I am a communist. A friend and I rode shotgun on my dirt bike – riot to riot – armed with cameras. Through fires because we did not think a forest fire would inundate entire towns. New York Times readers were enraged about this trip. Where is my mask. Under my helmet shield. You were not there. It was like being spit on with contempt even if Gatekeepers revolt at the word spit. An agony of drought that has all the characteristics it needs to bring the country to its knees. Just wait. Why would anyone move to a place that will bring you to your knees faster than private jet. More and more people want to live more closely to nature. Nature is on the run. I live at the top of a mountain in the Blue Ridge. I can look out onto all the real estate terrain of rivers, streams, rock slides, and the smell of dead fish. Dead fish are symbolic. We had a forest fire here a while ago. The animals running were thick as bees. Bears. Cougars. A longhorn steer that had been missing over a year. Why do I bring this up. Because you want to live here. I live here because I know how to live here, you don’t. Do not bring a lawn to mow up here. How close to Medical. Not the wilderness. Do you know how to use a chain saw. Watch your feet. Can you chop holes in ice with an axe. Are there coyotes in Appalachia. You do not know how to live with wilderness. A coal company wants my mountain removed. Walk around the minefield if you can make it out. Exactly, what has value. Who do you think you are.