140801 Regular Joe Northland

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Jay Kerner

Publisher/Quiet Lover

You have to pity poor Thomas Crapper.

Here he goes and invents improvements for themodern ush toilet and the public forever links

his name with scatological humor.

As unfair as this seems, Id like to suggest

a similar fate for the inventor of the micro-chip.

You know, those tiny wafer-thin electronic

components that operate everything around us.

Complex functions that used to require trans-

formers, transistors, resistors and who knows

what-all, are now carried out by a little deal

smaller than a postage stamp.

Technology, created to make devices smaller and smaller, has so de-valued

itself, that disposable versions are now embedded in greeting cards. A cute pic-

ture and a heartfelt message are no longer enough. Now youre not sending the

very best, unless your card opens to 8 seconds ofBad to the Bone, or You are the

Sunshine of my Life.

But if you really want an example of the proliferation of these insidious

devices, spend some time with small children and their toys.

Take stuffed animals. From Teddy Bears to Gingham Dogs and Calico Cats,

a little cloth, some stufng and a couple of button-eyes used to be the standard.

Not any more, boy! Today, everything talks, plays music or both!

The stick horse whinnies. The rub-ber duck quacks. Even a simple rattle

isnt simple anymore. Instead of a hol-

low handle lled with beads, were now

talking about a fully integrated shak-

ing system, with multicolored LED

lights, 16 different voice options and 99

assorted rhythms programmed in.

Child care providers from earlier

generations were forced to read story

books. Now the books read themselves

to you. A coloring book and a box of

crayons provided hours of activity and

promoted artistic expression. Todays

digital versions color themselves when

you pass the light wand over them. No

mess and heck, you cant go outside the

lines, even if you want to. Hit send and

automatically distribute the nished

product to the refrigerator art app on

grandma and grandpas smart phones.

The toy box speaks several lan-guages. There has to be a switch some-

where, but apparently only the baby

knows where it is. Hola!, it says,

when you lift the lid. But sometimes

Bonjour!

The baby laptop senses my presence and starts its loop of classic (no royal-

ties to pay) tunes. Frere Jacques seems to be a popular choice. Are you sleeping?

Are you sleeping, brother John, brother John? Heck no! Nobodys sleeping with

all this racket!The sensor in the plastic snail picks up the light and sound from the Activ-

ity and Learning Desk. Which sets off the Little Princess keyboard. Pretty soon

theyre all going at once, egging each other on.

Camptown Races, in a mashup with Jimmy Crack Corn and a generous

helping of Shell be Comin Round the Mountin! Its an aural onslaught.

And its not just the toys. Kids toothbrushes talk and play music. So do

their potty chairs.

Im sorry, but I guess Im just an old fogey. I worry about this trend. Why

do you need a musical potty? I fear for future generations who wont be able to

perform without it. I picture a row of dudes at the urinal, all humming variations

of Polly Wolly Doodle before they can do their business.

So I blame you Robert Noyce. I know you were merely advancing the sci-

ence. Its what we do.

But science has responsibilities too. Remember Jurassic Park?

I sit here in the nursery, as the toys perform independently, and realize Im

essentially superuous to the whole operation. Except for replacing batteries.

Noyse Pollution


3/20

We need your help.

The Regular Joe is what we like to call a

community contribution paper.

The more diverse the content that comes

in, the better the paper. The more different-

voices we can dig up, the better chance we

can offer something for almost everybody.

Remember, we like stories that are for

things as opposed to against things. Our

favorites are stories that turn the reader on

to something. A favorite movie, book or al-

bum. A locally owned restaurant you love.

And pictures. We want em! Your shots

of iconic northland images. And shots of

people out and about, doing northland stuff.

Thanks,

Joe

Dear Joes,Contact The Regular Joe

[email protected]

P.O. Box 1304 St. Joseph, Mo. 64502

Read us online

www.theregularjoepaper.com


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6/20

Matt Meier

Ive been a Beatles fan since in utero.

The early rockin sounds like Twist and

Shout, the upbeat happiness of Ticket toRide, the melancholy of While My Guitar

Gently Weeps. These songs, and many oth-

ers by the Fab Four, have practically come

to dene my musical tastes since birth.

So it is without surprise that I have

spent a great deal of time watching and

learning about the worlds greatest rock

band, from their evolution in The Cavern

and their Germany days, to world superstars,

and nally studio musician geniuses. I have

my mother to thank for this unique love for

a band and for each of its members into their

post-Beatles days.

There is a huge dearth of material

out there for anyone to check out to learn about how the Beatles became the

Beatles, their rise to stardom, and their internal strife they experienced in later

years. The Beatles rst feature lm, A Hard Days Night, is a quaint and come-

dic look at the Beatles, involving a ctional story of the men on their way to a

performance. Their follow up Help! manages to keep the laughs coming, with a

ridiculous plot involving Ringo, a ring, and an Indian death cult. While not on

the same plateau as Hard Days Night, Help! is certainly a fun lm to watch ona slow day.

The 1970 lm Let It Be is perhaps the most striking piece in the Beatles

catalogue of appearances. What was envisioned to be an insightful look into

the Beatles recording of an album, the lm warped to become something of

a sad vision of the Beatles literally falling apart before the audience. Though

the turmoil within the group was plainly seen during the course of Let It Be,

the group did manage to toss aside their quibbles and have an unannounced

rockin nal performance on a rooftop, dubbed the Rooftop Concert (cre-

ative, isnt it?), which became the Beatles nal live performance before their

breakup in April 1970.

I would say the quintessential piece for any Beatles fan to watch wouldbe 1995s superb documentary, The Beatles Anthology. This series is likely

the most complete look at the Beatles, from their very roots to their very end

(and then some). No other documentary has come close to matching the depth

that The Beatles Anthology had on the band.

After reviewing many of these pieces, I felt as though I had a fairly solid

grasp of the band. Turns out Ive been proven wrong recently.

Out of the woodwork comes 2013s Good Ol Freda, a look at the life

of Freda Kelly, the sole secretary for the Beatles fanclub. Aside from being

an amazing woman, in this documentary Freda shares some of her personal

stories about the band whilst hinting at others. From her years as a teenagerto that fateful April 1970, Freda bared the responsibility of teeming to the

millions of worldwide fans of the Fab Four. From writing letters on behalf of

Paul, John, George, and Ringo, to even supplying hair clippings of the band

for some more audacious fans, Freda ensured that everyone had a connection to

the Beatles in one form or another.

The Beatles are unique in the history of music and cinema. It seems that no

matter how old people may get, or how many generations may pass, they con-

tinue to remain relevant in the years to come. Whether youre the diehard enthu-siast or a young teenager discovering the Beatles for your rst time, rest assured

that there is a wealth of material out there to sink your teeth into and enjoy.

Good Ol Freda is available through Netix streaming and can be pur-

chased through most digital streaming services.

Some random Beatles facts:

- The term fth Beatle refers to a multitude of people that are seen as be-

ing a fth member of the Beatles. Members include Eric Clapton, Billy Preston,

and producer George Martin.

- During the lming of Help!, the band members discovered marijuana

during lming and would often sneak off set to enjoy its qualities. George Har-

rison also discovered Hinduism during lming.- Pattie Boyd has likely had more notable songs written about her than any

other woman. Pattie met George Harrison on the set of A Hard Days Night and

the two later married. Harrisons songs Something and I Need You were

dedicated to her. Eric Clapton later fell in love and married Pattie and also dedi-

cated a few of his hits to her, including Wonderful Tonight and Layla.

- The nal Beatles song released was Free as a Bird. Originally con-

ceived as a demo song recorded by John Lennon, the remaining three members

recorded supporting tracks to Lennons original and released the song in late

1995.

Matt on MoviesGood Ol Freda


7/20

Shannon Bond

The planning is done, the dates are Sept. 26 to the

29th and its time to pack the gear. Join us for our Katy

Trail peddling adventure and cap the trip off with a Mis-

souri River train ride. Register by Sept. 1 to guaranteea spot. We meet in Sedalia Friday, Sept. 26, at 9a.m. to

start our journey. We will stay in hotels and B&Bs in

Boonville, Hartsburg and Rhineland (this last one may

change depending upon the number of riders) and we

will end our trip in historic Hermann, Missouri. Amtrak

will give us and our bikes a lift back from there. We will

have lunch in scenic little towns along the way, like Hermann and Rocheport and

there will be plenty of time for pictures and sightseeing. The pace will be light but

you still need a level of tness to ride 38 to 48 miles per day on at terrain. The

cost of travel for 2 riders will be $450 for couples or $400 for a single rider. This

includes snacks, lodging and the train ride back from Hermann for you and yourbike. Click the link below to join us!

Join Us for our KATY Trail Bike Adventure


8/20

Brew Top Pub

North

8614 N. BoardwalkAll Shows 10pm unless indicated

Fri 8/1 Dolewite

Sat 8/2 Transients

Fri 8/8 Hazard County

Sat 8/9 RetroActive

Fri 8/15 Noe Palma

Sat 8/16 Disappointments

Fri 8/22 KC Groove Therapy

Sat 8/23 Cherry Bomb

Fri 8/29 Wonder FuzzSat 8/30 Stolen Winebegos

Fat Fish Blue

7260 NW 87th

in Zona RosaFri 8/1 Supermatics

Sat 8/2 Az One

Sat 8/9 Old No. 5sFri 8/15 The Mighty Wax

Sat 8/16 71 South

Fri 8/22 Kyle Sexton Band

Sat 8/23 Da Truth

Fri 8/29 Rivertown

Sat 8/30 Not a Planet

Pats Pub

1315 Swift in NKCEvery Wed nite Open Jam hosted by Rob Gray

Sherlocks Underground

858 S 291 in Liberty

Every Wed at 8pm Oasis

The Hideout 6948 N. OakEvery Thursday is Bike Nite with

Dave HayesBand, Levee Town, and Blue 88

Open blues

Live Music Hi-Lites across the Northland


9/20

9


10/20

Shannon Bond

The Tatanka 100 mountain bike race did not

start or end well for me. As far as I can tell, it didnt

go well for a lot of other folks either. The misfortune

started before we ever lined up for the start. We had

decided to combine the race trip with a family vaca-

tion and were behind schedule after touring the Bad-

lands so we ended up rushing to the pre-ride meeting.

Of course in our mad dash to Sturgis we ran into a

violent hail storm. We thought about stopping when

the visibility dropped to an alarming distance but de-

cided that it was safe enough to press on, even with

dollar signs ashing through our minds as the bikes

on top were pelted with dime-sized hail. We wereonly 10 minutes late in the end and discovered that

we hadnt missed much.

I walked in and found my training partner in

the crowd at the meeting. The revelation was that the

race centered mostly around the runners since it was

also an ultra running event. We learned that yes it

was raining, no it probably wouldnt be canceled or

postponed and the trail was marked fairly well. We

left feeling apprehensive at best. It got worse when

we woke up to even more rain. I thought for sure that

they would postpone for at least a day since it wassupposed to be sunny and nice the next but that was

not the case.

Nearly 70 riders gathered at 4:30 a.m. in the

parking lot of a local ball eld. It was dark, cold

and I knew my light windbreaker would be soaked

through in moments. We stamped our feet and bus-

ied ourselves with our gear to keep our minds off the

misery. My loyal support crew (translate that to dedi-

cated wife who endures and supports my continuing

efforts to nd new ways to suffer) huddled with meunder the shelter of our SUV cargo door. She planned

to pick up the rest of the family at the hotel and meet

me at the third checkpoint. I had enough food and

supplies to make the 30 miles it would take.

Even with 4,000 foot of climbing, I gured it

would take me between 3 to 4 hours. The only vari-

able was the altitude and my ability to breathe. We

had signed up for this race seven months earlier and

had been training for it and the Dirty Kanza 200, so I

wasnt worried too much about the tness challenge.

I wouldnt be the fastest guy out there but I can slogalong for quite a while as long as I dont get too am-

bitious.

After nalizing our plan and lining up with the

rest of the riders in the pouring rain, we were nally

off. The race organizers had told us that even though

it was raining, the Black Hills should be ridable and

they chose not to postpone once again. We didnt

think about any of that as the initial adrenaline in-

jection elevated our spirits and energized our legs.

Things went well behind the police escort out of

town and up the multiple mile gravel climb.

I was even in good spirits an hour later after

battling through mud up the slopes of some formi-

dable single and double track. The rst checkpoint

was cheerful and the rain had nally stopped. They

warned me that the ve creek crossings to come were

thigh high due to the rain. I was looking forward to

the added adventure so I didnt even get off my bike.Little did I know that the next checkpoint at mile 18

would be a different story.

The crossings were fun and had even offered an

opportunity to dip our bikes in the fast moving water

in an attempt to dislodge some of the more stubborn

mud. Ropes had been strung across the water as from

bank to bank since the water was so formidable. Af-

ter the last crossing though, we were met by a con-

tinual climb full of switchbacks and high mud.

I decided to press on. The thought of not nish-

ing had not taken hold completely yet. I had neverfailed to nish a race.

In a slow gradual way which consisted of my

bike failing to roll completely about 3 miles out from

checkpoint 2 I realized that I wasnt going to be able

to nish. My bike was out of commission. It was full

of clay and pine needles and I was slogging through

deep mud dragging it rather than riding it. I stopped

about every 50 feet to jam sticks in various places to

free up the moving parts but was never able to ride.

I was done.My focus shifted to reaching the checkpoint. In

my state of physical and mental stress and fatigue I

didnt realize what it would take to reach the next

checkpoint on foot while dragging a heavy mud lad-

en bike. I was just anxious to get back and salvage

the day with my family by visiting Mount Rushmore.

As the time wore on though, I cursed the bike, the

mud and begged the wheels to roll. After four hours

of hiking, slipping, pulling and dragging my bike, I

came to the 30 mile mark. This is where the check-

point was supposed to be, except that it wasnt. Inthe pre-ride meeting they had told us to focus on

the third checkpoint at the 30 mile mark. I was fed

up and envious of the runners that were passing me

without dragging a 50 pound brick. Even their well-

intentioned sympathy didnt help but I appreciated

the thought.

I nally ipped my bike over for the nal time

and decided to pry as much mud out as possible. It

looked like there was a long downhill stretch and I

was going to try to roll again. My gear was a mess, I

was a mess and there wasnt an inch of clean surface

anywhere to be seen. Even the zippers on my feed

bag and camelback were stuck with mud. Using my

tool and a stick I was nally able to free up the wheels

and one gear. I couldnt shift and I didnt know if it

would last but I was going to take advantage.

It was nice to stop for a moment and I took in

the Black Hills. The countryside was inspiring and Iloved being in the back country. There was no sound

of human existence. I took pictures of the valley, the

trail, the mud and my bike. After that it was time to

roll. For a brief moment I was liberated and it wasnt

long before I heard signs of civilization. This was it, I

was going to nally get to the checkpoint and put this

all behind me. But, the thought of behind me was ac-

centuated by the sudden sliding of my back end and

the sound of rushing air. I had a at.

I didnt want to try to pull this wheel apart

through all of the caked mud and change a tire, espe-cially within ear shot of salvation. I was tubeless so

I peddled harder to seal the hole but it didnt work. I

stopped, pumped air into the tire and peddled it up-

side down before jumping trying to peddle fast again.

In my haste I took a wrong turn and had to backtrack

and the tire was still pouring air out. I nally gave

up and pulled the rim off and pulled a tube out. It

was a mess and harder than it should have been but I

managed it within demoralizing earshot of the check-

point, which was actually about 32 or so miles, not30 (a very big deal when you are miserable). It had

taken me about 7 hours to make it 32 miles. I was

disgusted like most of the other riders.

I learned later that only 20 riders nished while

the rest of us had damaged bikes and mixed feel-

ings. After abusing the hotel shower with an endless

stream of mud, we nally made it to Mount Rush-

more. It turned into a great day with the family after

all and it still felt good to put the Tatanka behind me.

Later as I was sharing photos with friends I discov-

ered the images of my last stop in the Black Hills. Iwas surprised to see that I was smiling. Even a bad

day in the woods on a bike is better than a good day

in what we call civilization.

Nothing Wrong with a Little Disaster


11/20

Jay Kerner

Ive been lucky enough to have seen a lot of my musical icons in person

over the years. I missed the Beatles but caught Paul a couple times. Ive seen

multiple shows from the Stones, Pink Floyd, and both Whos, (The Guess and

The).

Ive seen Tony Bennett and Frank Zappa. (Not together, but I bet it would

have rocked!)

I could ll a column with all the famous names, but for the sake of argu-

ment, lets say that Ive seen the vast majority of the contemporary artist of my

time.

At this point, I pretty much only go if its an artist on my icon list that

I havent caught for whatever reason. Opportunity hasnt always aligned with

economics.

Anyway, we heard Willie Nelson was coming. Love Willie! (Who doesntlove Willie?) But Id never seen him in person.

Bought his 8-tracks, cassettes, albums and cds. Played bad versions of his

hits on my guitar for captive audiences in times of bad weather. (Imagine eyes of

every color, crying in the rain.)

I was looking forward to the show before I talked to my nephew over the

Fourth holiday. Hed caught the tour at Radio City Music Hall and came away

less than impressed.

I didnt believe it. I gured a kid his age, (40) just couldnt appreciate the

older artist. Willies 81 for gosh sake. You cant go in expecting the Red Headed

Stranger. He existed in an earlier time, pressed into wax and preserved in analog

for our aural and (for some) spiritual enjoyment.

The Willie that took the stage the other night was somebodys grey headed

uncle. The one youre always worried will trip over something in your living

room and break a hip.

I immediately thought back to meeting Levon Helm of The Band after a KC

show a couple of summers back. Hed surrounded himself with a killer band and

only had to sing the rst couple of words to the bigger hits. He saved his wind

while the audience screamed out the lyrics in mass. He was a tired, sick old man,

driving down the rock and roll highway till the very last mile. I wasnt surprised

at all when I heard hed passed only a few months later.

The similarity hit home with Willies opening number, Whiskey River, may-

be the quintessential Nelson tune. Except tonight hes doing it an octave lower

than youre used to hearing it, and he talks most of the lines instead of singingthem.

Lots of artists with extensive catalogues semi-satisfy their loyal fan bases

with a medley like the one Willie offered up. No crime in that. The problem was

hearing all your old favorites done at so much less than the way they live in your

head and in your heart.

The crowd cut him a bunch of slack. They helped him out by singing along

to almost everything. On the ever popular, Mamas Dont Let Your Babies Grow

Up to be Cowboys, all he really had to sing was Mamas. The crowd did the

rest..

His guitar playing always had a unique improvisational

style. The ngers still seem pretty nimble, but often he seemedto drift away in the moment, leaving his bandmates scrambling

to anticipate his uctuating timing.

It made me sad.

It was like the ancient skeletal ballplayers in uniform for

Old Timers Day. Its nice to cheer for them again, but putting

them in the batters box just seems cruel.

Maybe he needs the cash. I thought he got straight with

the IRS but who knows? If this show is any indication, hes

still raking it in. The place was packed and the line for the

T-shirts was crazy. The most popular choice, the one with thelogo for the Willie Nelson strain of high-end medical (and now

recreational) marijuana. The slogan on the front encourages

his followers to Roll Me Up and Smoke Me!

Like Willie himself, the crowd was grayer too. It has

been a while since I was this close to the mid-point on age at

a show.

Bottom line is that Willie deserves to do whatever Willie

wants. But I for one choose to remember the vintage version

instead of the cardboard cutout on the road, yet again. To para-

phrase the man himself, It aint the least bit funny, when time

slips away.

The Grey Headed Stranger11


12/20

Dr. Robert Corder

For most of the Civil War, N.W. Missouri had been spared the large-scale

destruction and carnage that occurred almost exclusively east of the Mississippi

River. Some might argue, however, that guerilla depredations and the effects of

General Order 11 in August 1863 left the Missouri border counties of Bates, Cass,

Jackson and Vernon worse off than if there had been large-scale engagements of

North and South combatants. Be that as it may, large scale warfare was to remind

Missourians what had been happening in the rest of the nation beyond St. Louis

for the previous 3 years.

In the fall of 1864, General Sterling Prce, from the safety of Arkansas, as-

sembled and planned to take his army of 12,000 back into Missouri in order to

obtain much needed supplies, recruit additional soldiers, and generally disrupt

the Union hold on the border state. In doing so, his ultimate goals would be to getMissouri to join the south and open a second front in the West. He also hoped that

a confederate victory would prevent Lincoln from being re-elected and accelerate

an end to the war with conditions favorable to the South.

Price intended a counter clock-wise movement through the state with his

rst objective, taking the Union arsenal at Ptosi. Then attack, and perhaps take

St. Louis. If unable to complete those objectives, he planned to head upstream

along the Missouri River toward Jeff City and then Westport.

Advance scouts of the Southern Army in Arkansas came to our area in early

May 1864. Their intent was to recruit additional troops to help disrupt the North-

ern response to the impending invasion of Sterling Prices army in the fall. Fi-

nally a force of about 200 bushwackers and Paw Paws were organized by Col.John Caldwell Calhoun Thorton, a former lawyer from St. Joseph. Paw Paws

were previously captured rebels who wore the Union blue in order to avoid pris-

on. Many Paw Paws gladly changed back into butternut and joined the invasion

force. These forces captured Parkville on the 7th of July. The Paw Paw force

there gave no resistance. Thorton then sent a demand for surrender to Platte City

which capitulated again with no resistance on the 8th. These forces set re to

several businesses in Platte City marked as being Northern sympathizers. Most

of the garrison of Paw Paws changed their allegiance back to the South, hence the

term Paw Paw rebellion.

Meanwhile, General Curtis commanding the Northern forces in NorthwestMissouri was moving troops north from Ft. Leavenworth and Westport. The sec-

ond Colorado regiment under

Gen. Rosecrans (after whom

our airport is named) directed

those troops to occupy Weston.

This newly minted force of

Thortons evacuated Platte City

and moved to Camden Point

on the 12th. Later, in Camden

Point, these forces were cel-

ebrating the sack of Platte Citywith a picnic, when they were

surprised by a pro-North cav-

alry from Ft. Leavenworth and

soldiers from the Colorado 15th. The attack routed Thortons force which was

encamped north of Camden Point. Only a handful of casualties were sustained by

both sides. All-in-all, about 24 confederates were killed and ve Paw Paws were

executed for their participation in the event.

The commanding colonel from Ft. Leavenworth ordered that Camden Point

be leveled for aiding in the insurrection. The only building that wasnt destroyed

was the church of the same denomination that his wife attended in Leavenworth.

One assumes that the soldiers who changed sides were executed because of

treason. The bushwhackers dispersed back into the countryside to ght another

time.

Footnote: This author attempted to locate the battle of Camden Point in

December of last year. It is not marked by any signage, however, I suspect that it

occurred just north of the city as the rebel dead are buried in a Southern cem-etery on a low hill west of the main artery as you travel north about a half mile

out of town.

Battle of Camden Point July 13, 1864(aka The Paw Paw Rebellion)


13/20


14/20

Reverend Ron

During the summers of my early college years, I worked as a

shing guide in Yellowstone National Park. I recall walking down to

the West Thumb boat docks early in the mornings, a thin layer of fog

blanketing the lake, bubbling mud pits anking one side of the walk-

way, and on the other side a parking lot lling with cars and tourist

eager to go shing. The 21 foot inboard cruiser that I operated waited,

bobbing in the water. The clean mountain air and the smell of the lake

enlivened each step. What joy! To sh all day and be paid for it.

That was in the early 1960s.

It has been over 50 years. I recently returned from a vacation to

Yellowstone and enjoyed experiencing the park as a tourist rather than

an employee of the Yellowstone Park Company. Much has changed inthe park--new roadways, new buildings, a much-needed focus on the

ecology of the park.

For me, the biggest impact of my visit to Yellowstone was that

the boat docks are no longer at West Thumb. Gone. Not a tracethe

walk way, the parking lot, the row of cabins where we stayed, the mess

hall where we dined, the nurses facility, the ranger station, the general

store--all gone. West Thumb boasts of a new parking lot, a new system

of trails, new public restrooms. Only boardwalks passing through fumerals and

bubbling mud pits remain.

Are memories really that empty? My experiences at West Thumb linger

as the turning point in my life. My encounter with youthful emancipationfor

the rst time being away from the home of my originconfronted me with new

challenges, new adjustments, and new rules for relationships. The whole direc-

tion for my future career took shape at West Thumb. And now, the West Thumb

I knew is no more.

On a sightseeing tour of Yellowstone Lake out of Bridge Bay, I hung on

every word of our tour guide, searching for any mention of West Thumb. None.

When I got home, I found an old map of West Thumb and the activities that

once thrived there. It held little to validate what I recalled.

It feels like some things should be there of the places and times that

have so impacted our lives. To echo the words of Gertrude Stein, there is nothere, there. My updated encounter with Yellowstone raised a host of feelings

and reections. I understand more deeply why people love history and feel the

need to search it. But how real is history? Is there such a thing as backward

causation? Do we create the past by the way we remember it? Indeed, the

place where we used to swim in Firehole River is much smaller than I recall,

the rapids we shot much less sloped, the distance between places much shorter.

So much mystery in history! The old copper drinking fountain in the

hotel at Mammoth hides the story of its origins. The boards of the old boat

houses that once held the early wooden boats over the winters hides in silence

the many conversations they overheard. The remains of a wooden boat sunk onthe banks of Stevenson Island no longer remember the gasps of wonder of its

former passengers.

All over Yellowstone, burnt trees stand above new growth. Fallen logs

of once proud trees return to nourish the landscape. Geysers and boiling pools

emerge and dissolve and move from one location to another. Tiny bones in

bubbling pools and a half eaten carcass attracting a circle of buzzards attest to

spirits that have moved on to new concerns. Even the land itself where glaciers

once crawled and volcanoes once roared changes from one moment to the next,

erasing its past, save for a few scant clues left for the geologist. And all, echo-

ing the sentiments of the Greek Philosopher Heraclitus: You cannot step in the

same river twice.Nothing is permanent. As clouds marching across the sky shape-shift, so

are the moments of our lives. Perhaps the only thing that is eternally now is

the shifting itself.

The Impact of Impermanence


15/20

15Where to go...When you come to St. Joe!


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140801 Regular Joe Northland

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