An Open Letter

Dear Family, Friends & Readers, I will not be at liberty to write for some time.  I am not at liberty to share the details of the what and why.  In many moons I will be free to talk and I will do so.  Until then, I want to leave you with two things. The … More An Open Letter

On the Elevens

I dig the number 11.  Reminds me of those two ancient pillars, Space and Time, and me living in between. I like seeing it show up on my digital clocks, that 11:11 observational bias thing. I like pausing for that one minute and wishing for something.  Not because I think that minute has magical powers, … More On the Elevens

Reverse Engineering

When I told my family and friends that I was going to start a web site called Harvest Liberty, most politely smiled and said something like, “Is that so?”  One dear friend and mentor, however, offered this: “I challenge you to report back on how you do it.”  At the time I laughed and accepted … More Reverse Engineering

Planting Season Holiday

For the months of April, May, June and July, I’m going to abandon my strict Monday-Wednesday-Friday posting schedule and post instead when the spirit moves me; and likely when the elements conspire to drive me indoors!  I am truly enjoying this work here in the virtual commons and getting to engage with so many diverse … More Planting Season Holiday

Anarchist Geese

When I graduated High School my classmates predicted that at ten years out I’d be found bra-less riding a skateboard.  I liked it.  It spoke to my relationship with both what I then saw as my activist roots, the no-bra 1960’s, and my rebellious current associations (in 1991, skateboarders were radical).  It also meant that … More Anarchist Geese

Sometimes It Rains

On Wednesdays I have a deal with myself that I’ll post something related to my philosophical and political exploration of liberty.  So I’m here, showing up, but sometimes that’s all we can do.  With nothing fully formed enough yet to be written with any truth, I offer to you instead some notes on the direction … More Sometimes It Rains


There are small miracles within writer’s block.  The whistle of a train can cut the silence.  Long and low across the night, its rumbling, creaky progress echoes, until, with a layering of staccato beats, it accelerates and passes out of town. I, too, pass, and speed above the fast hum, a rhythmic clacking and my … More Unselfdeceptive