THE POWER OF THE SUN.

New visitors to the chronicles from the future may first wish to visit the past, by reading the earlier hologramletters. (see the older listings on the right, go to the bottom and click the link to the earlier hologramletters)

NOTE The following is an adaptation from the soon to be released book ‘Letters From 2030’. To register interest on its release, or to order a copy email Bob Williamson via this link.

The troubling delay in receiving his hologramletter from Anthony had played heavily on his mind. The energy storage needed to maintain his communications systems was draining far too quickly. If he was to maintain access to the touch screens where the virtual tour of the memories and current images relayed in the letters could be seen, this had to be rectified. His only link to those he relied upon to maintain his sanity in the isolation of his lonely existence must be the focus of his efforts, until all these power supply issues were resolved.

He worked throughout that day and well into the evening, to link into the solar storage cells the additional turbine energy, from the solar mirrors and vertical ducting he had constructed on each side of the building commencing at the 5th floor level. As the mirrors heated the air it surged upwards along the 15 stories of ducts turning the turbines he had secured inside, at each of the levels. The additional photovoltaic cells he had collected, that once lay idle were now showing signs of life as they charged. If only, he pondered; the Earth would spring back to its vibrant and healthy diversity in such a way, with the devastated ecosystems destroyed by mans folly over the last 21 years, fighting back and renewing their balance. The balance that had lasted for millions of years before the invasive species of man had determined its demise with complacency.

His challenging construction now fully commissioned and supplying 10 times the energy storage of the roof top solar panels alone, he wondered if like the unexpected letter from old Cesar in New Orleans, whether other hologramletters might now be captured.

He switched on the monitors and loaded the last communication from Suzanne. She would need his help with the challenges she faced and his reassurance that she was not alone in her hopes and visions for those that might survive and come after us..............


Suzanne you lighten my heart and bring me much needed joy with your hologramletters. I hope that my delay in replying didn’t cause you any anxiety. I now have the additional power supply and storage I have been working on to maintain my regular contact with you and others around the world.

I hope the exhaust fumes that escaped from the ruptured ducting have not contaminated your food supply or the plants you have nurtured. It will be much safer for you, when you have the solar panels rigged up. As you and I lobbied back in the second decade of this century, had we given up our addiction to energy generation mostly by coal and oil, we would not be where we now are; and millions more may still be with us. I still don’t get the logic they employed. How did they manage to convince the world that by burning a gallon of gas and in doing so emitting 9 lbs of CO2 as pollution was ok for us?

In your last hologramletter you skipped over the outcomes of your change of lifestyle and its impact in mitigating your environmental footprint. Never forget the good you did for others in rejecting the ‘business and living as usual model’ accepted, so complacently by the majority. Your ‘mid-course correction’ your epiphany as an aware citizen of our shared planet gave direction and vision to so many over the last two decades. You are a true and caring warrior for Earth. You walked lighter on this earth by your decisions to reject the illogical sleepwalk of the majority. You gave much more than you took from Mother Earth. You never gave up. You had the vision and the passion for your fellow man, woman and child that most had abandoned. In your words and in your eyes, I see this has never wavered; even for a second and even with the many trials you now endure daily.

I was pleased to hear you still have the book. In your continuing resolve remember the words I wrote at the end, and let it give you pride in the way you have gently walked on the earth over the last 21 years.

Do you remember it? I wrote;

‘With foresight, I thank and acknowledge you in life’s future. With you there can be success and a happy ending. You are the single most important person in the script of history yet to be written. The credit will be yours. Theodore Roosevelt wrote:

It is not the critic who counts;
nor the man who points out how the strong man stumbled;
or where the doer of deeds could have done better.

The credit belongs to those who are actually in the arena;
whose faces are marred by dust and sweat and blood;
who strive valiantly;
who err and fall short again and again;
who know the great enthusiasms;
the great devotions;
and spend themselves in a worthy cause;
who at the best know in the end the triumph of high achievement;
and who at worst, if they fail,
at least fail while daring greatly;
so that their place shall never be with those cold and timid souls
who know neither victory nor defeat.’


Until next time….Stay safe – stay indoors. Much hope to you.

Having completed his message to Suzanne he activated the transmission switch. The message reaching out around the world to Suzanne went on its way. The incoming hologramletter materialised on the horizontal screen.

He looked upon the face of one of his closest and dearest friends of many years. The man he called his ‘brother-in-arms’ for the good of Earth. Randell still wearing the familiar old baseball cap looked back as he had done so many times. Age had not wearied his passion as it had that cap and his tired frame. But he was still the man of hope he had always been. A man on a mission to do all that he could, for the good of Earth.

Bob

This morning I woke to the scream of a Bald Eagle!

I ran out to see if one had indeed survived and was flying in the sky. The sound it turned out; was only in my mind, there was nothing to see in the sad grey sky.

I returned inside once more wishing that there had been an eagle in the sky. I would love to once more see an eagle soar over Independence Virginia, but I know as you once said; their day for the death of birth, has long since gone.

Bob I recall meeting you on twitter back in 2008 and being inspired by you to do more to save my Earth from the pollution of greenhouse gases. I wish now more of the once 3 million listeners to my radio show back then would’ve paid more attention to you and me; as we gave them great advice back then.

I was a young 38 then now in 2030 I’m a 60 year old radio host who has only around 1,400 listeners still out there. A real shame that only these few are living now in the single pocket of population in Virginia.

The once lush green mountains are gone now Bob, only decaying remains of trees stand. The river I fished in as a young man now only has a few water snakes in it, the trout and muskie I used to love are gone. The only green growth is in my greenhouse where I grow food to feed me and my pets.

He could see the beautiful visions of the mountains of the past in all nature’s glory and the reality of now, as Randell relayed his memories. He now looked as through Randell’s eyes at the scenes of the tortured countryside that was now Independence Virginia in 2030.

Bob you and I both told the Governments of the world that they had better cut out all greenhouse gases but they never listened until it was ten years to late to do anything. I wish to God more leaders would have paid attention to us and not the big oil an gas lobby. Big oil's money has killed Earth. Their greed and lust for the almighty dollar drove a knife blade deep into the heart of Earth.

The days are numbered for me now my friend as are my vivid memories of the fact that nobody seemed to listen to what you and I were trying to teach them. I feel so sad that my voice was not heard, that my years of pushing for solar power, and electric cars were all in vain, as money from big oil bought off the governments of Earth.

I will end with this raised voice Bob –

“Big oil screwed us out of our planet, big oil I hope you’re happy for the hell you put this planet in!”

Your friend
Randell Byrd
Independence
VA USA

That’s my buddy he thought as he heard his rebel yell – you tell them my friend; and do it loud.

A FOUNDATION CORNERSTONE LAID IN ATLANTA.

New visitors to the chronicles from the future may first wish to visit the past, by reading the earlier hologramletters. (see the older listings on the right, go to the bottom and click the link to the earlier hologramletters)

NOTE The following is an adaptation from the soon to be released book ‘Letters From 2030’. To register interest on its release, or to order a copy email Bob Williamson via this link.

January 12th 2030

His reflections had been deep, but his resolve in those quite early hours before dawn had been, as always, passionate and resolute to raise the voice of change. To reach out to those still clinging to hope in their isolated locations of humanity and inspire their hearts that one day they may achieve a balance with Earth and a future for others. They had asked how his enduring passion and the fire that burned within him to awaken man back in the first decade of the 21st century had been ignited. He would today answer their question.

He moved across the room to the transmission panel and turned it on………


You have asked me how the Foundation was born to question the illogical sleepwalk of our world in the first decade of this century. It was a long journey that I still remember well.

Now in 2030 I can look back clearly to 2007, and on the ten years before to when we had started our business in 1997, during which time we had often struggled with why it was taking so long for the logic of what we were doing and saying; and the importance of our message to finally get through. I’m sure back then that the Union of Concerned Scientists also looked back on the fifteen years since 1992 when they told us we had “one to a few decades” to reverse our course with similar frustration.

It was the same for us as with those scientists; the importance of their words was falling on deaf ears. As Sir Richard Burton had put it when narrating War of the Worlds, “It seemed amazing to me, that with all that was going on around them, people just went about their daily lives as if nothing was happening.”

Many times being the first to develop systems, techniques, and processes to recover and recycle post-consumer polypropylene from landfill loss had seemed all too hard. The humble plastic garden plant pot, with 100 million being dumped in our state’s landfill each year, when we started was not of any real significance to those in government that could have made a difference in those early years. As with the scientists, they were not listening. “Plastic doesn’t, as with other wastes, break down in landfill or leach into ground water,” they told me. “There was no environmental damage from dumping plastic,” they asserted. So we struggled on, trying to make them understand it wasn’t just a bit of plastic, it was all that was consumed in the process, extracting the oil, manufacturing the virgin resin from fossil resources, consuming water and vast amounts of coal-fired energy, so that the non-renewable resources could be used just once for plastic pots and ice cream containers before being dumped forever in a landfill. “Dump it and all consumed resources are lost.” They were not thinking through the consequences of our business as usual actions. Recovering and then reprocessing plastic for use, in order to replace virgin resources making exactly the same products, saved even more virgin resources, and mitigated the need to manufacture more virgin product when recovered and recycled materials could be used instead. This was resource recovery. We told them that as a country, we didn’t need to find new water resources, new oil reserves, produce more coal-fired energy, if we simply stopped throwing what we had consumed into the bin. It wasn’t rocket science. To us, it was a no-brainer. How could they sustain their message that dumping plastic had no adverse environmental impact?

So we struggled on. I can still look back with a sense of pride that my family, my wife, daughters, and others that saw the vision we had, were stubborn enough for long enough to finally make a difference. We committed many hundreds of thousands of dollars over those early years of research and development. We had also committed much blood, sweat, and tears to come to where we were in 2007. “I remember our first meeting in 2000, when you outlined what you thought was possible and thought it was a stretch even for an optimist,” said Peter Bury, director of Industry Development for the Plastic and Chemical Industry Association (PACIA). In 2005 we were awarded the PACIA National Environment Award and in 2006 were finalists for the PACIA Sustainability Award for Plastics.

Like those concerned scientists in those early years, we kept knocking on closed doors and speaking into deaf ears.

In 2002-03 we would initiate and embark on a six-month demonstration project. This would accurately qualify our reprocessing energy consumption for converting the recovered materials into quality replacement feedstock and compare our process to the energy used to produce the virgin resin. The demonstrated findings showed that each tonne of production we saved going to landfill, being reused to replace the need for virgin resin in product manufacture, was equal to saving the energy used by the average home for over five years. In the recycling process we had developed, we were saving from each tonne, over 10 tonnes of embodied water, 1,500 litres of oil and over 97,600 megajoules of embodied energy.

The landmark study outcome led to a Special Commendation Award for Energy Efficiency in the state’s environment awards in 2004. At the same awards evening, our family company also received the honour of recognition as winner of the Waste Minimisation Award, as the winner of the Behavioural Change Award, and selected as the Overall Environment Award Winners for 2004. We were starting to have our voice heard.

We would go on in 2005 to be recognized as Finalists for the Prime Minister’s Award for Environmentalist of the Year, be invited by the governor to a reception for His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, be nominated by the state government and selected in the nation’s premier science awards as one of three national finalists in the Australian Museum Eureka Prize for Leadership in Business Innovation, and in 2006 we would take our first holiday in thirty-one years of marriage to travel to Atlanta, Georgia, where we would receive from the U.S. Society of Plastics Engineers the Global Environment Award for Plastic Recycling for 2006. Our voice was being heard just like the voices of the Union of Concerned Scientists were finally starting to be heard. Our overnight success had taken a decade, while theirs had taken a decade and a half.

In Atlanta on February 28th, 2006, I was privileged to spend several hours with Ray C. Anderson, a visionary and self-confessed previous plunderer of our planet’s finite resources. Ray was the founder and chairman of Interface Inc., the world’s largest manufacturer of industrial floor coverings. Ray, like me, had seen that it was his responsibility to be part of the solution to the problems we face. Over those hours together while we sat and talked, we inspired each other with hope and a vision for a safer world. To an extent it was he that became partly responsible for my book, as it was he that first suggested it. That morning in his book Mid-Course Correction the Interface Model, Ray signed “To Bob Williamson comrade-in-arms for the good of earth with respect.” Along with his words at that meeting, his book has been a constant companion and a source of some hope to me. As he had done a change in direction, “a mid-course correction” could be achieved. I committed that morning to adding my voice to his at every opportunity, to change the ways we look at our past practices and foster how a change for a more sustainable outcome might come about. For the future of his children, mine and yours.

We visited another great man in Atlanta that day, and although we were too late to talk with him, his words and wisdom echoed loudly to us from the past. Martin Luther King Jr. in 1967 speaking in Los Angeles on the matter of the war in Vietnam had this to say: “We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history there is such a thing as being too late. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Life often leaves us standing bare, naked and dejected with a lost opportunity. The ‘tide in the affairs of men’ does not remain at flood: it ebbs. We may cry out desperately for time to pause in her passage, but time is deaf to every plea and rushes on. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residue of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words: ‘Too late.’”

Later that year I would establish the Greenhouse Neutral Foundation with the vision to “Broaden the understanding of choices made that impact or increase depletion of finite resources resulting in environmental and ecosystem damage.”

The Foundation stone was laid in Atlanta that sunny February morning.

All of you that receive this hologramletter must know and believe your cornerstone has been laid along side this foundation for change; and we can still build upon that.

Until then….Stay safe – stay indoors. Much hope to you all.

May the Red Road Live Again.

New visitors to the chronicles from the future may first wish to visit the past, by reading the earlier hologramletters. (see the older listings on the right, go to the bottom and click the link to the earlier hologramletters)

NOTE The following is an adaptation from the soon to be released book ‘Letters From 2030’. To register interest on its release, or to order a copy email Bob Williamson via this link.

There hadn’t been a transmission from Anthony at the HAARP complex for days. Concern that something had happened, haunted him. Had he even received the hologramletter telling him about Katey and would she listen to him and become Anthony’s ally? Could there have been a transmission break? It was now January 11th and he had transmitted to Anthony on the 8th, maybe today he would receive some word.

Switching on the horizontal hologram monitor his answer would come with relief.


January. 8th 2030.

Greetings Bob.

May the Red Road Live Again.

Snap! With a flash of blinding white light before my eyes I heard that hideous sound. A wave of chills swept over my body and nausea gripped my innards. I’d been straining my ears to overhear the conversation between Patricia and Rosa, when my tile spade broke. Heart wrenching actually, as that spade had traveled with me north to the HAARP compound. It is strange Bob; grief overcame me as I gazed at the broken tool. It was as if my best friend, a friend made in kindergarten and beside one their entire life had passed away. Perhaps having shut out and trained myself to develop a callous outlook upon the world, I have transferred my compassion to this and other items that have made this perilous journey with me.

Before the events of 2020, Big Thunder and the resulting chaos that gripped humanity, I had lived near the confluence of the Iowa and Mississippi Rivers in a big ole farmhouse. I never told you about the house, although I had shut off room’s, changed light bulbs and generated a grey-water collection system; it wasn’t exactly the model of eco lifestyles. This was however the region of the country that spawned Aldo Leopold, Mark Twain, Edgar Lee Masters and Chief Blackhawk. The land was a breathtaking beauty of bounty to behold as the seasons transformed the landscape. Here, way back in 2000, I bought that tile spade. Still with me is an old trowel I dug up that first year, when creating a hothouse. I would use this to clean off the dirt that collected on the spade as I prepared the land for planting. It also came in handy for tending small patches of soil, like herb gardens and guerrilla patches of vegetables we planted over the years. Also, I still have with me my collection of wet stones and files. I have to admire the J-Squad. They never once questioned my reasoning for insisting that every man must carry tools with them. We of course didn’t all carry tile spades, but you get the idea, I think. Whenever we moved, they had to pull double and triple duties. Sometimes they would go for three or even four days before getting any rest, as we had to advance stealthfully over the land, find a camp, set up defenses and secure well-camouflaged storage capabilities. Then the bigger guys would go back, portage our equipment to the next site, all the while still carrying their firearms. Seriously, I take my hat off to these men for all they have done and continue to do.

At that peaceful homestead, I had managed, by 2005, to turn enough dirt year in and year out to have a nice garden. It was capable of sustaining my family while giving some away to help out the neighbors as well. In a good year I could even sell off some of the extra produce. By 2009, that spade and I had created a strawberry patch, asparagus bed, black raspberry, red raspberry and blue berry plots, this along with the peach orchard, pears, and small apple orchard I tended had within me generated a hearty respect for husbandry. It was the ethical thing to do, as Al Gore was fond of saying, to reduce my carbon footprint. So, I suppose that tile spade had become my partner in the battle against climate change. Therefore, you can understand the waves of emotions that swept over me when it snapped today.

Jay, Derrick and I agreed to help Patricia and the girls with one of their ongoing projects shortly after we arrived here. Oh! For those first few months all over again, when we were a very small group of people willing to work together, Viki and Patricia had come up with the idea of sowing the outlying valleys with foodstuffs for survivors, and had several vegetable gardens towards Juneau planted. (This is all possible due to the dedicated work of Robin. She is about as quiet as a bird usually. A biochemist who is also expert at gene manipulation. She worked at the compound doing her post grad years, an interesting story here Bob. For now let’s just say that we have many different varieties of GM organisms we can try and raise under the lighting conditions available. Really, I need to tell you all about the little conversation I had with Robin, enlightening.) So anyway, back to what I was saying, between speaking with the women and scouting reports from the team we soon learned an interesting fact. The marauders almost always where found toward the western expansions of the compound, this is toward the more settled areas of what was, and/or is, Alaska. Most of the extra members here now, came from wandering groups we found out beyond the eastern boundaries. I think the more passive members of society have either found, or simply been pushed out there, for safety reasons. So after we analyzed the situation it was decided that the western expanses would be abandoned and as a collective we would focus on planting where it could best benefit people we thought were worthy. Of course, who is to say who is worthy and what will happen in the future, we can only plan for the day. Adapting the concept of not planting close to home, which Viki had come up with, we maintain a two-day minium hike from the nearest entrance to the underground labyrinth. Although these access points are well hidden, why invite danger, right! So, after a week of having things hiked into the valley we were ready to plant a small orchard of fruit trees. I was working up the dirt for the last tree when Patricia and Rosa walked by. They were only about ten feet away when they dropped their voices speaking in a hushed tone. I was straining to hear and not paying attention when, snap! Not to worry although Bob, the compound has implements of manual labor in storage as well. If they have an angle grinder, I might sharpen one up the easy way, sure beats taking three days to do it by hand.

I was wandering around the compound the other day. Walking down the corridors of the agri-centre, when I heard music softly playing in the distance: in the furthest horticulture lab, the one we use for starting apple and pear trees, I heard a stringed instrument playing. Now I am not tone deaf by any means, however, being a Midwestern of somewhat modest means I never developed a taste for classical music. I am quite sure that was what I was hearing. So following the music, I ambled down the rows of young trees. There, in the back of the room facing the wall was Patricia playing a cello. Clearing my throat I scared her as she jumped up screaming, then proceeded to read me the riot act on respecting a person’s privacy. As she was walking away, I mentioned that I thought she played like an angel. She stopped dead in her tracks, turned around, her anger subsiding she thanked me, asked if I would like to hear some more. We sat there for about an hour, her playing and me sitting with my back against the wall, eyes closed, swaying to the music.

I think – the frost is starting to come off this one. We had an interesting conversation after that. I will try and pass on to you the jest of it. I did a lot of bobbing my head up and down as it was well beyond my limited capacity for understanding. It deals with changes in weather patterns. She was describing a concept that many paleoclimatologists believe was once an existing pattern. How it breaks down is this. . . hang on Bob. . . oh crap!

Bob, I just came back from the hall. One of the outsiders, hah, we are all outsiders now. . . Anyway, the one I call Rev. Ted Haggard. He is at it again. Patricia, Rosa and Jay all have him cornered. Odd really, as Jay’s is actually on this guys side. I thought for sure he was going to mutiny on me over this one. The Science Team and I have basically outlawed preaching in the compound. This guy can really belt it out although. He must have been a Baptist preacher; he scares the hell out of everybody that will listen to him, lol. So, perhaps I will come back after speaking with him again. I think, Rosa has agreed that he can preach faith, if I can convince this guy to accept the concept of Mother worship and pushing earth first practices.

There is an old saying, ‘back to the garden.’ The Sci-Team and I have decided if faith is to be allowed here in the compound, we will go beyond the garden, back to hunter gathers and the native peoples of the globe. We will at least try and engender a respect for the planet in the survivors once again.

Stay safe....Anthony


As Anthony signed off it occurred to him that life in the HAARP compound was far from easy – so many issues of personalities and conflict that he didn’t have to deal with in his isolation. He could only hope that his cool logic when he replied might help Anthony and the others with an objective perspective. He must write to Rosa in his next hologramletter he thought. She needs some far off comfort on which to rest in her times of sorrow. He stored the hologramletter in the library and returned to his task of commissioning the additional power capacity from the solar mirrors and hot air turbines along the side of the building. The project should be completed within a day or so if he kept at it.

Not much a' do 'bout nothin' 'cept fishin' in old Orleans.

New visitors to the chronicles from the future may first wish to visit the past, by reading the earlier hologramletters. (see the older listings on the right, go to the bottom and click the link to the earlier hologramletters)

NOTE The following is an adaptation from the soon to be released book ‘Letters From 2030’. To register interest on its release, or to order a copy email Bob Williamson via this link.

As he looked at the monitor, an unfamiliar face flickered, wavered and then came through. The man had seen better days, he thought, as the face in the hologramletter smiled at him with a toothless grin.

January 10, 2030

Bubba!

It ain’t cooled much yet at the beginnin’ of winter in New Orleans – not that it ever cools much these days – so you should call in sick as soon’s you can and head down here for the fishin’! Now that the gov’ment gave up pumpin’ the water from the city after all the hurricanes and floods, this place is turnin’ into a true “Sportsman’s Paradise.” (Remember the old Louisiana license plates – ROFL!!!!)

I meet this dude named Boudreaux Martinez – he say’s he’s from Zwolle – and he keeps talkin’ up the fishin’ down in the old Crescent City. At first I ain’t inter’sted, but he apparently talks me into it ’cause one Monday mornin’ after an all-weekend drunk I wake up in the cab of his pickup truck and he’s haulin’ ass with his bass boat down I-10 to New Orleans. My killer hangover is makin’ it a rough ride for awhile, but we stop in Gonzales for a couple post-sunrise Dixies and I feel much better.

A little after eight we pull into the city, pickin’ our way ’round the new ponds that block the highway here and there. We have a hell of a time gettin’ to the French Quarter where Boudreaux wants to put in. He’s lookin’ for beignets and chicory coffee at Café du Monde. I thought we was goin’ to drive or walk to it. Instead, Boudreaux wants to drive his boat to the dock the café built since the city flooded.

I say, “Damn, Boudreaux, where you gonna find a boat ramp in the Quarter?” Boudreaux says, “No problem. Wait ’n’ see.

”Sure ’nough, findin’ a boat ramp is easy. Every street is a boat ramp!!!! It can be hell findin’ parkin’, though – you ever try parallel parkin’ with a boat trailer?

Anyway, we find a nice spot on St. Roch Street, put his boat in, and tie off on a telephone pole. Once we load up with the essentials – Vienna sausages, beef jerky, beer, and fishin’ gear – and make a stop at the Café du Monde we head off to what used to be the Lower Ninth Ward.

Man, you can’t imagine how good the fishin’ is here! You don’t need no fish-finder – just drop a lure near the old houses or sunken cars, and you got it made, man!

You gotta be careful, though. The water’s so murky you can’t see all the obstacles. We foul the prop on an old chicken-wire fence that’s a few inches below the surface. Shear the damn cotter pen and almost lose the prop. The current pushes us into some rusty ole school bus before we get Boudreax’s Merc out of the water and the pin replaced.

We was so focused on the outboard that we don’t notice we’d punched through the side of the bus. I have to push off with each foot on one of the seats. I’m a bit drunk again – hell, it’s 10:30 in the mornin’ man! – and not payin’ ’nough attention to what I am doin’. Boudreaux’s boat breaks free and I fall into the open door of a sunken Porta John®. Boudreaux laughs so much he has a coughin’ fit and damn near chokes. When he gets some breath, he wheezes, “It don’ matta, You and de watta smell ’bout de same now.” He starts cussin’ me a blue streak, though, when I almost flip the boat tryin’ to get back in.

We go back to fishin’ and hook six or seven big striped bass by the time noon rolls ’round. Of course some of them are big because of these growths on their bodies, but since we ain’t plannin’ on eatin’ sushi, we figure a good cookin’ll take care of the stuff in ’em that causes the growths to begin with.

By the end of the day, though, Boudreaux and I am pretty damn drunk – again. He gets lost lookin’ for his truck – keeps cruisin’ up and down St. Claude Street instead of turnin’ on St. Roch. I ain’t much help, though, as I am busy playin’ with the bass floatin’ belly up in the fish well. (I set the water on fire when I throw a cigarette butt in there!) As the sun goes down, though, Boudreaux remembers the car alarm thing on his key chain and we follow the sound to where we put in.

I’m thinkin’ ’bout headin’ back next weekend. Wanna come?

Cesar


Curious old timer, he thought. When was it they gave up on New Orleans and the environmental refugees left the city forever? Was it in 2022 after hurricane Wendy -- the 23rd hurricane of the season? It had to come. The storm intensities and surges couldn’t be contained. Big cities along the Gulf Coast -- Galveston, Biloxi, Mobile, Pensacola -- were now almost ghost towns, waterlogged landscapes changed forever, just as the streets below his building were awash with foul-smelling slime and toxic chemicals.

You have help at hand!

New visitors to the chronicles from the future may first wish to visit the past, by reading the earlier hologramletters. (see the older listings on the right, go to the bottom and click the link to the earlier hologramletters)

NOTE The following is an adaptation from the soon to be released book ‘Letters From 2030’. To register interest on its release, or to order a copy email Bob Williamson via this link.

January 8th 2030

You have help at hand!

He pondered how he could encourage the brilliant Katey to take Anthony into her confidence.

He knew as an ally she would prove one of his strongest supporters. If he could jog her memory from 21 years ago when he wrote of her research into methane releases in the Arctic regions, that in 2008 were equal to all the man made emissions from the entire United States of America a staggering 20% of total greenhouse gases back in those days, she would realise she now had regained the support and respect she so rightfully deserved.

To Anthony - You have help at hand!

Anthony my friend, I have exciting news for you. I don’t know how to put this subtly. You have brilliance and a legendary environmental warrior in your midst. The person you know it be Patricia is no other than Katey Walter.

You’ll remember her from my book. She was the person who warned the world back in 2007 of the thawing permafrost in Siberia and Alaska. Do you remember?

I suspect she is hiding under the name Patricia now as she may fear the same ostracising from you or others as she received in 2010. The conservative science community viewed her as too outspoken about the potential of accelerated methane releases as the Arctic warmed, at 3-4 times the global average in the first decade of the century.

You must tell her you know me.

I have put the following hologramletter segment together for you to play to her.
Once you have her confidence you should be able to gain much of the access to the HAARP complex you are looking for. If anyone knows its secrets she will.

Let me know if my plea to her helps.

Until later my friend ……………. Hello Patricia do you recognise my face? I have aged somewhat.

You still have the passionate eyes I remember from back in 2008 when we last hooked up via video conferencing. That technology now seems as ancient in the history of man as the safety we enjoyed at the time.

Do you remember telling me of your fears back then if the world failed to heed your research? You warned them with such passion ‘This newly recognized source of methane is so far not included in climate models.’ Your estimates suggested the area had 500 gigatons (1,100 trillion pounds) of carbon, largely in the form of ancient dead plant material. You warned ‘Permafrost models predict significant thaw of permafrost during this century, which means that yedoma permafrost is like a time bomb waiting to go off—as it continues to thaw, tens of thousands of teragrams of methane can be released to the atmosphere enhancing climate change.’

Do you remember me now? My eyes, my passion and my concern for man have not wavered either.

You have a great ally with you there in your compound. Anthony.

Anthony and I are; like you and I were once. We; like you were then, not fearful of raising the voice of concern loudly to change the future to one that was safe for those that would come after us. What was it you told me the native American Indians said? "We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children."

We must now ask ourselves as custodians of that moral obligation why we failed in that duty of trust.

Katey – yes Katey you must now take up that challenge once more. You must now rekindle all the passion and hope you once had. Work with Anthony as you did for the world back then and you and he can achieve much.

Until next time ….Stay safe – stay indoors. Much hope to you all.

He switched off the monitors and returned to his thoughts. ‘We borrow it from our children’

Suzanne's epiphany and mid-course correction

New visitors to the chronicles from the future may first wish to visit the past, by reading the earlier hologramletters. (see the older listings on the right, go to the bottom and click the link to the earlier hologramletters)

NOTE The following is an adaptation from the soon to be released book ‘Letters From 2030’. To register interest on its release, or to order a copy email Bob Williamson via this link.

Time had past so quickly. The letter to Anthony and the help he may be to get Patricia (Katey) to work with him openly for the common good was uppermost in his mind that humid morning. If he were to plea to her personally he knew had to phrase it carefully or risk a defensive rejection. It would need to wait for further and careful thought.

He flicked the switch of the main monitor. The incoming transmission light flickered and it would be to receive as he would see Suzanne’s epiphany and reason for her personal mid-course correction.

Greetings my friend,

After my last transmission I've sat debating if I should fire up this old generator again. I’ve used it quite sparingly, but the exhaust fumes even though I’ve vented them as well as possible still escape into my living quarters. Hesitantly, I started it up to look for new messages and scour for news of anyone at all. I was only able to keep it running long enough to download your latest response and your questions, so many questions that as I sit here now are tugging at my heartstrings. As I was downloading the transmission, the exhaust line ruptured and before I was aware of it, there were fumes coming in through the ventilation ducts. I had to run and shut it down before it was too late for me, and I prayed thinking first of my few precious plants, that I’d caught it soon enough.

The last few days I have been totally drained of energy. I'm sure that it's from the generator's exhaust fumes, but also fearing it may be possible effects from the batteries I managed to retrieve so far. I had been able to bring back a half dozen of the batteries that I found, and after your advice, I did a close inspection on them. I found some with the feathering you referred to. I haven't any burns or cuts from their transport, though some of the leakage may have gotten through my gloves. Thank goodness I keep protective gear with me at all times and trust nothing to be safe until closely scrutinized. Though I haven't encountered anyone in the months since I have come here, I have taken care and many precautions to contain the damaged batteries to an isolated area. I feel they are safely contained and more than adequately marked with warnings if someone comes across the storage room that’s now holding them.

I will soon be on my way back to the found treasure room to explore its contents further. I had little time after sharing my find with you to see all that was available. I'm hoping for instructions, tools and any other items that will be needed to get the solar panels installed as soon as possible. I'm feeling a bit stronger again and the clearing skies are once more giving me fresh hope. I find myself all too restless and looking forward to indulging in daytime explorations again.

Getting to your questions; for me it was back in the mid to late 1990s when I was burning out from "corporate" America. There were so many different experiences that started my reach for more information and knowledge, and changing my way of life. I was in Michigan then, working in Detroit at a very well paying job, when it dawned on me that I wasn't the simple girl enjoying life's simple pleasures anymore. I found myself becoming somewhat materialistic. I was far from being as consumed by it all as many were then, but I had a nice car, lived in an upper middleclass suburban area, shopped at the posh pricier specialty markets, and indulged in many modern conveniences.

One occasion in particular, I was out for a weekend sailing with a friend. We were lavishing in the serenity of the sunshine and water with nothing but the wind taking us on our journey from Lake Eerie up through the Detroit River and into Lake St. Clair, a sailor's paradise, on inland lakes. As we entered into the southern part of the Detroit River we had no choice but to traverse the commercial shipping channel and became virtually overrun by freighters. (I came to learn only later of the pollution they caused with each tonne of shipping fuel pumping out 850 kilograms (.85t) of carbon and that when it was burnt mixed with oxygen produced 3.1 tonnes of CO2!)

Anyway I was jarred out of my serenity and thrust into the "all hands on deck" to guide and navigate our way through the shipping lanes. It was an experience I don't think I'll ever forget. Terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time, it made me start to wonder if there was anywhere left in the world that was not affected by these monstrous beasts transporting the oil, coal and other ores our modern world needed to continue with its business and living as usual. The sounds and fumes from the passing ships began to fill me at first with sorrow, then quickly with anger, that such atrocities invaded the peace and energy I had been feeling being one with the water and the earth.

As the weeks and months progressed from that weekend, I would notice more of my surroundings ~ not in the progression of society, but in the ravages of the resources of the earth. I soon found I could no longer work in the city that I had loved for so many years, simply because I didn't want to be even one more contributing to the smog and dismal chaos. I found a different firm in the suburbs close to where I lived, but that satiated me only for a short time and I was soon on my way to leaving the corporate rat race.

I left Michigan in 1999 and moved to California, thinking, 'I'll be by the ocean, it will be ideal, back in closer touch with a simpler life.' I couldn't have been more wrong. It took me another five years after that before I could move again, which is how I landed in Arizona, where I was living in the "green" desert and found Greenhouse Neutral... and you. By this time I was living a much more modest life, closer to how I was raised, cherishing simple things and giving of myself all I could to live and share with others a conscientious lifestyle. I quit the design firm I was then working for, and started working full time from home. So I was no longer a slave or contributor to the commuter emissions poisoning the atmosphere. I became "one less" as the saying goes. One less vehicle on the road, daily polluting the air, one less person spending exorbitant sums of money for high priced suits to be dry cleaned with chemicals and toxins... one less and feeling damn good about it - but still wanting to do so much more.

And yes, Bob, I still have my copy of "ZERO Greenhouse Emissions - The Day the Lights Went Out - Our Future World" - a bit tattered and worn, though still coveted as much this day as the day I when it first arrived in the mail; that was shortly after our first conversations on Twitter and when I stood up to let my voice be heard and joined you in your efforts to awaken the world. It was when I read your book for the first time, that the memories of that Detroit River sail flooded back and I knew I had to do what I could to help in the cause. I can't even begin to tell you how angry I became when I learned that there are so many variables in fuel consumption based on size of vessel, cargo, carrying capacity, age of vessel, and they were not regulated because no one wanted to claim them or the emissions they responsible for!

One excerpt in particular fuelled the fire even more, "...one bulk carrier report placed its consumption of heavy fuel oil at 26.1 tonnes per day and diesel oil at 24.2 tonnes per day at a cruising speed of 14 knots (26 kilometers per hour). So on the proverbial slow boat to China, over 50 tonnes of fossil fuel per day will be burnt, contributing about 150 tonnes of CO2 per day in atmospheric emissions in the process. In Heat George Monbiot presented another excellent comparison. Monbiot cites George Marshall of the Climate Outreach Information Network who had done some “rough initial” calculations for the Queen Elizabeth II. Cruising at between 25 to 28 knots (45 to 50 kilometers per hour) while delivering the 1,790 passengers and 920 crew between Southampton and New York, the ship burns through 433 tonnes of fuel per day. On the six-day cruise they use 2,598 tonnes of fuel—each way. That’s over 8,050 tonnes of luxury greenhouse emissions. Each return passenger carries the weight of responsibility off the ship of over 9 tonnes of environmental impact." When I read this, I had to actually stop for a period because I was so overwhelmed with sadness I wept remembering not only the experience I had sailing, but even more so thinking of the horrors of the shipping traffic I used to see when I was in California at Long Beach/Los Angeles. I had no idea how bad it was then but I knew it was out of control; your book brought me to new light and awareness.

You taught me so much in those years. I hope that I with all I learned back then, that I may have touched at least a few as deeply as you did me with your insight and knowledge. I'm very proud and honored to have your friendship, as much if not more now, as I was then... and happier still to know that you are surviving our new world and continue fighting the good fight ~ I pray we will both be here to continue on for at least a few more years to come...

My power is again running low, I'll close this hologramletter to you with thoughts of much hope and bright smiles that even through the toughest of times, I continue to have ~ because I am here, I have survived, and I will continue to fight the good fight; and when it's time for me to leave this earth, I will be able to do so still smiling because I tried, I made a difference, I didn't become despondent in even the darkest hours.

Ever in friendship,
Suzanne

As he saw the flickers of her fading smile he mussed how different life would be now in 2030 if more had made that mid-course correction. If they had realised we needed not to reinvent the wheel, we had needed a reinvention of self.