Digital Potlatch: Selected Previously Published Works
Welcome to this online portfolio of writing you won’t find anywhere else! [Click here to learn more about the origin of the Digital Potlatch.] I started with chapters from BUFFALO LIGHTS, my book about moving to New Mexico, and then added columns from Horse Fly, a sadly defunct alternative Taos newspaper. I also chose the best pieces from GRACK!, a Web column of some renown, as well as a few other stories published here at FarrFeed. If you don’t know, a potlatch is an event where one gives valuable things away to grow in spirit. You wouldn’t be able to read most of these now unless I’d republished them, and that’s why it’s a gift. – JHF
[NOTE: You are at the main Digital Potlatch category page with 49 linked posts! To browse the BUFFALO LIGHTS, GRACK!, FarrFeed Classics, Horse Fly, and Yellowhammer Farm selections separately, use the drop-down Potlatch menu in the navigation bar.]
My God! I was frozen in place. The warm, still summer night was charged with absolute terror, at least for me, hiding behind a tree. All I could do was watch as what was now obviously a police car of some sort slowly approached a lane that would bring it right into the clearing in front of my tent. Suddenly I had a stupidly happy thought: maybe it was just the sheriff, checking up on us. He’d been around once before and seemed friendly enough, if a bit suspicious. Please God, let it be the sheriff, I thought. The car was almost at the lane! As it passed through a patch of moonlight just below me I could clearly see the big — blue — PLYMOUTH! An Arkansas state trooper!
What a scene: wind-driven snow, brilliant sunshine, clouds and sky now allowing a view across the open spaces, and in the middle of the snowy pasture, the big black beasts snuffling around ignoring it all. A few minutes later the clouds closed in again around the setting sun, the snow tapered off, and I was standing there watching one lone vaca negra about a hundred feet away in the adjacent pasture, looking solid and alert in the deepening gloom.
This macabre tale with a final twist is true as true can be. Another Digital Potlatch presentation, believe it or not, the story is from the no-longer-online archives (2003) of an earlier version of this very blog at Salon.com. We’ll call the category “FarrFeed Classics.” It takes place at our old home on the Eastern [...]
No way could I stay there in the little house on Harvard Street, nor was there any plan to do so. Dubuque was hers as long as that would last, and I had business in New Mexico. I loved her more for seeing how she’d made a space to live her life, I realized: she didn’t know it, but the air around her crackled with excitement, and everywhere she went she made a difference. It had always been that way with her. There were hardly any birds on Harvard Street before she came, and the flowers that she planted seemed to grow up brighter and smell stronger than the rest.
What, me appreciate? This probably doesn’t mean anything, but I just learned that there are eight copies of my book, BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico, for sale right now on eBay. One listing is $22.59 plus $3.49 shipping for a “new” copy. There’s a used one for sale for almost that much. But why [...]
Weird times, brothers and sisters. They poured trillions of dollars into a hole and nothing happened. We’re still burning the rain forests. Planetary alignments are getting downright spooky. Everybody knows it can’t go on, yet here we are and this we do. Why trust anything except your heart? Something led me to unearth a half-finished [...]
This is a Digital Potlatch presentation from way back, October, 2002, to be exact. I published it originally on the first FarrFeed blog hosted at Salon.com. We lived in a different place then, which will be obvious from the reading. You may want to think of this as a Halloween presentation, but every word is [...]
Adding to the instability of my tottering preconceptions was the fact that Dubuque was almost wonderful. The city is the oldest one in Iowa and has character to spare, at least in the neighborhoods on the bluffs and down beside the river. My wife had found a little house within walking distance of downtown and several colleges. The streets were narrow, curved, and steep, the houses clustered close together. Here and there the trees opened up and one could see for miles. With all the little shops and restaurants within walking distance, it felt a little bit like Europe, which set me back a bit.
Standing on the deck of the “Discovery” felt inexplicably sublime. I still had 350 miles to go that day but wanted to stop time in its tracks and stay, having no idea why. “Where ya from?” he asked, walking closer. “The expedition camped here on this very spot, you know, on August 9, 1804.” I literally reeled, blinded by the light, and couldn’t speak. 200 years ago, on my birthday …
It was time for a road trip. For the last couple of years, I really hadn’t gone anywhere. My honey was in Dubuque, our separate quests lasting over a year now, and I desperately wanted to see her again. The little house on Harvard Street was a mystery to me, as were the sidewalks and the streets she put her feet on every day. I had to see. I had to go. I had to get away.
