Solastalgia?

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New York Times

The New York Times Magazine for Sunday has an interesting piece on the developing field of ecopsychology, which explores the ways in which mental processes and mental health are affected by the environment.

Solastaglia is a word for what we experience when we see damage to our world. This experience varies from place to place. But around here, that would be what we experience when we see a beautiful farm we knew as children bulldozed away for a development. Or woods cut down for timber, leaving behind stumps and mud. Or a new road cut through the countryside. It makes us feel sick.

After Rome fell, brutal hardship

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Hans Holbein the Younger, “Death and the Plough”

Part of getting older, I think, is to increasingly wonder how the world came to be the way we found it. To answer some questions, to try to get to the roots of culture, one must go back a very long time. Just now I’m trying to better understand what happened after the fall of Rome.

Most histories of Rome leave off around 410 A.D., when Alaric I, king of the Visigoths, thoroughly sacked Rome. Or 476 A.D., when the last western emperor was deposed by a Germanic chieftain. What happened then? How did the conditions of medieval Europe unfold out of the ruins of Rome?

I just finished a book on this period. It’s The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization, by Bryan Ward-Perkins, Oxford University Press, 2005.

With historians, there are trends. For example, a history of Rome written a hundred years ago will probably be an administrative and military history of Rome. The Roman record will be accepted with little challenge and skepticism, and profound questions probably will not be asked.

According to Ward-Perkins, a new trend of Roman histories arose starting around the 1960s. Many historians of that era questioned whether Rome really fell at all. Rather, they saw medieval Europe evolving or “transforming” smoothly and nonviolently into the medieval world. Ward-Perkins does not agree with that view, and the purpose of this book, really, is to challenge that idea.

Ward-Perkins does this partly by invoking the archeological record. Much of this archeological work is new and was not available to earlier historians. It is dull data, but very revealing:

— Coins: How many were found, and when, and where?

— High quality pottery: Who had it, who didn’t and when did it disappear?

— Cattle: How fat were they during the pre-Roman, Roman, and post-Roman eras? (This can be determined from the bones.)

— Tile roofs: Who had them and who didn’t, and when did they disappear?

— Buildings: How big were they, and were they made of timber, or stone?

We know that, by the 6th century, Germanic tribes had moved into the Roman territories and had taken control — the Lombards into Italy, the Franks into northern France, the Saxons into southern and eastern Britain. The Roman army was no more. The Roman administrative system also was dead, the system that had kept the trade routes open, the infrastructure working, and merchandise flowing into the provinces along the Roman roads. The provinces were now on their own, with new Germanic chieftains in control.

Ward-Perkins’ view is that what happened from the 6th to the 8th century was not a smooth “transformation.” It was a catastrophe. The food supply, which had depended on trade and shipping, dropped sharply. In some areas, for lack of food, the population fell by as much as 75 percent. Coins vanished. No one had good Roman pottery anymore. Buildings became small, and they were built of perishable materials like wood and thatch. Cattle, which had been big and fat during the Roman era, became fewer, and skinny. The archeological record shows that people became poor and miserable. There was widespread violence, strife, and crime.

Adaptation to the new conditions was slow. Some technologies that were lost (such as high quality pottery made on a wheel) did not reappear again until centuries later. Food production did not return to Roman levels until centuries later. Literacy collapsed. The security and order that had been maintained by the Roman troops was gone. In Ward-Perkins’ view, what followed the fall of Rome truly was a dark age.

Ward-Perkins elaborates on the price of specialization and complexity in the Roman economy. Even in the more remote provinces such as northern France and Britain, people did not need to produce locally everything that was needed because so much could be bought so cheaply from so far away and brought in over the Roman roads, or by ship. When that was no longer possible, the improverished and now isolated local people found that they no longer had the skills and infrastructure to produce what they needed to maintain anything like their former standard of living. It took centuries to recover those skills. Until those skills were recovered, there was deprivation and misery.

Ward-Perkins does not use the term, but one could say that the Dark Ages were a period of relocalization following the failure of what was, for that time, a globalized economy.

Ward-Perkins writes:

“Comparison with the contemporary western world is obvious and important. … We sit in our tiny productive pigeon-holes … and we are wholly dependent for our needs on thousands, indeed hundreds of thousands, of other people spread around the globe, each doing their own little thing. We would be quite incapable of meeting our needs locally, even in an emergency.

“The enormity of the economic disintegration that occurred at the end of the empire was almost certainly a direct result of this specialization. The post-Roman world reverted to levels of economic simplicity, lower even than those of the pre-Roman times, with little movement of goods, poor housing, and only the most basic of manufactured items. The sophistication of the Roman period, by spreading high-quality goods widely in society, had destroyed the local skills and local networks that, in pre-Roman times, had provided lower-level economic complexity. It took centuries for people in the former empire to reacquire the skills and the regional networks that would take them back to these pre-Roman levels of sophistication.”

That, I believe, is stuff worth thinking about.

The hippies were right

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I often wonder why the current economic downturn, though it certainly has caused certain useless and paranoid sorts of cultural uproar, has not led to more positive attempts at adaptation like we had in the 1970s. Though the 1970s experimentation with back-to-the-earth movements were mostly eventually abandoned as failures, still those movements changed many people permanently.

The script for these movements, you’ll remember, came from publications that are now classics — the Foxfire books, for example, and the Whole Earth Catalog.

In those days, there was one cookbook that you’d be sure to find in any health food store — the Ten Talents cookbook by Frank and Rosalie Hurd. This cookbook is still in print in a revised edition.

While unboxing books yesterday, I came across my copy of the Ten Talents cookbook. I have the original 1968 edition. It remains the best vegan cookbook I have ever seen.

Another book that was very important in the hippy era was Jethro Kloss’ Back to Eden, which also became a hippy handbook.

These two books — Ten Talents (1968) and Back to Eden (written in the 1930s) — are decades ahead of their time. It is remarkable how they are in accord with all the research that has been done on health, disease, and diet since the books were written.

Over the river and through the woods

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Round trip — more than 100 miles

I drove to Yadkin County today to visit family. It was good weather for photography, and the leaves were just beginning to turn, so I figured it was a good day to document the route from northern Stokes County, where I live, to the Yadkin Valley, where most of my family live, and where I grew up.

When I made the decision to move to Stokes County from California, it was after much deliberation. I weighed many factors. It’s hard to get to northern Stokes County. The roads are narrow, and crooked. Most people would need a map. It’s not a place where a commuter would want to live. But to me, these were positives, not negatives. I wanted to find a sweet spot between remoteness and access to commercial and medical centers. If I want to shop at Whole Foods, I can get to one (in Winston-Salem) in about an hour. If I needed to get to a major medical center, that’s also about an hour by road, but a few minutes by helicopter. And they do have helicopters.

If I want to visit family in Yadkin County, I have to drive for more than an hour. But what a drive it is. The route crosses two rivers (the Dan and the Yadkin), and runs through the shadows of the Sauratown Mountain range. Stokes County is so isolated that it has its own little isolated mountain range! It’s some of the best scenery to be found in the Yadkin Valley and the Blue Ridge foothills.

So here’s a photographic essay on the trip from my house to my mother’s house in Yadkin County. For the sake of photographic honesty, please be aware that I have focused on the picturesque and the historic. There’s plenty of plainness and a certain amount of rural squalor along the way. But why takes pictures of that?

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Leaving home. Now that the house is done, I need to get started on the landscaping, don’t I?

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The unpaved road above my house, past a neighbor’s horse pasture

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Priddy’s General Store, which appeared in the cult film Cabin Fever

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The Dan River at Danbury

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The Dan River at Danbury

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This building in Danbury was once a church. Now AA meets there, according to the sign out front.

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The old Stokes County courthouse

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I believe this used to be the Danbury town hall. Now it’s a lawyer’s office.

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A historic marker in Danbury

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The entrance to Hanging Rock State Park, a few miles from Danbury. Just as in California, state parks are often under-appreciated, and awesome.

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Hanging Rock, from Moore’s Spring Road

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Hanging Rock, also from Moore’s Spring Road

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Approaching Pilot Mountain. Do you know the word “monadnock”? Culturally, the thing to know about Pilot Mountain is that it was called “Mount Pilot” in the Andy Griffith Show. This is Mayberry Country, remember.

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Old mill at Pinnacle. Pinnacle was the setting for the indie movie Junebug.

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Pilot Mountain, looking over the roof of the Pinnacle post office

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A pumpkin patch on the south side of Pilot Mountain

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Coming into Siloam

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An old storefront in Siloam. If agricultural tourism and the popularity of the Yadkin Valley Wine Region ever reach critical mass, what a great little restaurant this would make.

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Across the road from the Siloam storefront. I have no idea what this little building is, but it must have some historical importance, because someone keeps it up.

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Siloam will probably forever remain known for the night of Feb. 23, 1975, when an old suspension bridge across the Yadkin River collapsed, killing four people and injuring 16. This is the new bridge.

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The Yadkin River at Siloam

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The big house at Siloam. Grand farms were not the rule in this area. Small family farms were much more common. But Siloam clearly was once a hot spot. Not only was there fertile land in the river bottom, but there was also a railway line. It clearly was enough to make a few farmers rich.

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Pilot Mountain again, when I passed it on my way home

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The history of this area — at least the agricultural history — is best read in the remaining outbuildings. Certainly more than a few big barns like this one remain. More modest barns on the old family farms are common, and hundreds if not thousands of old tobacco barns remain. Still, an untold number of fine old outbuildings have fallen down and rotted away.

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The south side of Hanging Rock State Park, on my way home

First egg!

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One of my hens laid the first egg today. The hens are five months old. It’s a smallish egg, not the extra-large I expect from these hens, so I guess the hens aren’t as mature as I thought.

I had promised the hens that when they laid the first egg, I’d clean their house and put fresh straw in their nesting boxes. And so I did. Clearly they understood what the nesting boxes are for, because that’s where I found the first egg — in the middle box of the three nesting boxes.

Chicken treats

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A plate of chicken treats

If one eats well of the summer produce, then one’s backyard chickens can eat well too. Their favorites are corn and watermelon. They like squash well enough after they’ve eaten all the corn and watermelon. They go crazy over nice, ripe tomatoes. They can put away a ton of peach peels. To try to keep the fruit flies down, I keep raw fruit and vegetable scraps in a bowl in the refrigerator until I take them to the chickens.

My favorite produce stand at Germanton has been saving produce for me that’s too rough to sell but good enough for chickens.

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Garlic harvest

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It looks a fright, but there are couple of pounds or more of good garlic in there.

I had been waiting for a cool morning to harvest the garlic. It was a chore. It would be nice if one could just pull it up by the stalk, but the stalks were too dry and weak for that, and the roots too strong. So each bulb had to be excavated with a garden tool.

I planted the garlic in, I believe, late October. I pulled it in mid-July, so that’s almost nine months to grow. I was tempted to wash it and make it look like the Sonoma County fair, but I didn’t think getting it wet would help preserve it.

There will be something very garlicky for supper tonight, using the bulbs that fell apart while I was pulling them.

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How the garlic looked in early May

Chicken news

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Behind the new defenses

My hens will soon be five months old, so they should start laying before long. I decided to go ahead and switch them to laying mash. Until now, they’ve been eating a Purina starter mash. I was delighted to find out that the roller mill at Walnut Cove, where I buy chicken feed, mixes their own laying mash. It looks like a good mix, because it has a calcium supplement and no animal byproducts.

I found one of my hens dead Saturday morning. She was inside the wire with no broken skin but with clear signs of neck trauma. I’ll never know what happened, but I think she probably was strangled by a raccoon that reached through the wire and caught her by surprise. I spent the day Saturday putting up 1/2-inch hardware cloth. I also doubled the electrical defenses and installed a higher-power, always-on fence charger. Poor chicken. The only good to come of it is that, with four hens, there’s more room in there. Given the quality, and the cost, of the chicken defenses required around here, I don’t think I’ll be able to build them a larger coop any time soon.

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The Walnut Cove mill’s homemade layer mash

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The Monitor Roller Mill at Walnut Cove. It’s an institution in these parts.

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Inside the roller mill

Sustainability festival

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The local Hare Krishna community has taken a strong leadership role in sustainable and alternative living. Today they had an all-day “Local Sustainability Festival” at their temple near Sandy Ridge, about eight miles from my place. There were speakers on gardening, rainwater harvesting, farming with draft animals, and seed-saving techniques. Stokes County’s Hare Krishna community has been here since, I think, the 1980s. Most of them have settled in a beautiful little valley well away from the main roads.

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Livestock

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One of the sessions on sustainable farming

Where late the sweet birds sang

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Early fall has very quickly become middle fall. Though these pear trees up the road still have most of their leaves, the leaves on the trees in the woods are turning brown and falling. Summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

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A bare, ruin’d choir of woods below my house

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A briar berry

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A dried weed

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That time of year thou mayst behold thriving turnips and mustard.

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Something black and wicked tiptoes through the turnips. A Lily cat?

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My house seen from the woods

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My front door. I now have a shiny new doorkey to jingle in my pocket.

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These two shots of the house show some of the angles that made the house so tricky to build.

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The winter wind will whistle around these corners in a very gothic sort of way.

Sonnet 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

— William Shakespeare