Noah’s honey rust fortress
(“junk yard permaculture”).
New Myth #21
by Willi Paul, openmythsource.com
“Have you ever sat near a roaring brook and felt refreshed, been cheered by the vibrant song of a thrush or renewed by a sea breeze? Does a wildflower’s fragrance bring you joy, a whale or snow-capped peak charge your senses? You did not take a class to learn to feel these innate joys. We are born with them. As natural beings, that is how we are designed to know life and our life. Dramatically, new sensory nature activities culturally support and reinforce those intelligent, feelingful natural relationships. In natural areas, backyard to back country, the activities create thoughtful nature-connected moments. In these enjoyable non-language instants our natural attraction senses safely awaken, play and intensify. Additional activities immediately validate and reinforce each natural sensation as it comes into consciousness. Still other activities guide us to speak from these feelings and thereby create nature-connected stories. These stories become part of our conscious thinking.”
* * * * * *
“Are you the resistance or the enforcer?”
“Depends on what you have to loose, girl.”
“Up periscope, Noah?”
“Yepper. Now where is that darn critter?”
* * * * * * *
A circuit of safe huts
Noah’s shinny green donut hole of rusting cars and trucks from the occupation world now rings his psyche and permaculture visions like a boa constrictor wrapping around a freaked-out chipmunk. Some folks call the place “D-Troi.”
His particular version of the safe hut concept is just one of many designs that were established to help keep leaders and vendors safe as the Transitionites continue rebuilding the people and towns in Cascadia. Zeek and Molly’s tree house and vertical garden is next on the path, 12 miles north, fit with pulleys to get up and the across the Blue river.
“None of them dark light bastards can get into my place but that raccoon sure can, he is an egg thief to beat all.”
“There he is!”
Noah never meant to be part of the Transition, it just sorta fell on his head. Strange people just started showing up with food and seeds and he bartered his security. He had to make a choice between bad times and better values. His junk car collection is now a 14’ high ring of old gas guzzlers, tires and dead chrome. One has to know where the tunnel is to access the place. He considers himself the king of sheet mulch. The soil in the space is long gone toxic from the rust of old times and technologies.
He trades in honey, wire and hub caps, batteries, fabrics, wind shields, tires and salty stories.
Noah’s camp is more like an ameba, built with multiple rings: gnarly steel and mashed-down upholstery; a food forest ring, junk cars, then the commons. A semi-chaotic, semi-integrated / biodegraded ecosystem with bees and honey.
Herbs dangle in old pots and starter plants are snuck into tires. The cob oven smokes up on one end of the commons and solo tents ring the other. Noah can pull a patch work awning over the space if rain wets the place.
Junk yard permaculture – with a sacred twist.
* * * * * * *
Tires are beat drums, hub caps percussion
While the coon waddled back to his own hole in the woods, other humanoid creatures arrive around dusk for the new Moon ritual. The cob oven is repurposed this night as the heart torch for Nature visions.
The center space is kickin’ with dust and whirling ankles.
Chanting, arms entwined in a circle, the howls and imaginations of the dancers boil into One.
A time to revolve, give thanks and spin some Love.
To share the story of future now.