The Road to Gonzoville: Part II

You can help to honor Dr. Hunter S. Thompson and be part of GonzoFest 2014 by clicking here and donating a couple bucks to this epic grassroots event organized by family, friends (such as legendary writers and poets Ron Whitehead and Frank Messina) and fans to honor the life and work of Hunter S. Thompson. There will be incredible tributes, music, art, poetry, and the US première of the documentary ‘For No Good Reason’ starring Ralph Steadman and Johnny Depp. Anita Thompson will be the keynote speaker representing The Gonzo Foundation, a non-profit created to promote literature, journalism and political activism through the legacy of Dr. HST.

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“There is a road, no simple highway between the dawn and the dark of night, and if you go, no one may follow, that path is for your steps alone,” -Ripple, Garcia/Hunter

As we were forming our plan to take over our world, we knew early on that we were setting out to find something we had called the “Old pursuit of the new American Dream.” It meant farming a sustenance diet for ourselves, sourcing our own medicine and creating other ways of living in much similarity to the ways humans have lived throughout history, closer to the land and in a synchronicity with natural rhythms and ways, yet also surfing the Internet and plugging in electric guitars to howl at 100 watts whenever we choose. Life is about balance.

The farm life is not for everyone. It forces the acknowledgement of cycles that will blow some minds. While we all like to sit around and drink beers, this act took on a new meaning to us when that beer came from the yeast, hops and grains we farmed to brew it all, so it’s more akin to a part of our work, our dream now. We wanted to create more of what we consumed, to cultivate a more intentional and sustainable slice of life. The circle of life smacks us right in the face as we are out, standing in our field… Drinking a beer that’s hops were likely watered-in-part during a time that grazes the end of dusk known in our household as “pee-dark.”

Along the road we have found that many assumptions are made about a couple of old kids rolling through town in a wooden short bus. We occasionally are mistaken for missionaries spreading The Word. Some assume we are dirty, drug-befuddled hippies out to corrupt the small-town children. Some cheer on our hunting rig and ask us where we will strap the buck. Many flash us a thumbs-up or a peace sign as they pass us on the freeway, and a few flash us much more. Luckily, the majority just go to the website emblazoned on our vehicle and join us on this Free Range Quest.

Tonight we write to you from Montana, where we are holed-up in a freezing, remote location near a town famous for their yearly “Testicle Festival” (for which we saw MANY billboards on our drive today). We have had only one standard-issue mustache grow angry with our very existence — until we explained to him that we are farmers on the hunt for nothing but land and freedom. He hiked up his sweatpants, and sent us on our way with a nod of approval we did not need or ask for.

Each of us has our own road. Somehow in between the haystack rock of sorrow, suffering and pain this world used to throw out at us, we found the keys to our highway, turned the ignition, and floored the gas pedal, man.

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