Looking Back Fifty Years - Launch of Dursmirg

 

Looking Back Fifty Years

It is fifty years since we launched our self-designed and home-built 46-foot sailboat Dursmirg. Building and sailing Dursmirg was a life changing experience. Our reward was fifteen of the very best years of our lives. Now we can look back at where the world has come to in the past half century.

Our adventuresome life aboard Dursmirg became even better with every unrelenting passing escapade.

This was in the era before the internet. There was no email, only snail mail. Self-sufficiency was the key. I made a rain catcher and never went to the dock for drinking water. We had solar hot water, a wind powered generator, refrigeration achieved by converting an absorption refrigerator to run on lamp oil.

Fresh seafood prepared exquisitely by my culinary dream girl with her secret ingredient: creativity.

We became extraordinary sailors because of the Arab oil embargo. Silently going where the wind blew us, when the spirit moved us, and the price was right.

We lived out of the sea and off the land. With no motor vehicles we used bicycles, and we sailing and rowing dinghy. Sailing up the anchors and getting under way was quick, easy and enjoyable no engine used. We also had the ability to fabricate necessities. The sewing machine had a hand crank. We went snorkel diving for salvage, plus lobster and conch hunting. We combed the beaches for fun and collected usable items like bottles for our home-made beer and wine production, lumber for crafts and carving, wood for our fireplace-smoke oven, and the list goes on and on.

We were asked what kind of fruit we used to make our wine, my response “free fruit.”

Life is an adventure, and we are always looking for a new frontier.

Since the launch of Dursmirg fifty years ago technology with its innovations has rapidly changed the world.

For a look into the sailing life of self-sufficiency today, take a look at this video: Living on a Self-sufficent Sailboat for 10 Years.

The basic thoughts of self-sufficiency, and freedom this lifestyle yields are still there.

My conclusion upon looking back is that now I could design and build the perfect yacht for living off the grid with a minimalist lifestyle incorporating many new Cyber age innovations.

Remember that youth only comes to you once. Spent it wisely, and with someone you love and trust.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt

 

Book Review – Five Stars

Book Review - Five Stars

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt

Too good to be true, but it is true! We first read this American classic 25 years ago, and we loved it!

The book has special meaning to us. In 1972, on our maiden voyage to Florida aboard our home designed and built dream boat Dursmirg, I had a disabling accident while passing through Thunderbolt, Georgia, a suburb of Savannah.

As I was dashed off to the hospital by the marine patrol, my wife, with the help of a fisherman. docked our boat in the raging ebb tide at the Savannah Yacht Club’s floating dock.

Long story short: The manager, Mr. Palmer, and his staff were all extremely friendly and helpful to us.

The reporter from the Savannah newspaper, Latham Davis, came to do a feature story of our adventuresome journey. He gave us a guided tour of Savannah complete with lots of history and tremendous suggestions of must see and do things such as eating places like Miss Wilke’s Boarding house and historical sights.

At the Savannah information center we were told: if you go to Macon they will ask you. “What’s y'all’s religion? If you go to Charleston they will ask you, “What’s y’all’s grand pappy’s name? When you come to Savannah they will ask you, What do y’all want to drink?

It became apparent that we were entering a world apart, like none other.

Over the years we revisited Savannah every chance we got. We still have life long friends there. A very good friend Bubba Schill some years later came to visit us and had this to say: “Bing” (my nick-name), “Before you die, you must go to Savannah, Georgia, for St. Patrick’s day! It’s an alcoholic's dream come true!”

Back to the book review:

Recently a good friend who owns the English language book store in Mérida, Yucatan, Mexico, mentioned that John Berendt, author of the book, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil had just visited her store, Between-the-Lines and signed her copy of the book. This rekindled our interest to reread the book. My wife can no longer read print books so she downloaded the audio book. We enjoyed the narration. We hadn’t laughed so hard in years. It was a superlative work of wit and writing! Even better than the paper edition.

Doings of Dudley Doolittle. Adventures - St. Augustine, Florida

 

This is the second in the Doings of Dudley Doolittle series. It is set in the early 1970s, a time of political unrest.

The country was deeply divided over Vietnam, inflation was running away, and the free-love movement was smoking it up while experimenting with mind altering substances.

Jane and I had just completed our five year plan of building our 46-foot dream boat, liquidated our home, business, and everything that would not go aboard our dream boat Dursmirg.

We sailed away to warmer latitudes.

Our first winter in Florida with our sailboat, and no cars, only bicycles, we had dodged the bullet that wounded the nation. We were just beginning to live with nature, and it was great!

We found a place to dock our boat in St. Augustine, Florida. It was no frills, but it was our only option.

We bicycled everywhere: shopping, to the beach, and exploring the multitude of interesting attractions in America’s Oldest City.

1972 Florida

The Vietnam War was raging and a lot of the people we met on other boats had had enough of some of the government policies that were dividing the country and making many enemies of the United States worldwide. The Arab oil embargo was beginning to have its affects on the economy. At this time in Florida construction ground to a halt, and condominiums that were half completed were being sold off board by board, and even the fixtures that had been installed were sold to forestall foreclosure.

We met some newcomers to St. Augustine when two small sailboats came to have their boat bottoms painted at Uncle Harry’s boatyard where we were docked. Harry made them a special deal if both boats would agree to be pulled at the same time on his marine railway. Steve and Lum had a 25-foot wooden sailboat and Dudley had a 23-foot homemade molded fiberglassed plywood sailboat.

Sure enough, crafty Uncle Harry got both boats up at the same time.

Harry may have given a special price quote, but he was an expert at padding the bill. I actually saw grown men cry when Uncle Harry totaled up the yard bill on some shrimp boats he had worked on.

We got to know the interesting newcomers with their fascinating and unique stories.

Soon we found ourselves departing St. Augustine with Dudley Doolittle, a long, lanky and lean jug band musician with a cannabis grin. We were headed for Fort Lauderdale aboard his 23-foot sailboat. Dudley was relocating for carpentry work.

This was new water to Jane and me. lWe hadn’t been any further south on the Intracoastal Waterway than St. Augustine. All our trips south along the Florida coast had been offshore.

Dudley, Jane, and I took an early departure from Uncle Harry’s boatyard. We were making fantastic time the little sailboat. We had a strong tail wind that put this little boat up to its hull speed. I had no idea that Dudley couldn’t read a navigational chart when I turned the helm over to him and went below for my morning coffee. Soon we abruptly came to a halt on a sand bar. I came out on deck to find that we were at least one hundred feet from the navigable channel and solidly aground.

We tried all the usual tricks of carrying out an anchor, heeling the vessel over and attempting to sail off. We weren’t going anywhere soon, and we would have to just wait for “Mother Nature” to bring the high tide waters back to us. Then we could float away.

The strangest part of this whole ordeal was that while we sat aground we were still in full view of the downtown of the Old City even though we had an early morning departure from St. Augustine. Aground our first morning out of St. Augustine, the boat was painfully heeled over at low tide.

By afternoon we were sailing again. The wind hadn’t let up. We were making record speeds, and it appeared that we would be able to get close to Daytona Beach by dark. This was an exhilarating sail with only the jib flying. We had attained hull speed and were leaving a sizable wake behind us.

We had just passed Matanzas Inlet. I was at the helm when an extra burst of wind took the mast away faster than I could blink my eyes. The sail and half of the mast were gone! We quickly slowed and were bobbing along with the flood tide. Dudley felt totally defeated at this point and wanted to just give up and return to St. Augustine. I told Dudley that we were less than a mile from Marineland where there was a marina, and he had all of his carpenter tools aboard so we could repair the mast there and continue on. I must have been pretty persuasive because we got Dudley into action. We folded the broken mast and rigging, retrieved the sail, and stowed the lines. We used Dudley’s outboard motor to get to Marineland. We rented a slip and set out to look for the materials needed to do the repair job. While we walked the grounds of Marineland, we soon spotted just the right sized piece of wood to plug the two pieces of the aluminum mast together.

Dudley got busy planing the wood plug to “force fit” into the mast while I took over the job of milling the two metal mast pieces so that they would fit together almost like they had come from the machine shop. Besides the mast repair, we had to shorten all of the standing rigging that included the six shrouds plus the fore stay and back stay. The chain plate where the back stay had been fastened was badly rusted. We drilled a new hole in the chain plate where the metal had a little more meat. When Dudley had the plug neatly fashioned and ready to install in the two mast parts, we took the mast up to a sturdy cement wall. The three of us took the mast like a battering ram and drove the force fit plug into place. It was an impressive repair, and when it was together we again saw Dudley’s face beam with pleasure. By the next evening our diligent efforts had paid off and the mast was ready to step (install).

Just like we had an appointment that had been previously arranged, here came Steve and Lum from the boatyard in St. Augustine. They were both good sized people, and that was what we needed to stand that mast up. Steve and Lum were truly surprised that we had only gotten twenty miles in our first day, so we had to relate our incredible story to them. At the present speed we might be to Fort Lauderdale by Christmas.

Most of the rest of the trip we had to use the engine because of the lack of wind, but we had a very good time. One night we stopped on the Indian River and had a wonderful experience at a fishing camp dock. The bartender was a jovial character. When he found out that I was of Norwegian descent, he made sure that we had the time of our lives. We had cherry-stone clams raw on the half shell with hot sauce. This was our first time to ever imbibe this delicacy. Jane was skeptical at first but after one plate full, we were addicted to them.

The bartender was also the chef, and the next morning he insisted that we come in for his special $1.00 breakfast with no questions asked. He served us a more than ample breakfast. We were so stuffed we could hardly get back aboard the little boat. The fun and laughter of that evening lingers on in our memory.

These special unplanned happenings is what makes adventure traveling to special to us.

What a way to arrive in Fort Lauderdale! We seemed to be going right through the front yards of the classiest homes in town. The town was just dripping in opulence. lThe homes with huge yachts tied in their front yards and Cadillac’s and Rolls Royce’s out back made a real contrast to poor little St. Augustine. We tied up at a very nice marina in Fort Lauderdale, Pier 66, on the 17th Street causeway, where Dudley had a carpenter job waiting for him. This was as downtown as you could get. The reason the marina was named Pier 66 was because of the Phillips 66 fuel facilities.

The amount of boat traffic past the marina was unbelievable. The one bridge between the ocean inlet and us had a novel feature. The bridge opened for large vessels and sailboats but on a restricted basis. Next to the bridge tenders house was located a large clock that resembled the type used at sports fields. This one told the number of minutes remaining until the bridge would open. What I liked about this system was that after the bridge had opened it would be fifteen minutes until the next opening. But if you arrived at the bridge and the clock had counted down to zero minutes it would then open right up. At night when there was little or no boat traffic, any boat that approached the bridge would not have a wait.

During the time we were docked at the marina we did get to sight see in the neighborhood and the biggest attraction was the super-sized yacht of Aristotle and Jackie Onassis. We did check out the other marinas and discovered that they were even more palatial than the place we were at.

One big surprise was that we happened to see our friends, Don and Betty Currie going through the 17th Street bridge in their boat Ione. This is the boat that had just towed us on our boat Dursmirg from Superior, Wisconsin, to Duluth, Minnesota, when our boat was launched. We had recently visited Don and Betty in the Florida Keys when we invited them to come to St. Augustine.

Our last night on Dudley’s boat in Fort Lauderdale was interesting to say the least. We had an idea that Dudley loved to smoke up his “weed” but we didn’t have any idea that he would carry a sizable stash of the stuff. He had enough to get the authorities attention for sure. With one of his big ear-to-ear grins, he pulled out his screwdriver and unscrewed a metal flame deflector from above the galley stove and down came a big carefully wrapped bag of his clandestine stash.

While we were all asleep that night, Jane happened to roll over in her berth and put her foot on the cabin floor. She discovered that the boat was filling with water. The marine head (toilet) had inadvertently not been shut off after its last use, and water began to siphon in and slowly flood the boat. Of course, the lower the boat got in the water, the faster the water would flow in. Needless to say this event required a couple of hours of intense work to rectify.

Dudley’s mother drove down from Jacksonville to meet us and give us a ride back to St. Augustine. She obviously had plenty of money judging by the luxurious car she drove and the elegant clothes she wore.

Upon arriving back in St. Augustine, the big news was that the authorities had swooped down on Harry’s Boat Yard and made a “drug bust.” They missed the one big haul they could have made on Dudley’s boat, but they did find a potted marijuana plant on Steve and Lum’s boat, for which they were fined $100.00. Steve and Lum were not in the business but occasionally smoked a joint. They preferred to grow their own. It was healthier and free of pesticides! The Sheriff’s Department got a bust, and they made news!

May 22, 1973, our anchor was up, and we proceeded through the Bridge of Lions heading north in the Intracoastal Waterway, leaving St. Augustine, Florida, after our first whole winter away from snow and ice. A wonderful new world of experiences and changing tacks awaited us. We were sailing through life into those strange and uncharted waters where we would have one of the most precious commodities of all, the time to enjoy life to its fullest.

We continue our adventures in our book Sailing the Sea Islands: Travels of Dursmirg.

If you are afraid of getting wet, you shouldn’t go sailing, bicycling, or be a plumber.

Story 1: The Cowboy Wanna Be

Story 3; Keg of Beer St. Augustine

John Grimsrud's author's page.

Hidden History of the Florida Keys by Laura Albritton

Book Review - Five Stars

Hidden History of the Florida Keys by Laura Albritton.

This book is an in-depth look into what brought South Florida’s Monroe County to its present state of being.

I loved the author’s insightful story telling ability to put a human touch and face on how and what brought it about. When my wife and I first sailed into the Florida Keys back in the mid 1980s it was said about Monroe County that there were so many junkies there that you could become one by osmosis.

This is a very interesting and entertaining read.

EXCERPTS:

“Miami wasn’t a shipping port at the time. The only real natural port in those days was Key West. In 1900, it was Florida’s largest city, a bustling port alive with the cigar industry, fishing and sponging. So the impetus for building an overseas railroad was that Henry Flagler needed a port.”

Just a few years earlier, nobody had any need to “run” rum, whiskey, gin or any other spirit into the United States. But with the ratification of the Eighteenth Amendment and the passing of the Volstead Act at the end of 1919, Prohibition became a reality. Suddenly, the law mandated that “no person shall manufacture, sell, barter, transport, import, export, deliver, or furnish any intoxicating liquor.” Across the Florida Keys, it was as if the residents released one long, exasperated groan in response. From the sparsely inhabited shores of Key Largo to the city streets of Key West, the majority of residents—not to mention visitors—despised this new puritanical ban on alcohol. Because the Upper and Middle Keys saw a limited number of year-round residents in the 1920s, local law enforcement was almost nil. One lone officer made his way up and down the Keys, and somehow, the “coconut telegraph” ensured that people generally knew when he was coming. While rumrunners hid in Islamorada’s Little Snake Creek (around today’s mile marker 86.7, near the Montessori school), illicit watering holes catered to the thirsty on the island of Key Largo. Opened by Mabel Harris in 1928 in North Key Largo, Mabel’s Place served up favorites such as Florida lobster and key lime pie, along with prohibited hooch. Mabel Harris, sister of future politician Harry Harris, ran what was politely termed a “tearoom,” although customers did not necessarily have any interest in a pot of Earl Grey: “In the Prohibition years, ‘tearoom’ was a common code name for an establishment that served alcohol.” Not only could customers imbibe, but they could also indulge in the services of the on-site brothel.

John M. Grimsrud

City of the Century: The Epic of Chicago and the Making of America by Donald L. Miller-Book Review

Book Review - Five Stars 

City of the Century: The Epic of Chicago and the Making of America

by Donald L. Miller

A classic book worthy of more then five stars. It is extensively researched and magnificently edited. Miller tells this awesome story of American propulsion in the first century of the Industrial Revolution where explosive expansion set a standard that would be a tough act to follow.

I absolutely loved It!

Excerpts:

“A terrible calamity is impending over the city of Chicago! More I cannot say; more I dare not utter.” The following night, around nine o’clock, a fire broke out on the West Side of the city in the cow barn of Mrs. Patrick O’Leary. Aided by strong winds off the prairie, it turned into a one-and-a-half-day holocaust that consumed the entire core of the city of some 300,000 people, leaving 90,000 homeless and nearly 300 dead. It was the greatest natural disaster up to that time in American history. Frederick Law Olmsted, sent by The Nation to the stricken city, reported that many of those caught in the inferno thought they were witnessing “the burning of the world.”

The morning after the fire, fear gave way to disbelief. Everything was gone.

But more amazing than the destruction was the recovery. The rebuilding began while the ground was still warm in the burned district, and within week after the fire more than five thousand temporary structures had been erected and two hundred permanent buildings were under construction.

1893, when the city held the World’s Colombian Exposition to celebrate—one year late—the four hundredth anniversary of Columbus’s discovery of the New World, Chicago had the busiest and most modern downtown in the country, with a dozen and more of the highest buildings ever constructed. Chicago would never become as big or as consequential as New York, its greatest rival, but it had made good its boast as the city that could accomplish almost anything.

The epic of Chicago is the story of the emergence of modern America. Child of the age of steam, electricity, and international exchange, Chicago “[is] the very embodiment of the world-conquering spirit of the age,” an English writer observed in 1893.

The Cowboy Wannabe: Doings of Dudley Doolittle

 

Doings of Dudley Doolittle: This is the name I will use in the sometimes hilarious, outrageous, or cynical short stories posted monthly on https://bingsbuzz.blogspot.com/

A fictitious name will be used in most of the stories. It is there to protect the identity of the guilty.

These true stories are over half a century old or more.

The Cowboy Wannabe

by John M. Grimsrud © December 2021

Dudley Doolittle was born into a real no frills hardscrabble Northwest Wisconsin farm life in the early 1940s. A psychopath from birth, his cowboy lifestyle evolved. A fiercely independent renegade outlaw was what ultimately developed. This was the Dudley Doolittle we came to know.

At the time of our first encounter we were always open to hospitality at our Billings Park home in Superior, Wisconsin, where we kept our refrigerator stocked with beer and our larder of wine and booze was forever there to travelers who ambled in. Needless to say people who are free with their booze acquire lots of fair weather friends.

Dudley Doolittle was introduced to us by his cousin, an old classmate of mine. Our hospitality must have been adequate because Dudley Doolittle became a regular drop in thirsty visitor. We soon met his lovely wife that psychopathic Dudley Doolittle tried to burn to death as she slept in her bed...she escaped!

Dudley Doolittle went from one criminal escapade to another logging tons of time in jail. He loved to brag about his outlaw life style. His cowboy lifestyle inclinations included cattle rustling.

He got caught because of his partner in crime was his brother-in-law Jack, and Jack ratted him out.

There you have a brief look at one of the many social misfits that made our lives lively with never a dull moment.

Now the rest of the story:

While Dudley Doolittle cooled his heels in jail for his capers, his psychopathic mind had the time to think of a fitting justice.

Here is what evolved: Like a patient spider weaving his web his plot was put into action using a beguiling confidence man act of heart warming family friendship. Dudley Doolittle soon had his brother-in-law Jack unconditionally trusting and eager to please.

The web was ready.

As an act of friendship Dudley Doolittle said he wanted to take Jack out on the town, and he said it would be his treat. First to the bar for a friendly libation. A shot of booze to toast their friendship. Dudley Doolittle complimented Jack on his great ability to handle his whiskey.

Dudley Doolittle proposed a wager:

He bet Jack he couldn’t drink an ounce of booze a minute for one hour. Dudley Doolittle goaded him on...after all Dudley Doolittle was paying the tab and to sweeten the deal further he promised a hundred dollars for one hour of drinking at Dudley Doolittle’s expense. This was just too good to be true. Dudley Doolittle and Jack shook hands on the wager. The clock was in motion. Dudley Doolittle’s brother-in-law had already downed his first shot and only had 59 more to go.

The bartender lined up the shots on the bar and Dudley Doolittle kept score.

Dudley Doolittle said that he was truly amazed at Jack’s ability. He made it to 45 shots before he fell off the bar stool. No problem, Dudley Doolittle picked him up off the floor, got him back on the bar stool, and a few more shots were put away before Jack finally lost consciousness.

Dudley Doolittle paid the tab, and he told the bartender that he would take good care of Jack. Dudley Doolittle took unconscious Jack home and put him in bed to sleep off the booze.

The next morning Jack was stone cold dead.

Dudley Doolittle said that he even went to the funeral to make sure Jack was truly dead.

The story of the circumstances of Jack’s death made the news. The bartender was charged and nearly went to prison.

The patient plotting spider got his long awaited justice.

Links to other stories in series:  

2. Adventures - St. Augustine

3. Keg of Beer St. Augustine

John Grimsrud's author's page on Amazon

Warlords of Ancient Mexico: How the Mayans and Aztecs Ruled for More Than a Thousand Years by Peter J. Tsouras

 

Book Review - Five Stars

Warlords of Ancient Mexico: How the Mayans and Aztecs Ruled for More Than a Thousand Years by Peter J. Tsouras

Imperialism was brought to Mexico by the Aztecs who were not builders, creators or innovators but exploiters. Bloody war with human sacrifice and cannibalism was brought by the invading Toltec who influenced the Aztecs and next brought their blood letting sport to the Yucatecan Mayan.

Next Inquisition crazed Cortés a military leader, who finished driving the Moors out of the Iberian Peninsula ending a 700 year war, took on the Aztec empire using Spanish military tactics.

Read this amazing book and learn how this all was accomplished.

Excerpts:

Cuitláhuac, the ninth emperor or tlatoani of the Mexica, inflicted the greatest single defeat on European arms in the entire conquest of the Americas when he drove Cortés and his combined Spanish and native army out of Tenochtitlan in 1520, killing over 1,200 Spaniards and 4,000-5,000 Indian allies.

Spanish tongues could not pronounce Náhuatl words. Cortés consistently mangled names. Cuauhnahuac (Near the Trees) became Cuer-navaca. Tollan became Tula. I have tried to use the spelling that most closely corresponds to the original name, hence Huexotzinco instead of Huexotzingo and Tlaxcallan instead of Tlaxcalla.

Cortés reinforced his own contingent and divided it into three separate elements, each of which had as many as 10,000 allies attached. A few desperate Mexica escaped to tell Cortés that each night a horde of people picked over the ruins for something to eat. He ambushed them in the early dawn, killing over 800 women and children, a stratagem in which he took much pride.

the Mexica were dying daily of hunger by the thousands

Alvarado captured a district of the city with a thousand houses; the allies butchered the 12,000 inhabitants of the district against orders. As victory beckoned, Cortés found he had less and less control of his native allies, who were determined to exterminate the Mexica. The city was resembling a vast slaughter house, and the actual perpetrators of the Mexica genocide were their own fellow Indians.

Now instead of Tlaxcallan barbarities, they suffered the gauntlet of Spanish greed.

Women were stripped to find any gold hidden on them. Young men were branded for slavery, and the comely, light-skinned young women carried off. Spanish mastiffs were set upon the priests to tear them to pieces.

Review by John M. Grimsrud

In the South Seas by Robert Louis Stevenson

 

Book Review - Five Stars

In the South Seas is authored by Robert Louis Stevenson, one of the most distinguished communicators of our time whose extraordinary prestigious vocabulary makes his narration pleasurable.

I loved this book that touched on a variety of subjects ranging from cannibalism to tropical topography, and personal profiles of personalities with insightful detail.

Excerpts:

We have all read of the swiftness of the day’s coming and departure in low latitudes; it is a point on which the scientific and sentimental tourist are at one, and has inspired some tasteful poetry. The period certainly varies with the season; but here is one case exactly noted. Although the dawn was thus preparing by four, the sun was not up till six; and it was half-past five before we could distinguish our expected islands from the clouds on the horizon. Eight degrees south, and the day two hours a-coming. The interval was passed on deck in the silence of expectation, the customary thrill of landfall heightened by the strangeness of the shores that we were then approaching. Slowly they took shape in the attenuating darkness. Ua-huna, piling up to a truncated summit, appeared the first upon the starboard bow; almost abeam arose our destination, Nuka-hiva, whelmed in cloud; and betwixt and to the southward, the first rays of the sun displayed the needles of Ua-pu. These pricked about the line of the horizon; like the pinnacles of some ornate and monstrous church, they stood there, in the sparkling brightness of the morning, the fit signboard of a world of wonders.

The Paumotuan not only saves, grudges, and works, he steals besides; or, to be more precise, he swindles. He will never deny a debt, he only flees his creditor.

He is always keen for an advance; so soon as he has fingered it he disappears. He knows your ship; so soon as it nears one island, he is off to another. You may think you know his name; he has already changed it. Pursuit in that infinity of isles were fruitless.

Review by John M. Grimsrud

 

DRAG AND DROP COMPOSTING:

Simple, quick, effective and low cost.
Here you see one of our three compost bins that we recently moved to begin a new cycle. Adjacent is the previous location and one of seven bags of compost generated.
Here another compost bin is beginning to fill as green material begins its transition.
Resting but working this full compost bin is soon adorned by jungle vines that actually help hold in moisture, an essential part of the process. If the contents are continually moist the break down of organic material is greatly accelerated. Add water as often as needed to keep the material moist but not soggy (like a wrung-out sponge). Don’t pack materials too tight as air is essential.

The compost is ready to use when you can no longer recognize the original ingredients.

To harvest:
Pry off the compost basket ring and place it in your next location. Remove all of the material that isn’t fully composted and place it in the new location to begin the cycle again. We like to bag and dry some of the composted material for later use and the rest is put directly on the plants that need it most.
A note; to discourage rodents we never place kitchen scraps containing animal grease, bones or flesh…this is kept in the freezer until garbage pick up day.
We do however dispose of almost all paper and light cardboard that we have torn in to strips or small pieces.
Only small green branches break down well. Sticks make a tangled mess and should be avoided.

We can expect a yield of six to eight bushels of compost in about three months.

Materials and dimensions: Each compost ring is 1.1 meters, 44 inches in diameter and .85 meters, 34 inches tall. (The materials available may dictate your ultimate size.)
The top and bottom stiffener rings are of ¼ inch mild steel rod. The mesh is what ever is available. We used ¾ inch galvanized chicken wire.
For the vertical stiffeners, we used ½ inch PVC plastic pipe. Again sticks or whatever you can get will work. We tied the compost bin together with soft 16 gauge wire. Use whatever you can recycle…string or whatever to tie it together. The rewards of this economical environmentally friendly approach to recycling will soon be apparent when you see first hand the end result…a happy garden that benefited from drag and drop composting.

A website with more advice on composting:  Compost Made Easy  

More tips from Compost Made Easy:

Good Compost Ingredients:
Leaves and other dead plant material
Fruit and vegetable trimmings
Herbicide-free grass clippings
Manure from horses, cattle, goats, poultry and rabbits
Paper or cardboard, torn into strips or hand-sized pieces
Do NOT Add:
Meat scraps
Very fatty, sugary or salty foods
Chips or sawdust from treated wood
Clippings from herbicide-treated lawns
Manure from omnivorous animals (dogs, cats, humans, etc.)

For more on Eco Living Yucatan, click here for our web page.

I'm Movin' On: The Life and Legacy of Hank Snow - Book Review

Book Review - Five Stars

I'm Movin' On: The Life and Legacy of Hank Snow by Vernon Oickle

Hank Snow emblazoned his mark in American and Canadian history and left a legend that lives on.

Beginning in the 1940s, the music talents of Hank Snow took off scratching his way up from the most humble of poverty coupled by child abuse. He persistently and relentlessly remained focused on overcoming his past.

In the 1950s Hank saw his entertainment career climb to success like his golden rocket.

A half century of world wide top of the charts entertainment was achieved with the unrelenting support of his one and only loving wife.

To escape child abuse, at thirteen years of age young Hank went to sea on a Nova Scotia sailing schooner beginning with no pay...only room and board. This was in the depths of the great depression. He felt fortunate to have food and a bed.

On his fourth season on the schooner on the Grand Banks with gale force winds, he was frightened for his life and made the decision to take his chances ashore. This turning point marked his dedicated and determined entrance into a musical career scratching his way out of poverty. The rest is his story in this great book.

EXCERPTS:

Although their marriage got off to a rocky start because of Minnie’s parents’ dissension, Hank and Minnie’s bond would last a lifetime.

Their union survived difficult years of financial struggle, sometimes even destitution, as well as issues with Hank’s drinking, extended separations while Hank pursued his dreams, and the demands that came with international stardom. Hank always said that he and Minnie were just meant to be together and that their love was strong enough to overcome any challenge that got in their way.

Hank often described this “special lady” as his inspiration and his strength. Referring to Minnie as his partner in life, he was also always quick to point out that she deserved a great deal of credit for his accomplishments throughout the years, as she often encouraged him to keep going or to take a risk when things got difficult.

With Landry’s prodding, on April 9, 1935, Hank wrote a letter to A. H. Joseph, manager of the Repertoire and Recording Department for RCA Victorin Montreal. On April 18, Hank received a response, basically a rejection letter. But, like before, he chose to see the response as positive and would not accept “no” for an answer. It may have been his earlier struggles with poverty that gave him his drive, determination, and fighting spirit, Hank later said that when he had first heard the records, he hated how they sounded so tinny and hollow, but Joseph had clearly heard something in the recordings that

Hank couldn’t, because he also sent along the first royalty check of Hank’s career, in the amount of $1.96.

Hank wasn’t opposed to recording songs written by others, many of which went on to become huge Hank Snow hits; most notable of those were compositions such as “(Now And Then There’s) A Fool Such As I,” written by Bill Trader and recorded by Hank in 1952; “I Don’t Hurt Anymore,” written by Don Robertson and Jack Rollins, and recorded by Hank in 1954; and “I’ve Been Everywhere,” written by Geoff Mack and recorded by Hank in 1962.

Review by John M. Grimsrud