Sunday services the 10th west way

The church of the 10th West Irregulars meets at the intersection of Curiosity and Cooperation whenever the need arises. 

Which just happens to be today. What brings us together brothers and sisters is the Boys down at Brent's house have this VW bug that they "need" to lift onto the top of a VW van.

Too bad the taco stand in their yard is closed.

*Rare photo proof of Mickie the Millionaire*

You know, we've all been there. You look down at your weekend chore list and yeah-right, move VW Bug from the front yard with help from "old school" neighbor Mr. W & BC the green-building Quaker, place it on top of a VW bus, enter the thing into the Gay Pride parade, drive it to Moab. 

Strange, but that Moab thing is just a coincidence. 

Now the quickest way to explain Brent and the Boys would be: the Monkey Wrench Gang moved to Never Never Land and hooked up with the Lost Boys. And the quickest way to get a VW Bug carcass off your front lawn would be; call Mr. W to bring in his heavy equipment & call in BC to bring his big ideas. 

This particular meeting of the heads of 10th couldn't have come a better time for me. You might recall I have a little community business to handle. We already have the big guns on our side with something in the works. That leaves us little people to do our part as neighbors. Fine thing too because being neighbors is something we are very good at around here!

   

Maybe you don't really know what having good neighbors means until you have stood among a group of men loading a VW Bug on top of a VW bus on a Sunday morning. Or watched them band together in the middle of a rain storm to clear a fallen tree. Stood side by side in the road offering aid after a drunk driver plowed full speed into the back of Mr. W's cattle trailer.  

On B's side the boys say, "If we hurry we can get it into the Gay Pride parade." and Mr. W laughs answering back, "Well, alright, let's get going. I've had my cup of coffee." 

So after the little bug on the lawn got cleared up Mr. W and I put our heads together. Last time we did this someone got elected to public office...hm. Anyway, I found out we have more fire power than I thought we did. It is the kind of Sunday service that leaves you feel good all week long. 

Turns out that abandoned house I just posted about...well it was the Peck's place back in the 30's and 40's and guess what? The Peck boys raised roosters there. In fact 10th West was known as Rooster Street, interesting historical fact to know....

I think the take home lesson is a 1971 Super Beetle is actually the same length as a 1969 VW bus. AND 10th West is a united force. We are sort of like a puzzle. Straight out of the box we might seem not to have much in common with each other. But as you get going you discover how nicely we all fit together- and only then when you have us all in our proper places can you see the whole picture.

Mickie pulling back in on his big wheel. 
I know you all thought I was making this up!

Our people don’t need to agree with you to respect you. They will go out of their way to help. Big characters with big hearts and good vision. 

Life on 10^th. Until we meet again. 

 ~amen~

passing through quiet spaces

I might have mentioned before that I have a fascination with forgotten places. It leads to one of my of my less flattering habits: trespassing. Don't worry, these days the chances of me getting arrested or even chewed out for it are extremely low because my trusty sidekick doesn't share my willingness to hop fences.  

This lonely little place sits right on 10th. I have never known it to look any other way than abandoned. It sits naked among the other houses of 10th draped with the signs of life. 

The first time it went on the market BC's company made an offer but they were out bid. It is back on the market. Nothing has changed except for the size of the list price. BC and his company are watching, and waiting.  It would be a good piece of land to build on. Good ground to rescue from over-development. Perhaps a lot begging for a straw bale house.

And considering his job site is currently in Moab, a 4-ish hours drive south, it would be one hell of a great commute to work.

color me us, a Saturday afternoon

who came first the chicken or....well it certainly wasn't Dudley

This is one of the popular photos of the Sarah House (located on 10th West) before it was finished and put up for sale. The home is a well built small-living structure constructed out of a shipping container. Amazing! 

What isn't so amazing is the man who bought the house, we will just call him Dudley, forgot the top 3 rules in home buying: location, location, location. 

See, he might have bough the house but certainty has not bought into the neighborhood. His constant harassment of his neighbors and our established, historical urban farmsteads leaves us little choice but to defend our flocks of domestic chickens, the wild fowl, & our ways of life.  

Now I don't really want a fight. I did try to help him and his nearest neighbors work something out but this week for unknown reasons he dispatched a complaint about my birds. 

It was flat out malicious on his part. I haven't even been involved in the chicken war since my initial introduction months back. My birds are not bugging him and they aren't bugging any of the neighbors on either side of us including all 5 or 6 houses sitting on their wide old lots between Dudley's house and mine. 

After talking to animal control we were advised by them to at least consider fighting the regulations. Sooooo, I'm considering getting it going. Because they are right, the current licensing and zoning laws do not meet our needs as established urban homestead. And most of all they don't protect the wild birds that roam 10th West. Heads up Poplar Grove, even one single complaint about your wild peacocks and they will be removed from your lives. 

Now I haven't fully decided that I am going to do this but lets face it obviously I am. 

The reason I have been quiet about this for a few days was because I honestly want to do the right thing here. I want to stay on the highroad. I can't afford to be angry. I flat out refuse to allow a bully that power over my heart. What gave me the biggest pause was I wasn't sure I could fight and not be mad about it...

In answering my own question about whether or not I could go to bat for all of us and not be angry, I realized that Mr. Dudley really has nothing to do with it. The fight would be with the city to upgrade or enhance the protections for sustainable ways of life in SLC. 

Anyway I can't help the man we are calling Dudley. All his neighbors dislike him and probably he them. Oh fun, that seems like a great situation to be in.

He is a man who lives in a glasshouse and is throwing stones. He is a vegetarian who believes chickens should be cooped up in tiny cages all the time. Reportedly educated in the field of psychology yet he appears to have Freudian issues; he is afraid of the cocks. [Yes, I know I said I was talking the highroad but that didn't mean I was leaving my slightly irreverent sense of humor behind me! If I passed up a good cock joke my friends might call the paramedics!] 

All joking aside, Dudley seems scared and sad to me, locked up in his tiny house alone. I truly feel bad for him. 

Perhaps a thank you card will cheer him up. I could thank him for bringing this issue to light. See, until Dudley pointed it out and dragged me into it I thought the city had made pretty good strides in supporting the sustainable arts. Things like allowing tiny houses made out of shipping containers to become someones home, edible yards, water collecting, and of course protecting backyard chickens. 

He makes a very good point: enough isn't being done to protect our way of life. Thanks for letting me know. I will get right on that! 

local love

 Westview Media:: Salt Lake City

Link to the full story:

Life On the Other Side of the Tracks 

by Misty L. Brown

 Most west side residents know how to navigate life around the tracks—which streets to avoid and alternative routes. They are part of the daily landscape. We carry around our own train experiences and stories, thoughts and memories as powerful as the rumbling engines. Their impact is as lasting as the steel tracks. Whether the sound of their horns fills you with love or hate, or you simply don't hear them at all, they are a factor shaping our lives even when the crossing gates are wide open. ~mlb

waves of Beach: morning, noon, and night