This Morning We Rose to Find a Strange Sky.

This morning we rose to find a strange sky. It was dimmer than usual and the light reflected off of the mountain side appeared in hues of blue. Ominous clouds overhead. One by one we gather to the porch, quietly. Gather to greet the day and each other in a calm as our energy builds. Books are read, drawings and paintings ensue, conversation amounts.

Today an unnatural boom of sound waves traveled across the lowlands and echoed back from the mountains through the valley.

Bombs.

Bombs were being detonated nearby and an unsettling parallel presented itself. Here, in our community we gather in peace to find solutions. Through our working habits of harmony we live with the land, while the world outside pays to destroy it. Dissolving concepts of unified participation.

Hope, however, remains firm on the homestead. So, we carry on with compassion and contemplate how the world can join us. We know that with nightfall brings a new morning where we will gather on the porch. See you there.

 

Grand Opening

IT WAS A PLEASURE TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE

 MOJAVE MORNINGS

VISITORS FROM THE FERAL EXCHANGE NETWORK

Today was another hot day: 110F. The blinds were closed and dark sheets were draped over them. The fans were on full. Group energy was on low. Saf strung together a wind chime made out sticks and bits of metal she’d collected from the desert. Kirsten, Nayara and Na.ru cut up and coloured old water bottles they’d also collected from around the property, twisting and heating them into beads for bracelets. These would be items for gifting or bartering, as there was word we may get travellers passing through Drylab tonight.

The travellers arrived at around 7PM.  They were members of the Feral Exchange Network. A group of rebel travellers who fly under the radar of governments, allotting a space in their suitcase for goods that will be given or traded along their route. The rules of the Feral Exchange are that the goods must be carried with them and given in-person. This must be documented for the archives. They asked if we would accept their gifts: Smoked Salmon. Cheese. Chocolate. Coffee. Two apples. It was food we hadn’t seen in forever. Group the energy was back on high.

We took them on a tour of Drylab and invited them to stay for dinner, offering three water bottle-bead bracelets, a block-print by BCC, and one of Moso’s drawings of our backyard (the Mojave Desert) as a thank you for the Ferally Traded food gift. They told us about their other radical work, which involved conjuring futures in order to figure out new ways of existing in the present. It is too bad they have to work so covertly… we could have used this back before the privatization and rations of water. We could use this now. Perhaps we too, can learn to conjure.

More about Feral Trade: http://www.feraltrade.org/
More about our guests work: https://fo.am/

THE BOY WHO CAUGHT BEES

Dear L.

There was a single tree on the trail up the dunes. It the only place to hide for miles, it was in bloom and it looked totally out of place. The pollinators were busy pollenating and it made me think of the autistic boy who used to watch the bees… reaching out and catching them by the wing so gentle and precise, then releasing them back into the air. He never got stung. The bees never got hurt. He understood them so well.

The desert really messes with your perception of how far away something is from where you are standing. There are no visual references for distance. Sometimes, when I’m out walking it feels like I could get to the mountains if I just reached out my arm far enough. But I would have to reach out as far as a whole day of walking would take me to even get to their base. The dunes are no exception, my eyes just don’t work here.  So, I am moving my body through them to figure it out.

With love from the top of the dunes,

Jack

WALKING THE RIDGE OF THE EXTINCT VOLCANO

 

Dear L.

I have been reading a book that talks about making kin- oddkin, rather- as a way to move through this crazy time we’ve been plopped out into.

Kin, the author says “is a wild category that all sorts of people do their best to domesticate. Making kin as oddkin rather than, or at least in addition to, godkin and genealogical and biogenetic family troubles important matters, like to whom one is actually responsible. Who lives and who dies, and how, in this kinship rather than that one? What shape is this kinship, where and whom do its lines connect and disconnect, and, so what? What must be cut and what must be tied if multispecies flourishing on earth, including human and other-than-human beings in kinship, are to have a chance.”

I feel these questions here- with the desert, with the eight of us at Drylab. I feel them when I wake up and someone has already prepared little cups full of chopped strawberries and dates, roasted seeds, soy milk and honey. I feel it when we’re working to fix up the property, when we’re getting our water, when we’re around the fire at night. When someone takes the time to catch the crickets and the moths that have made it into the trailer, and place them back outside. I felt it this morning, all walking the ridge of an extinct volcano to watch the sun rise together.

I am thinking of you, dear oddkin.

xx Jack

Too busy for small talk.

ROOM 25

05/14/23

Dear L.

I made it to our meeting spot. Its a whole lot dustier and a whole lot quieter now, and the regulars have all moved away. But there’s a tank of water that should last over a month and I’ve set up camp in the old motel rooms. Room 25.

Every surface of this place reminds me of you.

I went for a long walk in the desert to collect rocks today. We’re making them into tokens… currency for the water allocation. 1 token = 1 gallon. We get three gallons a day for personal use and then six for communal. I think I can stretch mine longer in case you don’t get here by then. And if you don’t get here before it goes dry, I’ll figure something out.

xo

Jack

desert radio, episode one