This is from my first post back in December to ICM, after surviving the Hurricane in the Mountains:
This is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever written/posted in my almost 70 years of existence. I have not posted here on ICM in over 2 months because Harley and I survived a fucking _hurricane_ in the mountains of Western North Carolina. Unfortunately, my growing companion for the last 5.5 years years, Star The Doberman, did not survive. She did not die as a result of the hurricane; she died as a result of hemangiosarcoma:
I buried my Dobergirl the day before Hurricane Helene hit the mountains.
She appeared totally normal a week before but stopped eating, which was highly uncharacteristic for her. Waited a couple of days, contacted our outstanding vet who came up here on the mountain ‘cause Star was a Covid-Girl and didn’t socialize well. She said something was fucked and wanted to take her off the mountain.
Long, brutal story much shorter… after four days, the vet knew she wouldn’t survive more than a week and she knew how important euthanizing our animals at home was to me. The vet wanted to bring her back up her on the mountain so she could die with us.
We put her down on September 26, the hurricane hit the next day.
I’m getting ready to post more personal information than I ever had online and IDGAF (I don’t give a fuck). I live in Western North Carolina and the closest city to me in Asheville but that is over an hour away, in a very mountainous region, on the Blue Ridge Escarpment. Google that, it’s where the mountains meet the Low Country. There’s a 2000-foot cliff less than ¼ mile from my house, I’m at 3k feet and the mountain behind us is 4k. Excess water from mountain rainfall flows into valleys, and is _concentrated_ in those valleys.
The week _before_ the hurricane hit the mountains, while Star was in the process of dying, we had almost 12 inches of rain in what is known as a predecessor rain event (PRE). Digging Star’s grave was quite challenging in this environment, as the deeper I dug, the more the water filled the hole. With the Sheryl Crow tune from the 9/11 tribute Till Your Safe and Sound echoing as I dig, I continue to dig. Elton John’s Come Down In Time, Eddie Vedder singing Wish You Were Here and Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide reverberate as my dinosaur body continues to dig the grave.
My beautiful Star The Doberman is buried and the physical hurricane hits the next day, September 27.
I haven’t mentioned yet that September 27 was Harley and I’s 35th wedding anniversary, we had flights scheduled and paid for, including reservations at the 4 Seasons in Las Vegas. We lost power and Internet service the night I buried Star and power was not restored for over two weeks. Since our water is supplied by a spring, when the power goes out, we lose water as well. Here’s a couple of pics of our driveway, which was impassible, as it was for three weeks
Long story short, Harley and I were prepared for this kind of event.
The _only_ form of communication we had with the outside world was with a 30 year old AM/FM/SW receiver powered by AA batteries. A country music station, WWNC, was fucking _instrumental_ in keeping all of us informed of what was going on and I absolutely _hate_ country music. But they did not play any music or political bullshit, which is very rare here in the mountains. Beyond the scope of this post to discuss preps for no power but I’ve got 200 watts of solar panels connected to a deep cycle battery that kept all of our tablets, laptops and phones fully powered/functional through this whole event. We live in an area that does not receive reliable cell coverage. One bar is the standard, if we’re lucky.
In order to communicate to the outside world, I had to hike up to the point of our property to “get a bar” so I could at least text the kids the let them know we were alright and had them cancel our flights and hotel. Voice communication was not possible, for over a month.
I cannot effectively describe the devastation that has taken place in the mountains of Western North Carolina. As we used to say about LSD back in the 60’s… words tend to be inadequate. I could no doubt post hundreds of videos that are now available online that document the utter destruction that has happened to us but I just can’t look at ‘em anymore. Do a search on YouTube for Biltmore Village, Chimney Rock, Swannanoa, Lake Lure, Hot Springs, Marshall, Spruce Pine… for videos of the utter devastation.
For those of us who live here, it's the new reality.
What those videos _won’t_ show is the thousands and _thousands_ of people who are now left _homeless_ because of a hurricane in the fucking mountains. These are not drunks/derelicts/ne’re do wells but waiters, cooks, nurses, cops, rich, poor, middle class, it fucked _everybody_ in one way or another. Unlike FL, MS, LA, TX, etc., _flood_ insurance is not something that we have _ever_ had to deal with in the mountains. Almost _all_ of the homes destroyed were _not_ covered by flood insurance because we never had fucking _floods_ up here in the mountains.
Anyone who is aware of my short posting history here on ICM know that I avoid politics at _all_ costs but I gotta speak to FEMA’s response to this disaster. It has been pretty damn good. People who moved here from FL and NY whined the first couple days wondering where their presence was... guess what? The roads were completely and totally fucked, so they couldn’t do anything, because they could get to those of us who were fucked. I had to hike up to the point of my property to contact FEMA on the cell, talked with a real, live human who took our info. Within 2 weeks, an inspector made her way up here the only way she could, surveyed the damage and I had a check for 5k in my account in a week.
That paid for the trackhoe and dozer that cleared driveway so we could get off the mountain… after a _month_ of being in the house.
Like I told our kids, driving off the mountain for the first time was like going through a lumberjack explosion. Trees crushing houses, roads totally washed away, fucking _landslides_ blocking entire towns from transportation. Gotta bring this Wall ‘o Words to an end and it will probably be one of the last Walls I’ll post for quite a while.
Time to stop constructing this Wall ‘o Words, I’m fucking tore down writing this. I’ll leave ya’ll with this, for Star The Doberman:
Maybe this is forever
Forever fades away
Like a rocket ascending into space
Could you not be sad?
Could you not break down?
After all, won't let go
Til you're safe and sound
'Til you're safe and sound
There's beauty in release
There's no one left to please
But you and me
I don't blame you for quitting
I know you really tried
If only you could hang on through the night
'Cause I don't wanna be lonely
I don't wanna be scared
But all our friends are waiting there
Until you're safe and sound
Until you're safe and sound
There's beauty in release
There's no one left to please
But you and me
Until you're safe and sound
Feel like I could've held on
Feel like I could've let go
Feel like I could've helped you
Feel like I could've changed you
Feel like I was a hero
Feel like I was a zero
Feel like I should've heard you
Feel like I could have healed you
Feel like I could have changed you
Feel like I could've heard you
Feel like I could have healed you
Feel like I should've told you
I feel like I could have loved you
I feel like I could have loved you
I feel like I could have loved you
I Feel like I could've saved you
Like The Terminator, I'm Back!
Well, it’s certainly been a long time since I last updated this section of the site, again. As you can probably tell by the post below, I've been on a cannabis social media adventure the last year. A _lot_ has happened since I last posted but I don't know how much time I'm willing to devote now to chronicling those things, because they are quite difficult emotionally to relate. I am a Here and Now kinda guy but what we experienced must be related to you all.
I'm out of ICM for a much needed break, was taking up too much time in my life, and as Harley (the pseudonym for G-Ma, G-G Ma) so succintly put it, "Why are you wasting your time arguing with strangers on the Internet, about things that happened over 25 years ago?"
Kinda hard to argure with that logic.
So I'm going to be devoting the time I used to put into ICM and re-direct back to this website. I've found a way through AI to scan various fora that I've been active in and download my posts. That way, there will be a central repository for what I've done with cannabis. so you all won't have to relay on this southeastlights dot org, archive dot org or icmag dot com
I've got to refresh my memory on how to get videos up here on this site, the process from my idea to getting it on the site is quite tedious. I have one of Star the Doberman and the Hurricane in the Mountins that will be the next post.
A Social Media Influencer?
Well, it’s certainly been a long time since I last updated this section of the site. I know our kids and older grandkids will be very confused about with the last post on my high school, which contained a reference to Facebook. They know how much I absolutely loathe FB because of my belief that it amplifies and distorts all of the divisions that are currently destroying our nation. Social media, especially FB and Twitter, are a catalyst for the degradation of U.S. society.
So how in the Hell did Daddy/Dad/G-pa/G-G-pa get sucked into the abyss of social media?
It was a photo of my 50th high school reunion that sucked me in. I had registered on FB many years ago because of what I was doing with cannabis development. Quite a few growers/developers had IG pages and it was easier to just register with FB, since they owned IG, and use it for seeing what others were doing with cannabis. I had always vowed to stay off FB because back in the early 2000’s, one of our kids is very tech oriented and told me all about FB. In my initial exploration, I viewed one of our daughters FB Home page, scanned down at the posting and read something to the effect… “I guess it’s time to go home and ride the wild stallion….”
TMI, I decided then and there to never utilize FB again!
When the photo of the reunion showed up when I accidently went to FB, I clicked the link and have been down the social media whirlpool ever since. But I never, ever view anyone in the family who has a FB page… ever, for obvious reasons. The Groups feature on FB is very reminiscent of Usenet but with severe moderation. And right now, that’s a good thing because the FB groups I’ve gotten the most pure, unadulterated joy from have been the Louisville Kentucky’s Past and Sunny Isles The Way It Used To Be. Pure, unadulterated nostalgia and the mods absolutely prohibit any posts that are even close to political in nature. So it’s been quite the trip in the Wayback Machine, without the frustration of having politics rammed down my throat. I discovered people who I went from first grade to graduation with in the Highlands that I haven't thought of in over 50 years, photographs of my house from the 1930's with a kid riding down the hill the same way I did, people who I worked with at The Beachcomber down in Sunny Isles. I've even communicated with the bouncer/doorman of Thee Image!!!
I’ve written before about visiting various cannabis fora (plural for multiple forums) to stay informed about new technology, especially lighting. I lurked primarily on Roll-it-Up, MrNice and IC Mag. I was active on RIU during a couple of timeframes but had a tendency to get kicked off because of my caustic reaction to various Millennials who were disrespectful to my postings. Here’s a couple of screenshots of how I interacted in a cannabis forum and yeah I got “asked to leave”. Here’s a couple of illustrative screen shots:
In my first post to every fora I’ve joined, I always state that I don’t do well in moderated environments. Keeping the political bullshit out of view in this election year is the prime directive for my online life for the next year. You’ll immediately notice I am so very different in my online communicative style than I am in real life. I learned a long time ago from the “wise guys” who stayed at The Beachcomber…” the loudest kid in a group is the weakest, look at the guy who aint’ sayin’ a fuckin thing, but everybody stops talking when they say something. That’s where the power is.”
That’s _not_ how things work on an Internet forum. Everybody posts shit, all the time and it gets overwhelming at times, because you can’t read facial expressions, body language, etc. My job when participating in a forum is to wade through all the shit, find out who knows what they are talking about, who doesn’t, what I can learn from the non-morons and what I can teach to intellectually curious newbies. That is the _only_ reason I participate in cannabis fora, to learn what I don't know and teach things I do know.
Which brings me to the purpose of this Journal entry. I’ve found an online home for cannabis discussion and it’s IC Mag. The depth and breadth of cannabis knowledge that is archived on the site is simply astounding. It’s been online since 2004 and some of the most knowledgeable and experienced people in the history of cannabis have utilized the site. The Moderators of ICM are not only knowledgeable about growing and cultivating cannabis, they have no axe to grind about people like me, who have more Internet and cannabis development experience than they do. All they ask is for participants to treat each other with respect, obey the very few forum rules there are, and don’t make new users feel intimidated. Moderation like that I can easily adhere to.
I have recently been concerned that since this site has a 6+ year history, all of it is not going to be archived at archive dot org. I have no earthly idea how sites like this will be accessed in the future, so I'm trying to make the information accessible in other ways. In addition to the hard drive images I create on my computer that contain this site, I wanted another venue to store what I write concerning cannabis… what I’ve done, how I’ve done it, and why I’ve done it, so you kids will understand me a bit better.
I’ve also had some severe problems with the current website displaying photos and content correctly, especially on Android devices. I just don’t have the time, patience and technical knowledge to troubleshoot all the issues. Even though I’ve always concentrated on how this site is viewed on an actual, large monitor PC, I do realize it now looks like Hell on small phones/tablets. There's no telling how you all will be viewing what I've written in the future, when you're reading this. I can't even begin to imagine how you interpret it.
To assure what I’m trying to communicate will be available in the future, I’ve decided to direct my writing to an additional platform and that is going to be ICMag. My participation there will provide another option to view what I’ve written about cannabis, in case archive dot org goes down and you all can't access this website.
On ICM, I think I’m known as the Cussin’ Grandpa. I have no doubt you all will understand why!
Wayback Machine Set To 1973
Nothing to do with cannabis today kids, g-kids and g-g-kids. This is more about life, and the how and why of how you all were raised. This was a post on Facebook I made recently, after a pic of my 50th high school reunion showed up on my Facebook feed. It was one of the very few times I’ve ever actually got on there, read or posted anything. This was my post to the Atherton High School Alumni Association Facebook group:
Strap in extra tight Sherman and the rest of you grads from 73, Mr. Peabody and Chuck U. Farley are taking you on a journey in the Wayback Machine to Atherton High School in 1973. Fifty years after high school graduation and we’re still _alive_. Most of you wouldn’t know me anyway because I was pretty quiet, shy, not popular, but I could be funny and make you all laugh at times. I abhor Facebook as well. I could tell a very funny story involving my daughter, a “riding the wild stallion” post and my promise that I would never go on Facebook again, but that’s another story. Anyway, let’s go on a trip.
We're the gene
We are a generation that, unfortunately, was too young to be hippies and thank God, too old to be Yuppies. Forever scarred by Viet Nam (my lottery number was 25), our graduation year ended with the First Oil Embargo and our retirement years began with the Covid pandemic. In between those years we dealt with; an impeachment, Three Mile Island, the Iran Hostage saga, record high unemployment with inflation and interest rates even higher, Challenger, Black Monday stock crash, the Gulf Wars, Waco and Ruby Ridge, Oklahoma City, OJ, another impeachment, Y2K… and we’re not even in the New Millennium yet.
Things were not as easy for us as those pesky Millennials seem to think they were.
I’m going to mention names of people I grew up with, and I mean no disrespect to anyone I mention, because it’s is who we are and what made us what we are. The Highlands area of Louisville was such a fantastic place to live for a kid. By walking to elementary, junior and senior high school, we were exposed to a wide variety of economic and social realities. From the low income, shotgun shacks on Speed Avenue to the million dollar mansions on Spring Drive, the kids who grew up together in this area share a common experience. Not only did the rich, intelligent kids from Spring Drive learn stuff from us lower and middle income kids on Speed Avenue but we learned things from them as well.
That made _all_ of us better kids.
I was a lower income, white boy who went to Deer Park Baptist and heard C. Carmen Sharp rain down hell, fire and brimstone about how if you “didn’t accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior”, you were going to Hell. But I also went to school with African American, Jewish and Arab kids (Teddy Shunnarah,) along with Catholics, other Protestants and a bunch of atheists as well. Did prejudice and racism exist? Most assuredly. But when you hear racist epitaphs from parents and grandparents on a daily basis, yet see how gentle and nice Rhonda Behr or Annette Grundy are to someone like you, any reasonably intelligent kid will eventually realize, or at least I did, that all the racial and religious stuff doesn’t mean anything when you’re a kid just trying to pass Dolly Sturman’s Algebra class and need help. Because of the educational and cultural environment of the Highlands in the 60’s and 70’s, racism in my family stopped with _me_. My kids and grandkids are testament to that. The Longfellow, Highland, and Atherton area kids taught me, through their actions, that if you treat people with dignity and respect, they will probably treat you the same way. Not always, but usually. It doesn’t matter if you are poor, shy or aren’t as “cute” as you think everyone else is, as long as you treat people the way you want to be treated, things will work out the way they are supposed to.
Racism is such a difficult topic to discuss for our generation because we witnessed and endured true, blatant, violent racism, not the micro-aggressions that people whine about now. The first inter-racial relationship I was aware of was Bridgett Wempe and I know for a fact she caught literal hell for it, as she lived in my neighborhood. Pretty much kept me from even thinking about asking Patti McHenry, one of the most beautiful and smart girls at Atherton, out on a date. She’s Black and I’m White.
That was my loss because I was not as brave as Bridgett.
I’ve got to write about social/economic class as well. My father was a mechanic and my stepmother didn’t work but somehow we could afford to live in the Highlands and not the Fincastle or Bowman Field projects. I went to school with the kids of doctors, lawyers and various other rich families but I _never_ felt looked down on by Robbie Nolan, Dickie Bell, Kevin Collins etc. Kevin was even gracious enough to invite me to a Graduation party at his parents’ house on Spring Drive and I _so_ was not in his social circle. These were nice guys, even though their families were very rich. They didn’t treat kids from my kind of background like shit, even though some of us were dirt poor, though were didn’t realize it at the time. Time to wind this Wall of Words down, unbuckle the seat belt and exit the Wayback Machine… for good.
This will be my last post as I’m very much a “Be Here, Now” kind of guy and I don’t dwell on the past or worry about the future and Facebook isn’t about that… at all. I’m only on FB to help and communicate with other cannabis developers and by some bizarre quirk of FB’s algorithm, I saw Charlene Elam’s FB post about the 73 reunion and was astounded so many attended. My only info about our reunion was from Classmates.com and just 15-20 people had signed up, so since I haven’t been back to Lou Ah Vull in decades, I didn’t plan to attend. When I saw the pic, I poured over it to see if my “first love” came back. Like me, I’m pretty sure she didn’t. Jenni, at that time, you were truly the music to the story in my eyes, who knows what life would have been like if we stayed together and I never moved from Louisville.
If only you hadn’t of screwed my best friend.
The last time we saw each other you said, “Have a nice life”... I have. Been married a very long time now, have 4 kids, 7 grandkids, 3 great grandkids and I’m more madly in love with my wife now than I was when we got married. I cannot imagine how any of our fellow 73 classmates could be happier than I am now.
I hope you are too.
So that’s what led me here to the Atherton Reunion group of FB and trying to join the 73 private group. Like Groucho said, I guess “I’ll never be part of a club that would have me as a member”. I hope Betty Miles knew what a great teacher she was. I certainly need her as an editor now. As you should be able to tell by my writing, she knew how to reach and teach difficult students like me.
Take care,
Chuck U. Farley