Craig's Fire

“But a Rasta never Marry, Cause a Rasta Never Sorry”
The tune still sticks in my head – it was part of a walking song our Jamaican friends called out as they trekked over the hills and ravines leading us to their bush outposts.
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One of my Brethren cuts wood - no protection, of course!

How to get clean in the middle of WV with no running water.

Yes, there were times in my past life when I could be considered a hippie – and a wood burning hippie at that, since that was the only possible source of heat out in the boonies of Lewis County, WV.

We found plenty of wood, sawed it with two-man saws and chainsaws…never learned much about seasoning, as our needs were immediate, so into the stoves it went.
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Readers of this post should first catch up by reading the first part.
After hanging with Ken (the Fisherman) for a day or two, he pulled us aside for a personal chat and said “you folks don’t belong here (in town). I have some people I’d like you to meet”. Heck, we figured anyone who was alright with Ken was fine by us, so we answered in the affirmative.
He took us on a long walk up the coast road……for those who know Negril, this is past the caves and cliffs where the road gets lost in the bush. At some point we turned into the bush, and walked down a rugged path into the hills. Read More…

My first girlfriend was really into sex – a real addict. This was a pleasure for me, being a very shy and retiring teen. I never did, and never would, ask a girl for a date. By the time I hooked up with Carole (named changed to protect the innocent), I had already missed the chance at my first 4 or 5 loves. Not that sex was all I wanted – far from it. My first “loves” were women who I thought were beautiful inside and out…definitely could sense their presence! Read More…

……maybe I can make you laugh……

I remember when I was about 10 years old and in overnight camp. We were in cabins of about 12 , segregated by sex of course. This was before teenage shyness, so guys used to hang around in all states of undress. Read More…

Must have been the summer of 1968 or so – we heard tell about some folks with a small farm right outside of AC who were growing pot. They told us we could pick all we wanted for $30. Read More…