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A Nightmare I Can’t Explain
I don’t know how I got there, but it was clear that my role was to observe. I was a disembodied consciousness, floating along a rural area in coastal South Carolina, sometime in the 18th century. I knew things were going to be bad, when I saw her.
A middle aged enslaved Black woman standing by her push cart talking with three white men. I drifted closer to hear their conversation:
“What the hell is this?!” exploded one of the men. “I can’t use this! It’s too small, too thin, and look at this bit. This ain’t what I asked for.” He said that last part with a quiet menace that made my skin crawl.
They were all watching the woman closely now, watching to see if she’d throw her life away in justifiable outrage. All she had to do was defend her dignity, her humanity, and the men would then have license to end her existence for not knowing her place.
I know nothing about horse whips, those things you use to beat a horse’s backside while riding, but I knew the one this woman had made was high quality. She had a cart full of them, and the only thing she asked in return for her forced labor was appreciation for something she worked hard to make and that she knew she was good at.
But that, I imagine, is part of the insanity of chattel slavery. The “masters” demanded everything of you, from your body to your last shred of dignity. These white men were hungry for the violence of white supremacy and they hoped this woman would be an easy meal.
I knew then that I was there to watch this woman die, but not then. I had yet to bear witness to a much more disturbing end.
The woman got a hold of herself, much to the disappointment of the men. They knew the signs of her falling into line and that if they wanted this woman’s life, they’d have to be more overtly monstrous, or more circumspect. As it turned out, they were both.
The men walked away as the woman began to sing herself a song to sooth her nerves. Her mask was back on, the predators temporarily thwarted, so the men walked away with sly grins, a promise of their intended violence.
The enslaved woman began her work again and I could see the dispair on her face. Almost as if she wanted to call the men back so that they could end this cycle of torment and free her from a life of perpetual pain. I’ve never seen such fatigue on a person’s face while awake. I wanted to scream. Later, I’d wake up crying.
The fog of the evening thickened and I drifted away only to return to that same area just before dawn. I floated along a wagon road and in the distance I could hear what sounded like the end of an all night celebration. As I got closer I saw a young white girl in a night gown dancing around the remnants of a crudely butchered animal hanging in a tree. The little girl was covered in blood, smiling gently as she swayed and danced around the tree.
The girl was the daughter of one of the white men I had seen earlier. It was Easter Monday and I was witnessing the inaguration of new cult of anti-Black violence that would grow and spread, claiming the lives of dozens more enslaved people. This young white girl would be one of this nameless cult’s founders.
I was then abruptly pulled forward in time to just post emancipation, the late 19th century, to the living room of a young Black woman laying on her couch, talking to no one I could see.
“And this is why every easter Monday I sleep from 9 to noon. If I do that, I know I’m safe from them.”
I don’t understand how all of that is supposed to work, but I did understand that this young Black woman was a descendent of the enslaved horse whip maker, the first victim of the cult her great grand daughter evaded by sleeping through Easter Monday morning.
I woke up deeply shaken. I’m still deeply shaken.
I’m not sure what to make of the dream, but I feel that it was important. I believe that dream came to me to help me or whomever I tell it to, to problem solve.
I’m not going to speculate about the meaning of this dream beyond the fact that every bit of it is not hard to imagine having actually happened.
And it’s that reality, the believability of it all, that brings to light the nightmare of being Black in this country. These acts of white supremacist violence are still happening today and do not know a single Black person who isn’t conscious of the fact that any random white person still has license to take the life of a Black person who doesn’t know their place.
So much has changed over the centuries and so much hasn’t.
Happy Black History Month.
Weekly Poll
New Video Content
Finally got part one of the crossbow hunt posted! I hope you enjoy!
Bringing this out from the archives because I really have an issue with catch and release fishing. It really rubs me the wrong way. If you’re interested in the theory of my annoyance, check out this video.
Wild Food Update
DEM BONES!
Venison bones for making bone broth
The last time I made venison bone broth, it turned out a bit too gamey for my liking. I’m embarrassed to say so, because so much of wild food is adjusting your palate to stronger flavors than is on offer from domesticated foods, but I just couldn’t stomach that broth.
This time however, the broth I made was not gamey at all, a more pleasant version than most beef broths I’ve had. A big part of this, I think, is the fact that both of the animals I used for this broth were under the age of three. Younger animals means milder flavor.
I also took a bit more time and care in making this broth instead of simply throwing the bones in a pot and boiling them. I parboiled the bones first, changed the water, scrubbed the protein residue (some people call it scum, but there’s nothing wrong with it other than it can make the flavor stronger) off, and then pressure cooked the bones with a few spices. Lastly, I slow cooked the bones for a few hours and skimmed any remaining residue off the surface.
Good food often takes time and, more importantly, clear intention of technique. It paid off in a big way.
I’m no longer apprehensive about making/consuming venison broth and it makes me so happy to be able to use more of my harvest.
Recommendation
I have it now and it’s frickin fabulous!
Two weeks ago I recommended this mic before buying it, simply based on the reviews. I’m back to recommend it again because I’ve now used it and I couldn’t be happier.
My last two videos were recorded using this mic and the sound quality improvements are noticeable I think. More importantly however, is the improvement to my workflow over using a wireless mic setup. Using this mic is much more “plug-and-play”, which really helps me get into the flow of producing video content and not having to worry about equipment.
I love my wireless mic and it still has it’s place, but in the studio, this new mic is tops.
If you’re in the market for a high quality and affordable mic, then look no further.
Business Update
I’ve launched my first digital product!!!!
I’ve actually been advertising it in video content for a few weeks, but I didn’t have a mechanism of delivery that I liked.
The product is a wild food must-haves list of tools that you’ll need to process and cook virtually any wild food. It’s not an exhaustive list, but a list of the tools I’m never without.
Check it out!
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