Tommy and I are very proud to announce that our book “Ewasko: Days and Lights” — which was nominated for Blurb’s “People’s Choice Award” — is now available as an instant ebook download for Apple iBooks (iPad/iPhone).

We’re also very psyched to announce the release of the first wave of high-quality art prints and photographic products of images featured in “Ewasko: Days and Lights.” By visiting RKDfind Ewasko Gallery you can now order prints with mounting and framing services from Mpix Lab and Photobox, and specialty gifts and photo products from vendors such as IYP Photo Products and fotoflot.

If you have any questions on orders, please call me at 1.828.264.8898. Thank you very much for your interest in this project — we hope you enjoy these images and we look forward to hearing from you any time.

After joining in the November 6, 2011, demonstration against the Keystone XL (KXL) Pipeline in Washington, D.C., we have been celebrating good news for the past two days. Courtesy of Professor Harvard Ayers, Ph.D., co-author of “Arctic Gardens: Voices from an Abundant Land,” it’s my pleasure to share the following news about KXL.

“A landmark decision was made yesterday by Mr. Obama — HE PUT OFF ANY DECISION ON THE KEYSTONE XL TAR SANDS PIPELINE FOR 12-18 MONTHS, probably killing this horrible project for ever. The incredible forces lobbying him to approve it LOST!!! There had been huge threats from the boosters of this project. But in the end, our President came through for common sense and for the average person. Mainly, the questionable environmental study — by a company closely attached to TransCanada, the project pipeline company — commissioned by the State Department was the reason for this decision. Questions about Climate Change potential as well as inevitable spills of this pipe-corroding, toxic tar sands oil were two of the major considerations. Does this great victory have larger implications for concerns with the environment, climate, etc.? Yes!! No matter how much money they plow into lobbying for a terrible idea, there can be sanity in the end. Cooler heads prevailed.”

Professor Ayers also shared a request from The Sierra Club asking us all to send a thank you message to President Obama for putting the brakes on the Keystone XL oil pipeline. Here’s where to find the template for sending that message if you share our appreciation: http://bit.ly/ThankBO

Cheers friends!

Keystone XL Pipeline Demonstration on November 6, 2011.

Photos from a spectacular April.

Nearly a year after our spectacular wedding, May of 1993 found me, Beth and pretty much everyone else in our family continuously thinking about my brother, his daily perseverance in recovering from his July ’91 diving accident, and his successful return to a more normal lifestyle. By then, he and his girlfriend had their own place, on my dad and step-mom’s farm and within earshot of their home. From every angle, Scott was making us all very proud, and showing the kind of resounding inner strength we all hope to have when faced with unimaginable adversity.

At one point right after the accident, my mom wondered aloud if we would ever be happy again. Illinois has always provided a powerful attraction for me around my birthday in May, and I was especially thankful while driving there on May 6, 1993, that I was feeling real joy. You can find a poem I wrote back in 1988 about those annual treks to my native homeland here.

The reputation of my mom’s mom — known as Granny Bea or Aunt Bea to most, Mrs. Ridings to everyone else — reached far and wide from the beautiful spot she and my grandfather had settled in long before. Called Terrapin Ridge and located near Greenville, the rural area feels a lot more like their own ancestral Tennessee homeland than Illinois. Until she passed away in 2001, those woods surrounding their home were enchanted by Granny Bea’s warmth, charm and grace. Even now, when we return to the area, we are pulled that direction… but it was different when she was there awaiting us in her legendary kitchen: friends and family-members all made bee-lines there every chance we got, and nothing could deter us from those visits.

Scott and I were also very tight with my dad’s mom, whom he had dubbed “Bam” at an early age. She also was always very happy to see and feed us, and we both loved her dearly. She had remarried and moved to nearby Keyesport, and helping get Scott there and to Granny Bea’s place were at the top of my May ’93 trip’s agenda. It took a lot of hands, and the usual oversized dose of determination from Scott, but those experiences came together colorfully, and they meant a lot to each of us, and to many others who weren’t there but who heard about our visits through various grapevines.

After making that journey where I spent so much time with my bro, and then returning home, I was ready to face even my most ambitious challenges with renewed energy. I reviewed and polished all my creative writing, and after systematically assessing my media targets and their preferences in cross-reference with my stockpile, I printed lots of papers out and sent them flying to the four corners of the world, and all points in between. My inner artist also attempted to creatively channel my brother in the following experimental essay. It appears here for the first time, even though I began sending it to literary media outlets almost as soon as it was finished.

My life, I cannot love you better.

Arc of the Poet
Part 1: Life Poetry
Part 2: Tour de Force
Part 3: True Love
Part 4: Spinning Out
Part 5: Wake-Up Call
Part 6: Serious Dreams
Part 7: Home Stretch
Part 8: Feedback
Part 9: Dear Departures
Part 10: Good Poetry
Part 11: Rewrites
Part 12: Resistance
Part 13: Fame and Fortune
Part 14: Ramblings
Part 15: Being

Part 2 of that series recounts the unforeseen drama of June 29.

Brothers, 1986.

The (Bumper Crop) story is about an older man who awakens from a dream that shines a new light on a long-held misconception which had affected him deeply throughout his life. Finally understanding that he was not responsible for his brother’s accident long ago, his awakening represents a new lease on life. On Saturday, June 29, 1991, a really great group of people came together at a little, vacant, roadside gas station in Sanford, Florida, to begin shooting the film. Little did I know that, later that day, while we were trying to get our shots, my own brother would suffer his own life-changing accident, after diving into a lake in our hometown of Greenville, Illinois. It was about 1:30 AM on Sunday when my mother called with the news which led from one thing to the next, and in those hours, I didn’t know if I’d ever have the chance to talk to Scott, my one and only brother, again. By Monday, I was at the hospital and hearing the dark forecast — never walk again, life hanging on by a thread…. Happily, my big brother survived all that, and though he doesn’t walk, he stands above most people I know as an amazingly resourceful, industrious, upbeat person who, among many other things, is a pillar of my family and the town of Greenville. On July 1 of 1991, though, I had a rough night trying to sleep in a hospital waiting room. I had Spalding Gray’s “Swimming to Cambodia” to read, and for my therapy, I wrote this poem…

I invite you to follow the link above to read “John Wayne Dies Again,” which I wrote that night as an attempt to pacify my thoughts in the midst of so much sadness, fear and frustration. Scott’s girlfriend Rachel, my parents and many other close family members were there, also suffering through those first nights, trying to comfort Scott and each other, as various doctors, specialists and nurses delivered updates that were anything but reassuring. But in the main bout, Scott’s body and mind were fighting for life, and we all tried to help in whatever small ways we could, hoping for a miracle.

Those days and nights in the hospital taught me a lot about my family, many close friends, my girlfriend, my brother, and my coping abilities. Moving forward, I lost most of my appetite for pretend medical or crime dramas, like TV’s “E.R.” Somehow, feeling the pain of real, life-threatening hardship for my bro made me despise television’s imaginary tragedies. In other aftermath, some hard emotions I experienced at that time with my father made me vow to protect myself better in the future.

Salad days, 1992.

In the meantime, Scott moved through all the steps of stabilization and rehab in various St. Louis area hospitals, with constant help and support from Rachel, back-up from my dad and step-mom, and semi-regular visits by my mom, who lived in Florida like us. Everything was hard on Scott, but through his unbelievable strength, perseverance and determination, he rocked onward, encouraging each of us to carry on with our own lives… and freeing us to do so.

For a long time after “John Wayne Dies Again,” I did not write much poetry… but I did read a lot. Just around that time, my friend Hardy Edwards introduced me to the writing of Charles Bukowski. I began reading all the Buk books I could get my hands on, and his constant references to other fine writers led my literary and musical interests in exciting and fun new directions. Bless you for making it this far in my bard’s tale, please accept my deepest thanks. You are among a few people of whom I am very proud. Knowing me as you do by now, I hope the following much-shortened version of a great lesson from Mr. Bukowski will delight you as well. Of all the wonderful, powerful artists I encountered by age 24, Buk made me realize how very much I had to learn, all while putting a smile on my face, which remains even now. I soon came to love this most unusual man, and even received a letter from him one day.

Back in May, 1998, Beth and I joined most of her Kiefert and Julien families in Tallahassee, Florida, for the wedding of her sister Ann and Chuck Bowling. I married into my wife’s family back in 1992, so I was very much at home with everyone gathered, as we all enjoyed an unforgettable weekend together with Chuck’s family, and their many friends who joined in the fun. The day before their wedding, Ann and Chuck invited us all to join them at one of their favorite places: The Birdsong Nature Center. Located in Thomasville, Georgia, just above the Florida-Georgia border, Birdsong is a 565-acre preserve of wildflower meadows, forests, ponds and swamps. Home to a dazzling array of birds and wildlife, it’s pretty much heaven on Earth. We all learned a lot that day about nature, about Chuck’s father’s ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat … and a neat program where the center provides essential nesting homes for Bluebirds. So naturally, when Ann and Chuck’s daughter Grace was born, we decided to sponsor a Birdsong Nature Center Bluebird home in her name. And since my mother marked so many special occasions when I was growing up with the added gift of an original poem, I wrote this one for our first niece.

And then, when our second niece Claire was born in 2000, just 10 months ahead of our own baby girl, we kept the tradition alive with her own Birdsong Bluebird haven, and this dedication I wrote 10 years ago.

Happily, Birdsong’s still there in that lovely spot in Southern Georgia, and so are the Bluebird homes dedicated to our nieces. In many nice ways, it symbolizes Ann and Chuck’s values, a lot of cherished family memories, and two young ladies who are very special to a lot of us.

In case you missed yesterday’s report, we did finally catch my dad (aka Big Jim, or BJ) at Cracker Barrel, along with Peggy, my step-mom. We all had a nice dinner together somewhere around 9pm, and then we all made it to the Ramada there in Crossville, Tennessee. But darned if BJ didn’t have another trick up his sleeve, and sure enough, he beat us to Boone… by about an hour!

First, though, I need to back up a little. In my exhaustion last night, I failed to give any indication of how lovely Tennessee appeared to us, especially once we’d passed Nashville. I tried snapping a few pictures, but the best one shows a pretty sunset scene through a thoroughly bug-smeared windshield (shrug). By the way, all the trip’s pictures should be up by Wednesday, and I’ll let you know where to look.

Awaiting us on our arrival were Beth’s mom Ginny, sister Ann and brother-in-law Chuck (donning video gear), our nearly three-year-old niece Grace and her baby-sister Claire (7-8 months), plus BJ (donning an unmistakable ear-to-ear grin).

So now, you have some idea of how amazing the journey is to our new home, and if you accept our standing invitation to visit — for snow skiing, white-water rafting, golfing, camping, hiking or baby visiting (Amelia’s due on 8/31) — we promise a great time with many more laughs… and we vow also to listen attentively to the travel tales you bring to share. After hanging with us across these 2,400 miles, we owe you that much, at least….

Thanks again for all the well-wishes. You all helped us see our journey through.

Love — Roger, Beth, Maggie, Callie, Amelia-in-the-pod

Escape from LA by Roger Darnell
. Countdown: Wednesday, May 30, 2001 – The Countdown Begins
. Day 1: Thursday, May 31, 2001 – Simply Grand
. Day 2: Friday, June 1, 2001 – Catching Up
. Day 3: Saturday, June 2, 2001 – Almost There
. Day 4: Sunday, June 3, 2001 – Home At Last…

The wake-up call came at six Central time, and it actually succeeded in getting Beth to arise (it most certainly was wasted on me). Once awake, this hotel wasn’t a hard one to leave quickly, but we were a little worried to find Callie sitting in the front window, considering that pets weren’t allowed. Oh well — we figured that, if we receive a call from someone asking why they’d seen a one-eyed calico cat in our hotel room’s window, we’ll just say,

“You saw a what?!”

Whisked rapidly toward the ready Montero were both the calico and the gray cats, semiconscious in their carriers, along with all our gear. The road called out to us, and soon our racing engine and spinning tires joined the chorus. This day was to be all about making time, and it helped that we only grabbed a drive-thru breakfast from BK. Blasting east, we stopped long enough in Oklahoma City for us to make an Internet hook-up from the Visitors’ Center outside the Air Force Base, during which time I finally sent the Day One dispatch and downloaded 55 more awaiting work emails and a few digital ‘cheers’ from several of you across the country; thanks to those — plus all the good vibes we’re picking up from everyone else rooting for us — we know we’re living a dream, and this trip has been a blast.

In trying to follow-through with the style of my original travelogue from our move to LA, I’m picking my spots to fill you in on the most notable sights and experiences from our trip; however, there’s so much that happens during days like these, it gets sort of tricky guessing the most important aspects to relate. Beyond the mile markers, the geography and the places written about on all the signs one sees, such a trip lets you see how other people live their lives, or sometimes it just shows you places where people appear to have no place nor any noticeable impact whatsoever. Reflecting on the highlights of these days, that seemed worth mentioning. Each day on the road, we saw a lot that just made us shake our heads in disbelief that people can do such strange things, but we’ve traveled enough now to know we still have a lot to learn — and that we do better when we respect others’ differences.

After screaming across cowboy country in Oklahoma, plus the vast Indian country which occupies the eastern side of that state, we cracked Arkansas, which not only had great highways, it also had lots of water all around on both sides of the road. State parks seemed to cover the first fifty miles, so needless to say, the area made a positive impression on us. Soon, though, the land got a little swampy and flat for our tastes. Little Rock barely registered, and unfortunately the rest of the state similarly fell away as the hours flew. Somewhere near the border for Tennessee, at last, we heard from BJ: He was honing-in on Nashville and expecting to rendezvous at 5pm Central there with my step-mom Peggy. He stopped driving at 8pm and Peggy was hot on his tail, having driven down through the afternoon from Greenville, Illinois, to prove her own road-warrior prowess. At about 9pm we’d made it to their stop: Crossville, Tennessee. We found them at the Cracker Barrel and joined them for dinner, before synchronizing our watches to coordinate Sunday’s last 160-mile part of our journey, set to end next to Rocky Creek in Boone, North Carolina….

Tomorrow, the new beginning. Stay tuned.

Love — Roger, Beth, cats, Amelia-to-be

Escape from LA by Roger Darnell

. Countdown: Wednesday, May 30, 2001 – The Countdown Begins
. Day 1: Thursday, May 31, 2001 – Simply Grand
. Day 2: Friday, June 1, 2001 – Catching Up
. Day 3: Saturday, June 2, 2001 – Almost There
. Day 4: Sunday, June 3, 2001 – Home At Last…

Waking up, of course, there they were, under the bed; and there I was, lifting the bed so Beth could scramble under to grab them, give each of our cats their ‘medicine’ and stow them in their carriers. This stuff is getting easier….

We’d settled into a nice hotel on night one, but still the sounds of the highway and the endless passing trains got us going early — or so we thought. We indulged in the free breakfast at the hotel’s diner and, back in the room, I uploaded my “Countdown” message to you folks (and downloaded some 80+ work-related messages from that first day), and we moved out. Looking at the clock in the Montero, I realized we were still on Pacific time; I pushed the hour button twice to put us on Central time, and all of the sudden, it was 11am. “Ready for lunch?” we joked.

A picturesque mountain towers above Flagstaff; all our map tells us is that the peak is Pt. Humphrey, Arizona’s highest at 12,663 feet. We watched it fade away in the rear-views, and then saw the landscape become a kaleidoscope of more harsh, dry, desert scenes.

Still cruising along at 5,000 feet or so toward Albuquerque, the vistas included amazing canyons of all varieties, rolling hillsides of mint-green grasses and beige, orange and crimson-colored earth and boulders of all forms imaginable… including boulder mountains. Finally, the horizon flattened out and the hills rolled off in all directions, showing us treeless, wide-open prairies of grass, rimmed all around the outside perimeter by distinct mountains. Later came a bizarre stretch of road through a countryside ruined by the El Malpais lava beds. As far as we could see, the ground was made of crumbly black rocks that erupted from the earth’s undulating surface. Even more weird, the property owners still felt the need to maintain fences on this stuff, so across these awkward, uneven hills and dips, I traced a fairly new fence marking off one piece of spoiled land from another. Sorry, we didn’t get the number on the for-sale sign.

Escape from LA by Roger Darnell

. Countdown: Wednesday, May 30, 2001 – The Countdown Begins
. Day 1: Thursday, May 31, 2001 – Simply Grand
. Day 2: Friday, June 1, 2001 – Catching Up
. Day 3: Saturday, June 2, 2001 – Almost There
. Day 4: Sunday, June 3, 2001 – Home At Last…

Thursday, May 31, 2001: Simply Grand

It was time to get up and get moving, but by letting Maggie slip under the covers and curl up, we were able to grab a few more minutes’ rest. Lying there returning to our senses, all the great memories were just cobwebs; the focus was all about getting on the road. All the last junk was piled near the door soon enough, and we made it to Budget by seven, just after they’d opened, to get Dad registered to drive the truck. We were among the first customers in our favorite breakfast spot on the planet (thanks Alan and Fran!) and added BJ (Big Jim) to the long list of immediate family members who have traveled the country to eat there with us. Anyway, that was the last of LA. We got back to our place, loaded the car and pulled away. Ventura Boulevard to the 405 North entrance, merged onto the 101 South ramp, and left a very happy time in our lives behind us. 101 to 134, past Glendale where we’d first landed… and on toward San Bernardino. According to plan, BJ was driving the truck, towing Beth’s car, and we stuck pretty close in our Montero, navigating through the dense traffic and using our walkie-talkies sparingly. Once finally up to speed out past 210 East on Interstate 10, Beth admitted she was finally “excited.” Before that, there was too much work to be done to prepare, but at last, the trip was underway and we were up-to-speed.

As on our previous trip, the cats each received a vet-prescribed sedative on this morning about 30 minutes before departure time; and just as before, the improvement on their dispositions almost seemed to warrant full-time sedation (just kidding, of course). This is the way they “see the country” — doped-up inside their carriers, looking through their blankets out their wire-doors at each other via the thinnest of eye slits. And at the ends of days, we learned before that they’ll get a little exercise slinking around our hotel rooms all night before meeting in a close curl under the bed that’s almost impossible to reach once the ritual is set to begin again the next morning. Needless to say, they never admit to the “cuddling up together” thing….

We made our way to the 15, then followed it north into the mountains above San Bernardino. The smog plus “June gloom” was at its worst, and back in LA we’d already shared several laughs with BJ about the mountains “just over there” which couldn’t been seen. We were soon clear of the smog, but then it was the mountains themselves that became a little unappealing, as the Budget truck towing our car slowed to 35 mph trying to crest the worst of them. On we all steered to I-40 East, working through the mountains, at last, to the first fuel stop 160 miles out of Los Angeles, somewhere near the beginning of the Mojave Desert. Our Montero has a temp gauge for the outside; just before the first stop, we’d watched that gauge climb to 110. After filling-up, BJ figured the moving truck’s gas mileage at 7 miles per gallon, and the Mobil station we’d picked added insult to injury: $2.20 per gallon for diesel, and $2.40 per gallon for regular unleaded. We all had a good laugh over the receipt, proving perhaps that the smog had done is work….

Beth titled this photo, “the last time we saw BJ.”

By the time we paid our $20 and actually gazed down into the canyon for the first time, we felt it had pretty much lived up to its reputation. We took some snaps that, like these words, don’t do justice, but together with our memories they represent the Grand Canyon to us. One photo not to miss is the one of Beth’s belly with the GC in the background; this of course is our photo of Amelia with the Grand Canyon. We SO entertain ourselves.

Then we left, heading south out of the park the way we’d gone in, and eventually we turned off to highway 180, a red line on our map proceeding straight to the southeast to Flagstaff. Perhaps twenty miles into that route, the countryside had become green and lush; the elevation was around 7,000 feet.

It bears mention that by this time, after having seen probably twenty signs warning for “elk,” I had already worn elk-spotting humor far too thin. In the waning light, I strained my eyes, and saw one! Then Beth saw a huge one standing just off in the distance, through the trees. We looped the Montie around — there were no other vehicles in sight, and none came until after we’d messed around scaring a whole herd of elk off, trying to photograph them and finally moved on toward Flagstaff about five minutes later.

Love — Roger, Beth, cats, Amelia-to-be

Escape from LA by Roger Darnell
. Countdown: Wednesday, May 30, 2001 – The Countdown Begins
. Day 1: Thursday, May 31, 2001 – Simply Grand
. Day 2: Friday, June 1, 2001 – Catching Up
. Day 3: Saturday, June 2, 2001 – Almost There
. Day 4: Sunday, June 3, 2001 – Home At Last…