I can’t promise a return to regular blogging here, and even this post will be much abbreviated, but Greer’s latest (”The Age of Salvage Societies“) is making me positively itch. This is something we’ve talked about plenty of times here, so seeing blatantly untrue statements like these not only going unchallenged, but recieving a round of praise for their “insightfulness” is really grating for me. So, some quick facts to keep in mind if you read Greer’s article.

You can always tell the Scented Tree by its distinctive leaves: three differently shaped leaves, one shaped like a mitten, another like a talon, and the third like a regular leaf. You see those because of how the first Scented Tree came about. You see, the Scented Tree once walked about like a human person, but she had great power as a shape-shifter. She also loved beautiful aromas, and mixed many perfumes and aromatic scents from various plants, finding what sweet-smelling aromas would drive off evil spirits.

Despite his penchant for axe-grinding against primitivists, I actually agree with John Michael Greer on far more than we disagree. He generally doesn’t like to be reminded of that fact, as it gets in the way of the regular primitivist hate-fest to be reminded that you’re alike in far more ways than you’re not, but for the most part, I keep up this regular series mostly in the hope that he might one day be willing to actually discuss those differences we do have. But this week’s post, “Cities in the Deindustrial Future,” summarizes everything that I take issue with in Greer’s work. A full rebuttal is necessary, and I hope it manages to reach as many people as Greer’s offering of pablum, if only to provide an antidote to the delusions, confusion, and misconceptions that his article has spread this week.

There’s not much to say about this week’s story, “Tillicum River,” that I didn’t already write about Adam’s morbid fantasy in general. Overall, I could see a town like Tillicum River springing up, at least as a transitional form. Already down to 500, and presumably continuing to decline, with gardens and localized currency and a good mix of cultural forms converging, Tillicum River could become a sustainable, horticultural village.

Of course, peppered through is Greer’s usual pessimism, generally grounded in a distinct lack of understanding of how ecologies work, or how past collapses have transpired. Take this, for example:

When Ivy swore her oath and became the Guardian, it sent many of the Grandfathers even deeper into their madness. “You see her betrayal!” they shouted. “Poison Ivy grows everywhere, hemming us in! It’s us against the whole world! We have lost the paradise of our ancestors, and now we must make war on the whole world!” Some among them retained their sanity, though, and tried to return them to reason; the most persuasive voice among them came from Ivy’s twin brother, a healer named Jason.

This week’s Archdruid Report is actually really good. “Culture Death” starts off with an invaluable summation of the mythological nature of “the Nation,” and how that myth took root and flourished with the rise of fossil fuels, though the lack of emphasis on the printing press, and standardized language as just one of several factors rather than the clearly dominant factor are differences of emphasis between Greer’s summary and most of the leading scholarship. Thus, as with most things, deindustrialization promises the reverse process: the end of “the Nation” as the locus of group identity. Greer still ignores bioregionalism as the force drawing the new fault lines for the end of the “Nation” myth, but his analysis of the problem is solid enough. It’s the solution where things start to get a bit wonky.

You have heard the tales of when our Grandfathers went mad, yes? Well, back then there were two twins, a girl named Ivy, and her twin brother. Ivy was a trickster and a shapeshifter, but when she saw the destruction the Grandfathers had wrought in their madness, she grew incensed.

She went to the Grandfathers and scolded them, saying, “Can you not see what you are doing?” But they were under Grass’s spell, and all they said was, “Yes, isn’t it beautiful? All that forest that was just going to waste, now it’s all beautiful Grass!”

We missed last week’s article, “Imaginary Countries,” but that’s all right, because this week’s installment of Adam’s morbid fantasy covers much the same ground: the prospect of shifting political boundaries, and the fact that the United States won’t last forever. It’s a relief that for once, Greer has taken some time off from trashing primitivists, but it’s unfortunate that we can’t offer a little more depth to his analysis. Greer’s points are fine enough, but they’re shallow. He largely misses the much bigger and more important underlying phenomenon at work here: bioregionalism.

We’re in the early phases of planning the third annual Mountain Festival for Labor Day weekend, at Seneca Rocks, West Virginia. We’re planning the event as a bioregional rewilding unconference and temporary autonomous zone. This isn’t the announcement yet, but we do want to hear your feedback: your interests, questions, concerns, ideas, and all the rest. There’s a lot still to pin down, so we want to hear from you.

Mountain Festival History

Anthropikon MMV

The first Mountain Festival was originally billed as “Anthropikon MMV,” but has since been retconned.

• Anthropikon MMV, the official announcement.

Once, long ago, the cow lived as a fierce animal that tested our ancestors. When our grandfathers needed to prove their worth, they would venture forth to test themselves against the mighty cows. They towered over our grandfathers with fierce horns, and the hot breath of great warriors. They lived noble and powerful lives, and knew no fear, and the little plant we now call “the Cow’s Beloved” fell in love with cow, and cow fell in love with her. Even today, you will see how strongly cows prefer her taste, and takes her into themselves.