In 1977 about this time I was going through one of my clean and sober periods saving up some health and fitness points for the butt ringer that was coming up down the road unbeknownst to me. God bless those periods though. I have a feeling that is what has saved me in the long run.

I was never a very good hippie considering I was raised in the heartland of hippiedom. I always naturally associated with the Beats before me and the Punks after me more than my own generation. Tie dye seemed pretty gauche to me, I was allergic to incense, and macramé was just plan ugly. The whole hippie thing just made me itchy and nervous, except for the dope smoking part. It wasn't all bad.

But one thing I did love to do was organic garden when I was in my 'get clean' mode, and in '77 I planted my last huge hippie garden at my folk's property in Scotts Valley. I really got pretty sophisticated in my gardening techniques and raised a lot of good food. I canned, dried and preserved too, and gave tons away.

Though one huge issue was the infamous California Pocket Gopher that ruled the roost in Scotts Valley. There were millions of them and all the old gopher tricks did not work on these guys. The loved garlic, pushed moth balls right up and out of their burrows, damned off flooding and smoke strategies, etc. The only thing that worked was the old claw snap trap. It got to be a daily blood bath of carnage with all the squeaking, tortured gophers I had to kill. I decided that would be the last garden I ever had for awhile. I was turning into Carl from 'Caddyshack'. I was about ready to become a city boy for awhile anyway.....