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Movin' on/ and that alternator I have, etc.
I'm starting to take seriously the idea of overhauling the alternator myself; inspired by Movin's expertise and my notion I could actually accomplish, what he suggests is feasible-I like to think; while of course well possible for someone with his command of resources.
While, I can daydream about spending time someday in a lonely cabin's isolation with Movin far above some snowline; talking out our differences over a winter or maybe several of those. With maybe a cribbage board at hand; a game my grandfather favored and tried to teach me, I've never come close to learning.
One of my grandfather's hunting and fishing buddies during the 1950s Richmond Pearson Hobson, Jr. wrote three great cowboy non-fiction books* about ranching in the remote inland regions of British Columbia during the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s, which can contribute greatly to such a fantasy with Movin; or my grandfather's own stories of an isolated aloofness during the height of the depression of the 1930s memorizing all of Robert Service's poetry from a logging camp cook who'd memorized Service from a book. When easy to imagine them spending time with other interests intellectual, also.
One of the problems of logging or ranching, is that both are consumer driven interests; without the least possibility of existence, other than as articulated by demand for their products: Under capitalism, socialism or whatever sort of system, or more accurately probably lack of one, exists. Thus, much of the character of those livelihoods has to be determined by how any given society makes use of material resources. I worked all day yesterday on writing in reply to what Movin contributed to this thread, external of alternators; so imagine if I get the time, trying to extract both of our commentaries; to make a thread in the off-topic forum.
Winging it yesterday without posting, was just too diffuse and diverse to keep heaping onto a good thread about alternators; particularly when Movin writes so authoritatively, that in substance there is much which could become a sticky...is what I think at least.
While my own thoughts can use the time to mature and percolate; as if now similar to the "green" beer some friends used to consume about three weeks old, anyone could imagine aging might've benefitted-I think those guys liked to be perverse.** To give a hint, some of my dialogue got as far as speculation on Romani culture and society; the so-called "Gypsies" who even subtle stereotypes fail, in describing much of what is an amazingly diverse and influential global if often exploited entity, out of India originally at least ten centuries ago.
What I think my grandfather captured well, is the idea of an old growth forest making lumber superior to second, third or fourth growth; each of those a decline in quality due to the reduction of nutrients in the soil, only a natural cycle of many types of trees and other plants reproduces, leading to the timber of a mature forest again. He certainly had a few things to say about Weyerhauser, critical as well as by his actions; who gifted all his grandchildren with ten shares of stock in the company when we were little. I sold those I had, to help a little getting myself through college in the 1970s.
*Grass Beyond The Mountains, Nothing Too Good For A Cowboy, & Rancher Takes A Wife; which about a dozen years ago became the basis of one of Canada's most popular television series Nothing Too Good For A Cowboy, that ran a couple seasons: Which looks from on-line descriptions, as if sort of a cross between Bonanza and Gilligan's Island; while perhaps not very authentic to the sources.
**One of the three Douglas Schular, once a boyfriend of one of my sisters when she was an Evergreen student, is now a professor at The Evergreen State College, in Olympia, WA an expert in computers. When he and his pals "Rogger" and "Nor" were drinking their homemade brew; they'd been living a couple years and over a winter or two guessing, during the mid 1970s in a forty foot diameter geodesic dome built with two by fours, covered with fero-cement over wood-fiber kiln felt used to dry lumber; which scavenging with about $200 cash to work with, they constructed on a tree farm near Onalaska, WA my grandfather planted in 1951, I was supposed to inherit I've never seen a cent from. "SES" or "Space Enclosure Systems" is what they called their co-operative I remember visiting once; listening to a broadcast out of Portland, OR of the old "Doctor Demento" radio show, which seemed very appropriate.
Those guys grossed me out by using as the bottom of their outhouse, the cistern a long departed dairy farmer and his family had there for drinking water, whose cleared pasture land the tree farm was initially planted on. Ultimately d-isgusted with their tiny trio's tribe, my grandfather and his friend John Thompson, someone wealthy from within the logging trades, rented a cat and scooped out a hole in the ground and pushed down the dome and put the whole mess in the hole, then covered everything up with dirt. My rich alcoholic uncle in Eugene, OR continually sold parcels of the original hundred and sixty acres, until I was told long ago everything was gone; in his scheming making money without doing work or having a job-by using my grandfather's capital, as a local real estate developer and investment counselor in Eugene.
I'm starting to take seriously the idea of overhauling the alternator myself; inspired by Movin's expertise and my notion I could actually accomplish, what he suggests is feasible-I like to think; while of course well possible for someone with his command of resources.
While, I can daydream about spending time someday in a lonely cabin's isolation with Movin far above some snowline; talking out our differences over a winter or maybe several of those. With maybe a cribbage board at hand; a game my grandfather favored and tried to teach me, I've never come close to learning.
One of my grandfather's hunting and fishing buddies during the 1950s Richmond Pearson Hobson, Jr. wrote three great cowboy non-fiction books* about ranching in the remote inland regions of British Columbia during the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s, which can contribute greatly to such a fantasy with Movin; or my grandfather's own stories of an isolated aloofness during the height of the depression of the 1930s memorizing all of Robert Service's poetry from a logging camp cook who'd memorized Service from a book. When easy to imagine them spending time with other interests intellectual, also.
One of the problems of logging or ranching, is that both are consumer driven interests; without the least possibility of existence, other than as articulated by demand for their products: Under capitalism, socialism or whatever sort of system, or more accurately probably lack of one, exists. Thus, much of the character of those livelihoods has to be determined by how any given society makes use of material resources. I worked all day yesterday on writing in reply to what Movin contributed to this thread, external of alternators; so imagine if I get the time, trying to extract both of our commentaries; to make a thread in the off-topic forum.
Winging it yesterday without posting, was just too diffuse and diverse to keep heaping onto a good thread about alternators; particularly when Movin writes so authoritatively, that in substance there is much which could become a sticky...is what I think at least.
While my own thoughts can use the time to mature and percolate; as if now similar to the "green" beer some friends used to consume about three weeks old, anyone could imagine aging might've benefitted-I think those guys liked to be perverse.** To give a hint, some of my dialogue got as far as speculation on Romani culture and society; the so-called "Gypsies" who even subtle stereotypes fail, in describing much of what is an amazingly diverse and influential global if often exploited entity, out of India originally at least ten centuries ago.
What I think my grandfather captured well, is the idea of an old growth forest making lumber superior to second, third or fourth growth; each of those a decline in quality due to the reduction of nutrients in the soil, only a natural cycle of many types of trees and other plants reproduces, leading to the timber of a mature forest again. He certainly had a few things to say about Weyerhauser, critical as well as by his actions; who gifted all his grandchildren with ten shares of stock in the company when we were little. I sold those I had, to help a little getting myself through college in the 1970s.
*Grass Beyond The Mountains, Nothing Too Good For A Cowboy, & Rancher Takes A Wife; which about a dozen years ago became the basis of one of Canada's most popular television series Nothing Too Good For A Cowboy, that ran a couple seasons: Which looks from on-line descriptions, as if sort of a cross between Bonanza and Gilligan's Island; while perhaps not very authentic to the sources.
**One of the three Douglas Schular, once a boyfriend of one of my sisters when she was an Evergreen student, is now a professor at The Evergreen State College, in Olympia, WA an expert in computers. When he and his pals "Rogger" and "Nor" were drinking their homemade brew; they'd been living a couple years and over a winter or two guessing, during the mid 1970s in a forty foot diameter geodesic dome built with two by fours, covered with fero-cement over wood-fiber kiln felt used to dry lumber; which scavenging with about $200 cash to work with, they constructed on a tree farm near Onalaska, WA my grandfather planted in 1951, I was supposed to inherit I've never seen a cent from. "SES" or "Space Enclosure Systems" is what they called their co-operative I remember visiting once; listening to a broadcast out of Portland, OR of the old "Doctor Demento" radio show, which seemed very appropriate.
Those guys grossed me out by using as the bottom of their outhouse, the cistern a long departed dairy farmer and his family had there for drinking water, whose cleared pasture land the tree farm was initially planted on. Ultimately d-isgusted with their tiny trio's tribe, my grandfather and his friend John Thompson, someone wealthy from within the logging trades, rented a cat and scooped out a hole in the ground and pushed down the dome and put the whole mess in the hole, then covered everything up with dirt. My rich alcoholic uncle in Eugene, OR continually sold parcels of the original hundred and sixty acres, until I was told long ago everything was gone; in his scheming making money without doing work or having a job-by using my grandfather's capital, as a local real estate developer and investment counselor in Eugene.
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