This Spring Try Macro Photography

[First Published in the May 2013 edition of The Basic Alternative Newspaper]

Photographers know they can get great photos any time of year. But there’s just something about spring that makes us want to get out there and start taking photos. It’s the time of year when insects and other small creatures first appear and life begins anew. It’s also the time when some shutterbugs wish they knew how to take close-ups and macro photographs. Unfortunately, many of them won’t get the opportunity because they believe it’s just too difficult or expensive. And so they miss out on another great spring. Yes, it’s true. Macro photography can get very technical. And yes, some of the equipment can be quite specialized and expensive. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Chances are, you can get started in macro photography with your existing gear—and a little ingenuity.

So, what is close-up, or macro photography? That’s simple: it’s making the small large. The less demanding area of close-ups generally involves reproduction ratios from 1:20 on up to life size, or 1:1. Likely natural subjects include plants and mushrooms. True macro photography begins at life size and goes up from there. But what does life size mean? Back in the days of 35mm film cameras [anyone remember those?] if you shot an ant that was 5mm long, and the ant’s image on the negative was 5mm, then it was shot life size [1:1]—got it? It’s all about subject size compared to image size. Let’s say we photograph that same 5mm ant again and, this time, its image size is 10mm. Now, we’re shooting at 2X life size or 2:1. Confused? Don’t worry, that’s about as mathematical as we’re going to get. We’re almost ready to talk hardware. But before we do, there’s a critical concept we need to cover—depth of field (DOF).

In macro photography, depth of field is key. Simply put, DOF concerns itself with how much of your subject is in focus. Unfortunately, the more you magnify an image, the less the DOF. If your ant’s antennae are in focus, its body probably isn’t. Depth of field is the greatest limiting factor in macro photography. Within limits, you can control it by adjusting your f-stop. Your f-stop [or aperture] refers to the diameter of the aperture formed by the lens’ shutter blades. The smaller the diameter of the aperture, the larger the numerical value of the f-stop. For example, an aperture of f16 is far smaller than f4. More importantly, the smaller the aperture, the greater the depth of field. Because of this, you’ll rarely shoot a macro subject at less than f8, and a smaller aperture would be even better. Avoid stopping the lens down all the way. That will cause excessive diffraction and degrade your image too much.

Now that we’ve covered the basic concepts, how to begin? That depends on what you have to work with. At this point, owners of fixed-lens point and shoots might look askance at their rudimentary cameras, but they’d be mistaken. Not only do most point and shoots have a “macro” mode, by their very design these modest cameras have a built in advantage. That’s because aperture isn’t the only factor that determines depth of field. The area of the negative [film] or sensor [digital] in a camera also helps determine depth of field. The sensors in digital cameras come in a variety of sizes. Don’t worry about what they’re called. What’s important to know is this: if everything else is equal, the smaller the sensor area, the greater the depth of field. So, the person armed with a digital point and shoot and its small sensor will enjoy an advantage in depth of field as compared to someone with a fancier camera with a larger sensor. If they are using lenses of equivalent focal length, the photographer with the point and shoot will have more of his ant in focus. So, if you’ve got a simple camera don’t despair, just go for it.

Even if they do have a camera with interchangeable lens, some photographers don’t own a macro lens. What to do? There are several ways to solve this problem. The simplest approach involves the use of what are called diopters, or supplementary lens. These may be thought of as magnifying glasses that screw on the front of your lens just like a filter. They come singly or in a set. This is a very inexpensive means of gaining magnification but remember, anything you place in front of your lens will degrade the image to some extent. It’s just a matter of striking a balance between magnification and image quality. Try different combinations on your lens and study the results. You’ll soon find what works best for you in any given situation. Diopters also work with point and shoots provided they are available in the correct size.

So, diopters don’t do anything for you? Or maybe you want more magnification? What else can be done with the gear at hand? Another trick that surprises those new to macro photography is the idea of reversing your lens on the camera body with an inexpensive “reversing” ring. That’s right; take the photo with the lens on backwards! Be forewarned, the zoom kit lens so common today rarely work well due to their indifferent optical quality. Fortunately, an inexpensive alternative is probably sitting in your camera bag: the standard 50mm lens. Back in the days of film [around the last ice age], most new cameras sold came equipped with a 50mm, and nothing else. Because of its ubiquity, the 50mm lens is generally not only inexpensive but optically superb as well. Turn it around and you’re instantly shooting at life size (1:1).

You’ll lose auto focus, but don’t worry. Because of depth of field issues, macro is a manual focus game. The DOF is just too shallow to rely upon auto focus. That brings up another point. To use the reverse lens technique, you’ll need a camera that allows you to select a “shoot without lens” option. Otherwise, the camera won’t function. Once “shoot without lens” is selected, just set the camera on aperture priority and it will select the appropriate shutter speed.

Because we’re using manual focus, it might be time to dust off those old lens you [or your parents] have gathering dust because you don’t shoot film anymore. If you use a Canon or one of the micro four-thirds digital cameras, inexpensive adapters can be purchased that allow you to use practically any legacy lens. Even old enlarger lens can be used and are superb for macro due to their optical quality. Because of the flange distance—the distance from the back of the lens element to the sensor plane—Nikons aren’t quite as flexible in this regard.

Besides these techniques, there are a host of other options. It just depends on how elaborate you want to get. For instance, you could try lens stacking, by connecting a shorter focal length lens backwards in front of another lens with an inexpensive “macro coupling” ring. Or you might experiment with extension tubes or teleconverters. That’s the beauty of macrophotography; it’s limited only by your imagination. But remember, for the most part, these more involved techniques are used to obtain higher magnification.

Sounds great, right? The whole idea behind shooting macro is enlarging the subject, so the more the merrier. Unfortunately, you’ll soon find that there are definite limits to what can be accomplished with a hand-held camera. Because of the extremely limited depth of field, 2X is probably the upper limit, even for experienced macro photographers. You could use a tripod—and you should whenever possible—but have you ever tried chasing a butterfly across a field while dragging a camera on a tripod?

Once you start taking macro photographs, you’ll soon find that trying to hold still and keep the subject in focus is enough to drive you crazy. As in target shooting, you have to learn to control your breathing and squeeze off the shot. Whatever you do, don’t rack the focus in and out. Focus the lens at the closest distance [or desired image magnification] and then lean your body in or out to achieve focus. As in photographing big game, you must get the eyes in focus. If they aren’t sharp, it’s a deal breaker. Don’t be surprised if you don’t have too much luck initially. In fact, it’s not uncommon to spend an afternoon shooting only to discover you have little to show for your efforts. If you get a couple of keepers, you’ve had a good day.

Because of the small apertures used for these shots, there never seems to be enough light. This can be a real problem with insects on the move. The quivering of a moth’s antennae or the buzzing of a bee are enough to blur the shot. That’s why it’s good to use a flash when available to stop the motion. Although highly specialized macro flashes are available, they can be quite expensive and are often unnecessary. Instead, why not try the flash you already have? If your flash has a cord, try rigging it out at the end of your lens and off to one side. This will create a modeling effect and emphasize the depth and texture of your subject. Even if you don’t own a flash, an inexpensive LED light carefully positioned can assist you in focusing.

Macro photography doesn’t have to be complicated or expensive. With a little know-how, you can make the gear you already own work for you. The important thing is to refine your technique while gaining experience in the field. Study your subjects and the images you take will improve exponentially. Once you learn how to use your equipment to its full potential you can think about upgrades. In the meantime, it’s spring—what are you waiting for? 

Gun Control: Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics

[First Published in the April 2013 edition of The Basic Alternative Newspaper]

The tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School has renewed the debate over gun control in the United States. Predictably, both sides are up to their old tricks. The same people that have hijacked the discussion in the past are at it again. To make good decisions, we need to discern truth from the lies and disinformation that some gun control advocates use to obscure it. The intent here is not to argue for or against gun control, but rather to identify some of the falsehoods that are presented as fact. So—time to check the spin factor on the antigun crowd.

Journalists are suspicious by nature. We’re trained to be. In fact, the only thing I remember from journalism school is this useful aphorism: If your mother says she loves you—check it out. Check it out… that’s good advice. Let’s apply that to the antigun argument and see what happens.

The first thing you’re likely to hear from those opposed to firearms ownership is that the Second Amendment only applies to militias formed for national defense. That’s not their call to make. In District of Columbia v. Heller [554 US 570 (2008)], the court stated: “There seems to us no doubt, on the basis of both text and history, that the Second Amendment conferred an individual right to keep and bear arms.” Don’t like the decision? That’s tough. I’m not too fond of Citizen’s United myself.

Undeterred, opponents will argue that the Second Amendment is antiquated and should be eliminated. A bold position to take, especially when the Supreme Court feels such action is above their pay grade. In the Heller decision, they make this clear: “It is not the role of this court to pronounce the Second Amendment extinct.” Despite this, some activists would happily eliminate the amendment. Fortunately, our system of government makes this a difficult thing to do.

Those calling for the demise of the Second Amendment should pause and consider that they might be setting a dangerous precedent. If the Second Amendment can be eliminated so easily, what about the other amendments? In a country devolving into an oligarchy, free speech and right of assembly might prove a nuisance at best. Of course, it’s a lot safer to implement such changes on an unarmed population.

How many times have you heard someone say that, if you keep a gun at home, you’re far more likely to accidentally shoot yourself than you are to use it for self-defense? Those who own firearms have heard this one ad nauseam. It’s particularly grating coming from those whose personal expertise in firearms is derived solely from playing Call of Duty in their mother’s basement for twelve hours a day. When asked, these know-it-alls can’t even cite the study they are quoting. It’s just something they heard somewhere.

What they are referencing is a study that was conducted at the Center for Injury Control at Emory University in the late 1990s. The study’s conclusions were based on police, EMS and hospital records in just three U.S. cities over an 18-month interval. In all, the data consists of only 626 firearms-related incidents. To extrapolate findings for the entire country from such limited data strikes one as a major sampling error.

Equally disserving is the notion that you don’t need guns to protect yourself anyway because that’s what the police are for. Those who subscribe to this theory are just as uninformed as their statistically challenged colleagues. Since some opposed to firearms have a regrettable tendency to skip their homework, it’s not surprising this turns out to be incorrect too. In a landmark legal case, DeShaney v. Winnebago County Department of Social Services [109 S. Ct. 998 (1989)], the court found that: “Nothing in the language of the Due Process Clause [14^th Amendment] itself requires the State to protect the life, liberty, and property of its citizens against invasion by private actors…even where such aid may be necessary….”

Translation: You’re on your own. Even the notoriously antigun International Association of Chief’s of Police [IACP] has acknowledged as much. In a May 2006 brief in their publication, The Police Chief, the readership is reminded that they are under no legal obligation to protect individuals in the community—none. This from the same organization that has consistently objected to efforts at federal standardization of concealed weapons licensing.

Speaking of police departments, several big city chiefs have been clear in their support for gun control of all types. If many had their way, all guns would be banned. These individuals always make a big deal out of the European approach to firearms. However, they’ve failed to consider the implications. In Great Britain, most police officers do not carry firearms, a fact they were brutally reminded of in Sept. 2012 when a criminal in Manchester killed two unarmed officers after luring them into a trap.

If we’d really all be better off without firearms, perhaps police in the U.S. should lead by example. Just imagine what shift change would look like at some tough precinct in Detroit or Philly when the officers were told to surrender their weapons in exchange for a nice, shiny new… whistle. If fewer guns equal less gun-related violence, then it doesn’t make sense to arm police officers either.

At it’s core, much of the impetus for gun control springs from elitists that presume to know what’s best for the unwashed masses—even if they don’t know themselves. Worse still [and here’s the elitist part] what’s good for the general population doesn’t necessarily go for everyone. Case in point: Mayor Michael Bloomberg of New York City fame. A billionaire with national aspirations, he’s not shy about sharing his worldview with us less-enlightened folks. Whether it’s banning guns or big gulps, Bloomberg is there. When problems are just too “complex”[his term] for us simpletons, he doesn’t hesitate to act unilaterally for the public good. I don’t know about you, but I’m relieved to know there really is an old, omniscient honky up there looking out for us!

Trouble is, Bloomberg’s distaste for guns does not extend to his personal security retinue. When approached by a journalist on this issue, his response was to ignore the man as his armed security team ran interference. So, that’s the way it’s going to be. One set of rules for the serfs, and another for the lord of the manor. And we wonder why those who oppose gun control are so suspicious.

Those who would eliminate firearms are fond of quoting statistics from other countries that have embraced the draconian measures so appealing to gun grabbers in the U.S. These armchair bean counters are especially fond of trotting out Australia as an example of the paradise that awaits us once good ultimately triumphs over evil and private ownership of firearms is outlawed. But just as in Great Britain, things in Australia aren’t as great as some would have us believe….

Mark Twain, that master fabricator, once observed, “There are lies, damned lies, and statistics.” A prescient observation—especially when applied to the gun control debate. Twain would certainly forgive us for appropriating his maxim, particularly had he read a recent New York Times op-ed by the former prime minister of Australia, John Howard.

In the January 16, 2013 piece titled “I Went After Guns, Obama Can Too,” Howard touts the actions taken by the Australian government in the wake of a 1996 shooting incident that left 35 people dead in Port Arthur, Tasmania. As a result, Australia greatly curtailed firearms ownership. This move was undoubtedly made easier by the fact that, as Howard smugly observes: “Australia, correctly in my view, does not have a Bill of Rights.” That darn Bill of Rights can really be annoying sometimes. Howard goes on to cite the Australian Institute of Criminology, noting that, as a result of his actions, firearms-related homicides have been cut in half. While this sounds good, Mark Twain might have disagreed. Much like the aforementioned Emory University study, the numbers coming out of Australia just don’t add up.

The Australian Institute of Criminology has a great website, bursting with statistical data—Howard was smart to quote them. Unfortunately, his quantitative skills appear a bit rusty. While it’s true that homicide by gun in Australia has decreased dramatically, the overall homicide rate has scarcely changed at all. As the institute blandly observes: “There has been an upward trend in use of knives and sharp instruments which in 2006-2007 accounted for nearly half of all homicide victims.” So, if you kill someone in Australia, the government would really appreciate it if you used a butter knife, spoon, golf club or umbrella… anything but a gun. Not only is it bad for the stats, it’s downright uncivilized as well.

Since Australia disarmed its citizenry, crime rates have soared. Assaults in The Land Down Under have, on average, increased at four times the rate of annual population growth, up 55% between 1996 and 2007, the last year for which statistics are available. By contrast, the U.S. has experienced a -22% rate of change in assaults. Likewise, sexual assaults in Australia have climbed 51% since 1995. Meanwhile, back in the uncouth States, our rate of sexual victimization for females alone declined 58% during roughly the same period. In fact, according to the U.S. Department of Justice, since 1993 the rate of violent crime in the United States has declined by a whopping 72%.  These statistics are even more impressive when one considers that the population of the United States is approximately fifteen times larger than that of Australia. Given these facts it’s not surprising that, barbarians that we are, we are less than impressed by Prime Minister Howard’s argument. And so, we’re obliged to wish Mr. Howard a safe trip back to Australia—watch out for those salad forks!

In the end, what we decide to do about guns must be based on facts and reason, not on lies, distortion and fuzzy thinking. You can’t have an honest debate predicated on dishonesty. While it’s true some gun owners fall prey to jingoism and emotional appeals, their counterparts in the gun control camp consistently play loose with the facts. Neither do a service to their cause. If we are to have a rational debate, let’s begin by filtering out all the nonsense and see what’s left because ultimately, the future of our country is too important to entrust to the hands of elitists, propagandists, or—innumerate Australians. 

A Farewell to Arms: How Some Gun Owners Are Shooting Themselves In The Foot

[First Published in the March 2013 edition of The Basic Alternative Newspaper]

I’m not a pacifist. At age eight, I received my first shooting lesson from a one-armed mechanic who was the finest marksman I’ve ever met. I’ve been shooting ever since. As I type, night has fallen. I live in a low-crime neighborhood, and I personally intend to keep it that way. That’s why a Glock 45 ACP pistol sits on my desk. As someone once said: “I believe in my fellow man, I also believe in firepower.” At this point anti-gunners and those indifferent to the gun control debate, sensing another pro-gun love fest, might choose to tune out. But I’d suggest you stick around a while. You might be surprised….

As a gun owner, it pains me to report that the antigun crowd does not have a monopoly on mendacity or extremism. Far from it, many who support gun ownership seem to expend considerable energy in wrecking their own cause through just such tactics. Their antics of late are enough to make any reasonable gun owner cringe at the prospect of guilt by association. The idea of any gun legislation drives these extremists to fits of histrionics reminiscent of two-year olds throwing a tantrum. At the same time, their juvenile rhetoric is laughable. Well, it would be if my right to possess a firearm were not jeopardized by their actions.  So, let’s take a look at some of the ways the gun debate has been co-opted. Where to begin with such an embarrassment of riches?

Let’s start with the idea that gun control is an either/or proposition. Either you’re for guns or you’re against them. Although this is the most basic of logical fallacies, some don’t see it that way. No, either you’re with us or against us. It’s all black and white: Us versus Them, Red v. Blue, Conservative v. Liberal…Republican v. Democrat. Never mind the fact that this infantile view can be refuted with a simple bumper sticker that I saw the other day. It read: PROUD GUNTOT’N IDAHO DEMOCRAT. Any questions? This absolutism, so prevalent in political discourse today, is the reason nothing gets accomplished in Washington. We have allowed the extremists to define reality as they see it.

In large part, their reality comes straight from the top: the National Rifle Association (NRA). There’s no sense recounting the NRA’s long history. Anyone curious can look it up. But what I [as a former NRA member] do find curious, is the NRA’s insistence that they represent the members, rather than industry. Let’s consider Wayne LaPierre, the NRA’s Executive Vice President and CEO. LaPierre got his start at the NRA in 1978. By 1991, he’d clawed his way to the top. Now, he is the public face of the NRA and, with a total yearly compensation around a million bucks, it appears he’ll make it through the recession. LaPierre is noted for his intransigence where gun control issues are concerned. I guess if I were paid a million dollars a year, I’d be gung-ho too. But the question remains. Who, exactly, does he represent?

Not widely reported is the fact that merchants within the firearms industry created a program known as the NRA Round-Up Program. How does it work? When you make a purchase, you’ll be offered the opportunity to round up to the nearest whole dollar amount, with the difference going to the NRA. The result: total contributions from this program alone exceed $9 million. One vendor, extolling the virtues of the “Endowment,” as it is referred to, suggests that, “If you’re feeling especially patriotic...give a little extra!” Well heck, all I can say is God Bless America! Instead of watering my Liberty Tree, I’ll just cough up a few extra bucks so LaPierre can get his office redecorated. After all, it’s the patriotic thing to do.

Like Joan of Arc, LaPierre is divinely inspired. A zealot who, along with many of his fellow right-wing chicken hawks, avoided service in Vietnam, he has belatedly transformed himself into a fearless patriot leading an army of freedom while boldly declaiming: We Will Stand And Fight! Accompanying this newfound militancy, of course, is the de rigueur demand for more money, and participation.

Should fealty alone prove insufficient, LaPierre hedges his bet by generously sharing his apocalyptic vision of a world rife with hurricanes, tornadoes, riots, terrorists, gangs and lone criminals all gunning for us. The only thing missing are ravenous hordes of zombies —perhaps he’s holding them in reserve. For an organization that describes itself as the largest civil rights organization in the world, the NRA sounds more like a cult. Come to think of it, LaPierre does resemble Jim Jones a bit—especially when he’s engaged in one of his narcissistic rants against those who dare oppose him. If you’re attending the next NRA convention, you might want to skip the refreshments.

Since we’re discussing patriotism, let’s turn our attention to some others who’ve been busy, as they describe it, exercising their Second Amendment rights. (What’s up with this amendment anyway? Why does it have to be constantly exercised? Is it flabby? Does it suffer from bloating? Perhaps having a Second Amendment right is like having a Doberman—you need to let him loose on the neighbor’s lawn just to show who’s calling the shots.) With the renewed call for gun-control measures, the patriots have been coming out of the woodwork. Patriots, that’s what they call themselves. Why? It’s simple. If they’re patriots, anyone who disagrees with them must be a traitor. If this sounds familiar, it should. It’s the same approach McCarthy used in the 1950s. Neither has much to recommend it. Note to Patriots: You can wrap a dead skunk in an American flag—but it’s still going to smell like a dead skunk.

So, how have these patriots gone about exercising their rights? Lately they’ve been concentrating on public spectacles to get the word out. This can take many forms. For instance, National Gun Appreciation Day, held on Jan. 19, was trumpeted as an opportunity for red-blooded Americans to come out of the closet and show the nation who they really are. Many gun shows were scheduled for that day in order to sell—uh, support the cause. Unfortunately, all did not go as planned. In their rush to show what repressed girly-men gun control advocates really are, several patriots at these shows were accidentally shot, thus providing support for their opponents. Ironically, a website related to the event heralded it as a great success and a reminder to the gun grabbers that “They’d better keep [their] hands off our firearms.” Sounds like a good idea, especially if the owners aren’t smart enough to know if their guns are loaded….

Speaking of repression, some online pro-gun commentators have taken to quoting Sigmund Freud, of all people, on the subject of guns. The purported quote goes something like this:

A fear of weapons is a sign of retarded sexual and emotional maturity—Sigmund Freud

If it’s on the net, it must be true, right? I mean, it’s signed and everything. Unsurprisingly, this lame attempt at intellectual legitimacy falls flat. Are we to believe that these people who, based on their incoherent online babblings have a tough time deciphering a comic book, are suddenly delving into the mysteries of psychiatry with Freud? Not likely.

Back at the ranch, the latest pro-gun gambit has resulted in rallies being held in various states, including Idaho. These Second Amendment rallies involve groups marching with signs and brandishing firearms in very public settings as orators harangue the crowd with patriotic speeches. You can even buy T-shirts commemorating the event [and, if you’re feeling especially patriotic, buy two]. In Idaho, at least, open carry laws enable their guns to be loaded.

Unsurprisingly, other states are less enlightened in this regard. In California, those choosing to exercise their rights may openly carry firearms, but they must be unloaded. And so, Californians have been treated to the spectacle of frustrated, impotent gun owners neurotically obsessing over their empty guns—shooting blanks as it were. I wonder what Freud would have to say about that?

I don’t know about you, but when I see groups of armed people strutting around town, the first term that comes to mind is not Patriot. No, more like: gun-shop commando, mall ninja, Rambo wannabe…cowboy. By the way, cowboys may “do it better,” but not when it comes to supporting my Second Amendment rights. If it’s all the same to you yahoos, I’ll speak for myself.

In January, a man in Utah achieved brief notoriety after showing up at a JC Penny store sporting an AR-15 rifle and a pistol. Why didn’t I think of that? It could be a godsend when dealing with the return desk. Seriously, though some took exception to his hardware, I don’t agree. When I go shopping, I always take a couple of claymore mines along just in case I need to establish a defensive perimeter around the men’s room. You can’t be too careful.

Not to be outdone by their big-city, antigun brethren, some in the law enforcement community have taken it upon themselves to publicly state that they will not enforce federal laws pertaining to firearms. Let’s be clear: Any sworn law enforcement officer who decides that they will pick and choose which laws to enforce has missed their calling. They should resign and hit the campaign trail. Politicians make laws, police enforce them—only police states combine these two functions.

Despite the bold stance taken by some pro-gun officers, you just can’t please everyone. Take this anonymous screed that appeared on the Eastern Idaho Tea Party’s Facebook page. Dated January 16, it states [in part]:

The Bonneville sheriff’s office says it won’t enforce federal law in regards to gun control. Not good enough…you are required to protect county citizens from Constitutional [sic] violations committed by the federal government. The fact that your agency won’t enforce federal law isn’t good enough!

What can I say? I’ll have whatever they’re having! Not only is it not sufficient to refuse to enforce the LAW, it sounds like up in Bonneville county, the sheriff’s office is also expected to go mano y mano with the Feds. Let’s see, Bonneville Sheriff’s Office versus the ATF, DEA, DHS, FBI, U.S. Marshals, etc. Are they still carrying flintlocks up there? I know I should root for the hometown team, but can we take a reality break?

We could continue in this vein, but it’s too painful. After all, these are my fellow gun owners who, through diligent application of ignorance, are slowly eroding my right to own a firearm. Once again the extremists are attempting to hijack the debate. Nothing has changed except the names of the victims. What of those in the middle, We the People? What should we do? This time around, we might consider exercising our right to a little critical thinking in order to cut through the crap these groups have served up for years. It’s important for the public to understand that those who choose to own firearms come from all walks of life and that the antics of some minority fringe elements should not be misconstrued as representative of the majority of gun owners. 

So, is this a farewell to arms? Hardly. All sides can rest easy knowing that nothing will get accomplished. The legislative inertia that characterizes our country will continue as long as politicians are only concerned with maintaining power. Meanwhile, special interest groups on both sides will leverage the controversy to their benefit as ambitious politicians, sensing an opportunity, cynically exploit the situation. It looks like the good old boys will have plenty of time to hang curtains in their new bunker before the black helicopters arrive. The stalemate will continue, and those who have benefited from it in the past will continue to do so: It’s the rest of us who will lose.

The Spirit of '76

[First Published in the Feb. 2013 edition of The Basic Alternative Newspaper]

Far from acting as a referendum, the recent presidential election has highlighted discord within the United States. As a result, conservatives are making their feelings known. You’ve seen them on the evening news, wearing their continental militia uniforms and waving revolutionary flags. Channeling the spirit of 1776, they’ve called for the nuclear option. That’s right. They want to secede from the United States and form their own country. Petitions have been presented by all fifty states—including Idaho, where 6,458 residents signed it. Of course, over 15,000 people signed another petition to strip the citizenship from anyone petitioning for secession. Never mind, the patriots know what to do. They’ll take their ball—and state— and go home. While unlikely, it is interesting to consider the possibilities. What if the secessionists had their way? What if Idaho became the Democratic [oops, there’s that word!] Republic of Idaho?

…Well, the first thing you’d notice is that Idaho [the republic] just got a lot smaller. Why the shrinkage? Over 60 percent of the state consists of federal acreage. That land is the property of the citizens of the United States and, as foreigners; we have no claim on it. In fact, we won’t even be able to step foot in it without acquiring a passport and visa courtesy of the good old USA—something that might be difficult to obtain considering the rhetoric spewing from the mouths of liberty-loving patriots here. Yes, the United States might decide to designate our new republic as a state sponsor of terrorism. The result: Idanistas could find themselves celebrating Christmas with Iran and North Korea.

Once federal lands are no longer accessible to our new founding fathers, another issue will arise. What to do with all the livestock? It seems that some of our oppressed yeomen have been grazing their animals on the cheap using land that belongs to the US of A. In 2011, there were almost 1,300 grazing authorizations on public lands within Idaho. The U.S. doesn’t let Mexican cattle roam around on American soil, why should they make an exception for the republic? As a stopgap, ranchers might consider hitting the trail for one last roundup, then driving their livestock over to Boise to forage on the grounds of the new nation’s capitol until other arrangements can be made. Speaking of other arrangements, mining on public lands in Idaho will also be ancient history. Ever heard of the General Mining Act of 1872? Foreigners need not apply.  On a related note, the thousands of civilian employees and retirees in the Mountain Home AFB area will have to decide what country they wish to live in. For those flying a Don’t Tread On Me flag, the choice will be obvious: start packing.

The architects of our brave new republic will face a number of economic hurdles. For instance, what are they going to do for money? A new country needs its own monetary system. What’s it going to be? Here, visionaries will demand a system in which currency stands for something real—like the gold standard. Trouble is, there isn’t enough gold in Idaho to make that work. But the principle is sound. All we need is something tangible to base our currency on. What about potatoes? The pride of Idaho, they’re famous. Like a certain well-known credit card, they’re accepted everywhere. The Americans can keep their lousy Dollar. Who needs it? After all, we’ll have… the Tater.

Where will we keep our newly minted Taters? After the republic is established, American banks, yearning with homesickness and aghast at their third-world surroundings, will surely leave. When was the last time you saw a Bank of America in South Sudan? In response, enterprising Idanistas might open their own banks, but who’ll ensure them? In the U.S., the FDIC protects bank accounts with typical American boorishness. Not our republic. No, if our bank gets robbed, we’ll have to grab a potato rake and join the posse.

Speaking of taters, who’s going to buy the new republic’s agricultural exports? Not the United States. Under the terms of NAFTA, Mexico and Canada get preference. Meanwhile, the Democratic Republic of Idaho, basking in a newfound sense of national identity, will wither beneath a barrage of restrictive tariffs. The republic could turn to other venues. What about other newly formed countries, the Republic of Texas for instance? It might work. We could export our potatoes and sugar beets to Texas in exchange for their chief export—more Texans.

On the bright side, our lack of a market might work in our favor. We might need those potatoes to feed our own people. According to official Idaho [State not Republic] statistics, over 14 percent of the populace received food stamps as of October 2012. Secessionists will argue this proves their point. The system is failing. Why, under the republic, we’ll be back on top in no time with everyone driving brand new caddies [presumably imported from the States]. But suppose the new republic’s economy, by some perversion of manifest destiny, looks more like North Korea than Shangri La, what then?

To be fair, the founding of the new republic will bring about some of the secessionists’ goals. Take the prickly topic of regulation. ATF, EPA, FDA—give us a break. The founding fathers didn’t need someone riding herd on them, and neither do we. Anyone who isn’t wearing their liberty cap on backwards will breathe easier once these oppressive chains are cast off. Of course, our expectations must be lowered. All in the name of freedom, you understand. Consider this scenario:

It’s late. You’re on the way home from work. Poor little Jenny has a cold, and so you stop to get some medicine. The parking lot is dark as you grope your way inside the pharmacy. In the dim light, long rows of empty shelves remind you of cold-war Russia. The republic has some supply side issues, but nothing it can’t handle. In the back... a wan light beckons. You’re relieved to find a pharmacist on duty. At least, you hope he’s a pharmacist. There’s really no way to tell since regulatory agencies don’t exist. Anyway, you explain the situation to Earl—that’s his name—and he produces a bottle from beneath the counter.

This here’s what you want…imported all the way from the Republic of Utah. That’ll be thirty taters, he says.

Payment complete, Earl hands you the bottle. You’re concerned. After all, it has a cork in it. Squinting, you attempt to read the label through the duct tape holding it on:

Col. Mittens Ol’ Tyme Antiseptic Snake Oil

Unequaled for the treatment of rheumatism,

neuraligia, lumbago & all other known

ailments. Accept no substitute!

Beside this declaration the likeness of a man—Col. Mittens?—smirks in the half-light. He reminds you of a used car salesman you knew back in Encino.

            What’s in this, you ask.

            Well, I ain’t exactly sure, Earl says, frowning.

In the States, the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906 protect consumers. But our republic has dispensed with such amenities—bad for business, you know?  Little Jenny might be in for a rough night….

The republic will be presented with a host of governance issues: Separation of church and state? Not likely. If you had doubts about the State of Idaho’s commitment to this principle, wait till you catch the republic’s act. They’ll make the Vatican look like an atheists’ retreat. See, part of America’s problem is that they’re too liberal. In the new republic, we’re going to get our minds right. And what better way to begin than by clarifying the republic’s stance on birth control? There won’t be any.  It’s unnecessary, and immoral. If the ladies don’t want to get pregnant, that’s their problem. One thing’s for sure, the demand for aspirin is going to skyrocket, particularly if we listen to a certain fellow patriot from the People’s Republic of Wyoming.

Out of necessity, the republic will have to institute an immediate draft. It’s imperative that we protect our borders from foreign intrusion. What if those warlike, and possibly cannibalistic, hordes from the Republic of Nevada decide to invade? How about those skulking Oregonians? We’ll all be marching around in concentration camps wearing Birkenstocks with our sweaters tied around our necks.

While the Democratic Republic of Idaho will have problems, they won’t be alone. Indeed, Idanistas might be forgiven their Schaden-freude as they contemplate the trouble they’ve caused for the United States. For those U.S. citizens living in proximity to the border, life will never be the same. Lowered property values; crime; complaints of illegal spudbacks taking jobs away from Americans. Inevitably, they’ll demand a fence to keep us out.

In the end, the Democratic Republic of Idaho, founded on a platform of small government and limited taxation, will succumb to the realities of 21st century life and find itself receiving humanitarian assistance from the U.S. or Mexico. They’ll have to, in order to stave off the poverty resulting from their dysfunctional governance. Still, it’s important to keep up appearances. So, in order to remind visitors that we’re channeling a whole new kind of time zone here, let’s have a big sign at the international border to greet them:

WELCOME TO THE DEMOCRATIC

REPUBLIC OF IDAHO…

Please set clocks back 200 years.

—

New Book!

My good friend Will Peterson is out with a new novel titled: 

Crawl On Your Belly Like a Man.

It's a very personal tale of the New West with a cast of characters not soon forgotten. Will, local bon vivant, can be found most days holding court at his shop, Walrus and Carpenter Books in Old Town Pocatello, Idaho. Stop in and check out his new work, or any of the thousands of other books he offers. Don't miss out, there aren't many bookstores like his left!

 

A Midnight Stroll

A fine October night in interior Alaska. Steaming cup of coffee in hand, I stand on the porch in my bare feet. At ten below zero it feels downright tropical. It’s midnight, and the cabin; just below the Arctic Circle, is engulfed in silence. Far overhead, northern lights compete with the moon for ascendancy. Beneath them, the land is bathed in an otherworldly glow. Breathing deeply, I try to capture the magic of this night, to fix it within my being, if only for a time. No luck—once again, transcendentalism has betrayed me. Or so it seems.

Looking toward the southeast, a patchwork of dark woods and brightly illuminated snowfields extends toward the horizon and the bulk of the Alaska Range. Close by the cabin, a copse of spruce and birch trees lean into each other in a conspiratorial fashion, keeping their own counsel. For just a moment, the faintest of whispers reach me. I listen closely, straining to hear, but learn nothing. Whatever secrets they share are not meant for my ear. Far back in the dark woods, flashes of light draw my attention. Like will-o’-the-wisps, the starlight, reflected off the snow, beckons. But I remain, transfixed by the night.

Now the aurora, swirling above, asserts itself. As it increases in intensity, an eerie green light fills the clearing. From far above, I hear, for the first time in my life, the sound of the aurora borealis. Outsiders might scoff, but native Alaskans have long known that it can sometimes be heard. As the electric sound recedes, I turn to find I have company. Before me, my shadow stands etched upon the cabin’s wall. I am reminded of Plato’s Parable of the Cave. But, unlike the cave’s famous inhabitant, I’ve never felt so free. We stand there a moment longer, my shadow and I, contemplating our mutual existence.

Our ruminations are interrupted by the sharp crack of spruce limbs breaking beneath something large and furry. Who’s there? I ask reflexively. In answer, I hear the rustle of brush as a tentative step is taken in my direction. Pausing, I consider the loaded rifle leaning inside the door. But it won’t be necessary. Another step, this time accompanied by the sound of munching from the undergrowth. Mystery solved. My nocturnal visitor has resolved itself into nothing more than an insomniac moose, out for a midnight snack.

Turning my attention back to the heavens, I discover that the aurora has abandoned me. In its stead, stars without number sparkle across the firmament. Though I want to see more, the cold has at last found me. Scurrying inside I retrieve my boots and parka, leaving the rifle behind. Once outside, I move away from the cabin for a better view. Glancing back from a distance, my cabin appears snug and reassuring; an oasis of warmth amidst the cold. Far above, I watch as billions of years of history unfold before me. In the utter silence of this night I stand, an audience of one, and attempt to comprehend the incomprehensible.

I think of my small cabin, nestled in the interior of Alaska, and of the continent upon which it rests. This continent, that peeks from the blue oceans of a modest little planet known as Earth. And what of Earth itself, a mere speck in the infinity of the cosmos. By what strange concatenation have it, and I, come into existence?

I’d like to say that standing there; I am privy to some startling revelations regarding our existence. That; for a moment, I truly understand the nature of reality. The fact is that doesn’t happen. Instead, my reverie is broken by the arrival of a meteor low in the southeast. Approaching improbably close, it flares in a final ecstasy of immolation and dissolves in a burst of light. Blinking, I stamp my feet against the cold and look around me.

The moon, resting against the horizon, appears gigantic. From this low angle, its buttery yellow light etches the land in deep relief. Mountains seventy miles away stand sentinel as the valleys beneath them retreat into shadow. And as I shiver, gawking at this magnificent scene, a fey sense of awareness overcomes me. For just a moment, I have the distinct impression that my surroundings have shifted imperceptibly. A façade has been lifted. And in that instant, I perceive the sheer improbability of it all. An overwhelming sense of unreality leaves me shaken, unsteady. The moon, the mountains and forest, now appear as mere props scattered upon an enormous stage. And I, what am I?

Reeling from my discovery, I flounder through the snow, back toward the cabin. It’s much colder now, perhaps twenty five below. My boots squeak against the snow as I make my way. Pausing at the porch to catch my breath, I venture a final look around me…nothing. Everything looks normal, even banal. My snow shovel rests on the porch, as it always does. The usual junk remains stuffed beneath the porch for safekeeping. Out front, a surplus 55-gallon barrel awaits its fate. It’s just your normal Alaskan cabin. If it’s all part of a play, everything’s in place for the next act.

Inside, hands stiff from the cold, I manage to remove my parka and boots. As I warm myself, I think of what just happened in the forest. It is then that I recall another forest, where Shakespeare has Jaques declaim: “All the world’s a stage.” Well, you won’t get any argument from me, not now. But if it is just a theatrical production, if reality isn’t all it’s made out to be, then who is producing it? Will it have a long run? Or does it even matter? What the hell, some moments should be experienced, not analyzed. Maybe that’s our problem. We’re always looking for meaning, when we should just be looking. Eventually, I succumb to the weight of these philosophical queries. Feeling my way in the dark, I wearily climb up to the loft and collapse into my sleeping bag. The curtain lowers….

The Big Woods

Sitting in a pile of leaves, I glance up to a leaden, October sky forty years in the past.
Seems like yesterday. It was the first time I was ever alone in the outdoors. I learned some important lessons that day, there in the big woods; lessons about life, death, and the ephemeral beauty of existence. Though I didn’t know at the time what effect this would have on my life, even then I knew something numinous had occurred….

After repeated pleading, my father had consented to take me squirrel hunting with him on the condition that I remain quiet and pay attention. Though the details of that magical day remain, I can’t say with certainty where I was. I only know that I found myself in an enormous, hardwood forest. Like many of my childhood haunts, it’s probably long gone; buried beneath strip malls and fast-food joints, sacrificed in the interest of urbanization.

When we arrived, I could hardly contain myself. Like a bird dog that realizes he’s going hunting, I was shaking with excitement. When squirrel hunting, it helps to have a breeze in order to cover the sound of the hunter’s steps. But on this day not a breath of air stirred. It felt unnaturally calm, as if we were in the eye of a storm—one of our own making. I tried to quietly follow my father, but it seemed to me I was making an infernal racket. Supporting this premise, my father would occasionally glance back at me, an annoyed look on his face. As an adult, I pride myself on my ability to move silently through the woods. Back then I must have sounded like Sherman marching through Georgia. Undeterred, we continued in this fashion until we came to a break in the woods. There we paused while my father considered his next move.

Because I had revealed an unexpected talent for making noise, my father decided to leave me at the edge of the woods. “Wait here; don’t move from this spot till I come back for you.” he said. Then, with gun in hand, he sauntered over the hill and out of sight. Sitting still, I strained to hear the last of his footsteps, but he was already gone. Anxiously I watched, thinking he would soon return. After awhile, my anxiety eased as I grasped the novelty of my situation. This was my first time in the big woods and I was totally, incontrovertibly…alone.

Perhaps my memory plays tricks on me, but it seems that my experience that day was imbued with a clarity and sublimity of perception never equaled in all the years that followed. Everything seemed new, as indeed it was. The trees stood out against the gray, opalescent sky; each leaf etched in exquisite detail. I reached out to touch the rough bark of a nearby tree. Before, I had thought of trees as inanimate objects, but now I realized, with a start, that this was a living thing, like myself.

I sat beneath it, nestled in a pile of leaves redolent of fall color the rain had failed to wash away. I studied a leaf in detail, tracing with my finger its palmate geometry. Lying back in the leaves, the powerful, organic odor of decay engulfed me. The wheel of life spun unabated, seemingly indifferent to my presence. I felt at home in a way I couldn’t explain. When you’re seven years old, it doesn’t occur to you that one day, you too, will become part of the Earth. After all, Nature isn’t really indifferent—it’s just patient.

Staring up at the sky, I sank further into the leaves until I lay partially buried. The silence was profound. My short life amidst the cacophony of humanity had not prepared me for this. Mesmerized, I laid transfixed, oblivious to anything but the arch of the sky. Somewhere far off, the faint sound of a gunshot sounded once then faded away. Silence reasserted itself.

How long I remained like that, I can’t say. But at some point my reverie was broken. I sat up as somewhere, far on the periphery of my senses, something moved. I scanned the sky, waiting. Suddenly, an enormous silhouette soared past me. Its appearance lasted but a moment. So quickly and soundlessly did it disappear, I couldn’t be sure what I saw. A moment later, a raucous group of crows announced themselves. They too, flew over my head and disappeared in pursuit of the mysterious shadow.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I had just received my first lesson from nature. Decades later, and thousands of miles away, I would watch in Alaska’s Tongass National Forest as a group of song birds mobbed a Bald Eagle in similar fashion. Then I would recall my earlier encounter with Strix nebulosa, the Great Gray Owl in those Kentucky woods.

With the departure of my mysterious visitors, the spell was broken. Chilled from the damp ground I stood up, impatient for my father’s return. After what seemed like an eternity, he made his way back to me. As I excitedly told him about what I had seen, I noticed a bushy tail dangling limply from the pouch on the back of his hunting vest. “Did you get one?” I asked. “Yes,” he said, handing me the squirrel.

Holding the soft body, I ran my hand down the beautiful red fur. A twinge of remorse assailed me. One pellet had struck the hapless squirrel just above the eye, killing it instantly. What had been a vibrant, living creature was now reduced to a lifeless, inert carcass. With its glassy eye upon me I petted the squirrel, one last time, and returned him to my father. That was the second lesson.

Sometimes, it seems that long-ago day in the big woods might be a fiction. In some sense, perhaps it is. Nothing that sublime could last. My father, like the squirrel, is long dead. Even the land has been changed beyond recognition. The remnants of that day are to be found only within the confines of my mind—and only there, for a short time. No matter, that day marked me for the rest of my life. Now, whenever I’m in the wild I think back to that time; to my first glimpse of the beauty and pathos that is life, and then I know I’m home.