Tuesday, October 09, 2012

Our Drinking Problem

We will post a full agenda for Thursday night but the topic that's going to need the most discussion will probably be the new water policy.  Eliminating plastic water bottles is the second phase of our trash reduction initiative; the first one being eliminating styrofoam and Solo cups which we are declaring a success.    Garbage has been one of our biggest headaches and eyesores and frankly it's way past time for us to step up and grow a pair, environmentally speaking. 

So everyone come to Brown's prepared to talk about solutions.  We can always just stick a gallon jug under our seats, but you could also think of this as another chance to acquire more cool gear - just like when we all committed to bringing a permanent, personal cup. 

There are a lot of vintage military surplus canteens out there that look good and will keep your water tasting fresh the way only 50-year old aluminum can.  Remember the little chain on the stopper?

Or the groovy "wool blanket" canteen?

There are some very good-looking wine botas out there, or you could also go biblical vintage and get a real sheep skin flask.  

The best are the ones still shaped like sheep.

Because if we bring enough of those we won't even need our leaky jon boat anymore.

The little goat in that video rides the rapids better than any of our dogs do in canoes.  Hopefully he's not thinking too much about what he's riding on.

Goats, wild as deer . . . The herds of them in the Brazos country mushroomed with the grassless drought and the Japanese market for mohair.  Cattle went guant and were sold off, even cherished private herd-strains built up through forty years, but the Angoras stayed healthy on the tough bitter leaves of the oak brush.  They are little trouble to own.  If the screw worms eat one up, you are only out five dollars, and if he lives his hair pays that much every year.  Some say they ruin the land; some say not; I don't know.  They have yellow, wise, evil eyes, but also a self-sufficiency that I like and that our present blocky kinds of beef cattle have lost.  Kowf! one says, reading your presence on the wind, and the whole bright hair-haloed herd goes twinkling off into the brush on sure legs. 

Goodbye to a River, p. 57.

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