“This boston accent spelling is going to get old really fast” – anonymous
We had pledges now exceeding 230 USD to help us in our efforts to build the Bahn to its potential. For every 100 USD donation we consider you a “Farmer” of liberty and someone who will receive special incentives in the future. I envision a wall of fame, your name etched upon the century old wood framing. A builder. A cultivator of our beliefs. A sentry of what we know is just. Thank you to our Farmers.
You can earn this title also with your talents, time and sweat. We need all of the help to make our small space a reality. One day we hope that we will no longer need the clubhouses, a world where we can be ourselves without fear of retribution or arrest. That seems to be a distant world, in the meantime our sanity and our fellowship will keep the flame of liberty alive.
Let’s let it live, let it burn. Let this flame live all across our state, our country. But for sure let it perpetually burn in Laconia.
You could promise me something that I’ve been expecting for years, something that could be assumed to be a sure thing, a done deal. Until there is no more doubt, until it actually happens I’ll never believe. Not until pen is to paper. Not until keys are transferred. Not until the medal is placed around my neck, I’ve been emotionally engineered to not have hope.
Like many of you reading this, life just has a way not not going how you like. I’ve lived my life feeling fortunate for the little things that go well, so much so that I feel fate has blessed me. There was a time when I was fast and loose, when life went wrong I kept letting it be more wrong. When it was strong I made damn sure to turn it into wrong. Since those days, I’ve done my best to sacrifice for my perceived mistakes. What gets difficult is when you see others rewarded for these mistakes, while you choose to continue the struggle.
The last few years my family truly buckled down as much as we possibly could. I took a job that took me across the continent. I was blessed with good friends and good family who took my side and I now reap the rewards. Yet, while I was there I was without hope for humanity. It irreconcilably changed me. I have no hope for them as a people. The few that believe in liberty there, simply have no chance. Before we were drawn in to own land there, that Covid thing happened, and we escaped.
I moved home, but even here life has changed for the worse. Leftists have infiltrated, have set up shop where life is good and just. Their efforts work to undo that good. They work to change life to a handout based economy. Nothing is earned but everything is deserved.
There is little hope that we can turn the tide. The time is neigh that we start to focus within. Make our people strong, rich, and educated. Make them wealthy enough to be able to have the time to take office. To steer the ship of government in a new direction. We have such strong roots dug in, and so few people to nurture the tree. To provide hope for the rest of us, we need folks willing to step up. To provide programs to spread the ways to be successful. To teach and to nest with our liberty lovers. To accept the 75% we have in common and to invest more than is deserved in them. We can’t herd cats, but we can probably provide them what we can.
We received a number of donations this past week, but if you feel you can do more to help us in our vision of having a liberty incubator in the lakes region, please see our page on how you can help. We need all kinds of help, money for sure, crypto is king, and your pledged sweat equity and talents can put us over the top. We need a place for us, let’s build together.
We spent 5 days peeing, pooping, breastfeeding, getting into a car accident, driving all day and all night to get back home. All the while, during a pandemic
Here, I sit anxiously in the afternoon sun on a cold winter’s day. I can’t help but think about how warm the sun feels on my face. It reminds me of the winters I spent in Portland, Oregon. I remember thinking back then that the weather was so nice, it was great to be able to take the kids out to the park in the middle of February, in hoodies if it was windy. Warmer, less snow, more government maintained parks. What’s not to love?
A lot. Beyond my own personal preferences, that which dictated that I felt out of place, there’s a lot to not like about living on the west coast. I grow anxious thinking about my two year sentence in the Beaver State, the low level PTSD I suffer when my mind forces me to think about my days there. I feel that I left unfinished business. I left, before I was able to help grow liberty.
I’ve had this feeling before. It was two years earlier when I took a job with a company that offered it to me if I chose to move away from my project, my friends, my home and my way of life. I’m someone who cherished just a chance to have a career that could help me provide for my family and put myself on the road to financial independence. I watched as my friends came to my trailer park home to help me fix it up, repair, and clean so that I could sell the home and make my exit. It was the opposite of the now famous “Move In Party” that comes with moving to New Hampshire as part of the Free State Project, a move I made in 2009. My drive out of the state with some of my belongings that fateful day led to me pulling over and asking myself what I was about to do. I was leaving unfinished business. I left, before I was able to help grow liberty.
Of course, in hindsight, such a statement was and is untrue. For almost a decade, I was able to help a number of projects come to fruition. I was the photographer for a number of liberty events in New Hampshire. I helped raise a small lakes region libertarians group into a force for good, hosting beach barbeques and toy drives for charity. We brought people out of their holes and made them network. We organized for liberty. Then, I left.
When life had become so unbearable in Portland, my wife and I made the very tough decision to split up our family. I was going to drive them back home to New Hampshire, and then after my family leave was over I would return to Portland, myself. I would live out of a van long enough to sack away enough funds to begin looking for a similar job back home. I love my job, but I was not able to keep my family safe in that city. It was no life worth living. Neither was it the life to be without my kids, but at least I could tell myself that the tears and heartache were temporary and for their safety. But then, a savior came and made all my problems disappear. That savior was Covid-19.
Without going too deep into our quest, on a day we now call Evacuation Day, May 14 of 2020, we had packed away 80% of our belongings in a storage unit outside of Portland. We packed the other 20% into our van, on top of our van, all around our van, anywhere we could put something we did. A 3200 mile trek across America with two toddlers, an infant, a wife, a cat and myself. We spent 5 days peeing, pooping, breastfeeding, getting into a car accident, driving all day and all night to get back home. All the while, during a pandemic the media said would most certainly take anyone daring enough to travel during the time period.
We arrived back in New Hampshire and sought refuge with family. We watched as the Portland we already knew was terrible fell even further into the droves of a third world communist country. We watched as places we once frequented were burned, people attacked, tagged, looted by the most degenerate populous in the country. Every day we sat in New Hampshire, turning on the news or opening up the feed on our phones to see the chaos and destruction and we looked at each other and reminded ourselves of how lucky we were to make the move, again.
After a few months, we began to join the rest of America and attempt to find a home. Many early offers led to many early disappointments. We were coming without cash, and we were competing against very wealthy Massholes. My wife spotted a place in Laconia, and I instantly declined. After the home purchase had fallen through by another buyer, we took another look. I fell in love. Plenty of space for my children, and a design I could live with. The former negative opinions I had were changed. We went for it, made an offer, and landed it. My oldest son said “this house should be called the Lucky House, because we were lucky to get it.”
We moved into the Lucky House at the end of September. Instantly, in the midst of moving my items into the house, I realized that there was a big, very big and wide open space above the garage I had no intention, nor goods, to store there.
Before I had left for Oregon, a friend of mine in the Lakes Region Porcupines and myself wondered what it would take for us to have our own space. Many liberty clubhouses in New Hampshire had been started in the past, and many had failed out for one reason or another. Others were extremely well funded and had a large membership base. Neither of those things applied to us at the time.
But now, we find ourselves with some space and it’s controlled by me. Our dreams of opening a place for libertarians, liberty oriented individuals can come to be safe, to work and plan, to learn and grow and mostly to organize. As my friend stated so eloquently, “We have been talking about having a place for over ten years, without another spot that’s any better, I say we go for it!”
Let’s go for it. Let’s open a place where we can be our whole selves. Where we can speak without fear of retribution. Where we can organize events, activism, and ourselves. A place we can learn to be better, smarter, more informed, and gain talents. A place for sharing, not only of breaking bread together but sharing good times, sharing our ideas, and to share our talents.