Family – Our technological infirmity

Disappointed by Mediocrity

Tasty Homemade Ham Sandwich, Duke’s Mayo, Cherokee Purple Tomato, Sourdough Bread

My mother had few rules more important than be the best that you can be at whatever you choose to be. She had grown up with little education beyond the one room school house she walked to as a child, but she never let that hold her back. She learned how to drive and and left the fields of Yadkin County for the big city of Mount Airy, North Carolina where she owned a very successful beauty shop for a couple of decades. She also became the matriarch of her extended family. She was determined that her sister’s six children would have the opportunity for successful lives. Two of them followed her and became beauticians. They all leaned on her and came to think of the house where she lived in Mount Airy as a gateway to another world. In time as she aged, she would lean on them which is how families should work.
Mother was also a great cook and gardener. She made it clear from as early as I have memories that I was going to college. She expected no less and I felt bound by her wishes until I graduated from Harvard in the summer of 1971.
Mother lived to be ninety-three and six months. She has been gone for twenty-two years. She loved life, travel, gardening, and working. The other side of mother was someone who long remembered anyone she believed had wronged her or not delivered on their part of an agreement. She never believed that fancy had to part of our lives but that did not preclude things being special. Even in her seventies she would quickly choose to work three days putting together a family celebration rather that hiring someone to cater it. Part of that was her belief that she could do a better job than most caterers. Most family members would agree that she was right.
The world has changed a lot in the two decades since mother died and I have gotten a lot older. At one time matriarchs like my mother and her sisters could hold their families close together. It is much harder today. Families no longer work the land where they were born, they live where they can find jobs often in a different state. People have a harder time getting together because of distance and the divisive politics that now ravages our nation. We can no longer even agree on what the facts are. Even today’s newscasters are jokes compared to the giants of the past. Our economy is now filled with franchises where the locations are run by poorly trained teenagers working for minimum and caring even less. The soul seems to be gone from the economy. Now it is just about making money. When I joined Apple for a nearly twenty-year run, we were out to change the world with products that everyone still remembers. In the over two decades since I left Apple, my only enduring memory of the company is Tim Cook on bended knee with a gift for our morally challenged president.
Now the business model is come up with a good idea, hook people on it, and figure out how to make as much money as possible while making the product cheaper and sustaining it with often borderline deceptive marketing. The formula for government is worse. The party in power has spent the last thirty years convincing people that government is bad even though people really do want things like good roads, education, social security and medical care.
With evangelical Christians giving religion a bad name, Congress barely holding a 12% approval rating while clearly in the pockets of special interests, and families more challenged at staying close together than ever, things do not look great for our society.

I believe the only hope for society is to demand more from each individual. We should expect everyone to be proud of their accomplishments and the work they do while understanding the impact their efforts and words have on the lives of others.

Instead of the salesman who sold us our $40K plus new car telling us to contact the parts department to get the forgotten owners manual, go find one and drive it to us. I would have done that when I was selling computers in the eighties. I would not have thought twice about it. It is how I would have expected to be treated myself. My customers deserved no less.
If someone makes me a mediocre sub or sandwich that costs $10, I am going to let them know about it. On the flip side if someone does a great job and fixes me a memorable meal for a reasonalbe price at a restaurant, I am going to give them some praise including a positive Google review.
As much as I want to be surprised by the extra individual effort that can make difference from Congress to a sandwich shop, I am moving forward with the knowledge that I hold our Constitution in higher regard and understand more about its creation and protection than most representatives. I plan to keep explaining that to them until my digital ink runs out.

I can also make a better sandwich than any teenager in a sub shop. As the cost of eating rises, I expect to eat out less. There are already too many bungled orders to expect things to turn around soon. There are few things worse than spending hard-earned money for something that disappoints.

I will also continue to highlight those services that continue to deliver great value and are proud of the work that they do.

My Mother, Grand Lady of Pine Street

My mother was born in August of 1910. Had she not smoked for a few decades, she might have made it to one hundred, but it would be selfish to wish her here. When she died in March of 2004, she was ready to go. Her body had given out and even her most recent friends had passed. She was content with her life but still loved her family especially her grandchildren. She loved them with all her heart even if sometimes her words did not express it as well as she would have liked.
In her nineties, she was not happy that her body could not do the things that she wanted it to do so I am pleased that she left while her mind was still sharp and before she became too uncomfortable.
I remember lots of things about my mom including many warm beach evenings with her on the North Carolina coast. If you have followed my posts over the years, you might have read our chicken frying adventure which was inspired by her.
When I originally wrote most of this post on August 22, 2005, I enjoyed some cold fried chicken which to me is the comfort food from my childhood. Thirteen years later, I ate some fried chicken which of course was nowhere as good as mother’s chicken. Still, the chicken brought back some memories. I think the summer of 1962, when I was in a special summer school, over half of my lunches contained fried chicken. Mother could fry a chicken blindfolded.

This picture is my mother cooking fried chicken for my birthday in March 2003. She died about a year later. That was the last chicken she fried. She was 92 and six months. She started cooking for her family when she was nine years old. Her mother had died. Mother used to tell us that she was so small and the cast iron pans were so large and heavy that her older brother had to put the pans on the wood stove.
Mother left home in the twenties when few women strayed far from home. She learned to drive a car while her sisters weren’t interested. Eventually she started her own beauty shop. For years her shop was on Main Street in Mount Airy, NC. Eventually, she had a very successful one in Lewisville, NC in the fifties until she retired and moved back to Mount Airy in the sixties. She lived there in the family house at 347 Pine Street until July 2000 when she moved to Roanoke.
It was a remarkable journey for a country girl who never had the chance to get a lot of formal education. She was a true matriarch who was willing to do anything for her family. I still remember my oldest cousin telling me the story of my mother deciding that he was going to military school. He didn’t want to go, but she would not take no for an answer. To this day, he believes that year in military school kept him from heading down a deadly path.
I learned a lot from my mother. She taught me to never be afraid of hard work and to be proud of my roots. Mother’s family was the source of her strength. She leaned on them and they leaned on her. One my cousins who grew up in a wonderful large family, tells the story that without my mother, they would have had no Christmas when growing up. Mother would drive home from Mount Airy to Yadkin County often getting stuck along the way. That was no problem for mom, she would just find a farmer to pull her car out. She never forgot to bring a car full of presents and clothing for her family.
The most important thing that I learned from mother was to live in the moment with an eye to the future. Mother never dwelled on the past. Mistakes were learning experiences. Mom also kept score so if you crossed her, she probably wouldn’t let you forget it. She also was never afraid of saying whatever crossed her mind which sometimes caused a few hurt feelings.
Mother was also a great gardener, a fantastic cook, and a loyal friend to many. Her one rule was to do whatever you were doing to the best of your ability. At the end that’s a pretty good way to live.
The one final thing that I learned from mom, is that material possessions really aren’t very important. The more you have, the more worries that you have. We’ve learned that lesson well, we have spent many years getting rid of things which we have accumulated over the years.
There still aren’t many days that something doesn’t remind us of my mother who was such an important part of our lives. She was never afraid to gamble on us and was always there for us when we needed her. She learned to navigate to Boston’s Logan Airport and fly to Canada at an age when many were afraid to leave home.
There’s probably no more relaxing feeling than coming home as a young adult and having your cares disappear into the walls of your family home as your mother’s home cooking completely finishes off your worries. Mother was an expert at creating that environment which could make your cares disappear in minutes though she apparently decided she would never make a homemade biscuit after she left home as a teenager. She did pop a few cans of refrigerated biscuits but my favorite were her rolls that melted in your mouth.
If we can provide that same spiritually nourishing environment for our kids, I think my mother might be proud of us even if we are amateurs at frying chicken.

Respect for Homesteaders

Our Lab Fundy, Summer of 1972, Guarding Our Woodpile

I spent fourteen years living very close to the land In Nova Scotia and New Brunswick from 1971 to 1985. We grew huge gardens, eventually had cattle, chickens, a milk cow, built large barns, cleared land, built roads, grew hay/oats, and heated with wood. We had a couple of Labs and a bunch cats. We could not have survived, much less farmed without the right tools.

I have great respect for this generation’s off grid movement. Going back to the land is not any easier today than it was fifty-five years ago. In some ways it was easier back in the seventies. I don’t think you had to get quite as far off grid to get back to land. Nova Scotia winters while sometimes wintery are no match for winters in Alaska and Northern Canada. Most of us just wanted to get away from the cities and did not care about proving that we could live in some of the world’s harshest climates.

Going back to the land and building a life there did not happen at once. For me it all started with the farm house, barn, and land along the Bay of Fundy shore in Nova Scotia. While we didn’t build a cabin on raw land, it was still an uphill battle to have shelter, warmth, and food from a garden.

The right tools and persistence are the keys to success in getting back to the land. In over four decades things have changed. Many tools that are now available were not around when we were living on the land. Surprisingly except for the rise of solar power, the changes are minor for small scale homesteaders and farmers.

What you buy first depends on your individual situation. The top brands have mostly changed in the last fifty-five years but I learned that cheap tools break far too often.

We moved into our 200 year old Nova Scotia farm house in the summer of 1971. While the house was in rough shape, it had electricity (30 AMP service), a small spring providing some water, a functional toilet but not much else in the bathroom, and an old wood kitchen stove with enough wood for a couple of summer months of cooking. We had the basics covered but the house needed a lot of work before fall and winter. The only hot water came from an electric kettle. We were lucky that there was a summer campground with showers (and a fried clam shack) just three miles away.

I bought the place for $6,000 Canadian. At the time the US dollar was worth slightly less than the Canadian dollar. Besides the house, there was a barn in need of a roof, a carriage house, and 140 acres with about 25 of those acres cleared. The soil was heavy clay and the 25 acres had been in pasture for decades. It also came with a huge chicken house that had not been used in a decade. Behind it was a giant pile of well-composted manure.

Going between countries was easier back then. I brought with me four former college roommates who had all except one just graduated from college. As I remember the first power tools we bought were a 10.25 circular saw and a three quarter inch power drill. We also got crow bars, hammers, screw drivers, a sledge hammer, an axe, a bow saw, shovels, brooms, and a ladder. Surprisingly basic tools were our best friends and I image they still are today. There were no nail guns in those days.

I brought two vehicles with me, a four wheel drive Dodge Power Wagon pickup with an 8,000 lb PTO winch on the front and a Land Rover that would go through almost anything but at a very respectful British dawdle. Considering what some people go back to the land with today, we were pretty well equipped at the beginning of summer. We even had a TV and could pick up two channels most days but CBC Radio was more reliable.

The early part of summer was spent tearing the old lathe and plaster off the walls and putting a new roof on the house which eventually meant tearing down the old chimney and moving all cooking to an electric frying pan and a Coleman camp stove. We actually got the house down to bare walls on the inside and started caulking the cracks and replacing any cedar shingles on the outside that had deteriorated.

The first big decision was how to the heat the house. In spite of over one hundred acres of woodland, almost all of it was small wind blown spruce. Most of the farms along our road had wood lots with hardwood farther up the mountain. Our farm didn’t have one. After a lot of discussion, we decided to put in electric baseboard heat supplemented by a fireplace and eventually a wood kitchen stove. At the time it made sense. High efficiency wood stoves had yet to break into the market.

I became the electrician. I installed our 100 AMP electrical panel and ran wiring throughout the house. At the same time I hired someone to build us a new brick chimney and a stone fireplace. I also hired a local with a backhoe to run plastic pipe across our dirt road to a very good spring. Next I installed a shallow well pump in our cellar along with a hot water heater. I got the water running to the kitchen first. Getting the hot water to our newly planned bathroom in the upstairs of the house was a bigger challenge since we had to build the bathroom, install a toilet, shower enclosure, and sink. It was almost fall before my plumbing efforts got the shower running with zero leaks in the copper pipes.

Once the plumbing was installed and all the electrical wiring was done, we started installing our wall and ceiling insulation. We also started painting the outside of the house after all the shingle repairs. We got some of our tongue and groove pine paneling installed.

As fall approached, I bought a chain saw. I bought the easiest saw to get in the area. It was the first power of the tools to be replaced. I got it right the next time when I purchased a Stihl 028AV chainsaw. The Stihl stayed with me from around 1977 until I retired it 35 years later. The original circular saw and drill were also retired then. Good tools last.

The original chainsaw allowed us to cut a few pickup truck loads of wood each year while we lived in Nova Scotia. There was some hardwood at the edge of one my fields. The wood turned out to be more important than I first guessed when in September 1973, just after I got married, an early season snow storm took our power out for a week.

Early in that first fall, I installed a new refrigerator, new electric stove, a huge chest freezer and an electric dishwasher which was a gift from my mother.

The next phase of the adventure started when at the end of September, I bought a tractor, disc harrow, mower, bush hog, plow, front end loader and manure spreader. They were all tools that would stay with me until I quit farming over a decade later.

By Thanksgiving of 1971, we had heat, the fireplace, a shower with hot water, a functional kitchen, one bedroom, our great room with a fireplace, and an upstairs still to be finished. Our kitchen cabinets were still wooden egg crates and our glasses were old mayonnaise jars.

That fall more college friends from the states visited us and we managed to cook the first turkey that any of us had ever cooked away from home.

A Measure of life we all should take

When my first grade career started under the watchful eye of my mother’s first cousin, Ms. Conrad, I was only thinking about what it would take to make it to the end of day. Then I could walk home, play a little football with friends, watch the evening news with my mother, and do my homework with some help from Whiskers, my cat. There was no thought of where the next seventy plus years would take me.
It is a lot easier to look back on seven decades than to imagine the future when you are six years old in a rapidly changing world. Now it makes sense for me to look back. I retired about a year ago when our company went out business. Our business dried up with changes in government funding. Since then I came back and worked one stray project but there haven’t been any others in eleven months. We weren’t building buggy harnesses, we were analyzing needs and designing fiber networks.
My first thought is that I am happy to have worked for the last fifty-six years in a number of productive roles. I consider myself even more fortunate to have worked from home the last fifteen years. I worked hard, maybe too hard during large parts of my life, but I do remain proud of what I have done.
Still it is important to acknowledge that your work career is not your life. How you measure your life probably says a lot more about the person you have become than almost any summary you could write.

My overall measure of life is to look and see if the places, people and organizations that I have touched are any better off for my having been there.

Digging deeper, I look at the kind of people that our children have become. Then, I look at the kind of life we have lived. Did we help others when possible, were we kind and respectful people, did we strive to give more in relationships than we took? I also look at what we learned from life, how much we enjoyed the things we have done, what kind of relationships did we build including those with our spouse, parents, children, grandparents, and friends. I don’t seek to measure anything precisely or to see how close to perfection we got, I just want to understand if our good intentions came through. To have more friends than we started with in first grade isn’t a bad accomplishment especially if you have managed to keep one of those first grade friendships going.
It is not important to me that every person I have met likes me because I have run into some not so nice people along the way. If they tried to harm me or those working for me, I hope they remember that I always stood up for what was right even if it made some people unhappy or came with a personal cost. There are also some people with extraordinarily thin skin who expect to be treated like the privileged person that they have adopted for their persona. You can never do enough for these folks because they will always be slighted by something you said or did which would not bother a normal person. I happy to let these folks stew in their own juices on the sidelines of my life. Whether they ended up liking me or hating me is irrelevant. That handful of people like that intersected my life for varying periods of time is hardly matters because they were just passing through.
Finally in measuring our lives, we have to look at the times we have lived through. I lived in Canada for sixteen years and over sixty years in the United States. I can remember things that touched me throughout life, the polio epidemic, President Kennedy’s assassination, Nixon’s election, the Watergate hearings, Vietnam demonstrations, moving to Canada, the energy crisis of the seventies, 20% interest rates in the early eighties, the Quebec separation crisis, the 9/11 attacks, the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, Obama’s election, COVID and Biden’s four years in office. I have lots of other memories especially of farming in Canada, my twenty years with Apple, and the fifteen years living on the North Carolina coast. For over fifty years the challenges thrown our way have been ones where we could adjust our lives and get on with it. Only recently has that changed.
Governments have come and gone, we have lived our lives. Then Trump and the MAGA movement showed up. The first four years were bad but largely erased by the peace and sanity of the Biden years. Now Trump is back and the threat to our country and the life we have lived is immeasurable. We wake every day wondering what the idiot in the White House has done overnight. If we were ten or fifteen years younger, we would move back to Canada. I don’t want the final chapters of my life written from within the confines of Trump’s world of hate and violence. I fight Trump world with the written word and my voice. The hope we nourish is that we can finally have justice in the White House. We must demonstrate to the world that no man is above the law in America.

Travel Enriches Life

Maine Lobsters from a 2012 Trip to Canada

I have been accused of being born with wanderlust in my soul. I suspect it is true. The urge to travel was nurtured by mother was traveler in her own right. At the age of twenty-six she went to the World’s Fair in New York City, managed a boat trip up the Hudson, a visit to Niagra Fall, and took the train to Chicago and dropped down to Kansas for a visit. She might have had someone with her on the New York part of the trip but I am pretty sure that she was alone on the Kansas leg of her journey. She was a single mother, but she would throw me into the old 1953 Ford, hand me a map, and say let’s go to the beach. Often the back seat had two or three of her neices that were ten years older than me. When she was in her late sixties, she managed a solo air trip from North Carolina to Nova Scotia by way of the ever complex Boston airport. She was never afraid to travel and once she call too old to make long drives herself, she always found a driver. I like to think she taught be how travel and enjoy it with not a lot of money
There are people who never want to leave home. I am not one of those people. Part of me wants to see what is around the next curve or over the top of the next hill. Not only do I want to see it, I want to experience it. I still remember seeing the Montana mountains towering above the plains on my first cross-country trip when I was seventeen and traveled with a nineteen year-old friend in 1966. Seeing mountains so different from those near me made me want to see more serious mountains. We briefly slid into Canada into on that first trip. In 1969, I got another opportunity when a college roommate and I drove to Alaska. We went right up the spine of the Rockies.
While some take pleasure in knowing a community intimately, I find my pleasure of living in a community is greatly enhanced by having seen and even lived in other communities. Living in a wide variety of places makes you appreciate where you live. For the most part, the communities that I have figured out have been warm welcoming places where you feel like making a home and improving your surroundings.
One rule has been my companion, always try to leave a place better than you found it. The first house I bought for six thousand dollars was pink and something of a wreck when I first found it and convinced my college roommates to help remodel it. Though it was not finished when I left three years, it had been stripped to walls, insulated and rewired. It got copper pipes, a new roof, new pine paneling, a new chimney and fireplace, a new bathroom and water supply. We also created a great organic garden and put new roofs on the barn and brought the hayfield back to life. The house looked a lot different when we left.
St. Croix Cove along the Bay of Fundy was not the right place for cattle so we found an old farm in New Brunswick. We didn’t do much to the New Brunswick farm house other than paint it and add a chimney but we built two huge barns, renewed some pasture, and turned another abandoned farm into great hay fields. We farmed until twenty-two percent interest rates pushed me into a job in the city.
By then responsibility for a family had put my wanderlust in the backseat so we went where the job took me and that was Halifax, Nova Scotia. Halifax was a wonderful place to figure out. We would still be living there but we learned most children had to go to Toronto, Alberta, or British Columbia for jobs. We fled back to the states and eventually ended up on the top of mountain overlooking Roanoke, Virginia. We were there when we took our children on their three week journey around the country. I hoped that travel might get in their blood, but perhaps home was too comfortable a place. Though they have traveled, it has never been just for the thrill of it like I have done most of my life.
When I was still living in Nova Scotia and not yet married, I ventured off to Newfoundland and dreamed of homesteading there. My new wife put an end to that but she was okay with farming in the hardwood hills of New Brunswick where we built our cattle operation. She was also okay with leaving all the friends we made during our twenty years in Roanoke for an extended adventure on the North Carolina coast which she grew to love.
We went to the coast wanting to be out on the water. At the age of fifty-seven, I began the journey of becoming a capable boater in the challenging waters of the White Oak River, Bogue Sound, and the Atlantic Ocean. I logged over 500 hours at the helm of my skiff until someone convinced me that seventy years was too old to be boating out in the Atlantic by yourself. Figuring out the coast and how to prepare a house and boat for a hurricane was a lot more complicated than I imagined, but we did it. We stayed through Category 3 Irene and in sixteen years there only evacuated for Florence. While living at the coast, we made a trip back to our Canadian stomping grounds in 2012. On that trip in Bangor, Maine, was where I found those beautiful lobsters.
You can have wanderlust but still want to enjoy and thrive where you are. We added to and improved every house where we lived. We made the places ours . Even after leaving the farm, isome places we were able to have extensive gardens. Our gardens were amazing around our coastal home and here in the Piedmont.
Perhaps the most unique change we made to a place was the small house that we built on the upper back porch of our coastal home. we created an amazing home but there too many steps for our aging knees. In 2021, we looked foreward to a move from the coast to the piedmont. Because we were old there was some exhaustion mixed with excitement, but we have enjoyed getting to learn our new area. I still miss the marsh and all the creatures there, but I have lots of pictures. The trips now are much shorter now but my mind wanders freely.

A Life of Icy Roads

An icy road in the woods, five days after our second storm of the year.

The first time that I can remember facing an icy road, it was probaby 1961. I was a twelve-year old passenger in car headed back from Camp Raven Knob, a Boy Scout camp west of Mt. Airy, North Carolina. Adults had come to rescue us from another frozen, icy night in the three-sided Adirondack lean-tos. I wasn’t particularly worried about the icy roads because I wasn’t driving.
Seven years later I am home for the holidays from college and my mother is hosting a Christmas party in Mt. Airy, NC, for her extended family which are mostly from the next country over. Mount Airy is in the transition area between the hill country and the Blue Ridge Mountains. Weather forecasting in the sixties was a little more rudimentary and a snowstorm hit early in the afternoon. Snowstorms are not every day occurences in the North Carolina foothills. Our relatives were becoming worried about getting home. I was going to school in Massachusetts so my old Bronco had snow tires on all four wheels. I offered to escort a convoy through the worst hills. It might have been the first time I had driven in North Carolina snow which isn’t anything like northern snow. It is rare when NC snow isn’t slush or packed ice. That first trip was in slush which is no problem with snow tires. Everyone drove in my tracks and I took them half way home to the point there was hardly any snow on the road. I was young and probably didn’t worry about it very much.
There were many opportunities to drive on snowy roads during college. Four of us even took a trip to Nova Scotia’s Cape Breton Island in November our junior year. Cape Breton welcomed us with snow, sleet and freezing rain. We faced some very cold camping and tough driving in the old Bronco.
After graduating college, I moved to eastern Canada. Over the course of the next seventeen years I owned a variety of snow worthy vehicles from Land Rovers to Land Cruisers and 4WD trucks. We even had 4WD drive tractors on our 400 acres farmland.
My wife was in her orange rear wheel drive Volvo wagon on a very snowy day coming back from the doctor with our first child who had swallowed a bunch of Flintsone vitamins. The syrup of ipecac hadn’t worked at the doctor’s office. I had just found out when I came in from barn chores and rushed to the doctor’s office in my trusty 4WD Chevy pickup. I crested a hill as I was speeding to the clinic and there was my wife’s car stopped in the middle of the road. She had stopped because our daughter had started throwing up and she was afraid she would choke in her car seat. I didn’t have time to think, I avoided hitting my wife and daughter by putting the truck into a snow filled ditch. With the big snowbanks, I ended up safe, and I rode home with my wife, grabbed a tractor and a neighbor and we retrieved the truck without any problems.
Snowbanks along the rural roads were a great safety feature. You could slide into a snowbank without worrying about damaging your car. After we quit farming, I became a sales manager for the first Apple microcomputer dealer in the area. I had to travel to three locations in New Brunswick, one in PEI and another in Halifax, Nova Scotia. At first I did it in my old front wheel drive Subaru. One time I came home from a trip and was barely able to get the Subaru far enough in the driveway so I could get our tractor and snow blower around it.
Soon after that I switched to a rear wheel drive Volvo sedan. I put snow tires on all four wheels and fifty pounds of sand over each rear wheel in the trunk. I went everywhere in it. After I joined Apple, I once drove my sales manager from Toronto from Fredericton, New Brunswick to Charlottetown, PEI in a blizzard. He was amazed what the Volvo would go through and even more surprised at the ice encrusted ferry that we took to the island.
Four years later we are living on a mountainside overlooking Roanoke, Virginia. We bought an AWD Nissan our first winter there. We had a variety of AWD vehicles there from Subarus and Grand Cherokees to my wife’s AWD Volvo wagon and my AWD Acura MDX. The little Nissan Axcess was a favorite because I could put chains on all four wheels. There were storms when Little Limo as she was fondly known was the only safe way up and down our mountain. I ferried many people with groceries up and down the mountain to their parked cars at the foot of the hill over our seventeen years there. The Acura with its locking AWD mode was the second best vehicle on the mountain. It is still with us and now 21 years old.
We lived on the NC coast for sixteen years and only had ice a few times. With no hills it is not much of challenge. Here in the Piedmont where we now live there are certainly enough hills to make things interesting but snow and ice is a rarity. Still in the last two weeks we have had two storms, one four inches of sleet and the other a foot of fluffy snow. We had no need to go out but I did go to our butcher shop located on the ice road pictured at the took. The Acura MDX never hesitated even a couple of really icy hills. It brought back some memories, even a snowy one to Newfoundland pictured below.

Toyota Land Cruiser on a snowy road to nowhere in Newfoundland, March 1973

The Worthwhile Journey North

My wife, Glenda, at the head of our hayfield in St. Croix Cove, Nova Scotia. She is accompanied by Tok, one of our Labrador Retrievers

My seventy-seventh birthday is coming up in a few weeks. The thought of being that old has prompted a lot of introspection. Someimes we know why we do something but there are some forks in the road where our motivations might not be so clear. There are also things you remember which make you wonder how much influence they had on your decisions. I was in high school, a military one, when President Kennedy was assasinated. I remember the deaths of Robert F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King. I also vividly remember the election of Richard Nixon, the Vietnam War demonstrations and the feeling of relief when I found out that I wasn’t going to get drafted to fight a war which I thought was wrong on more than one level. When I graduated college, I went back to the land on shores of the Bay of Fundy in Nova Scotia. Some dissatisfaction with the political direction in the United States helped direct me to the north in 1971.
I spent first weeks of 2026, entertaining myself with YouTube videos of the new generation of homesteaders. Many of them are young, and all that I have seen appear to be healthy enough to handle all the wood splitting required to live off grid. I often wonder how their lives might change a few years down the road when their families include two or three children who need educating while the unrelenting work taking care of farm animals demands much of their time. Some of these homesteaders seek purity and will not even consider using a chainsaw. Others seem to believe that doing everything with used equipment shows their dedication to a different kind of life with ingenuity and a dose of poverty. Some fully embrace ATVs, snowmobiles, tractors and even excavators. Most it not all of them embrace solar power. There is a propensity for them to have goats and chickens with few pigs and cattle sprinkled around. Some have subsistence permits and live off Alaska’s. bountiful salmon and wild game. No one seems to have the land to grow their own hay, but many are investing huge effort into growing vegetables in places were vegetables are very hard to grow. Some have very young children but very few have teenagers. I am sure there are many reasons why they are living off grid or in my world have gone back to the land. They will likely wrestle with their decisions as they get older. A few have figured out how absolutely brutal longterm homesteading is on the homesteaders. It will be interesting to see how many are still around five eyars from now.
Long before I graduated college in the summer of 1971, I wanted to move north There were all sorts of reasons but four years at military school along with four turbulent years at college set the stage. My freshman year (1967) at Harvard, I was one of three students out of 1,500 in our class from North Carolina. At the time North Carolina was a rural place, and I had grown up loving camping, fishing, and wandering the woods. No one from our family had ever been to college so there was no famial advice to lean on for a career. My single mother raised me by running a beauty shop in the back of our house. Her one piece of advice was whatever I chose to do, I should do it to the best of my ability. She had grown up on a mill pond with a father who was a miller. She had become the lady of the house for her five sisters and brother at the age of nine when her mother died in 1917 flu pandemic. She left home by her middle teenage years when her father remarried..
With those ties to the land and the family of one of mother’s sisters still farming, it was not a stretch for me to want to go back to the land and farm. A trip to Alaska and another to Nova Scotia fanned the flame. In the spring of 1971, I found an old farm on the Nova Scotia coast that was listed for $6,000. It included an old farm house and 140 acres with about thirty acres of that in a hayfield.
Restoring the old house, buying some farm equipment and a few cows are all part of my history. When we decided to get serious about farming we moved to New Brunswick where we built a farm where we eventually had sixty-five cows calving every year.
There were lots of other easier paths to take to adulthood. I needed a path that let me learn everything the hard way. I learned how to wire a house and do copper plumbing by reading Sears How-to-do-it pamplets. I learned to farm by reading books and listening to my neighbors in most cases. I built barns with just common sense, skill saws, and a chainsaw. We only left the farm when interest rates got to over 20%. We also made the decision three years after leaving the farm that we wanted our children to know their North Carolina based grandparents and hopefully find lives not far from us.
It was a huge effort to move from the farm to Halifax, Nova Scotia, where I went to work for Apple. It took even more effort to move back to the states.
Now as I sit in my comfortable house eating food from local farms and exotic places like Trader Joe’s, I struggle to remember the day to day challenges we faced on the farm. I can remember all the wood splitting, the hauling it into the woodshed, the years of milking our Guernsey, Rosie. I also remember all those trips, often three times a night, to check for new born calves in the depths of winter. All the work that went into haying and gardening is clearly burned into my mind. The freezers were always filled with beef which is a luxury today. We had more garden produce than we could dream of eating but it was a lot of hard work especially when the black flies were around. We saw weather as cold as minus forty with sixty mile per hour winds and heat over one hundred degrees. We lived on the edge of civilization but most days we had power. We also had the equipment to move snow and take care of 200 head of cattle without hiring another person. There was a ten year stretch with no vacation. When we finally did get a vacation to Prince Edward Island, we did not know how to act on vacation. Farm life was brutally hard at times, often money was very short, but we all slept well at night.
Even with all the hard work, I would sign up for it again but with fewer cattle if somehow I miraculously got a body forty years younger. Whatever the reasons behind this generation going back to the land, it might well burn brightest in their memories like it does in mine.

Years on the farm, calving season

Many years ago in the seventies my wife and I were running a cattle farm located about twenty miles north of Fredericton, New Brunswick. This is the first in a series about our life on the farm

We eventually had about two hundred head of cattle with around 65 calves being born each year. The calves were typically born in February and March which as you might guess is a cold, snowy time in the part of Canada where we lived. For some reason, most calves like to be born at night.

Raising cattle is not the kind of thing where lots of help is available unless you have a a large family. Calving season is especially tough because it demands 24 hours a day attention. I would make two to three trips a night to our calving area which was in the woods around the second barn we built. It is hard to get out of a warm bed, suit up for the cold, and head outside not knowing what you would find.

The walk up the hill to the small field by the woods where the cattle were fenced was not a long one. Even with the walk back to the house it was only about six tenths of a mile. It seemed much longer in blowing snow especially since a good part of the walk went through the grove of tall spruce trees that separated our farm house from the barns.

Of course there were no street lights in the spruce forest. You had to go on that walk no matter what the weather. If I found a cow that had calved, I would walk the new calf to the barn between my legs and the new mother would follow. I would put the calf and cow in a stall filled with nice clean straw. Sometimes there would be more than one birth during a night. Depending on the weather the cow and calf would stay in the open front barn two to three days and then go back to join the herd. I had a larger pen in the barn where I could turn the cow and calve if things got crowded in the individual pens.

Once the cow and calf went back with herd, the calves had a special place for protection. The front part of the barn was arranged so that the calves could get under cover on dry straw during wet weather. With the barn facing south it made a nice place for them on a sunny day. Sometimes the straw looked like it was blanketed with calves. I remember looking over there one time and my oldest daughter who had just started school was sitting there in the sunshine in the middle of a dozen sleeping red and black Angus calves.

My relatives who were back in North Carolina asked me more than once if the walk in the dark scared me. I would always calmly tell them that walking through the dark woods in area most would call wilderness was safer than walking around Boston when I was in college.There was nothing in the woods that could harm me especially in the winter. All the bears and there were lots of them were hibernating. The moose were deep in the swamps and the rest of the critters were more afraid of me than I was of them.

There is one thing almost certain about the northern woods. When the temperature is down around minus twenty-eight Fahrenheit, there are no crazed muggers hiding in the three to four feet of snow in the spruce forest. They would be frozen like a Popsicle pretty quick.

The only good thing about calving season was that it was over in six to eight weeks. Getting the calves out of the snowy, wet weather was a good prescription for healthy calves. No one at the department of agriculture told us that this was the way we should raise calves. We figured it out ourselves. They also though that it was impossible to raise cattle using round bales. We put up over two hundred each year and proved that they worked. We could have used another barn for the bales but there was not a lot of money in cattle at the time.

In our ten years raising cattle, we never had a vet on the farm for a sick calf. I sometimes struggle to believe that myself and the fact that I cannot remember ever losing a calf. There were plenty of other adventures like the time a teenager on a motorbike chased a dozen heifers deep into the woods. It took most of the summer to get them back but that is a story for next time.

The Lost Art of Calling Home

The rotary telephone in my home bedroom until 2004

I took a course in college my senior year. It was decades ago. The class focused on communications. Computers were not on the desktop, cameras were film based, and telephones were analog with rotary dials. There was no Internet much less text messaging or cell phones. People still wrote letters on paper by hand. I still have some of my old ones. The other choice for a was a typewriter. In the seventies it was not unusual to find people who did not know how to touch type.
I went away to boarding school at the tender age of fourteen. The weekend call home from the telephone booth in the hallway was a lifeline to family and all that was familiar. You might not be able to predict the person who would answer but you learned how to make the most out of whomever you got on the phone. The old fashioned telephone was a great leveler. If you called one of your friends, you could get their parents, but back in the fifties and sixties, we learned how to talk to adults respectfully.
The weekend call became more of a ritual than a lifeline when we started farming in Canada. It was something that kept us connected long after the art of writing letters disappeared. I still love phone calls to my Canadian friends. I enjoy talking to my friends whether I reach the wife or the husband. These calls keep the web of friendship healthy.
A couple decades ago, a friend died. I did not have the opportunity to say good bye to that friend. It caused me to recommit to finding people who had been important in my life. Over the years I made several car trips to Ronceverte, WV, because that was the only way to really visit with my high school Latin teacher who never went beyond the telephone in the world of electronics. He was a little hard to talk to on the telephone but I treasured our visits. He has been dead several years now. I never regretted the effort I made to stay in touch.
Our trips to Mount Airy, NC and Yadkin County, NC to visit friends and family have gotten fewer and farther between each trip as we have aged. The time we spend with elderly relatives is precious. We have lost several over the last few years but the time spent with them was well spent.
Sharing our lives and communicating with others has given us strength to do things we never would have done by ourselves. It has also connected us to history and stories that we might never have known
We were living at the coast when Hurricane Irene made landfall on August 26-27, 2011, about 35 miles to the east of our home near the beaches of Emerald Isle. We received a lot of phone calls from friends and family prior to Irene’s arrival urging us to head for higher grounds than our six feet above sea level. Irene was our first serious storm in our first five years on the coast.
Interestingly, none of the calls came from our three grown children who ranged in age at the time from the late twenties to the mid thirties. I told myself at the time that they knew we were well prepared and tough enough to handle the storm. At sixty-one, I think that was a fair description of us. We were not people who had led quiet lives in one place all their lives. Still Irene roared for thirty-six hours but we only used our generator for three hours.
Perhaps there was something else at play. Most of us older adults have noted that today’s young adults rarely communicate even though they have far more ways to connect than our generation ever had.
One of the other things besides the weekly phone call that happened at military school when I was fourteen was we had an assignment to write a letter home every Sunday night. It was graded, and mailed home for us complete with red marks. Of course no useful communication ever took place in the letters. The weekend phone call was the lifeline to home.
While I quit shining my shoes every morning like I did in military school when I went away to college, I didn’t drop the ritual of the weekend call home and writing letters. Even after graduating from college, moving to Nova Scotia to farm, and getting married, the calls continued. We added a weekly call to the parents of my wife, Glenda. We also wrote letters in cursive to family and friends. Long distance calls for much of our early married life were extremely costly but they remained important to our mental health so we rarely missed one.
Calling home for all those decades was always something of a surprise, you never knew who was going to answer the phone, but 99% of the time they were happy to hear your voice if not your message. Almost always you felt better after talking to them.
I think the old cold calling home on a rotary phone helped us be the people we are today. It helped us build strong networks of support and advice. It gave us skills that the current younger generations may never master. The world will be lonelier and poorer because of that.

Stay up with the Goose Speaks commentary on our country’s situation in “Time to Trust Our Own Eyes” either for free at Substack on as a simple HTML flat file with a different name, “Time to Speak Out,” at my Crystal Coast website.

Doing it the hard way

In the sixties or early seventies, the back to land movement was well known. The 1968 Whole Earth Catalog was the instruction manual dedicated to it. Helen and Scott Nearing were its inspirational grandparents. Many in my generation’s back to the land movement were vegetarians like the Nearings. Some were vegetarian by choice and others because of necessity. Because of my proclivity to cattle and farming, I studied Louis Bromfield’s book, Malabar Farm. Today there there is a new generation of people going back to the land.
In this century they are known by the label “off grid.” Few of those folks are openly vegetarians. This new generation proudly hunts and fishes for protein to supplement what they grow. Though their animals are more likely goats than cows, there are some with cows and even horses.
Many of today’s off grid folks are often in places deliberately difficult to reach. Most back to the landers in the seventies went where they could find cheap land whether it was alongside a road like my house and barn or back in the boonies where my friends in the dome lived.
During the seventies, the rural Annapolis Valley where we shopped did not have supermarkets. It had small grocery stores and cooperatives where you could get your food, your baler twine, and some beef fattener for your steer all in one shopping trip. Beaver Fruit Cooperative got most of our business. I also did some bulk orders with the folks in the dome. We had a local hardware and a Sears catalogue store which is where we ordered our appliances.
There were times in the early seventies when I thought about getting farther from the roads that connected us to the rest of the world. Reality always intruded. I thought about homesteading in Newfoundland, but my wife took one look and said I would be homesteading alone. I even found a great spot high on a hill on my land in Nova Scotia.
It is pictured at the top of the post. It was over a mile off the road which does not sound very far until you factor in the heavy clay soil and the astronomical expense of building a mile-long gravel road where gravel is in short supply. Then there would be the likely impossible task of getting power to the homestead. In those days there were no solar panels and battery systems to give you electricity off grid. Drilling water wells on our North Mountain was also problematic.
By the time we moved to New Brunswick we were well on the track for serious farming. We still gardened on a large scale, had chickens, and a milk cow. We did move to having someone butcher our annual steer for us instead of doing it ourselves. In creating our farm, we built well over a mile and a half of roads with New Brunswick’s ready supply of gravel over our rocky soils. I also convinced New Brunswick power to bring power a quarter of a mile back to the new barns that we built. We drilled a well back by the barns. It provided so much water that it was hard to measure.
So by 1976, all the elements were in place for us to move farther from the village of Tay Creek near our new barns but with no close neighbors. It wasn’t in the cards. While we had not had a great experience with the people of St. Croix Cove, the people of Tay Creek had been so welcoming that neither my wife or I would consider having the village become less accessible. It was also a great convenience to be by the road where the school bus picked up our children. It turned out we liked being part of our small farming village. We valued the connections of people dropping by to chat. I did not even mind cleaning the driveways of some residents who became close friends. When we needed them, our farming neighbors were there to help as much as they could.
In the end it seems the biggest difference between the back to the land movement of the sixties and seventies and today’s off grid homesteader is that the homesteader of today is often working to isolate themselves from others. In the sixties and seventies back to landers were still interested in community. I loved the small country stores, but today’s off grid folks are much more likely to seek out the anonymity of COSTCO. The money that some make from YouTube makes it even easier to not have ties with nearby communities. We were part of communities because we needed connections and income. Even today you will find exceptions and some off grid folks are much more community oriented than others. However, when I hear the term off grid what comes to mind are people living in places that are only accessible by four wheel drive, snow mobile or ice road for at least part of the year.