The winter of 2021 started a series of cross-country drives, trying to make some sense of the state of an America I didn’t recognize. Seems almost quaint now.

Then, the purpose of travelling the small roads, stopping at small towns, eating at diners, talking to the hardware store owners, the bait shop clerk, the BBQ pitmasters, etc.

Since then, a series of these trips has yeilded more questions than answers. Why are some places dying, some thriving, some mid-ressurection? What is the upward, downward tipping point?

Memorable stops included:

Alma OK: Canned Spinach Capital of the World

McLean TX: Crossroads

Easton PA: Townies vs Students

Lumpkin GA: Environmental disaster turned tourist location

Home this year, the drive cancelled, I am looking around at my own village. Greenport NY, for a sense of direction.

Greenport, NY

The population of Greenport has hovered around 2500 people for almost 150 years. It is a one square mile incorporated village with an urban-style grid layout, designed as a center of commerce since its founding. It has been a freight port, a small scale whaling port, shellfish cannery, recreational fishing center, and vacation location during some or all of thoise years.

It saw a boom post 9/11, post 2008 economic collapse and more recently post Covid with NYC diaspora.

Intermodal transport options include bus, rail, and ferries.

The commercial district has gone through multiple significant boom and bust cycles. For almost a decade, there has been a push to reign in the commercial activity as the population ages.

Where is it now?

Currently, almost 20% of the linear feet of the commercial storefronts are empty. Some of these are quite large and persistent, some seasonal flux. Counts waver by the day, but between 12-18 storefronts are empty, with a casual poll indicating almost a half-dozen more on the bubble.

The Arcade- It is practically a fever dream for many, a long empty five and dime general store. Practical economics forbid its practical return, but it is a stand in for the boogeyman of change.

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Generational change: “Toppy’s Salon” is empty for the first time in generations.

Political prisoners: Multiple properties are engaged in a political streetfight and locked in Village meetings.

Persistant vacancies: Even during the 2 year boom cycle, many of these have stayed empty as landlords sought unsustainable rents.

Icons: The vital but decaying shipyard needs direction, Federal funding, and a plan. It is the most armchair-quarterbacked property in the Village with every resident deciding they know what the owners should do.

So- how many properties are needed to be empty, and for how long, until luxury vacancies (high priced empty properties) will come back to earth for entrepreurs or give themselves up for corporate vanity projects? Are we resetting from a post-covid boom cycle? How far does a pendulum swing?

Strong Towns

Strong Towns is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit media advocacy organization. They produce content that analyzes the failures of the post-war North American development pattern while giving citizens the knowledge and tools to start making our places better today.

Our Mission

We seek to replace America’s post-war pattern of development, the Suburban Experiment, with a pattern of development that is financially strong and resilient. We advocate for cities of all sizes to be safe, livable, and inviting. We work to elevate local government to be the highest level of collaboration for people working together in a place, not merely the lowest level in a hierarchy of governments.

Read the Strong Towns Strategic Plan here:

https://www.strongtowns.org/s/Strong-Towns-Strategic-Plan-WEB.pdf

If, as the saying goes, travel is the antidote for ignorance, then maybe food is where we may best meet as people.

During dinner at my new second favorite oyster place in the world1- Oyster House by FISM in La Paz, Mexico we fell in with the partners there- Luis and Alan.

We talked about oysters, farms, travel plans, negronis and wings. We mentioned that we'd like to go see their farm when the road takes us up a little further north on this trip.

"Cabron! Let's go!"

As Saturday evenings at our own Little Creek Oyster bar have a habit of doing, things became a little loose and a plan erupted.

Before long, a growing group of ten was organized, a van procured for the morning, a whale watching excursion sorted and a plan to meet the low tides required to get out on the farm.

We'll meet at 7am and start with burritos and quesadillas roadside. Queso Birria and Queso Chichiron for me. (Keep your BECSPK)

A few sleepy hours on the road later and we've arrived at Puerto Chale on Magdalena ("Magda") Bay. Puerto Chale was a small fishing village until the bay was eventually fished out, and there were no more geoduck to harvest.

But the whales. Ballena Gris, the grey whale. These magic creatures travel between the bays of Baja California and as far north as western Canada.

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The Gray Whales of Magdalena Bay

Every year, gray whales travel the longest migration known to exist among mammals, swimming 10,000-14,000 miles per year as they make their way from the cold Arctic seas to Mexico’s warm water lagoons and back.

Gray whales can look forward to the protected waters of Baja’s calving lagoons, where they stopover for the winter months. Gray whales give birth and nurse in only three locations, all of which can be found off the Baja peninsula: San Ignacio Lagoon, Magdalena Bay and Laguna Ojo de Liebre (or Scammon’s Lagoon). In these sheltered waters, gray whales are able to give birth, nurse and mate without fear of predators.2

With the ballenas currently abundant in the bay, the watermen's skills have transitioned to taking people out in their pangas to see the whales up close. And up close is what you get. One came to the boat close enough for a pet on the head.

Bottlenose dolphin played, whales watched the watchers. It's impossible not to be moved.

Our motley group of new friends and mutual strangers bonded over making our best attempt to speak whale. Finding Nemo Diplomacy.

Two hours with the whales went by in an instant and we headed back to the dock.

"Push Push Push"

Luis has us on a clock against the tides. The farm is another hour and a half away, further north in Magda Bay. It's a tidal harvest so we need low tide to properly experience the farm.

We turn off the highway down a soft sandy Baja road. This part of the desert is flat and covered a seemingly endless variety of cacti.

Arriving at the long, wide tidal flats, the home of Banderita Oyster Farm, the tide is still out but we Push Push Push and walk out on the flats.

Seed program
The smallest seed is started on the farm at about 1 mm and begins in a lantern net-like stack of round trays before moving into larger trays. The seed size oysters are floated past the tideline in constant water.

When they are ready to move to the longlines they will be stocked in mesh bags that hang from the line. There are no floats on this section, just the wave action.

After a few months they will move to bags that have two liter bottle-floats attached in order to keep those growing shells tumbled.

Shucking:
Banderitas shuck incredibly. Shells hard as dice with a clear accessible hinge. What a dream to open this all year!

Taste:
These oysters have the plump meat that any fan of a Gigas oyster would recognize in an instant. But they are salty instead of that more distinct 'green' taste of, say, a Hama Hama. Magda Bay has a salinity around 36/37ppm and you can taste it. Salt bomb up front like a Northeast oyster. Then a bit, a pop, and a flood of cucumber (pepino) and jicama. Very cool.

The oyster farms here face some of the same challenges ours do. Logistics of transport and cold chain management. Growing pace and trying to sell consumer sized product before they outgrow public tastes. And these grow fast. They share the same scarcity of hatchery bandwidth.

Some notable advantages too. There is working land for operations and room to grow. There aren't big houses and yacht clubs looking to keep the work invisible. The tidal culture is incredible in a way that is almost unimaginable in today's East End of Long Island.

We talked about the issues with ice that our farms had this year. While this is not a problem for them, the opposite is true. An el Niño summer will make the estuary too hot for their survival. Even a regular summer will see air temps above 100F.

As we stood around and shucked our fill of Banderitas, the tides were quickly sneaking up on us. It was time to lift the picnic table to higher ground and start to make our way back to shore.

Turning to face La Paz for the long ride home.
We've laughed, shared knowledge, appreciated our commonality and embraced our differences.

We worked through language barriers, finding common ground in whale sounds.

If you are in La Paz, Mexico- eat at Oyster House by FISM and say Hola from us.
Also Mexico City at Taller de Ostiones

Watch for Banderitas on the world stage.
”Salty Baja”

Modern diplomacy, on the half shell.

Some are finding their way.

Welcome to Mitchell Post 281.

Shelter Island, New York Census Data

Population: 2281 in approximately 800 households. 1

Median Age: 40

Median Home Price: $1,200,000

Median Per Capita Income: $56,722

Veteran Population: 6.8% of the population has veteran status

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From the Shelter Island Reporter, Apr 16, 2023:

Shelter Island’s American Legion Post 281 saw a changing of the guard last week.

After more than nine years as the commander, Dave Clark is stepping down. Marine Corps veteran Zack Mundy has been sworn in to take his place.

Mr. Mundy is a 2010 graduate of Shelter Island School. He enlisted in the Marine Corps shortly after graduation and was deployed to Afghanistan, where he served his country with distinction.

Commander Clark, also a retired member of the Marine Corps, and fellow Marine Gunnar Wissemann, were in Beirut, Lebanon on October 23, 1983, when their barracks was attacked by a truck loaded with explosives, resulting in the deaths of 220 Marines and 21 other service personnel.2

Two of the coolest bowling lanes are tucked away in Post 281, on this small (30 square mile) island. The clatter of pins, and rolling thunder of the ball return are a testament to mechanics and dedication.

You can join the Legion or support their missions directly at a Post or at https://www.legion.org/member-services

Ok, this one is a little different. I’ve been down with a cold for a few days so brain fog settled in. I’d had a ‘brilliant’ post idea about the tipping point of when a “Main Street” becomes too empty to refill, complete with all sorts of beautiful abandonment and economic planning theories. Yeah- so, hold your breath and wait on that.

Around a year ago, I shot the first roll of film I’d shot in 25 years. Not because film is trendy or hip, but because I had my hands on a borrowed Hasselblad 500 and had always want to shoot one. (Should have bought them all for a dollar in 2000 when they were in trash heaps)

Following that side quest, I came to realize how much the amazing technology we hold in our hands is propping me up.

2012: Fujifilm and the XPro1

The release of the Fujifilm xPro-1 in 2012 made me fall in love with photography again. After years of terrible digital point and shoot snaps, or early phone pics, this was slow and mechanical and thoughtful. It was a chance to look at the world again.

Since then, I’ve been with Fuji and moved through the lineup- Xpro2, XT-4, X100VI, X-H2s. I’ve loved some more than others and slowly narrowed down my lens selection to two.

But somewhere I realized I was letting the XH2s do all the work. So I set about to shoot a few rolls of film now and then to force some discipline.

Ouch.

My first camera was the remarkable Minolta XE-7, a co-production from Minolta and Leica. This was about 40 years ago and yet somehow I think I had more keepers. (I still have that camera.)

Great write-up about the venerable XE7 here: https://casualphotophile.com/2023/10/12/minolta-xe7-review-2/

Now, on a borrowed Lecia MP, with a Summicron 35mm, I started again. Simple (rudimentary?) metering, manual focus, rangefinder- what could go wrong.

All of it. Woof:

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Somewhat traumatized, I took this setup to Portugal, but was too afraid to miss shots, so I also carried my Fuji XH2. When in doubt- this is what I used most.

As for the film- at this point, I would be happy for exposure to be correct. Composition and subject matter be damned!

Slightly better ratios:

A year and few dozen rolls later and this was the contact sheet I received this week. And the reason for this post. A high ration of properly exposed, properly focused images. Even a photo or two I like. But I am suddenly less inclined to throw all of my camera gear away and take up the harmonica.

One thought is that, as per usual, social media, YouTube, etc are probably not showing all the ugly mistakes and terrible rolls, learning curves- whether it is film, or digital or off camera flash or portraits, or learning a laguage or fixing up cars.

Learning is ugly and may be expensive. But it feels like the best investment.

I’ll keep shooting this camera, and definitely will keep shooting my Fuji. I think the two inform and improve each other, at least for me.

Nice Film Club

I have been using Nice Film Club for developing and scanning. The service has been quick, simple and the platform has been easy to use. You can do one-offs or join as a member for steeply discounted rates. If you want to give a membership a try, consider using this referral code- we each get a free roll out of it.

https://nicefilmclub.com/

We ran across the rough wooden pier towards the small lancha ferry “Karen Maria” from San Jorge that was about to depart for the small volcanic island of Ometepe. The open top deck was level with the pier and seemed inviting, even as the crew continued to load motorcycles and freight.

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All passengers were sent below decks. A Caribbean Nica ferry had sunken a few days earlier and so this was the first trip aboard the Karen Maria with lifevests.

For some.

The lanchas are old, battered wooden ships, with a permanent list to one side. The Santa Martha’s lines hogged and sagged from years of plying the rough Lake Nicaragua crossing to the volcanic island of Ometepe.

About halfway across, water sloshed across our feet, rising above the floorboards. Tarps pulled tight across open windows on the windward side to keep the sea out.

A large, bare-chested, barrel-chested, man arrived deep in the passenger hold, carrying a long wooden pole. Opening the engine cover, the clatter of the old diesel was incredible. He inserted the pole in a bellows and proceeded to pump the bilges dry for the rest of the journey.

Note: Lanchas are smaller boats and there are larger steel ferries as well. The Ferry Che Guevara is large and stable and well built. We took the Ferry el Che on the return trip, but I’d for sure suggest at least one way ought to be a lancha.

Ferry schedule is here: https://ometepenicaragua.com/ferryboat.php

Lake Nicaragua is the largest lake in Central America and the 19th largest lake in the world. Despite being a freshwater lake, it is home to oceanic species including bull sharks who travel the San Juan River to the sea.1

Turning south from the Route 66 pit-stop that is Amboy California, you head into the high desert of the Morongo Valley.

Heading down Amboy Road towards 29 Palms you pass through a desert landscape dotted with small shed-like structures set on sweeping scrubland acreage. These curious structures are largely abandoned, though sections of the drive are alive with a dedicated population.

Welcome to Wonder Valley, California.

Wonder Valley, California

In 1938, Congress passed the Small Tracts Act with the promise of a piece of the American (California) Dream. 5 acres would be provided to anyone who could build a small structure on their plot.

Thousands of these cabins were built in the sandy scrubland in the Morongo Valley of the Mojave Desert. The rugged landscape, a lack of infrastructure planning and changing socio-economic factors led to hundreds of these parcels being abandoned to the unforgiving climate.

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From “The Last Homesteads of Wonder Valley, California”:

There weren't many other settlers out there in 1948, when Anderson's father, James Hart, obtained his five sandy acres through the Bureau of Land Management's Small Tract Act. As a WWII veteran, Hart got priority in his application for the land, just a short distance from the Mojave Desert's Joshua Tree National Park. Arid, undeveloped, and sparsely beautiful, Wonder Valley was deemed “useless” by the federal government, and so was portioned out for mostly recreational use at $10 to $20 an acre. The sole requirement was that the applicant "proved up" the land with a small house.1

Today, Wonder Valley’s population hovers around 600 souls. The advent of affordable solar and other “off-grid” tools have perhaps handed out a lifeline, and with the proximity to fashionable Joshua Tree, the area has seen speculation once again.

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Small Tracts Act

In 1938 Congress passed a law, called the Small Tract Act (STA) of 1938, by which it is possible for any citizen to obtain certain lands from the Federal Government for residence, recreation, or business purposes. These tracts may not usually be larger than 5 acres. A 5-acre tract would be one which is 660 feet long and 330 feet wide, or its equivalent. The property was to be improved with a building. Starting July 1955, improvement was required to be minimum of 400 sq. feet of space.^[44] 4,000 previously classified Small Tracts were offered at public auction at fair market value, circa 1958, by the Los Angeles Office of BLM.^[44]

From publicland.org:

Some of the problems that evolved from the Small Tract Program were:

*Failure to reserve proper road right-of-ways (ROW). In some cases no ROW's were set aside in classification orders, and in such cases reserves were made around the perimeter of each individual tract. This restricted the use of the entire tract when in reality only one side needed to be encumbered.

*Classification for small tract disposal of unsuitable lands. Some early classifications were made from inadequate maps with no land examination. Steep terrain and blow-sand areas were classified, resulting in impassible roads and non-buildable sites.

*Unsightly or inappropriate structures.

*Leap-frog types of development.

*Inadequate subdivision because of survey limitations. Compare Yucca Valley (mostly privately developed) and Morongo Valley (Small Tracts).

*Limited commercial development.2

They would likely never have imagined this today at $225,000!

Looks like an Airbnb misadventure.

Or this at $339/night!:

More reading:

https://jackrabbithomestead.com/jackrabbit-homestead-desert-x-2021/

Andy Aurichio is likely owed a tremendous debt of gratitude from his community. From behind his desk at the Goldin Furniture Company, surrounded by carpet samples and furniture catalogs, Aurichio has kept a treasure alive. This modest shop lives inside a former painted lady of a theater: the Greenport Auditorium.

From “Preservation Long Island”:

Greenport’s remarkably intact 1894 Queen Anne-style auditorium retains the unique ambiance of America’s turn-of-the-century theaters. Constructed by local builder Charles Henry Corwin (1855–1937), the Greenport Auditorium was conceived and funded by Miss Sarah Jackson Adams (1846–1937), a community leader and active Presbyterian Church member who advocated for women’s suffrage. As the village center for arts and cultural entertainment, the auditorium accommodated up to 700 guests for popular dramas, vaudeville, musicals, and bands.

This corner property features elements of Victorian design including a shingled exterior, a prominent tower with garland ornamentation, dentilation, and an open porch with round top arches containing decorative spindles, classic columns, and decorative faux arches.

The structure’s historic and architectural integrity is exceptional. Original theater elements include a curved balcony with original metal grillwork, round ceiling lights, and limelights (19th-century foot-lights). Several rows of original seating are stored in the historic dressing rooms below the stage.1

Opened at the dawn of the 20th century, the theater has spent more time as a furniture shop than it ever did as a theater. It was closed in 1938 and sold to Oscar Goldin in 1940 for his furniture shop. Aurichio’s father bought that business in the mid-1960s

To set foot on the balcony, is to step back in time. You can practically hear the music, smell the thick cigar smoke.

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Vaudeville:

The Greenport Auditorium’s artistic heyday roughly mirrors the arc of Vaudeville in America. This entertainment became popular in the late 1890’s and largely went out of favor at the end of the 1930s with factors ranging from the Great Depression, to the popularity of radio and then World War II. At its peak, Vaudeville shows employed thousands across America and filled many houses like the Greenport Auditorium. Acts would include music, magic, comedy, juggling and more.

This scene from “For Me and My Gal” (MGM, 1942) is a true story about a couple of Vaudeville performers before World War I. Check out that painted curtain!

(This film stars Judy Garland and was the motion picture debut for Gene Kelly)2

Backstage, behind the carpet remnants and mattress backstock, you can see the catwalks and rudimentary light grids. One can just imagine showgirls standing off stage, waiting for the dog act to finish.

Original wheatpaste Vaudeville posters are still on the walls at the back of the stage behind the plywood curtains.

The stairs to the upper catwalks.

Several performer’s initials can be found carved into the walls backstage.

In this boom-bust-boom cycle town, speculators and investors have all circled around, multiple times. Each declares how terrible/sad/unimaginable it is that the building sits in this condition or is unused, at least to its potential. Then they wander off.

Aurichio may not have had the funds or ability to undertake the herculean effort it would take to restore this building, to bring it into code sufficient to hold the arts once more. (It’s not honestly so clear that such an undertaking wouldn’t be a decades-long series of public meetings) Most importantly- Andrew Aurichio has also not sold it off for parts and he defends it with enthusiasm and love. And the quiet resignation

The “Silence Please” light, hanging above the La-Z-Boy displays and end tables, may as well be speaking to those tire kickers and modern-day robber barons.

For more on Vaudeville:

Chesterfield Michigan

This mini golf and frozen custard spot in Michigan features a number of extra large statues including a giant chicken, golfer, bulls and cows as well as swan boats from Detroit’s former Boblo Island Amusement Park tunnel of love.

The Plycrete Mold Co

Some of the large sculptures in this mini golf were products of the Plycrete Mold Company who shipped them all over the country. Ben Robinson started the Plycrete Mold Company in Elk Rapids Michigan.

Glori (Hutchcraft) Crowell wrote: " That chicken, and many other giant fiberglass animals were all made by my grandfather Ben Robinson. He started a business in Elk Rapids in 1941 called Plycrete Mold company on Ames St. My family produced fiberglass animals, molds for ornamental concrete and poured ornamental concrete until the early 90's when my Dad, Bill Hutchcraft, retired the business. To this day it's a game my family and friends play, trying to spot the chickens when they are traveling. Some of the family legacy lives on with my uncle Larry Robinson, who has a concrete business north of Kalkaska on 131. Many of the original large fiberglass animals are still there on display.”1

This Bull used to grace the front of a steakhouse.

Compare this “golfer” to the lone cowboy from Joshua Tree, California:

This is 20 ft tall Big Josh, formerly known as The Mecca Cowboy and stood in front of Poor Richard’s Pawn Shop and Mini Mart since 1965, now moved to Joshua Tree, CA

From Roadside America:

International Fiberglass' Cowboy model was essentially a Paul Bunyan statue with a cowboy hat and longer pants that came down to his feet. The Paul Bunyan's pants are tucked into the tops of his boots. Some of these Cowboy statues have suspenders buttons at the top of their pants but most of them do not. Most of the Cowboys' shirts have chest pockets. The Paul Bunyan statues did not have these. The mold for the Cowboy's head had a filled-in beard which gave the statue a clean-shaven face and jutting jaw. These statues could be accessorized with revolvers or rifles. These statues are 22 feet tall.2

Wilson’s Dairy

Detroit, Michigan

High above the corner of Mack and Lenox sits a giant architectural curiosity.

The fourteen foot cow head used to mark the site of Wilson’s Dairy in the 1950’s and ran it until the mid to late 60’s. The building now sits vacant.

The Giant Cow had a memorable cameo in Eminem’s “8-Mile”:

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The Cow-lossus

Manorville, NY

This giant bull has a tremendous pasture all to himself. Rumor has it that the farm owner found it at a steakhouse that was going out of business.

The Greenport Pirate

Little Creek Oysters

Greenport, NY

This advertising sculpture for the Captain Morgan rum brand stood sentry over the docks of a Greenport restaurant for decades before new management threw it in a dumpster.

Tiny Little Creek Oysters rescued the icon and it stood guard over the demise of their original location and led the parade to their new location.

I guess people have been doing this for some time. Advertising works.

Gene Austin

Streetcorner Historian

Greenport, New York

Gene Austin’s is a Stirling Baby. That is, he was born in the Stirling Hospital in Greenport New York. There hasn’t been a baby born there in decades.

A profound chronicler of his family’s history, Gene is forever on a mission of sharing a legacy intertwined with the very founding and development of the small coastal Long Island Village he was born into.

Perhaps the teller of tales owns the privilege of some embellishment.

His father, “Butter” Austin became an oyster boat captain in the nineteen-forties, having worked his way up from deckhand aboard the Blue Points Oyster Company ships. His paternal Grandfather was a whaling Captain sailing out of nearby Sag Harbor.

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Gene entered the Navy and served aboard the USS Intrepid, now a floating museum in New York City. During his service, the Intrepid was the stand-on vessel for the brink of the end-of-days that was the Cuban Missile Crisis. He and the crew plucked at least one astronaut and capsule out of the drink during the space race.

I first met Gene when he brought some of his father’s artifacts to show me at our oyster bar. These included a well-worn photo of his young father as a deckhand in a publicity photo for the oyster company, as well as a deeply curled map of the oyster grounds. The map had been in the wheelhouse of the oyster boat for years, rolled into a window shade for quick access, the curl memory-baked into the chart by years of salt and sun.

We hang a copy of his father’s photo on the bar's wall, and Gene will undoubtedly be seen having a Father’s Day oyster and a beer next to his old man.

Anyone within earshot will get all of these details and more. He is driven to record and share his history to hold down some aspect of a personal legacy of a life lived in a rapidly changing world.

In 2023, Gene assembled his family history and artifacts and took over the second floor of the tiny Stirling Historical Society building for public viewing and gave me a tour.

leg·a·cy

the long-lasting impact of particular events, actions, etc. that took place in the past, or of a person’s life.

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In the early days of 2020, I proposed a long-form project loosely called The Off Season. I had intended to document the highs and lows of seasonal places. Iconic, bucolic, deserted. The peace of a down season, the challenges of making it through.

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Within months, as we were collectively plunged into the longest off-season, a radical refocus happened, and the project came to encompass a broader approach. Economic collapse, political and social upheaval, an attempted coup. Was it off-season…everywhere, all the time?

The first of many trips across and up and down the US sent me looking. Coastal towns, sure we all share a certain thing. There is a remarkable, nostalgic charm to a shuttered coastal town in the off-season.

Why is it so sinister looking when a non-coastal town is shuttered? Why is urban emptiness scary and coastal emptiness wistful? (Unless you chase ruin-porn and climb through the wreckage of recently deceased civilizations- then it is a super playground of amazing light, shapes, history and wonder.)

McLean Texas

McLean will need it’s own whole story, this “seasonal town” on a Route 66 Bypass is the home to the Devil’s Rope Museum of Barbed Wire and the McLean Cafe. It is bustling in the peak Americana road-trip season and becomes slowly stripped bare by addicts during the off-season.

Dollar General

Along the way and over thousands of miles, a few constants appeared. At the head of every dead Main Street was a Dollar General. It stood like a beacon of decay, carrying poorly made products, paying low wages. David Purdue made a fortune in removing jobs from Main Street and consolidating retail.

There are no boogeymen.

People are angry, as if someone or something has taken their places away, when, by and large we do it to ourselves. We want variety, or cheap or fast. And then speak nostalgically about the old five and dime. When you picked between the black shoes or the white shoes.

It is up to us to make choices every day about how we want to act within the places we live and the people we live alongside.

The only way to end this current season.

This is a free photography-based substack which will publish a quartly print edition available for purchase or free to paid subscribers.

I turned my overladen Jeep onto a sandy road that slowly became more sand and less road. It isn’t really sand, I suppose. The soft talc-like Baja dust floats in the air. Infiltrates every crevice of the Jeep through the big gaps in the soft top. Not to mention your nose, eyes, ears, mouth. Everywhere.

I have a neck scarf as a mask, but Scout has nothing. Poor doggo.

I had heard that there was a relatively unmarked/untrampled set of cave paintings in the rugged hills and was off in search of it.

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Baja Atlas

The indispensable Baja Atlas is the reigning travel champion throughout this special Mexican peninsula. It includes a pretty good assessment of the travelability of the various types of roads. Parts of this trip were certainly ‘otro camino.”

The incredible Baja Divide Trail ran along much of this trip. It can be hiked or biked. Along this way I met a couple from Poland who were tackling the fill Divide trip on bikes. I left water along the trail the next day to lighten their loads.

Valle de Los Cirios

Valley of the Candles.

This is a bio-reserve covering almost 10000 square miles, stretching from the Pacific to the Gulf of California. It is the second largest on the peninsula and is home to a remarkable biodiverse collection of flora and fauna.

1 Valle de los Cirios, Wikipedia

Cardon Cactus

What many confuse for the saguaro cactus (seen in the Sonoran desert in Arizona and the Mexican State Sonora) these are actually a cardon cactus. (and the “Cirios” are Boojum Trees! )

These giants form branch trunks closer to the base vs the arms of a saguaro. Both are ancient and keystone species which makes their destruction for, say, the construction of large walls a shameful act.

2 San Diego Natural History Museum Field Guide: Cardon Cactus

Baja Travel Rules and the Ticking Clock

There are a couple of good rules for driving in Baja, one of which I abide by like it is religion.

Rule #1: No driving after dark.

The reasons are far less nefarious than most Americans presume. In the desert, after dark, you can’t see cattle when they are laying in the road.

Nobody needs to hit a cow in the dark.

For what it is worth- The best part of making this a rule is that you are always done in time to enjoy where you are. To actually be present.

By now, I had traveled only 70 miles in 6 hours.

(Though in all fairness- lots of non-moving time for photos!)

My navigation plan had completely failed me. It was late afternoon and I was still hours from finding the cave paintings, and the light was starting to turn.

I had read of a ranch on this road might be able to accommodate travelers, so I pressed ahead.

Show Me A Sign

At a sandy crossroads one sign pointed to the “nearby” waterfront camp “San Fransisquito” that I had heard had been long abandoned, so I turned away towards the ranch marked on the Atlas.

After some time, signs of life started to appear. Barbed wire fencing marking land edges, and in the distance. A building.

At the Gates of Rancho Escondido

I stopped outside the gates of the Rancho as a pack of dogs met me on the other side with a racket. After some time a woman made her way down the long drive from the house to the gate and I explained that I wanted to get off the road for the night and asked if I could camp nearby. She invited me in and swung the gates wide for me.

I parked the Jeep where she indicated and prepared to set up camp when she invited me to stay in one of the rustic cabins under the great dining palapa. Inside was a simple bed and night table. I set up a bed for Scout on the floor.

With a knock on the door, my new friend came in to hang a round mirror on the wall and some fresh towels so I could clean up for supper.

After 3000 miles across the US and a few days camping on beaches in Baja- having a bed, a roof, great coffee and outstanding hospitality, I stayed on for another full day. Scout became one of the dog pack, roaming free around the Rancho and learning where the back kitchen door snacks can be found.

On “Adios”

One thing about spending time with these special people and places is that I find it hard to acknowledge that there is a high likelihood of never returning. Rancho Escondido is a special place but it was along a path I was traveling that I don’t imagine traveling again. It makes it hard to say good bye. But eventually we set back out to get to the caves.

If you are ever Bahia de los Angeles and have a qualified vehicle, make the trip to Rancho Escondio. They have a number of cabins now and welcome visitors. The hospitality is very special there.

Mesa el Carmen

We turned back to the road and left a dust cloud behind us as we headed on towards the site of the cave. (Questioning my fuel supply, I stopped at another ranch and bought some fuel from the farmer there.)

The trail to the cave is unflagged, but clear. It is steep and covered in all manner of cacti that like to come along for the ride.

At the cave, the memories of a previous civilization are emblazoned across all surfaces. Carbon dating has recently changed the idea on the age of these paintings, suggesting that they may be as old as 8000 years.

This is a remarkable, unrestricted access to an archeological treasure that allows a close view at the art. If you visit, use extreme caution, don’t touch anything, take only photos, watch your footing, leave the walking sticks, etc.

There are many ideas about what the paintings depict- a great hunt, a race of giants, migrations- truth is lost to history. Though I must say that while at Carnival in La Paz a few weeks later- it could be as simple as a recording of a great party. The Substack/Gram of 10,000 years ago.

Thoughts on Hospitality and Privilege

Along the way, and repeatedly over 6 weeks of unfettered travel throughout Baja California and Baja California Sur- camping upon beaches and in small villages. In cities and everything in between. Along the way I had the nagging personal acknowledgement that if a Mexican in a very questionable car such as mine were to roll up at my driveway asking for a room, I would not likely have answered as well. And I will strive to fix that. Then, more broadly, as we see public access to nature in our home area become more and more restricted, to keep out all strangers, I know that we become weaker for it.

I will forever be grateful to the people, culture and places of Mexico’s Baja Peninsula for being the better people.

Home:

In 10,000 years, what will people know about what we did here.

2

Pachycereus pringlei
Elephant Cactus, Cardón, Cardón Pelón

CACTACEAE (Cactus Family)

The generic name refers to the lower portion of the trunk that resembles an elephant's leg: pachy, "stout trunked," and cereus, "columnar cactus." The specific epithet refers to Cyrus Guernsey Pringle who was a Quaker, American botanist, and plant collector. He also was a plant breeder on his farm in Vermont, keeper of the herbarium at the University of Vermont during 1902, and collected extensively in the Pacific states and Mexico between 1880 and 1909.

Description

A giant cactus growing to 20 m (60 feet) high with a columnar trunk up to 1.5 m (4-1/2 ft) wide. The trunk and branches have 11 to 17 ribs covered with many areoles of 20 to 30 gray spines. White flowers bloom from March to June, and then form tan bristly fruits.

(The photograph at right is the trunkless form typical to islands in the Gulf of California. See next page for a photograph of a very tall specimen — with a trunk — taken on the peninsula near Cataviña.)https://www.sdnhm.org/oceanoasis/fieldguide/pach-pri.html

During the last pandemic, a rift exploded in the small town where I live and work. It took the xenophobic fear of the pandemic and erupted into the public square in the shape of anger, and sometimes hate, directed at the businesses and employees who make them all go around. We spent a considerable amount of time reminding neighbors that it was their own neighbors behind all those shop doors.

I think people have stopped thinking about how work gets done. It just gets done.

I started to think about how many times I’ve hauled myself up off the floor, and it seemed that then again, the regular working people who make things, fix things, cook things- that we were going to have to save this place one more time.

The Trips

In the first of many trips taken across the small roads and “Main Streets” of this country, looking for the the people who do- I met: python hunters, cooks, oyster shuckers, fruit sellers, a mermaid, a lionfish huntress and more.

Since then, I have tried to meet as many people as I can, learn their stories if possible and, of course, take a photo.

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The Python Removal Agent

I’ll always regret that I didn’t photograph the python hunters. I wasn’t thinking like that yet.

We were camped in a small park near Cedar Key, Florida, along the Gulf of Mexico. A young family was at a site not far from us. The couple had been howlin at the moon all night and in the early hours, our coffee pot must have raised the man right out of his picnic-tabletop slumber.

He came over, introduced himself and inquired as to how long we’d be on the road and other niceties of the new nomad. As the currency of this group goes- he offered some insight into where a man might make a couple of bucks.

Florida has a python problem. To put a finer point on it- pythons as pets aren’t for everyone and many have been dumped into the Everglades as gator food. Except they are an apex predator. And they reproduce fast than they can eat bunnies.

As I was working my way through a camp coffee, I was being schooled in opportunity by a man wearing just a leather cowboy hat, and jeans.

They had driven all the way down from Michigan in search of this work, and he had found some success stalking pythons in the Everglades at night. The deal is that Florida has put a bounty on pythons and will pay you a few hundred dollars per snake- more if they are really big! They’ll even pay you minimum wage while you look. Hunting consists mostly of walking along gator-infested canals, at night, looking for 10-foot or better Burmese Pythons and, if this gent’s style is to be the benchmark- yell “git him” to your ten-year-old hunting partner.

You can register to become a Python Removal Agent at:

Python Elimination Program

Bike-Based Logistics Engineer

Amazon has leveraged the near infinite resource of the NYC need to hustle. Throughout the city you will find dozens of cargo bike messengers standing by to drain an Amazon tractor-trailer and set off in every direction to finish the ‘last mile’. These are largely paid as independent contractors, without workers comp or disability and are the underpinnings to the billion-dollar business. The bikes are purchased by the rider and can be upwards of $4000.

The Paletta Mobile Retailer

I heard the paletta cart first. An irregular clanging and a bright bell.

She was small but strong, dragging the cart full of frozen treats through the deep sand of Brighton Beach in New York City.

A Russian man working on a professional-grade tan watched her struggle, in casual amusement while puffing away on his cigar.

The Street Market

During any given day, the sidewalks of New York’s Chinatown experience a build/breakdown cycle that is one of the most dynamic piece of entrepreneurial choreography.

Every morning, full market stalls are built and filled. Hardware, luggage, pets, fish, flowers, kitchen utensils.

Fishmongers push their storefronts out into the world. Crabs try to scuttle out of their bins. Fish totes on the sidewalk with catches brought in from the big markets and black-market fishermen.

At the end of the day, the whole process rewinds, complete storefronts are stripped and put away. The temporary street stalls vanished into minivans and trucks until tomorrow. The shear effort just to build and break it all.

Some thoughts on food

I continue to be amazed by the absolute army that exists today responsible for making food for other people. When you add in the people who grow the food, pack, ship, truck the food- it is staggering.

From owners down to night porters- there is not a shortage of amazing stories. And as we face a new era of anti-immigrant rhetoric, I think about how food in America is the story of immigration and that generations have lifted themselves through this industry to make bigger lives for their next generations.

I have been lucky to work alongside so many. It is my honor and privilege.

And I cry for their fears today.

The Balloon Man

I stare at this photo often. Maybe because he stares back.

It was late, I blew focus with a little camera shake at low shutter speed. But to me, this is an inciting moment.

This man, this place, this job. All the people living their best life, buying a balloon to celebrate a festival. The difficulty and challenge of his late day.

Mad respect for the Balloon Man.

Honky Tonk Tuesday

As the spectre of COVID and closures, J6, and 2021 in general began to wane, we embarked on a transformative road-based trip around the United States. One that would set off a chain of events leading to multiple follow-on trips. The goal was to look for some kind of answers.

What happened?

Who the fuck are we, really?

Along the way we found ourselves in Nashville. In that particular moment in time the non-stop turquoise boots and hats bachelorette Downtown set against the localized fear of a first winter and new variants. Cautious first steps into the light for many.

We found ourselves at the American Legion Post 82 for “Honky Tonk Tuesdays”

More accurately, for the first return of this special space and tradition.

Unsure what to expect, lost from a few thousand miles looking for “America”, we found people of every age, race, size and costume arriving.

Inside was grounded in time. Purpose built as a community home for Veterans.

From the NashvIlle Post 82 website:

You'll find a lot of music at our post because it's universal, across generations, demographics, and genres. As long as music continues to draw veterans to our post, we'll continue to embrace it.

Social dances, with strangers sharing spaces, for the first time in a year.

Good food coming in hot from a trailer out back.

Great music.

So began my search to discover how other American Legion Posts serve not only their members, but their community at large. From music, to bowling alleys, skating rinks to BBQ’s.

If you are ever in Nashville, show your support:

https://nashvillepost82.org/

Look for more of this work in posts to come.

We are in the most documented era of human history, yet we may be creating the least durable record of our existence.

Millions of photos are taken every day in phones around the world. Concerts, elections, riots, disasters and all manner of food on our tables.

I know that I have many photos lost to the digital archives- failed hard drives, failed iMacs, lost cloud accounts.

In 2023 I started printing photos. Sure I started with work that I was considering as ‘photography’, and then I commenced with the mass production of the ephemera of a time. Snaps, some mistake shots. The stuff you find in an album a few decades later.

I also think about how paranoia has stripped us of a human record. We lost all the photos of picking up people at the airport gate- or anywhere in the airport for that matter.

We are all guilty of watching life through a 6 inch screen, recording shows we will never watch. But someday that cloud account will die, or the drive connection will become obsolete. Whoosh.

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles.

From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome;

Her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

-Emma Lazarus

The iconic American heroic myth of the lone gunfighter.

Populist lone crusader against all odds who rises up to destroy evil, save the village and protect the damsels.

The anti-democratic, and violent American heroic ideal.

It is interesting to imagine this as an artifact one thousand years from now. Future archaeologists might study nomadic people who erected giant statues of their deities along major migratory routes.

The members of the Orient Ice Yacht Club have a problem.

This passionate group of folks sail small craft across frozen bays at astonishing speeds.

They have the boats.

They have the passion.

They do not have ice.

They haven't had ice in over ten years, which, as one can imagine, is tough on a hobby.

For the past couple of years, the members have gathered at a small bayfront boat launch on January 1st to make offerings to whichever God or Gods might have a hand on the switch.

Members are encouraged to dress in their most Norse, most Arctic, or at least most outrageous garb.

Ice is brought from grocery stores, home refrigerators, restaurants, or anywhere else it can be procured.

Over a passed bottle of blackberry brandy, members throw or slapshot ice into the bay to combat the ever-warmer water.

Maybe this is the year that they will prevail against climate change.

May the boats sail again.

However, I have been carrying around a camera for the last four decades as a way of trying to understand this life, this place.

Over the last couple of years I have logged some 40,000+ miles across the United States along the small roads, through Main Street USA (plus some side quests through some wonderful other places on this big planet.

I started these trips to understand the growing perspective differences between regions, to meet people where they are, and to hear their stories.

Why Substack?

Along the way, I have shared these on various platforms, each increasingly missing part of the “picture.” As the social signal-to-noise ratio has gone mad, this visual and narrative journal has been lost. There is not enough focus to build complete stories on Instagram or Facebook.

Why now?

As Meta joins others in making the concerted move towards pushed propaganda, I am actively seeking to deplatform this content, and content forward into a smaller, but focused community.

What will happen here?

Photo-heavy stories will be shared here on no less than a weekly basis. These will include pieces of larger projects, small stories, difficult questions, probably a shortage of answers. This Substack will also heavily utilize the Notes feature and would encourage a lively Chat community.

Topics?

The Legend and Myth of Main Street USA, Very Small Entrepreneurship, Iconic Small Festivals, Road Tripping, The Spaces That Bind Us Together, Urban Planning, Unique Diners and Food Places.