A Smattering of Photos From Our Time in the Driftless

Sorry for the formatting. I don't know what I'm doing.


Bob and I are in Madison. It's Sunday night, 10:23 pm. Bob is watching a cable show called Ninja Warrior, which looks and feel like American Gladiators with a little Double Dare thrown into it. What's really annoying to me is that Bob would totally rag on the show if it was American, but because his girlfriend is Japanese he's all for it. Claims the show improves the moral character of the today's youth. Makes your hair grow back. He keeps trying to sell me on the virtues of a show about shirtless Japanese men running through a timed obstacle course even though I'm clearly not paying attention, typing with my back to the TV, and I have headphones on.

Since we have another day before we head down to Springfield, Illinois, I thought I'd include a smattering of photos from our Travels. So far our travels have gone nothing as originally planned which is exactly as we intended. My friend Praveen told all about this phenomenon.

The pictures are jumbled up and do not really appear in a coherent order. You see Ms. Christiane's 8th grade class from the Pleasant Ridge Waldorf School. We interviewed them. They were bright and open and generous. It really pissed me off. I felt like they had skipped a few too many levels on the human food chain. One kid, Erik Shepard, later asked me if I liked the bands Tool and Dream Theater. Tool? TOOL? At least I could make fun of the names of the kids. Summer. Evergreen. My favorite: Lichen. Lichen isn't even a thing. It's a relationship between fungus and regular plants. Ha. Lichen. Now I can feel good about myself.

There's a cluster of photos of the Dreamtime Village, where the Wild Things Are. Yeah, I know, it's a cliche: visit an Anarchist Commune and immediately pick up a copy of the Anarchist Cookbook and ask, "Hey, why can't I find that recipe for the mushroom risotto?"

There's Chris with the dreads, and another of Chris and his girlfriend Bonnie practically having intercourse in public. Who knew Anarchists were so damn frisky? I liked Chris and Bonnie. Chris works at the Heartland Cafe. If Bob and I make it to Chicago, or if I make it to Chicago without Bob, we'll eat there. Bonnie is an anarchist fashion designer who makes politically evocative haute couture from reconstituted WW II military garb, like boots and dynamite. Bonnie and Chris spent a lot of time in the garden.

and there's Micaela, the Irish lass from LA who's living in Dreamtime for the second time in 8 years, this time with her son Thurman who is funny and looks like a four foot Eric Idle. I thoroughly enjoyed stomping Thurman and Bob in a spelling contest. I found out Bob can't spell, to wit, : Ostrich, Necessary, February, and Privilege. I almost spit up my organic squash and lentil soup laughing at Bob's attempt at Ostrich: Austarach. I also beat Thurman at several games based on the Pythagorean Theorem.

There's the ornery goose, Margarita. He has his own huge pen because of his penchant for biting and hitting, especially women. A misogynistic water fowl. Forget about it.

There's the fireworks. We had what amounted to a professional fireworks show two Saturdays ago to celebrate the church consecration at St. Isaac's. Fr. Simeon used to be the fire-chief of the volunteer fire department of the small town in Oklahoma where he began his life as a monk. He volunteered the monastery for fire duty. It was on 20/20 about 20 years ago. Or maybe it was Real People. It was Real People. It's difficult to maintain total recall after dealing with all the head trauma I suffered as a child actor on the set of the Incredible Hulk. I'm kidding. My parents beat me.

So we had fireworks. It was hilarious to watch to monks in full regalia lighting Class A fireworks, meant for South Dakota-esque State Fairs, with firework names like "Warrior Master," and for the benefit of just under 20 people, mostly nuns and whatnot. Needless to say the deafening explosions brought back horrible memories of the Tet Offensive so I instinctively cut Bob's throat, and ran to the hills to escape my Charlie Company Captors and ate bugs and drank my own urine to survive.

Speaking of Fr. Simeon, there he his, whitebeard and all, with his childhood friend Stan. 60 years ago they were just two normal Jewish kids growing up in Chicago. They put their pants on one hour at time just like you and me. And now, here they are. Sharing a moment on the consecration day. Check out Sister Elizabeth. She might've been my favorite. I knew I could open up to her on a personal level after she called Mother Teresa, "overrated." This is a nun after my heart. Sister Elizabeth was actually in Mother Teresa's order, so she met the women. I always suspected Mother Teresa was largely a media creation, publicity stunt. And yeah, I know she died in a plane on the way to Diana's funeral. And yeah, I know Elton John sang Candle in the Wind at Diana's funeral. And yeah, I know Elton John is gay. Wait, Elton John is gay? Does that make all of his songs gay? Crap. Bob and I were singing a duet of Rocket Man yesterday. Bob told me he likes to sing space-themed songs from the 70s, one after another. He said it makes him woebegone to realize space travel isn't that great. So we sang Ground Control to Major Tom. And Rocket Man. Bob knew almost all the lyrics, which was helpful because I knew only the chorus.

There's Bob with his Pink Hat and backpack. That was taken the day we left Mark Shepard's permaculture farm off of highway 56. Mark is the guy with the white shirt and baseball cap. He's like a botanical Thomas Edison. He's a former Dreamtimer who worked with Miekal, the jolly, lumbering founder of the place. Miekal is like Old Major from Animal Farm. I guess that makes Mark Snowball. What trips me out, is how Lenin and Marx based all their ideas on Orwell's quaint fable. Smart dudes.

Tomorrow Bob and I head off for Springfield, Illinois, my official birthplace. We're going to profile Springfield as our model for the "Grid." Plus, I gots to see Gramma Clarke. She's 92 and raised me for basically the first two years of my life since my mom couldn't do it. Mom was busy getting herself off the junk. She grew up on the streets of Baltimore with a needle in her arm but gold in her heart. By the time she had me, Mom was nearly far gone. I knew it was either get a scholarship for basketball and move onto the NBA or we would go hungry. Or is that the plot to Hoop Dreams? Is Hoop Dreams the one with Leonardo DiCaprio as heroin addict? Be honest with me right now: we all know it was totally immoral for Leo to portray the mentally retarded kid, right? but secretly you got off on it, didn't you? Check your conscience pal.

Anyway, Bob and I getting ready to leave Tuesday. I'm a little concerned how Bob will go over with my Uncle Mike. The pink bunny hat. The glasses. The slight physical stature. The constant desire to discuss Japanese culture and robots. The indifference to football. We're going to have to answer a lot of difficult questions.

Until then.

We're Pitching a Tent.

We're pitching a tent. Bob has his own. It's getting dark. Disaster awaits.

Bob's Teaching A Class

We're at the Viroqua public library. Bob said, "A LIBRARY!" and I went, "ooooh." Criminally nerdy.

Big day for Bob and I. Worked at Mark Shepard's farm picking squash. Mark is a former Dreamtimer who now owns a fairly badass joint off of highway 56. One of the Dreamtimer's set us up with this gig, bless her heart, but she didn't tell us the job paid squat. Squat for squash. The job paid 1 dollar per bushel picked, with 20 bushels per bin. There were a total of 12 bins. There 6 of us Dreamers. If we did all 12 bins, at 20 bushels per, it would come to 240 dollars, 40 dollars per person. Mark said he and Duane the geezer could do one bin per hour. We managed to clear a total of 2. In 5 hours. Mark kept dropping subtle hints that we were behind, saying, "You guys should have a lot more done."

The job sort of sucked. Working sucks. I could never be a medieval serf if being a medieval serf is anything like farming. You stand around in mud and weeds, it's cold and cloudy, and everyone around you is an Anarchist with more hair. And you're just picking shit off of vines and cleaning it and putting it into bags and dumping the bags into bins, and then a guy with a tractor takes the bins. Plus there were several hundred slugs on every fifth squash, which was mildy revolting. Jessica, another Dreamtimer, called me a delicate flower. She said farmers should plant fields of me. Bonnie and Chris, the anarchist couple agreed I was "prissy." Chris chastised me for labeling certain botanical organisms "weeds," and said what people called weeds were relative. Then he said people pull weeds too quickly from their lawns. He said people should let weeds grow for a time, since grass will just take over naturally. I said, "like gentrification?" Everyone stared.

Then I got really hungry. Haven't ate much. Kept talking about sandwiches. Chris gave me detail instructions for how to eat bugs and plants as an alternative. All I wanted to do was talk about Turkey sandwiches. Priceless material. Rich. Great for the Doc: six Dreamtimers working on an Anarchist farm in the gorgeous environs of the Driftless.

Except Bob didn't bring the camera. He said, "we're not filmmakers today; we're farmhands." I told him that was going in the blog. Then I said I was going to wring his neck. He told me he would brain me with an acorn squash. we all laughed.

We left Mark's but not before making plans to stay at his farm this Saturday. Mark is an Anarchist Financial Genius who knows a lot about what he calls, "Creative Borrowing." We would need graphic organizers to explain it.

We spent the rest of the day setting up our profile of the Youth Initiative High School: http://www.yihs.net/ and the Pleasant Ridge Waldorf School. We're in with both schools. They love us. We kept referring to our documentary as "Off the Grid." It's just a metaphor, but it works. It sings. Not having the camera actually paid off. The headmasters of both schools didn't tense up. By the end of the day we were in the main adminstrative office typing up release forms, emails, I was checking my ebay status of the Bruce tickets I'm selling, and Bob was helping a student with a project. Chinese Films. Bob went into a mini-Post-Doc thesis about "the difference between Fifth and Sixth Generation Chinese Filmmakers and the World Cinema Market." Then he offered to be a substitute for the film teacher on Friday. What the hell is going on here?

So that's our story for now. Bob's teaching and I'm a delicate flower.

Until then,

Kneel Before Zod!

Bob and I have decided to visit the Youth Initiative high school. It's a school started by students. We're going to profile the school as one of our communities. The school is in Viroqua.

Bob is in the next room watching a documentary called The Real Dirt on Farmer John. Last night he was a big hit with the crowd here at Dreamtime after he shared his stash of Gummy Choco, a tasty Japanese candy. All the anarchists ate that up hook, line, and sinker. Bob just loves LOVES telling everyone his girlfriend is from Japan. Gives him street cred. Like wearing a Canadian Maple Leaf on your backpack in Europe. No one cares that my girlfriend is French Canadian Polish.

In other news, we've started to see our doc coming into focus. We're looking at communities "off the grid." One of the guests here, Makeala, and her man, Cullen, told us about going up North, to a piece of property that had no electricity. It was "Off the grid." I like it. It's got a ring to it, like "off the Hook." Although Zon doesn't like it. He refuses to answer whether or not he's off the grid. Says I'm using the metaphor incorrectly. Foiled again. Maybe he's irked because I accidentally called him Zod, the villain from Superman 2 played by Terrance Stamp.

Until then.

We're Going Back to School

Bob and I have decided to visit the Youth Initiative high school. It's a school started by students. We're going to profile the school as one of our communities. The school is in Viroqua.

Bob is in the next room watching a documentary called The Real Dirt on Farmer John. Last night he was a big hit with the crowd here at Dreamtime after he shared his stash of Gummy Choco a tasty Japanese candy. All the anarchists ate that up hook, line, and sinker. Bob just loves LOVES telling everyone his girlfriend is from Japan. Gives him street cred. Like wearing a Canadian Maple Leaf on your backpack in Europe. No one cares that my girlfriend is French Canadian Polish.

In other news, we've started to see our doc coming into focus. We're looking at communities "off the grid." One of the guests here, Makeala, and her man, Cullen, told us about going up North, to a piece of property that had no electricity. It was "Off the grid." I like it. It's got a ring to it, like "off the Hook." Although Zon doesn't like it. He refuses to answer whether or not he's off the grid. Says I'm using the metaphor incorrectly. Foiled again. Maybe he's irked because I accidentally called him Zod, the villain from Superman 2 played by Terrance Stamp.

Until then.

Bob is an Anarchist

We're here at the Dreamtime Village. (www.dreamtimevillage.org) Lucas gave us a ride from Soldier's Grove, WI, in a borrowed car. Who's Lucas? Bob met him yesterday at the Country Garden Motel and Lodge. Only 42 dollars for a room. Bob and I shared a room. Risha Murray gave us a lift in her pick up truck from St. Isaac's. She called us "fakers" for taking a ride. She dropped us off at the Country Garden's motel, where the "lodge" tavern doubles as the front desk. Within minutes we had a room.

Buck antlers and trophy heads adorned the walls, and a leather feed bucket hung from the rafters. There were rafters. The only humans inside were Anna the manager and Lisa the bartender. Lisa hates the Packers because they ignored her handicapped brother during a charity event in Soldier's Grove. I told Lisa I didn't blame her for her radical stance, but I couldn't get behind it since Favre happens to be my spiritual guru. Anyway, it was a perfect place to catch the second half of the Packer's awe-inspiring, ball-stomping victory over the Chargers.

Actually, Bob didn't watch the game. He has an aversion to professional sports and the people who watch them. He was wandering around the back of the motel with his camera. That's how he met Lucas. Lucas was playing a saxaphone on a bench behind the motel. Bob stood three feet from Lucas and recorded him. Lisa and I watched from the bar. Then I told her about our plans to visit communities in the area, like Dreamtime. She had no idea it existed, so we talked about Bar fights and who the toughest guy in Soldier's Grove was. It's Dave Pugh.

Back to Lucas. He's young. Bob-type young. And he has lots of red hair, and a tattoo of one four empty bars of music on the inside of his forearm. Whenever he finds a riff he likes, he'll pen in the notes on his arm to write down in a ledger. He knew about Dreamtime and said he'd get us a ride. I felt a little conflicted about this, since Bob and I have only walked one day of our now 7 day journey.

Also, I was fairly sure Lucas was going to kidnap us, take us to an abandoned house and make Bob cut off my testicles with my Gerber hunting knife. I made Bob record my last words for the camera in the motel parking lot just minutes before Lucas arrived. Bob didn't seem scared in the least bit. He's very trusting, which is really a bad trait of his.

But Lucas didn't kidnap us, rob us, or make Bob remove my special organ. We got to Dreamtime around 2 pm. It's in West Lima, Wisconsin. Population 50. The closest store is about 6 miles away. (We're in the Driftless zone of Wisconsin-see map above- the part not touched by the glaciers. It's quite stunning to look at. People call themselves the Drifltess, which is funny because so many drifters came here to start farms and communities, like Organic Valley Farms). So that's where we are. At the moment we are two of about a dozen people staying here.

We've only been for a few hours, so I don't want to make any sweeping conclusions. We came in trying to get a hold on the philosophy of Anarchy. Most people get sort of freaked out by the word. The people here know that, and diplomatically distance themselves from the label. I can say this is a community that revolves principles, and those principles find expression in the way they eat and grow food. One of the guests, who arrived on friday from Chicago with his girlfriend, was more forthright in discussing anarchy. He said militant anarchy has it's place, but resistance starts and ends with "food and fuel." When we asked Zon to enumerate the basics of anarchy he visibly recoiled. Then he pointed to a pile of horse dung in front of us and said, " this horse shit is what believe. We take this horse shit and turn into it something beautiful. This horseshit will help us feed hundreds of people over the next few years." So there you go.

Anyway, as we were filming people in the main lodging facility, "The Hotel", I asked people about the kind of music anarchists listen to. Francis named a band I never heard of, but Bob chimed in, "They're excellent. or they use to be." Francis concurred. Bob said he liked post-rock music. Francis said anarchists tend to favor any "post" music. Bob nodded his head. I knew it. Toads, post-rock music, the funny looking mesh hat with the pink bunny rabbit on it: Bob's a neo-anarchist libertarian socialist. Both Francis and Bob sort of chuckled when I mentioned the Beatles and the Stones. "I use to like the Beatles", said Francis. "Who doesn't?"
Then Francis and Bob exchanged knowing glances and head nods.

They're eating dinner now. Bob is helping with the cooking and place setting. Lending a hand, establishing himself as the good one. Again. I'm the fluff schmuck who likes to "blog". Oooh.
I have no idea what the next few days will have in store. I'm sure we will learn a boatload. I will tell you this. I am staying in a the room of a legally insane man who comes to Dreamtime every five weeks. Tonight I'm going to commune with his spirit. Bob is going to discuss Post-Rock and make everyone like him more than me.

Until then.

Wait'll the Anarchists Get a Load of Bob

We've decided on our next destination, and in true documentarian fashion, it is not a part of our original itinerary. We're going to the Dreamtime Village in La Farge, Wisconsin, about 41 miles north of the monastery. Google them. They're an anarchist collective dedicated to permaculture. We're not sure what that means, but we're going to find out.