You will have to work for this one, as I had to work to figure out how to present it - - It is long and wordy but I finally figured it out - -
I never did figure out how to present my case, which was to present my views on the cultural damage caused by open borders. Luckily, Victor Davis Hanson wrote “From Rural to Surreal” and there was the story I wanted to write and couldn’t figure out how to write it. I did it this way:
I will write an introduction (below). If you care to read more, look up Victor Davis Hanson, “From Rural to Surreal” and have a look. It explains how how “immigration” without controls has impacted his personal life, as well as many other California farmers who supply a large percentage of the country’s fruit & vegetable crop - - Not good - - not at all good.
I’ll be interested to know what you think of his essay - - . (Also interested to know what you think of the judge who decided to dismiss the Mayorkas’ impeachment charges brought by Congress)
If you are STILL interested, please read my “VDH Does it Again - Epilogue”
To me, this is “meaty stuff” - - enough for three meals if you are hungry - - too much for me in a single sitting.
Regards - MadChimp
Once again - -
As I go ‘inward’, search for something meaningful to me that could be interesting to others - - a thought, a perspective that provided clarity, an ‘epiphany’ that answered a troubling question so it could be put in the ‘finished’ file, I find the answer has already been written. My work has already been done for me saving hours of editing or, as often happens, ending in frustration that the answer is incomplete or lacks clarity. So I am pleased to offer my perspective on why the matter has relevance to me, and leave the telling of the tale to a master - - Victor Davis Hanson, in this case..
Introduction
As a child, once each year my Father took his two-week vacation from New Departure in Bristol, CT, where he worked as a mechanical engineer, loaded the family Plymouth with clothes, modest gifts, enough food to avoid costly restaurants, four children and a wife, and headed north to the Great State of Maine.
We spent one week with my maternal Grandparents in the tiny town of Brooklin, on the coast, where retired lighthouse keeper Roscoe Chandler tended his lobster pots (traps) and lived a simple life with his Irish immigrant wife, Mary. Then we moved inland to equally tiny town of Monroe, for a week with my paternal Grandparents, where Robert Kelley operated a small dairy farm and wife Betsy raised award winning Rhode Island Red chickens, and sold them for breeding stock all over New England.
Despite the joys of a big pot of freshly dug clams, steamed in sea water in Gramp’s large iron pot along with a lobster for each of us, I just couldn’t wait to get to ‘The Farm’.
Invariably we arrived in ‘haying season’. As I grew, I graduated from driving the truck (where I alternated between sitting on the edge of the seat, so I could reach the gas pedal, to stretching up in the back part of the seat to see over the dash-board), to throwing 40-50 pound bales from the rows left by the baling machine to the back of the truck, to “stacker”, adjusting the load so it remained stable for the trip from the fields to the barn. I could not imagine a more enjoyable life. I was determined to have a farm at some point, and when I found it, I would stay there for the rest of my life.
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What an amazing and wonderful journey you've had.. It is very obvious why you lament so deeply at seeing it all get swept away. We _must_ fight to save it, thank you for doing your part!