I'll Be Good, I Will!I Will!

Too much time has passed since the last entry and guilt is eating away at me. What's more, today is Labor Day in the U.S.A., and I feel as if I must do some work. I have been remiss, and in the long-remembered promise of the childhood hero pictured at right: "I'll be good, I will, I will."

Caveat: Froggy the Gremlin was a notorious liar.


I am adding a link at right for those who might wish to test themselves as agricultural workers here in Argentina: http://www.wwoofargentina.com/. This link will be placed permanently om the site sidebar as well. I may include the Catacombs as a host farm at some point, but I am not quite ready to do so. Persuade me!

I am hoping against hope that the cold south wind will die down and tonight's threatened frost not occur, as all my fruit trees are in glorious blossom, the veggies growing like mad, and there is much work to be done here. In fact, the chores have kept me from the computer these past two weeks, about which I'm not complaining, mind: it's healthy!

Things out in the wider world seem to be worsening weekly, folks, and I'm redoubling my preparations for what I expect to be some hard times ahead.

Vanishing Point

The preceding entry features a photo of a grim urban street receding to what is known as a "vanishing point" in terms of artistic perception. Perhaps the best known early example of this technique can be found in Myndert Hobbema's 1689 "Avenue at Middelharnis," a large canvas that immediately draws the eye down the avenue as soon as one enters the room in which the painting is hung in London's National Gallery.

Forty five years have passed since I first entered the room in which the 40 3/4" x 55 1/2" (103.5 x 141 cm) canvas held pride of place, and I can see it in my mind's eye as clearly as if it were yesterday that I saw it, so strong was its impact.

What I saw yesterday is pictured above, beneath the Hobbema painting. This is an avenue of poplars in Mendoza province, where poplars abound both as windbreaks and for their value as lumber.

This particular view lies along Route 146 between Goudge and Monte Comán in the San Rafael "Department" (similar to a county). Sunday, Aug 16th, was the village feast day in Monte Comán, so things were jumping when I arrived at "La Vaca" a little after one p.m. As promised, here is a photo of this delightful little roadside oasis.

When the rush subsided, I had a chat with Manolo (the owner) about the Catacombs project, mentioning that the San Rafael Department seemed a good possibility for Catacombers, based on the fertility of the land, the prices I'd seen in La Veloz, a local classified ad sheet, and proximity to San Rafael city, a pleasant place with a small town feel in spite of its recent growth spurt. Manolo is a lifelong resident of the area and La Vaca is a Monte Comán landmark, so his collaboration with the project is most welcome.

When will northern hemisphere residents begin to consider that the vanishing point for the old paradigm has nearly been reached? What will it take? Must the stock market collapse? How many banks need to fail before panic sets in? What kind of damage might a drought do to food production? What would fuel shortages mean to distribution systems? How many new and oppressive laws must be passed before travel is restricted, capital export controlled, housing and nearly every other aspect of life become so highly regulated that freedoms which have been taken for granted themselves reach the vanishing point?

The northern hemisphere nations as constituted fifty years ago are no more, at least not with respect to the sort of societies they were. Those simpler, sounder societies have passed the vanishing point and disappeared into the mists of time and the memories of those of us who have survived to become elders. But a new societal vanishing point has appeared on the horizon, and what lies beyond it does not bear close contemplation.

Harsh weather in Patagonia led me to postpone my trip to the monastery and the surrounding area, but I am quite pleased with the preliminary findings in the San Rafael area, particularly with respect to the area between San Rafael and Monte Comán, an area in which in addition to truck crops for the home vegetable larder, it is possible to grow olives, grapes and a considerable variety of fruit trees, which in good years can yield profits of "a Hilux (the popular Toyota 4 x 4 pickup truck) or two," in the words of a San Rafael farmer.

The area is certainly not overpopulated! While driving the 220 km (137.5 miles) between Monte Comán and San Luis, I saw 14 vehicles: four trucks, nine cars and a motorcycle. I also saw come right down to the edge of the road a pair of peccaries, but before I could stop and get the camera out, they'd scurried away back into the underbrush.

While opportunities for the good life may be approaching the vanishing point in the northern hemisphere, down here in Catacombs country they seem to be making an appearance.

Recce

Time to go forth from the Catacombs and explore other potential Catacomber relocation centers.

Tomorrow Traslasierra will be left behind for a week to ten days and To the Catacombs will be silent during that time. First stop will be in the province of Mendoza, at a tiny four table restaurant called La Vaca (The Cow) which doubles as a tiny grocery store. I have been eating there for two years now, whenever I pass through Monte Coman, the ghost town in which La Vaca is located. I came upon the place coincidentally: I was passing through at lunchtime, and Monte Coman is about four hours from Catacombs Headquarters. To give you an idea what sort of country this is, once I had passed through the nearby town of Villa Dolores, some twelve miles from here, there was not another traffic light to be seen for the duration of the 280 mile (448 km) journey.

La Vaca is a classic road food joint, and photos of it will appear in the not-too-distant future.

We (my son is here) will then go on to Real del Padre, where the father of a friend (if you read Spanish, check out his Museo Comechingon site) will meet us to give us some good old fashioned local guidance for the San Rafael area. An English couple who classify as Catacombers will also be visited. Hopefully, I will return with good news about available land for those ready to make the move.

Next on the itinerary is El Bolsón, down at the 42nd parallel, where the price of gasoline is cut in half and one can think of oneself as truly being In Patagonia. There we will go visit the monks at what I have nicknamed Leibowitz Abbey, then see if we can get together with the folks at nearby La Confluencia. We will likely go down into the province of Chubut, to Cholila (refuge of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid), Trevelyn (settle by the Welsh and still a supplier of good scones) and Esquel, keeping our eyes skinned for Catacomber possibilities.


The news from the North continues to alarm me, so much so that I find myself listening more often to the now twenty five years old Third World anthem El Sur También Existe. Is the USA fated to go the way of the USSR? Is there a North American Union in the offing? Is Europe destined to become a perverted remake of the Roman Empire? Questions, questions...

My answer was to voluntarily devolve to a simpler standard of living, a simpler way of life, and it suits me well so far. Yes, I still have a car and will enjoy the use of it for as long as is possible. Yes, I have electricity and broadband, wireless internet, and a freezer and power tools, but no, I don't have television, no, I don't have air conditioning or non-wood heating, and no, I don't have a cell phone or a Blackberry or even an electric razor.

This reconnaissance mission will be the first of a number to be undertaken with the intention of finding likely sites for Catacomb creation. Please don't forget me while I'm away, and stop back in a week or so to see what I've turned up in my travels.

Meanwhile: ¡Vaya con Dios!

Rebuilding Bountiful

Hint: the neighborhood pictured on the right is not within my community-of-the-mind called Bountiful. Look down that road between the people-coops, how it recedes in perfect perspective to a vanishing point beyond which lies a lights-out horizon, wastelands, badlands, no-man's lands... but most definitely not the lane that leads to Bountiful.

The "Bountiful" I have in mind is a simple community that was the object of a fictional journey--one might even say pilgrimage--portrayed in the 1986 movie The Trip to Bountiful on which a Depression-era elderly lady wants to return to her childhood home just once more before the Reaper comes a-callin'.

"Bountiful" to me calls to mind the cornucopia, the fabled horn of plenty, rich harvests and rural life. It calls to mind life on the land with trips to town or village, trips made on foot or bike or horseback, trips that provide time to smell the sweet grass, the rich, newly turned earth, ripened fruits, autumn leaves...

Rebuilding Bountiful requires a devolution (yes, you read that correctly: "devolution" with a "d," not "revolution" with an "r") that diminishes the megalopoli and does away with industrial agriculture. Rebuilding Bountiful requires a return to religiosity--I'm suspicious of so-called "spirituality--and a reverence for life and its bounty. My own pilgrimage of the soul led me to Traditional Catholicism, the Social Teachings of which merit much further study than is currently accorded them, but The Catacombs here in the Southern Cone are non-sectarian, non-denominational and non-discriminatory, though the coordinator is firm in his faith and beliefs and pleased to proselytize when permitted.

There is no guarantee that "returning to Bountiful" will provide an idyllic life, but staying behind in the cities is almost certain to ensure that an idyllic life will not be on one's agenda.

Defender el Garbanzo

See the simple chick-pea, the garbanzo in Spanish, a legume now believed to have medicinal properties akin to the widely used anti-depressant drug Prozac: garbanzos produce serotonin, the so-called "happiness hormone," though strictly speaking, it is not a hormone.

The title of this entry translates literally as "defend the chickpea," but it is a figure of speech formerly used in Spain which stood for "earning a living." The garbanzo, you see, was the staple food of country folk, particularly in the south, in Andalucia (though by no means only there), before the advent of the mass tourism, building boom and sea-of-plastic greenhouses that changed the character of the place through a kind of "progress" that has in the final accounting perhaps brought less happiness than the garbanzo.

Never a popular food item in northern countries, the chickpea began to attract attention with the introduction of the Middle Eastern staple hummus, a preparation now often used as a dip. Recipes abound, but in essence, it consists of chickpeas run through a blender with olive oil, garlic, cumin and lemon juice.

Garbanzos are not difficult to grow. I plan to try a patch this year.

Earning a living growing things is no easy matter, less so now that such monstrosities as the Codex Alimentarius are being introduced to eliminate once and for all the independent farmer, the yeoman, the peasant who was the backbone of the West for most of its history. Social engineering has successfully brainwashed most of today's urban and suburban dwellers into believing the peasant was an ignorant, backward brute who led a dreary and brutish life, but this is far from the truth.

A society not based on the land is not a healthy society. One does not have to make much of a leap to conclude based on observation that most contemporary societies--consumer-based societies in particular--are sickening, perhaps sickening unto death, as natural law is flouted and an ever-greater detachment from all that is natural has infected entire societies.

Grow a patch of garbanzos, harvest them, eat them: beats a prescription for Prozac.

Dirt

"Plain as dirt," people will say contemptuously. "Dumb as dirt."

Really?

Dirt is as important as air and water; without it, we die. And not just any dirt, either: humankind depends on arable dirt, dirt in which plants grow that can in turn support animal life.

That's my dirt to the right, dirt enriched with hundreds of pounds of dried sheep poop and kept moist so that in spite of the one-week-long nighttime freezes (in the 20s) we've been having, those broad beans are doing quite well, thank you, as of this morning, as the date stamp (European style: date first, then the month) shows.

When I left the northern hemisphere behind, I'd made up my mind to sacrifice a certain degree of comfort, convenience and city/suburban style consumer variety for good dirt. Say what you will: when the chips are down, few things compare with twenty inches of good topsoil.

I found my topsoil here in Traslasierra, far from the flaccid, overfed kine that wobble down the Wal-Mart aisles snatching at gaudily packaged snacks they can stuff in their gobs while, glassy-eyed, they gape at the flickering flat-screen, oblivious to the elitists' yoke sliding down upon their thick, wattled throats. They come in all shapes and sizes, all creeds and colors, male and female, young and old, of all political persuasions, though economically, rich and poor rarely applies: these are the poor, the near-poor and the remnants of the lower middle class, the plebs, the lumpen, the Great Unwashed, unlettered and barely able to do simple math. Naturally, neither you nor I belong to this rabble; we are above all that. Those people, after all, are dumber than dirt.

They may be, but then again, so may be the Greenwich Gang, the Hamptons Hideaway crew, shallow materialists who in spite of their money piles live lives of stunning superficiality bounded by status and a narcissistic wound that not even scads of money can scab over, never mind heal. I live far from them too, far from the Social Register listees whose identity and self-worth must be reaffirmed by looking at a hardbound telephone book in black and red, folks who drop names and brands as often as bats in a cave drop guano.

Far from leftist loonies fossilized in the amber of the Sixties, spouting the same tired slogans, their eternal whine-a-thon tempting one to borrow a pair of bovver boots from the nearest skinhead for a quick game of kick-the-cranium. The intellectual elite--left, right, center--seldom takes anything more than an academic interest in dirt, though there are exceptions, among whom I like to include (hem, hem, kaff-kaff) myself, but only because I am such a smart fellow according to my credentials. Well, all right: I believe I'm bright enough to have done a lot of reading, retained a great deal of what I've learned, and managed to assemble this montage of factual info into an integrated worldview that led me to conclude that my place in the sun was not in an academic or financial ivory tower, but down here in the dirt far, far from the madding crowd.

Dirt.

This is about dirt, and how it behooves the Paradigm Changer to seek out the best dirt s/he can find. How 'bout that! Gender-neutral language! Hope everyone likes it and my effort is appreciated. Personally, gender-neutral language and much that goes with it calls to mind the substance with which I fertilize my dirt, but I digress.

Few of us these days are qualified to gauge the value of dirt with respect to raising food; for this, omnipresent government provides us with well-educated professionals. But can we count on them to fulfill their obligations to assist us? Not in my neck of the woods, as I have learned to my chagrin. As the saying goes here: "Mucho ruido, pocas nueces," which for you poor, unfortunate Anglo monoglots means, in the words of the immortal James Brown: "Talkin' loud and sayin' nothin." I certainly hope agricultural extension agents up north honor their word more than do the gravy-train riders down here. Our local glad-handers have asked me to address a community meeting of small agricultural and artisanal entrepreneurs, and the meeting is the day after tomorrow, and I've heard nothing further. Okay. And all the promises the Peronistas have made to me about help with my own efforts... nada de nada. I suggest y'all may enjoy Sunday's post, because I'm going to treat them to some self-righteous Irish rage on Saturday.

I learned about my dirt on my own, thanks. I recommend you do so too. I will say this, however: down here in Catacombs Country, we've got some dirt you'd be thrilled to have under your fingernails. 'Nuff said?

Get down 'n dirty, boys and girls, or prepare to live like serfs without your own dirt.

If not, then I recommend you read up on dirt. If you need help in finding resources, let me know.

Get some dirt, get it soon.

99.7%

If ever there was a "must read" financial piece, it is this one: http://www.zerohedge.com/article/fitch-financial-companies-hold-997-all-derivative-contracts.

The article begins as follows: "Fitch has released a comprehensive study on derivatives held by various corporations and has come out with some disturbing results: as Zero Hedge's recent disclosure of data from the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency confirmed, the bulk of the derivative risk is concentrated not merely in the "financial company" category (99.7%) but in a subset of just five companies, which account for an "overwhelming majority" of derivative assets and liabilities.

The companies in question (Total Notional Derivatives: Assets & Liabilities, $ in Trillions)

• JP Morgan:$81.7;
• Bank of America:$80.0;
• Citigroup:$31.5;
• Morgan Stanley:$39.3, and of course
• Goldman Sachs: $47.8 (this is an OCC estimate: Goldman has not disclosed notional amounts in their derivative book, only # of contracts);

If you want a preview of what the Basel III definition of "Too Big To Fail" will look like, the above five companies is a great place to start."

"Too big to fail," as in "more important than you or I or our nations." Lords and Masters of the Earth.

It's time for all of us who are NOT too big to fail to turn up the volume on what must become our anthem: the now-gender-neutral disco classic "Enough Is Enough," (aka "No More Tears") belted out by Donna Summer and Barbara Streisand.

The article, the reading of which I cannot recommend too highly, adds the following very useful information: "For those unfamiliar with the concept of derivatives, here is a good blurb provided in the Fitch report:

Companies use derivatives to manage risks related to interest rates, foreign currency exchange rates, equities, and commodity prices, as well as more obscure risks such as weather and longevity. According to the Bank of International Settlements, the notional amount of the global over-the-counter derivatives market was nearly $600 trillion at the end of December 2008. Furthermore, gross market value (the sum of gross derivative assets and gross derivative liabilities) stood at $33.9 trillion.

While improved disclosures and transparency are a good start to helping gauge the risks posed by these instruments, it is important for analysts and investors to take a fresh look at risk management practices, including the use of derivatives within that context.

The need for better disclosure on derivatives has been obvious since the implementation of Statement of Financial Accounting Standards (SFAS) 133, “Accounting for Derivative Instruments and Hedging Activities” (now Financial Accounting Standards Board [FASB] Accounting Standards Codification [ASC] 815). However, comprehensive derivatives disclosure did not become a U.S. GAAP requirement for most companies until March 2009 with the implementation of SFAS 161 (now ASC 815-10-50), “Disclosures about Derivative Instruments and Hedging Activities.”

For a more quantifiable overview of derivatives, we recommend the most recent quarterly report from the BIS, especially the data starting on page 28.

The key findings presented by the Fitch report are as follows:

• Not surprisingly, an overwhelming majority (approximately 80%) of the derivative assets and liabilities carried on the balance sheets of the companies reviewed were primarily concentrated in five financial services firms: JPMorgan Chase & Co. (JPMorgan); Bank of America Corp. (Bank of America); Goldman Sachs Group Inc. (Goldman Sachs); Citigroup, Inc. (Citigroup); and Morgan Stanley (Morgan Stanley).
• Fifty-eight percent of the companies reviewed disclosed the presence of credit risk related contingent features in their derivative positions. These contingent features generally require a company to post additional collateral or settle any outstanding derivative liability in the event of a downgrade of the company’s credit rating.
• The use of credit derivatives was limited to financial institutions, with 17 of these reporting such exposure.
• Proprietary derivatives trading by utilities and energy companies appear to be very limited, but most of the companies reviewed in both industries report the use of derivatives for hedging commodity risks.
• Generally, non-financial companies appear to use derivatives only for hedging specific risks.
  Derivative valuation is often model-based, making changes in significant valuation assumptions particularly important. Analysis would be enhanced if issuers provided additional disclosure on the sensitivity of their derivative valuations to major assumptions."

There is much more, but for the non-financially-minded among you, or those who are uncomfortable with technical-talk, the above summary tells you all you need to know.

Bankers own the world; they own governments; they are a cabal, and unless an end is put to their privileges, societal suzerainty and social engineering that reward untrammeled greed, their stranglehold will only become more suffocating. Matt Taibi's "giant squid" metaphor must surely have occurred to many of us; it came to me as a memory of a science-fiction novel title: The Kraken Wakes, published in 1953.

Ninety nine point seven per cent. How much of that is in your portfolio? How is it that a government tasked with protecting the well-being of its citizenry permits these financial leviathans to suck every last drop of the lifeblood out of the poor schleps (US, in case you hadn't noticed) in the name of a "free market?" How is it that nearly all of the people can be fooled nearly all of the time? How long can this go on before some sort of breaking point is reached?

And the most important question of all: Are the above questions all rhetorical questions?

It is probable safe to say that approximately ninety nine point seven per cent of the population takes no interest in any of these matters and that is the main reason the financial cabal can lord it over them and those of us trapped in the grip of those tentacles. Those of us who do take an interest find ourselves largely powerless to do anything about what we learn, but we are not necessarily powerless to take steps for ourselves that will put us largely out of the reach of those ever-further-extending tentacles, and it is that Paradigm Change that this site advocates and hopes to assist in making such change possible for those who have just recently begun to recognize the need for it.

Unless you truly believe in the dangers--political,social,economic--stalking you and your fellow citizens, there will be little point in postulating a Paradigm Change; posturing it will be the only result. Step One--tangible step one is the planning and execution of a move from the urban/suburban setting to a rural area in which you can either own arable land adequate for providing a high degree of self-sufficiency, or finding someone who owns such land and making an agreement with that person to carry out some sort of cooperative and mutually beneficial arrangement that will improve the position of both parties.

How is that to be done? Future posts will explore potential solutions.