Oh farewell,

And a wicked weird little year its been. Full of illusions befitting the big top and nearly bereft of anything resembling a meaningful shift in the staggering inequities in class and economic status found worldwide. The industry that is war continues to plunder and pillage. The suppression of environmental stop gaps continue in the name of corporate profit. The devastating realization that Tiger Woods  probably isn't the second coming, or the third or fourth for that matter. Life strikes back.

Fresh off the climate summit at Brokenhagen and the passage of the senate insurance care bill we twitter on the brink of "what now" and continue to live as though we are somehow immune. Shot full of the superiority vaccine we strut to the beat of our own opinions as though having them makes them fact. And as to facts, if you must bring them up do so with an apologetic tone so as not to offend the delicate sensibilities of the lying scumbags who while beating their chests in protest will also condemn the facts on the basis of unacceptable presentation. Thus ends a new blog feature: The Gnome Chompsky moment of irony.

"Wow, that's neat unky Jp. I thought you were really pissed there for a minute."

"Not at all, little fella. A little frenzy talk is tonic for the soul. Like the olive in a Martini."

I met my godson when he was one week old. He had a shock of dark hair, soon to turn blond, a wayward cross eyed look, arms that reached out in a quest for discovery and fingers that held my pinkies tight. He reclined in the cradle formed by my lap as we swapped pheromones. He had a gummy little grin that was set off by practically anything.

In a moment I'll never forget, I began gently bouncing him in my lap. His response was a startled little look followed by the stiffening of legs and a waving of arms in some imitation of a conductor leading a symphony of spastic mutants. He added a dash of toothless squealing. So little attention for such an awesome response. I was bowled over by the sense of love, pure and simple, asking nothing, expecting less and amazed by the connection.

So it has been for over twenty years now. So many memory bubbles. I remember when we sat together and figured out that we had reluctantly said goodbye to each other around two hundred times before he got to move in with me. I remember Wood Valley and Turtle beach where we would do our explorin' up in dry stream beds and  ocean tide pools. And the time when he stuttered for a couple of months at around age four. It was all you could do to hold back the tears. I just thought, too young to be strapped. Turned out to be a bit of unfinished wiring in the old noggin and he was good as new.

I recall his first day of school with snappy clothes and combed hair. His secret places in the woods behind his backyard on the big island that he would share with me. Stories of brave adventures and the slaying of dragons were tossed about liberally. We built legos together and constructed small ponds in the backyard as habitat for the tadpoles and water bugs  we'd catch on our weekend outings. He had enough Pokeman cards to choke a t-rex. When Quake came out, we did nothing but play for months. Bleary eyed and plagued by demonic dreams, we grimaced and laughed  our way through the first person shooter world of adrenalin pumping action. Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoowah. Good times.

I recall these things because at years end when the heart quiets and the mind turns reflective, my young son helps me remember. To remember how central to any sane appraisal of life is the virtue of loving in a way unconditioned by events and able to withstand the maelstrom. Thank you, my brave young warrior for giving me the experience of parenthood. Thanks to you too mah, for showing me the way.

Oh yeah, the crater. Its been a few weeks since ms. Faloley and I traipsed our way through the meditative space that is Haleakala. In brief, the weather was perfection, the company was lovely beyond measure and the overall effect was to have our soulful fuel compartments topped off for the next however long and be reminded of the fact that that place ROCKS. That's right, no five part recap. I will say that the experience is always akin to a spiritual awakening in that there is really no way of describing the clarity and peace within which one is embraced.

The year in farming. Ta Dah. Pretty freakin' good. Learned alot. Mostly about how much i don't know, and yet people consider me an authority of sorts. Deep kimchee. Ramped up to broader marketing strategies as well as expanding value added items to House of Yumm menu. Sprouting seedling plants useful for fuel production i.e. bio diesel, ethanol, and methane. Enjoying it all more because hey, i'd be an idiot not to. We celebrated our relative success in the realm of poultry productivity by cooking up a few holiday turkeys for the chickens. They moved slowly at first, approaching and sniffing then backing off, with one finally taking a peck. At that point they descended like a school of piranhas on spring break. Ate everything but the turnips and the bones and the vegan stuffing that nurse Dinah made.

Political observations: wouldn't vote for Sarah Palin but rank her at about a seven point four on the MILF scale. Getting tired of the talking heads. Glad Peter Ortzag found a babe. Our geopolitical aspirations are doomed. No way out. Ohmygod. No way out. Unless...........what if, one bright sunny morning we all went to our mailbox and found that the government had sent a perfectly measured dose of ecstasy to each and ever adult (over twelve) in the nation with instructions to launch in sync with each time zone and tune in to Turner classic movies to view an HDTV version of "Field of Dreams", after which well, use your imagination. If we all collected our tears, we could raise the level of the oceans to combat global warming. Totally cool. But really and c'mon, blowing the lid off the current memadigm is the only way out. So lets get crackin'.

From mohawk and missy and smartypantz and buddi and runterella and lahki. From the Rhode Island Red choir and the Leg horn section. From the mangoes hanging and the atemoyas plumping. From the dew kissed greens and all the space in between, we wish you all that you wish for yourself.

"Hey, what about me, unky Jp." " Oh yeah, and from the little noodge too."

The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace out, Jp