.

My focus in 2007 is to spend more time camping, hiking and reading. Exponentially less time on the Internet. Frankly, all this time on the Internet seems pointless. Groups, blogs, forums or trails, fauna and books? Hmmm. Doesn’t seem like much of a contest.

I’ll be doing the 70 mile section of AT through the Smokies this winter. Hopefully in snow. The Sylamore in Arkansas. Northern New Mexico in March. Canyonlands for five days in April. And that’s just what’s planned for now.

Colorado will certainly be a focus for fall. I hope to squeeze in Northern California for early summer or fall.

Yes, this is going to require fossil fuel, and gawd knows I hate to fly. But I’ve got to get out of the Mid-South. It’s driving me nuts. The noise, the crime, the hatred, mostly the people.

Best to all in 2007…may the wind always be at your back.

Prospero año nuevo,

The Moon When the Deer Shed Their Horns
Chankpe Opi Wakpala

On this day in 1890, December 29, over 200 Sioux men, women and children are massacred by the United States military at what is popularly known as Wounded Knee, South Dakota.

It is the probably the best known event in the American Holocaust and is generally considered the final, decisive event in the “Indian Wars.”

Big Foot, ill with pneumonia and hemorrhaging, flies the white flag over his wagon while attempting to lead his people and fleeing Hunkpapas to safety at Pine Ridge. But during this journey, he is intercepted by Major Samuel Whitside of the Seventh U.S. Cavalry and directed to Wounded Knee.

He complies without incident.

120 men and 230 women and children make the journey to the creek called Chankpe Opi Wakpala, followed by a battery of two Hotchkiss guns. After arrival at camp, the guns are moved to a rise overlooking the camp and two more are added.

One model of the Hotchkiss gun is a mounted, revolving cannon with five 37-mm barrels, capable of firing 43 rounds per minute with an accuracy range of 2,000 yards. A caption of a photograph showing the soldiers and their guns reads:

“Famous Battery “K” of the 1st Artillery.These brave men and the Hotchkiss guns that Big Foot’s Indians thought were toys, Together with the fighting 7th what’s left of Gen. Custer’s boys, Sent 200 Indians to that Heaven which the ghost dancer enjoys. This checked the Indian noise, And Gen. Miles with staff Returned to Illinois.”

During the night, the remainder of the Seventh Regiment, lead by Colonel James W. Forsyth moves into camp. Upon arrival, he informs Whitside he has orders to take Big Foot and his people by train to a military prison in Omaha.

Forsyth is a key figure in the massacre, because he has personal motives to “settle a score.” In September 1968, his elite ranger unit (on a mission to track and kill Cheyennes) was trapped, humiliated and nearly wiped out by a group of Dog Soldiers led by Roman Nose. He was rescued by an African-American regiment known as the “Buffalo Soldiers.”

The next morning, the men are directed to come to the center of the camp for a “talk.” At this point, Big Foot and his people are informed they will be disarmed. The Sioux comply with the order.

Not satisfied, the soldiers decide to conduct a search of the tepees and blankets. The indignity is only mildly protested by the medicine man Yellow Bird, who defiantly dances a few Ghost Dance steps.

Two additional rifles are found, one belonging to a young Minneconjou named Black Coyote. Black Coyote is deaf.

A loud sound is heard, and the soldiers believe Black Coyote has fired his weapon. But this is not clear.

A few of the Sioux try to fight back after the U.S. soldiers open fire. Others flee for safety. Unarmed women and children are shot and killed as they run for the creek bed.

At least 153 are known dead. One estimate places the final total close to 300. Most of the twenty-five soldiers killed, are felled by their own bullets and shrapnel.

A blizzard approaches and the Sioux dead are left were they fell. A burial party later returns and dumps the frozen bodies in a mass grave.

Chankpe Opi Wakpala is a massacre. A genocidal act carried out by agents of the United States government. It marks the end of the Sioux as a free people living freely upon their land.

“…I can see that something else died there in the bloody mud, and it was buried in the blizzard. A people’s dream died there. It was a beautiful dream…the nation’s hoop is broken and scattered. There is no center any longer, and the sacred tree is dead.”- Black Elk

“The nobility of the Redskin is extinguished…the Whites, by law of conquest, by justice of civilization, are masters of the American continent, and the best safety of the frontier settlements will be secured by the total annihilation of the few remaining Indians. Why not annihilation? Their glory has fled, their spirit broken, their manhood effaced; better that they should die than live the miserable wretches that they are.”- L. Frank Baum, Aberdeen Saturday Pioneer (also the author of the Wizard of Oz)

Estimates of how many native people lived in the Americas during the 15th century range from a low of 8.4 million to as high as 112.5 million persons. The most realistic estimates are between 20 and 35 million persons. It is estimated that over the centuries of European colonization about 2 million to 15 million American indigenous people were victims of deliberate acts of genocide, disease (sometimes via deliberate infection) and exploitation.

Why is it important we never forget? It’s important because societies that deny or forget their past sins tend to repeat them. And that’s certainly the case with the United States.

The United States is the number one exporter of terror on the planet, carrying out global atrocities through direct force, proxy forces and diplomacy.  As a society, we’re in complete denial about our true national identity. Our nation has a false consciousness, one that can only be corrected through education of the ignorant.

It’s ridiculous to say “Yes, we fucked up. We’re sorry.” And the reason is we’re still fucking up. In South America. In East Timor. In Iraq. In Palestine.  On our own continent via the deliberate and systematic destruction of habitat for non-humans.

But don’t hold your breath and expect any big changes any time soon. Even with a Democratic Congress. Even a Democratic President.  The reason is America is subservient to the law of capital and its expansion. Anything that gets in the way of profit is an anathema. Ecosystems, non-humans, humans. It doesn’t matter.

Thanks to a recent attack on the Constitution, people that stand in the way or ask to many questions stand the risk of being rounded up for “talks.” Just like the Sioux, we’re inhibiting progress. And we all know how that turned out.
Sources:

Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee, Dee Brown
A Little Matter of Genocide, Ward Churchill

photo credit: birdsofoklahoma.net

Happy to report the sighting of another migratory bird species, Regulus calendula, or Ruby-crowned Kinglet.

I saw this bird, a female, last year but had difficultly with the identification. The female lacks the distinguishing red patch on its crown. Like the previously cited Pine and Prairie warblers, and I’m fairly certain this is the same bird I saw last year.

It’s one of the smallest birds in Tennessee, a winter resident.

Tomorrow’s task is to get a definitive photo of all three recent visitors.

Special thanks to Michael Lewis for recently posting this on the Haydukespeaks! listserve….

Merry Christmas, Pigs!

By Edward Abbey, from Abbey’s Road

Scrooge was right. What I like best about Christmas in the desert is the conspicuous absence of Christmas. By late December the cone-nosed humbugs are gone and all the horny elf toads retired into their burrows for the season. When somebody asks me what I think of Christmas (nobody ever does), I reply, “Not much.” Easy to avoid it our here in the rocks.

Think about Ebeneezer Scrooge and Bobby Riggs, the twin patron saints of us middle-aged cryptoliberals. Cryptoliberal? Well, sure, why not? I have been called other names even worse. Misanthrope. Sexist. Elitist. Crank. Barbarian. Anarcho-syndicalist. Wild conservative. And my favorite, from a Maoist lady in New York–she called me a creeping Fascist hyena. Quite true, so far as it goes (you can’t please everybody), but they forget to add that I am a pig lover too.

The pig I’m talking about is the one known also as a peccary or javelina, the wild pig of the Arizona desert; not a true pig exactly, according to zoologists, but a good approximation–a close relation. Close enough for me, and the javelina, commonly defined as a “wild pig-like animal,” is the best kind of pig. Though that definition, come to think of it, is a shade too broad. Some of my best friends qualify as wild pig-like animals without half trying. But that’s another issue. The fault of the permissive social atmosphere, the Bill of Rights, the general weakening of moral fibers everywhere you look.

Back to my topic: Christmas and pigs. Have you ever stood alone under the full moon in the prickly cholla-mesquite desert on the night before Christmas and found yourself surrounded by a herd of hungry, snuffling, anxiety-ridden javelinas? I have, and it’s a problematic situation: some of those little fifty pound beasts carry tusks and have been known to charge a full-grown man right up the hairy trunk of a saguaro cactus. That’s the story I’ve been told by old-timers around here.

(more…)

My Pine warbler (Dendroica pinus) friend has returned for the winter. I strongly suspect it’s the same bird that appeared last winter, because I’ve only seen one, and it comes to exactly the same suet feeder at the exact same time of year.

Although it’s a common species in the south, I’m not sure why I’m only seeing this one, migratory individual. There are plenty of pine trees around, and this species is known for eating large quantities of pine seed.

It is a common practice for some migratory birds to return to the same locations year after year. In some cases, to the same feeders and on exactly the same day as the previous year. Of course the only way to be certain this is “my bird,” would be to band the bird and match the band the following year, but this is impractical for a casual “birder” like myself.

The bird is known as Paruline des pins in France.

While the lifespan of the Pine warbler can extend to as much as seven years, the more typical lifespan is two to three years. So this could easily be the last year for my little friend. I hope not, because she (possibly a “he” but the color seems dull for a male) is an important and well loved member of my community, one I hope is around for years to come.

And while we’re on the topic of birds, I’d like to take a moment to present my thoughts on feeders. Some friends in the environmental community don’t care for feeders; others use them liberally.

The argument against feeders is twofold. One, it makes some species congregate unnaturally and can therefore spread disease. I suppose this is possible since an infected bird could easily pass its infection to another bird in close proximity; however, I cannot find a single study that provides any verifiable data about the severity of the issue. Secondly, feeders themselves spread disease, especially avian pox and Salmonellosis. This is definitely a problem, but almost always with unclean feeders. Keep your feeders clean and well spaced, and there shouldn’t be an problem.

I suppose I’m really torn on the issue. With the exception of birds, I abhor the practice of feeding non-human species. Bird feeders do appear to be a generally accepted exception to this rule, and it is a practice supported by scientists and Audubon and The Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Who am I to argue with them?

I’ve decided that the birds will go to other feeders if mine are not available, and I’d rather have them come to clean, well spaced feeders stocked with high quality seed than a dirty one around the corner. That’s my selfish, somewhat well reasoned argument.

Interested in comments, pro or con….

Postscript: we definitely have the Pine Warbler, but a Prairie warbler has also made it’s presence known. They are similar but sometimes confusing species, both common to the area. The Prairie is most likely on its way to Florida.

Riverwoods photos are here.

In my previous post, I failed to mention why I believe the new road through Riverwoods Natural Area is unneeded.

Germantown and state officials have statistics that show there’s too much traffic on Farmington Blvd. I agree.

Where we disagree is on the solution to the traffic problem. The guvment wants to reroute the traffic to the north side of the city, through Riverwoods. They maintain this will reduce traffic, pollution and noise levels around Farmington, and for the short term, this may be a true statement. In the long run, we don’t know the result. All we know is we’re taking the noise, pollution and some of the traffic from one spot and moving it to another spot on the north end of town.

And as it’s often said, “build it and they will come.” Most assuredly true when it comes to road building, since people that have used other routes to neighboring Collierville will probably start using this route. As the population increases, so will the traffic. As things get clogged on the new route, people will once again take Farmington.

So, while it may eliviate traffic issues on Farmington for the short term, the current eastward growth trends in this area indicate this is little more than a “band aid” solution.

The road will also bring commercial development. The area is zoned agricultural today; however, there’s nothing to prevent the city from rezoning and allowing commercial development years afterward. What’s now a quiet, wooded home for deer, coyote, racoon, bobcat, woodpecker, heron and owl will become a busy, noisy, lighted thoroughfare for a never ending stream of SUV’s.

The only viable long term solution to the traffic problem is to find other modes of transportation. Spending millions of dollars on road building in a Peak Oil world simply makes no sense. What does make sense is building more bike lanes and reconstructing communities so people can walk to work. Let’s use all this technology we’ve developed and allow more people to work at home with VoIP telephones. I do it everyday. It works well, and I’m more productive at home. Build a rail service around the interstate loop that encircles the city and one straight down the middle of Poplar Ave. All of these approaches, if implemented, could have dramatic effects.

But I have no illusions. People in this area like their cars and big old SUV’s. They want to go where they want when they want and at the speed they want. There’s little or no consideration of the real cost to maintain this lifestyle, and there’s no consideration of the long term effects.

After all, Jesus is coming back, and it’s all going to “pass away. Right?

Believe me. Some people (most people) are doing all they can to insure that the earth “passes away” as quickly as possible.

Last night I had the pleasure of attending a public hearing concerning the construction of a new road through the Riverwoods Natural Area. It wasn’t much of a hearing, however, unless you came to hear public officials and developers talk about how much their new road would “enhance” life in our community via the reduction of noise and pollution and increased “access.”

The guvment was very clever in how it managed the time during the two hour event. First, they started late, but since they started late, their presentation and those of the developers ran over into the time allotted for questions from concerned citizens. In the end, the Q&A portion only lasted 15 minutes of the two hours, not counting the fifteen minutes or so set aside for reviewing maps and drawings.

For those unfamiliar, Riverwoods is an heavily wooded area on the north side of my community, Germantown. It’s adjacent and runs parallel to the Wolf River, a waterway that runs on an east-west course and eventually joins the Mississippi River near Chickasaw Bluffs.

In 1973, the area was donated to the nice little old ladies of the Garden Club, and then in 1978, a 21 acre section of the area slated for road construction was designated a state Scientific Natural Area.

Since development is prohibited in such areas, you’d think the road building lobby would have been stopped in their tracks, but no. This project has apparently been in the gun sights of the development community since 1969, and their progress has been steadily but surely inching forward each decade.

First came Humphrey’s Blvd. Then Wolf River Blvd. Except Wolf River Blvd. had a big two mile hole in it, and it’s that hole the developers now wish to fill.

Since when have a few trees and non-humans ever stopped the completion of a five lane road that’s 80% complete?

(more…)

Photo: Bill Pinson, North Mississippi

It’s duck season again in the Delta, the biggest season of the year, other than football, of course.

Thousands of Southern men and boys are jumping into their 4×4′s, pick ‘em up trucks and SUV’s, clad in Gortex camouflage gear, equipped with Beneilli and Browning shotguns and ready to get their limit or possibly more. The less fortunate carry Remington’s purchased at Wal-Mart.

The whiskey and the stories will flow and birds will be slaughtered by the thousands during the annual observance.

It’s made possible by the Mississippi Flyway, a bird migration corridor that generally follows the Mississippi River from its northern terminus on the Arctic coast of Alaska. Millions of birds, roughly 40% of all North American migratory waterfowl species, fly via this route. It narrows considerably in Arkansas and Louisiana, producing a paradise for hunters in the Delta.
(more…)

Sometimes the most simple things in life bring great pleasure.

This morning, while walking the recyclables up to the street, I heard the unmistakable call of a Great Horned Owl (Bubo Virginianus) in a Sweetgum tree about ten feet away. The first one I’ve ever heard around the house.

Then, in the bright light of the waning gibbous moon, the owl took off to another tree, spreading its massive wings as it moved effortlessly to the next perch.

Probably waiting for a chipmunk or a house cat, although they’re known to take larger prey, including skunks. Other than man, it’s an apex predator in this area.

Or maybe it was looking for a mate. Courting and nesting occurs in this area from late December to January. It is the earliest nester of all owls.

It’s good to know that this magnificent animal is alive and well in my community!