What's This Hole in the Compost Pile?

    Sorry for the rather confusing photo, but see the large dark area in the lower half of the picture?  I noticed it when I was emptying our vegetable scraps onto the compost pile.  That dark area is a hole about a foot (30cm) deep.  Obviously something had been digging in our compost pile.  I knew immediately who the culprit was:  a bear.

    This time of year the bears are on a feeding frenzy.  They have to really load up on food to get them through their months of hibernation during the winter.  I guess the bear found some appetizing things deep in the compost that helped satisfy its needs.

    Compost piles should be periodically turned over, so that all the bits get composted.  It is something I never do, but should.   Pete, our local gardening guru once told me that he always buries his fresh garbage under the surface of the compost pile.  Then when the bears come around, they do the turning-over of the compost for him.  

    It seems all of the animals like our compost pile.  I had to put a wire fence around it to keep Ginger, our neighbor’s dog, out of the pile.  (Obviously, the fence didn’t slow down the bear at all.)  Every day in the winter when I throw our vegetable scraps on the pile, they are always gone by the following morning; eaten by the deer.  

    The compost pile does build up during the summer, when the deer find better things to eat.  Only the odd raven and a lot of insects visit it, but as you can see, the pile does start to become an attraction, once autumn arrives.  

    I don’t mind the wildlife dining on the compost, even though authorities tell you not to feed them.  I don’t feed them, they feed themselves overnight.   

View my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

Seasonal Changeover

     After a longer, drier, and hotter than usual summer, we suddenly find ourselves in fall.  Things have certainly changed, with the advent of cooler and wetter weather.  This change has me removing all of the summer things in preparation for winter.

    Since forest fires are no longer a threat, the photo shows me unscrewing the hose of one of the outside building sprayers, that gave me a small bit of hope during fire season.  This year I put up five of the sprayers; four on our house and one on my shop.

    Yesterday, I moved all of the lawn furniture off of our “lanai”, which changed it back to a carport, since I don’t think we will be spending much time sitting outside until next spring.

    Today is the day BC drivers have to have changed over from summer tires on their vehicles, to winter tires.  I had mine done two weeks ago.  Winter tires are not just for traveling on ice and snow; they also give better grip on the pavement when temperatures get colder than 7°C   (45°F) because they are made with softer rubber.

    Other things that I need to do before winter hits is dig all of the potatoes, clean out the greenhouse and garden, and plant the garlic.   I can then put the rototiller and all of the garden tools away and get out the snowblower and snow shovels.

    Luckily, last winter was so mild, that I didn’t really have to cut more firewood, because I had so much left over from last winter.  

    At present, the leaves of the deciduous trees are beginning to yellow, and so we can enjoy the color before the grays and whites of winter take over.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

My Conscientious Objector Problem Resolved

      The next correspondence I received from the Selective Service was a questionnaire form. It asked me what kind of alternative service I would like to do.  I was given three choices.  For my first choice, I wrote down “Some kind of conservation work,” because I was very much concerned with the degradation of the environment, and enjoyed working outdoors.  My second choice: “Teaching school in an Indian reserve”, I was a qualified elementary teacher, and I wanted to working with people in need.”

    Finally, for my third choice I wrote down, “Goodwill store”, because  I knew that most CO’s ended up carrying bedpans in hospitals.  Being in a hospital was not something that I would have liked to do, considering how easily I fainted, so I certainly didn’t want to work in a hospital.  I had heard that sometimes CO’s served their Alternative Service in Goodwill Stores, and to me, that seemed like that would be a more attractive job than working in a hospital.  I hoped that putting down “Goodwill Store” as my third choice, might give the Draft Board an idea they probably wouldn’t have considered.

    In my next communication from the SS, I was informed that I was to report to the Indianapolis Goodwill Store to begin two years of alternative service.  The draft board always made sure that the Alternative Service done by a CO was located hours away from his home, so that his life would be disrupted, but I didn’t mind that, those drafted into the military had to leave their homes, and I was certainly willing my serve my time in Indianapolis, if that is what the Draft Board wanted.

        I have already blogged about what working in the Goodwill Store was like.  If you haven’t read it and are interested, you can go back to my July 4th blog entry and begin there.

View my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

My Selective Service Classification Decision

             I knew that for a week or so, the future of my life would remain in limbo, as the local Draft Board made their decision as to what my classification would be, but as I left the Selective Service office and stood again in the dark hallway, I experienced one of the proudest moments of my life.  I had stood up for the things I believed in and I didn’t waver, even though it might mean a jail sentence in the future.   I had not cowered in the face of one of the strongest forces on Earth; the US Government.   

    There were no hearty handshakes, shouts of congratulations, or cheers.  It was just me, alone in the hallway, full of an inner pride, because I had figured out what the right thing to do was, and then I had done it.

    Finally the letter from the local Draft Board arrived.  I opened it and was dismayed, but not entirely surprised to discover that they had rejected my appeal, and that I would continue with the 1-A-O Classification.   The letter did hold out some small hope, it said I could appeal the decision to the Indiana State Draft Board.  I immediately grasped at that last straw, and sent a letter to the state board appealing the decision of my local board.

    I was gratified to learn that I didn’t have to show up for an interview with the Indiana State Draft Board, only my file was sent up to Indianapolis, and their decision would just be based on my file, not on how long my hair was.  I was hopeful that they would judge me by my beliefs and the things I had written.

    A letter from the State Board eventually arrived stating that I had been reclassified as a 1-O Conscientious Objector, so I would not have to become  part of the military, but instead I would have to serve two years doing “Alternative Service,” something I was quite willing to do.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Appearing Before My Draft Board

      I paused in front of the door to the Selective Service office and considered the implications of the next hour, then tried to relax.  I took a couple of deep breaths, as I wondered about what this day would bring, and how it might change my whole life.  

    I opened the heavy wooden door and entered the room.  The secretary that sat at a desk inside asked what she could do for me, and after I had stated my purpose, she asked my name, told me to have a seat, and then disappeared behind another door.  Upon reentering the room, she held the door open and said, “Mr. Marchant, the board is ready to see you now”.

    The high ceilinged room was cramped and smaller than I imagined.  It’s walls were lined with filing cabinets, leaving just enough space for the five stern-faced older men, who sat around the large rectangular oak table.  To me, the five looked like the rural farmers or the small business owners I had grown up seeing in the pews of our church.  They wore older suits and ties, and all sported closely cropped haircuts.  The secretary reentered the room and took a seat with her pad of paper to record the procedure.  They told me sit down in the wooden chair in front of the table.

    The five then proceeded to introduce themselves using a false friendliness that I immediately recognized from all the years I had worn my hair long in the very conservative Bible Belt of Southern Indiana.   I could tell they had immediately stereotyped me as one of those despised  “long haired hippies.”   These five conservative “good old boys” who were being paid by the government to supply young bodies for the war, were not going to have much sympathy for my sincerely held moral beliefs.

    The inquisition began:

    “Why have you registered as a Conscientious Objector, Mr. Marchant?”

    “I think it is morally wrong to kill other human beings and I do not want to be a part of any organization that does.”  I was being careful not to be political in my answers or reference Vietnam.  This meeting was about my moral beliefs, so I stuck strictly to that.

    “Why would you not accept the 1-A-O classification?  You would be helping others.”

    “I would still be in the military, and supporting those whose function is to kill other human beings.  I don’t want to have any part in doing that.”

    “Why would you not consider being a medic and help save lives?”

    “Medics are part of the military, their job is to patch people up so the military can use them again.” was my reply.

    Then, as I knew they would, the questions became more sly.

    “Do you mean if you saw someone lying there, bleeding and hurt, that you would not want to help him?”

    “If I knew that by helping him that I would just be enabling the military to eventually reuse him to kill others, or to put him out there again to be killed, no, I wouldn’t want to help him.”

    Then the questions became ridiculous.

    “What if a man was trying to kill your mother, you mean you wouldn’t want to fight him off?

    “Well,” I replied, “of course I would try to do whatever I could to save my mother, but I wouldn’t want to kill the perpetrator.” 

    This back and forth went on for some time.  Their questions never really delved into my moral beliefs, they just kept throwing out situations, trying to trick me into saying I would kill someone.  At the end of the session they asked me if I would like to say anything.

    I took a breath, summoned up my courage  and told them, “Look, I am willing to do two years of  alternative service as a 1-O conscientious objector, but I will not be a part of the military.  If you try to induct me into the military, I will refuse and go to jail.”

    That was the end of the inquisition.  The Draft Board told me they would send me the results of their decision in the mail. 

        The photo above is not my Draft Board, but another.  The people behind the table are pretty similar to men in my Draft Board that I had to confront.  

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

My Fight To Become A Conscientious Objector

      Since I had departed the Peace Corps, my occupational deferment from the SS (Selective Service) had ended, and I waited for the next shoe to drop.  Without any other deferment, I figured that my application to be a  C.O. (Conscientious Objector) would kick in.  However, the next letter I got from the Draft Board was an unpleasant surprise.  

    The SS had two different types of CO classifications.  One was the “1-A-O” given to those who were willing to serve in the military, but just not kill people.  They were non-combatants, and they were usually given jobs in the military as medics.  The other CO classification was “1-O”, it was for those who had a moral opposition to participating in any part of the military.  The 1-O recipients were required to do 2 years of service to the country as a civilians.

    In my original forms sent in when I was 16,  I had stated that I was a 1-O, non-military conscientious objector.  The letter I had received from my draft board was typical of how they worked.  They classified me as a 1-A-O objector, meaning I was to be drafted into the military.  I wasn't going to let that nonsense happen.  I fired off an appeal to the the classification board and again settled back and waited.

    The result of my appeal was that I was summoned to appear before my local Draft Board.  

    I found myself walking through a dark hallway in the old limestone courthouse building in Evansville, Indiana.  Since childhood, every time we had rounded the city’s downtown square, I had peered up at the massive ornate stone Courthouse, with its tall columns, arched windows, and slender domed roof which featured a clock, but this was the first time I had ever been inside of the old building.  

    I glanced at each office door as I passed, my lone footsteps echoing through the tunnel-like hallway.  Finally I saw the wooden door with its frosted glass window upon which was emblazoned in distinctive gold letters; Selective Service System—the office I was looking for.

View my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

1970; Hangin' at the University

      As I continued to spend a lot of my free time at the university.  I began to know and socialize with the small, but growing faction of counter-culture students.  They had formed a mock fraternity which they called 'Phi Zappa Krappa'.  I enjoyed being around people with similar values in music, pop culture, and politics.  Whenever I could, I hung out with whatever individuals from the group I could.  

    Since I had a lot of free time and was hanging out at the university anyway, I took couple of graduate classes; one in Evolution, and one in Ecology, both subjects that I was extremely interested in.

    I happened to be taking the Ecology class when the 1st Earth Day occurred on May 22, 1970.  We organized a small celebration of the event at the University of Evansville with some speakers from the Biology Department and my mother even volunteered to sew up an “Ecology” flag for the gathering.

    A month or so after that 1st Earth Day, the ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corp) were putting on a military “tattoo” on the campus.  I, along with some other anti-military-types, marched along in jest with the troops.  As a result, I received a reprimand from the Dean of the University, for showing disrespect to the ROTC  during their marching ceremonies.

    While hanging out with the Phi Zappa Krappa's, I soon found myself noticing a quiet, blue-eyed, honey-haired, girl from Germany, who everyone called “Kraut”.   (I had always loved the riddle:  What do you call a German Hippie?   Answer: “Flower Kraut.”).  

    In questioning some friends I discovered her name, and she that had recently moved to the US,, after growing up in Berlin, Germany.  She had just begun attending the University of Evansville and was hoping to later major in Art History.

    The more I saw of her, the more enthralled with her, I became.  After building up my nerve, I approached her and we soon began dating.  After several dates I was hooked:  We seemed to share so many of the same interests, values, and tastes, and beside that, she was beautiful and intelligent.

        We went to movies, to the museum, and on excursions to wooded parks.  She soon became my best friend and since she couldn’t drive, I was happy to ferry her in the MG to wherever she wanted to go.  She liked my family and I began to take her to all of my family gatherings.

        “Ecology” flag shown above.  Phi Zappa Krappa group photo below, with my new best friend; front row, second from the left.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca