Down The Road: The Conquerors Lifestyle

By Natural Solutions

Planet Earth has been ravaged by conquerors since the last Ice Age. A Native American finds answers to the origin of the problem that has plagued humans for thousands of years. The path to recovery is found.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Natural Solutions
• Release date: Jun 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311266354

Natural Solutions

Natural Solutions is dedicated to solving the world's problems with Earth Friendly Solutions. Biological Bob has worked for local Indian Tribes for most of his career, served as District Conservationist for several years, and taught Climate Change at the local Community College. Bob and his associates have dedicated their lives to Earth..

Book preview

Down the Road

The Conquerors Lifestyle

Planet Earth has been ravaged by conquerors since the last Ice Age. A Native American finds answers to the origin of the problem that has plagued humans for thousands of years. The path to recovery is found.

A Novel By Natural Solutions

Copyright 2015

Natural Solutions

P.O. Box 342

Orleans, CA 95556

This book was published by BookCrafters

Parker, Colorado.

[e-mail]

This book was published by BookCrafters

Parker, Colorado

[e-mail]

This book may be ordered from bookcrafters.net and other online bookstores.

Smashwords Edition

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Author Bio

Natural Solutions is dedicated to solving the world’s problems with Earth Friendly Solutions. Biological Bob has worked for local Indian Tribes for most of his career, served as District Conservationist for several years, and taught Climate Change at the local Community College. Bob and his associates have dedicated their lives to Earth.

Table of Contents

Warm Sunny Day

Moonlight

No Moon

Midnight

Snowfall

Communication

Confusion

Day Break

Conqueror Religion

Western Science

Path Home

Spring

Warm Sunny Day

On a warm sunny day, I was walking down the creek watching for grass hoppers and looking for signs of fish jumping for insects when I came upon Biological Bob. Now I had known that Bob was around since he arrived several years earlier, but I didn’t commonly run into him in town, let alone out here in the woods. So, we didn’t have much in common when we met that fateful day.

I have grown up here on the river in a depressed economy where drugs are plentiful, jobs are available if you’re educated or you know somebody who has money. Everyone else grows pot. Some people experiment with the more extravagant drugs like meth, cocaine, and heroine, but the least complicated and most satisfying source of money is growing and smoking your own pot. My friends and I can talk about absolute nothing and enjoy every bit of it until we get hungry and realize that we’re out of food. The closest place to buy food is a two mile walk down the road. Of course the walk to the store could result in almost any possible outcome, depending on whether or not someone you know is rolling by in a car. I remember not eating for three days, because my friends didn’t have any food either. All I remember are the pretty girls and the joints that kept passing by. I can’t remember what houses I crashed at or who drove me home. The important thing though is that we all enjoy every bit of it, day after day after day.

So, while I have lived around here for my entire life as an unemployed tribal member, Bob shows up with a college degree and he gets paid by the Tribe. I have heard that he has done good things for the Tribe. Some of the Elders speak highly of him. I don’t care who the fuck he is or who he thinks he is. He’s just another stupid asshole to me.

On the other hand, Bob grew up in Los Angeles to an upper middle class non-Indian family. After graduating from high school and surprisingly avoiding going to the Viet Nam War during the draft, Bob went hitch hiking in Europe for eight months instead. Apparently not bright enough to make it on his own, his father helped him go to college. Dorm the first year, second year student apartments, third and fourth years were a blur, finally on his own.

After working for the California Department of Fish and Game issuing hunting and fishing permits, fighting forest fires for the US Forest Service, and setting up timber sales for the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) in Hoopa, California, Bob was pretty disillusioned about the concept of earning a living that way again. The disarray of acting like an environmental activist, tree planter, fire fighter and forestry cooperative crew participant barely kept food on the table, but that all ended when the housing market crashed in the mid-1980s.

So, more college and less environmental activities seemed to be the only way to become more marketable for Earth friendly jobs. The job with the Tribe was a fluke of being in the right place at the right time with a Bachelor and Master Degree under his belt. He had no idea how to communicate with the tribal members, and he only knew enough to be dangerous when talking to other state, federal and tribal professional staff.

It’s hard to know what he was thinking as he stood there with his back turned toward the road staring at the creek. It really pisses me off when I see a non-Indian earning money from the Tribe and doing nothing. He seemed totally unaware of my presence, and quite contented to do nothing as I approached him from behind. Now, if I had been in the mood I could have easily clobbered him over the head and stolen his money. That opportunity only comes around every now and then so it’s a perfectly logical consideration in today’s economy. But aware of the fact that he was working for the Tribe, and his Tribal rig was parked out next to the road, I decided that I was just going to see what the hell he was doing out here on tribal land. So, as I slid up behind him; Ahh, fuck!!! ... He turned and pissed on my leg!!!

So much for pullin’ an old Indian trick, and sneakin’ up on him.

Well, that wasn’t exactly the outcome that I had anticipated. I jumped back, tripped and fell down, as he emptied the rest of his load on the ground. Then Bob spun around, zipped himself up, backed up about five feet to his right, and looked at me like he had just seen a fucking ghost.

Bob seemed a bit more embarrassed than I was, so I introduced myself and asked him what the fuck he was doing out here on Tribal land? It’s always best to act as if you’re the one in control whenever you can get away with it. My statement seemed to slow him down quite a bit as he gave that stupid white guy look back. So I said, You heard me, what the hell ya doin’ out here?

It wasn’t what he said, but it was that honest passion that I felt when he spoke that caught my attention. He described that he was just coming back from a trip to Klamath Falls, Oregon, for the Tribe. After three days of meetings and several cups of coffee to get this far, he finally stopped here on the side of the road to unload.

He had been meeting with BIA, US Bureau of Reclamation, and three other federally recognized Indian tribes trying to get more water into the river for the fish. 1992 was the driest year on record, since the US Government had been keeping track of it. Irrigators above the five dams in Oregon and Northern California were receiving full water deliveries, while the salmon downstream, and the endangered suckers in Upper Klamath Lake (traditional sources of food for Native Americans) were at risk of extinction.

Access to the US Government by Tribes had been at a standstill for the last several years, as President George Bush, Sr. and Congress were screwing everyone who depended on a healthy environment. Several trips to Washington D.C., poor management decisions by the US Bureau of Reclamation and the driest year on record had forced more meaningful dialogue regarding the US government’s trust obligation to federally recognized Indian Tribes throughout the interstate Klamath River Basin.

Bob would travel throughout southern Oregon and Northern California attending meetings on behalf of the Tribe. After several days of intense meetings with the US Government, late strategy meetings with the other Tribes, and a long windy ride back down the river, anybody would have had to stop and pee every now and then.

I didn’t get the impression talkin’ to Bob that anything meaningful happened at the meetings. Can’t say that I noticed anything different about the river since he’d been gone. Southern Oregon is a conservative stronghold where farmers and ranchers have drained one of the most important and diverse wetland environments between Mexico and Canada, for ducks, geese and other migratory birds. Five major dams have been constructed along the Klamath River from Upper Klamath Lake