A DAY TO REMEMBER

“Last week was a tough one- building fences, cutting timber, moving livestock onto pasture, planting, tilling, building a barn – and each night I climbed into bed physically exhausted, but comforted and surrounded by a loving family on a well-tended patch of earth.” – Marc Moran – comment many years ago on TBP

“I wake up every morning before first light, make my coffee and sit down for my daily dose of Internet before heading out to do chores. The family, asleep upstairs, allows me the time to erode my ignorance.” – Marc Moran – comment many years ago on TBP

We made it back from Hardscrabble Farmer’s shindig/pig roast/TBP meet-up/social gathering of like minded skeptics. It was a wonderful event where we met some of the nicest people you could imagine. I was blown away by the turnout and amazed at the distance some people traveled to attend Marc’s annual event. Other than the 7 hour trip up to New Hampshire and the 8 hour trip home, the rest of the time was fantastic. It was our first time in New Hampshire and the Sunapee Lake area is absolutely beautiful. This was the view of the lake after a 5 minute walk from our hotel. There were boaters and bathers still there at 7:30 pm when we arrived.

Of course, I can’t talk about all the beautiful things without first commenting about the commute. We decided to take the northern route on the way up even though it added 15 or 20 minutes to the trip. I wanted to bypass the George Washington bridge and take the Tappan Zee bridge. But ultimately you must go 50 miles on the Merritt Parkway (15) and 150 miles on I-91, which accounts for two thirds of the trip.

My general observations were that New York roads are in disrepair, with potholes and deteriorating infrastructure. I guess spending hundreds of billions on illegals, government pensions, and other worthless left wing issues doesn’t leave much for the roads. The Merritt Parkway sucks. It’s essentially the Schuylkill Expressway with trees. It’s two lanes in each direction, with no shoulder. Twice on the way home cars broke down in the right lane and created gridlock conditions for miles, adding an hour to our trip.

I-91 was smooth and traffic free on the way up, but an accident on the way back diverted us to I-84 and I-5. This led us through the Berkshire mountains for a more scenic drive. We did take the George Washington bridge on the way back and it did save us some time, but the maneuvers required to get on the bridge requires some risky driving, which I pulled off without incident. It was exhausting, but worth the time and effort. We did have to stop in Stamford for gas and to grab something to eat. It struck us as another Northeast shithole town.

We traveled through Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Vermont before reaching our destination of New Hampshire. My impression of this part of America is that we’ve passed our peak. We are on the downward slope and there is no chance of a revival. The roads are poor, businesses are closing, retail is in decline, government is bankrupt and we are pretending all is well. Everything looks the same. We are a tired nation bereft of new ideas, running on empty. The next financial shock will act like a gale snapping a hollowed out oak tree in half.

When we got into New Hampshire onto the back roads we witnessed a variety of scenes. What stood out to me were the number of dilapidated farms with collapsed barns, indicating how hard it is for a farm to be successful and sustainable. It is a hard life, prone to many pitfalls and setbacks. It takes a strong man with a supportive wife and family to make it work. That is the lesson I’ve learned from reading Hardscrabble’s parables and hearing about the setbacks he has experienced and bounced back from.

We had to pass through the town of Claremont on the way to Marc’s place in Newbury. I would summarize it as essentially a white 30 Blocks of Squalor. It is clearly a town that has seen better times. It’s population is 10% lower than it was in 1980 and there doesn’t appear to be much commerce, other than crappy retail strip centers. When your best retail center has its main anchors as Big Lots, Aaron Rents, Dollar Tree and Mattress America, you know it’s over for this town. But at least the town is 95% white, so crime isn’t too high. This is the depressed small town America where the opioid crisis hits the hardest. Where hope for a better life has dwindled to almost nothing.

As we got closer to Newbury and Sunapee Lake, the surroundings became more idyllic, in a understated way. You could tell right away the folks who lived in these parts were self sufficient. They clearly love the outdoors. Almost every house has either an RV or a boat parked in their driveway. As you drive around the lake you see some magnificent mansions and displays of wealth through large boats in the their docks and expensive vehicles in their driveways. I even learned at the party that Steven Tyler has a house on the lake and he actually formed Aerosmith in Sunapee.

After checking into the hotel, to our delight there was an Irish pub across the parking lot. As we walked into the parking lot someone immediately asked if I was Jim – my Phillies shirt must have given me away. Chris (cz) and his lovely wife and son were also staying at our hotel. They had traveled 10 hours from Pittsburgh to attend Marc’s soirée. We chatted for a few minutes and reconnected the next day at the farm.

We had a couple cocktails and I was more healthy than normal, ordering a chicken Caesar salad. I wanted to leave room for the freshly slaughtered meat smorgasbord the next day. The waiter staff were pleasant and the clientele were just average white folks out for a good meal and few drinks. We finished up and collapsed into our room after a long day of travel.

The next morning we decided to do some sight seeing and grab some breakfast. We found ourselves at Sunapee Harbor, bought a couple of breakfast sandwiches from a busy local take out restaurant, and sat at a picnic table overlooking the harbor. It was very quaint and relaxing.

The pace up here was much slower. People weren’t in a hurry. The country store had a porch with rocking chairs. A lady was on the porch making popcorn. Folks were drinking lemonade. The store next door advertised worms as their main retail item. The lake tour boats were getting ready for their afternoon passengers. It was a delightful setting and a proper prelude to the afternoon and evening festivities.

The feast was not scheduled to be served until 7:00 pm, but we wanted to get there early to mingle and see if Marc needed any help. According to the GPS, his farm was about 4 miles from our hotel. Of course, we drove past it because we waited for the GPS to tell us we were there, rather than notice the “piglets for sale sign” below the Hopewell Farm sign. We turned around and made our way up the one lane road to the top of the hill where we found a spot among another half dozen cars parked.

There was a lovely house with solar panels covering the entire roof (they produce more electricity than they need). Next door was a beautiful large barn. Where we parked had been where another barn had been accidentally burned down by some guests years before, which housed large tanks for raising tilapia. Just one of the misfortunes Marc and his family have overcome since moving to New Hampshire ten years ago.

They also included a broken arm and recently Marc’s shattered leg from falling out of a tree. As a true stoic who soldiers on despite setbacks and adverse circumstances, Marc used his six month forced sabbatical to gather all his writings and organize them into a book. I was honored when he asked me to write the forward and I can’t wait until it ready for publication so I can help him sell it to his thousands of fans on TBP and hopefully a wider audience.

When we got out of the car we saw the house where the magic happens in producing the best damn syrup you’ve ever tasted. Behind the syrup house is more than 30 acres of maple trees that were unable to be tapped this past fall because Marc was laid up. Now that he is mobile again and regaining strength in his leg every day, we can all anticipate buying some of his fantastic maple syrup in the foreseeable future.

Across the property is another building that has been converted into the living quarters for Marc’s oldest son who had come back to the farm shortly before Marc’s devastating fall. It is in situations like that where a true strong family rallies around the patriarch and does whatever it takes to keep the farm going. There are no days off on a farm. Pigs, cattle and chickens must be fed and sometimes slaughtered. The gardens must be tended to and harvested. The business of running the farm never ceases. During his speech before dinner Marc gave thanks to his wife, children, and neighbors for helping him get through a difficult period. His thanks was heartfelt.

At first we felt like strangers in a strange land. I had met Marc once and my wife hadn’t met anyone. It was still early and there wasn’t a big crowd yet. As soon as Marc saw us he greeted us with a big smile and thank you for coming. The strange feeling dissipated immediately as we began to make friends with all the nice people who had made the trek to Marc’s farm. A bunch of young men had a fire going with a large pig roasting being prepared for the feast.

I was wearing a Wildwood hat in case people couldn’t figure out who the Admin of TBP was. I won’t provide names of those who attended in case they prefer their privacy. They can comment below if they prefer. But, as the afternoon wore on, regular commenters and long-time lurkers kept coming up to introduce themselves and talk about their experiences with TBP. It is still shocking to me that families flew from Tampa, drove from Kansas City, NYC, Boston, and other parts of the country to celebrate Marc and TBP.

The total attendance looked like it exceeded 60 people, with close to half there due to their association with the website. It was equally split between commenters and lurkers. I still find it amazing that anyone cares about what I type on my laptop, sitting in my bed. I would estimate that the collective IQ of the attendees was far above that of average Americans. The discussions were intelligent, skeptical of the government, animated, and fun. Some dark humor about DHS swooping down with helicopters and apprehending us anarchist domestic terrorists lightened the mood.

I was amazed that some people had been following my articles since the Seeking Alpha days. One particular lady from NYC was a pistol. I think most would probably agree she was the life of the party. But she has never once made a comment in ten years. I hope she responds on this thread, but if not, I appreciate her and all the other lurkers who hopefully are entertained and informed on a daily basis. The feeling of camaraderie when like minded intelligent people can talk without fear of being seen as weird, is rare in this day and age.

I assume most people who frequent TBP feel out of place in this warped world of debt, delusion, dependence, and decadence. They can’t share their real feelings with neighbors, relatives or at work. At Marc’s farm they were in a safe space where they could talk freely about how screwed up this country has become. We all felt comfortable among people who were family oriented, hard working, self reliant and able to think critically about the state of our country. It also didn’t hurt that beer and wine were plentiful.

In the real world where we are forced to live among iGadget addicted zombies, people stare and peck away at their electronic shackles all day long. I can honestly say that I didn’t see one person checking facebook, twitter, instagram, or their email during the entire party. People looked each other in the eye, spoke with their fellow party mates, and listened intently when someone else was speaking. There were no arguments, only the thoughtful dissemination of ideas.

As a natural introvert, I usually don’t like parties or large social gatherings, but this day was entirely different. I knew I was among people who were like minded and didn’t accept the narratives being shoved down our throats by the corporate propaganda fakes news media. Liberals, left wing politicians, and the lying media would call this a gathering of conspiracy theorists. But, as long time followers of TBP know, just about every “conspiracy theory” presented on TBP in the last 10 years has proven to be true. We are a community of realists, skeptics, and lovers of freedom and liberty.

During the afternoon a couple thunderstorms rolled through, but the adults just kept talking under the large tents and the multitude of kids continued to bounce on the trampoline (without safety netting). The picture below captured the scene perfectly. Also, in the picture is the stump of the tree from which Marc made his historic plunge, when he stepped on the plank of an old treehouse that gave way. Leaning against the stump are the potato shooters the kids used all day to launch potatoes high in the air into the pasture below.

Soccer moms and helicopter parents would have been aghast as young kids were setting off fireworks all afternoon and evening. A local neighbor had heard Marc was having a big party and dropped off a couple boxes of fireworks to add some bang to the party. I can’t help but contrast the uninhibited joy of the youngsters playing with “dangerous” fireworks to the Big Brother electronic signs as we drove through Massachusetts warning the proles that fireworks are illegal in their nanny state.

New Hampshire still has that “Live Free or Die” vibe, despite electing 2 Democrat Senators and 2 Democrat Representatives. I guess the rich transplants from left wing states in the northeast have utilized their wealth to elect people who don’t really represent the majority. At this point it is futile to try and change the system at the ballot box. Washington is too corrupted and the Deep State players are too wealthy and entrenched to defeat.

It’s the gathering of like minded people in little groups and on little websites like TBP that will erode the entrenched elitist controllers slowly, like a trickle of water eating away at a mountainside and eventually creating a river. Marc’s pig roast and the continued existence of online communities like TBP are the modern day committees of correspondence, whose belief in rational thought processes, common sense solutions, self reliance, and family values, will come back into vogue when the egotistical psychopaths in suits ultimately blow up the world financially and militarily in the next decade or so.

Strangely, there seemed to be a common thread that wove through all of the discussion we had with TBP followers – the 30 Blocks of Squalor series of articles. My observations of the squalor in West Philly struck a chord with just about everyone. I think it is because people with their eyes wide open can see the deterioration of the country, especially in the urban areas where Democrats have had control for decades.

The 30 Blocks is a testament to failed welfare policies, failed schools, corrupt politicians, and the breakdown of the traditional family. Those articles capture everything that has gone wrong over the last fifty years. After tomorrow, I’ll never have the pleasure of maneuvering through the 30 Blocks again.

When the feast was about to begin at 7:00 pm, Marc graciously thanked a multitude of people who had selflessly given their time, effort and resources to helping Marc through the rough patch caused by his injury. I was honored that he thanked me for convincing him to write again. It was me who should have been thanking him for making TBP a better place through his Steinbeck-like articles. As you would expect, the meal was fabulous – pork, beef, lamb, assorted vegetables, ice cream from a local dairy, and pies by Emily that were fantastic. And the scintillating conversation never stopped.

Since I normally dislike parties, once it reaches two or three hours, I’m ready to go. But I never got that feeling the whole day and before I noticed it was 10:30 pm. Eight hours just flew by because I was among people I liked and wanted to get to know. The night concluded with fireworks and a bon-fire set by the millennials not attached to their iGadgets. There were heartfelt goodbyes and talk about next year’s gathering of right thinking folks.

As we were leaving, Marc told us to stop by the next morning before we headed south. We arrived back at the farm the next morning at 11:00. It was sedate and quiet. Marc’s three dogs raced to great us as we got out of the car. Marc came out of the house dressed like a real Hardscrabble Farmer in denim overalls. He had probably already done more physical labor than I do in a week. He insisted we take a cooler of beef and chicken, which will be consumed rapidly in our meat eating house.

It’s not easy being a farmer. You can never take a day off. My admiration for Marc’s bravery, tenacity and courage knows no bounds. He walked away from the rat race and chose a simpler, far more fulfilling life in the green hills of New Hampshire. After spending a day on his farm among his family and friends, it is clear he made the right choice. It isn’t a choice for everyone, but we have all benefited from the common sense wisdom in his Steinbeck-like parables. It truly was a day to remember.

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