The Adventures of Uncle Weed A story about …

      The Adventures of Uncle Weed

                    A story about
                  a boy named Bob,
                   his Uncle Weed,
                and Bob's friend Otto


         Originally released in 1988 as
     DUCT TAPE, SURVEY STAKES, AND LIZARDS -
             An Uncle Weed Adventure




                        Words by
                       Dave Olson

                         Pics by
                   Brandon G. Kiggins


Note: Brandon Kiggins' fine illustrations do not appear in
this edition since I am still finding a way to digitize the
big oversize paintings in a quality manner. Stay tuned for
the whole enchilada.
Olson / WEED


     Bob was going camping. His mom's brother had
invited him. "Let me take Bob down to the desert for a
few days," Uncle Weed had asked.

     At first Bob's mom pretended to be a bit hesitant,
"I don't know if I want you taking my young,
impressionable boy on one of your crazy adventures to
never-never land," she had said.

     Uncle Weed assured her everything would be fine,
and after listening to a heavy amount of pleading, Bob's
mom finally said, "Okay."

     Bob figured his mom would've let him go either way,
it was just her way of being goofy.


                          * * *

     Bob really liked his Uncle Weed. He came around
fairly regularly, but not so often that it was too much,
or not a treat when he did. Bob's dad would tease about
Uncle Weed's visits, "Here comes that long hair looking
for a free meal again," he would say. His dad always
winked when he said it so Bob would know it was a joke,
he enjoyed the visits as much as everyone else.

     Uncle Weed brought along curious items to show, and
presents to give. Since he was a gardener, he often
brought fresh vegetables or fruit.   Sometimes he
brought crafts he'd made (like pottery) or objects he'd
found on his adventures (many Indian arrowheads from the
Anasazi tribe). You could count on him for a load of
stories and a stack on pictures as well.

     According to Bob's dad, Uncle Weed didn't have a
real job. Bob's mom said he didn't need one, and Uncle
Weed himself said he didn't have time for one. In
summer, he took tourists on river trips and mountain




                           2
Olson / WEED                                              3


bike rides; in fall, he sold pumpkins on the side of the
road. When winter came, he sold firewood he cut from
old Christmas trees he gathered. He kept busy helping
different groups of people, and donating his time to
well-meaning organizations. Bob noticed he though that
this is what made Uncle Weed happy and successful.

                         * * *

     And so, Bob and Uncle Weed were going camping. Not
only them, but Bob's friend, Otto. Bob told his friend
all about his uncle, so he thought he'd ask if Otto
could come along. They were, after all, best friends.

     Uncle Weed said, "Alright, but under two
conditions: If Otto likes wedgies, and would laugh at
his dumb jokes." Agreed.

                         * * *

     First off, the boys had to trek to Uncle Weed's
cabin in the canyon. It wasn't too far, but far enough
that Bob's Mom wanted to drive them. They thought it
would be better if they hiked instead. It would get the
adventure off to a good start they figured.

     They went through a cemetery (it was daytime),
through a canal (it was empty) and up and down a hill
into the canyon. A busy road wound through the canyon
but they easily found a path along the river that would
led right to Uncle Weed's cabin in the woods.

                         * * *

     Bob couldn't remember which of the huts Uncle
Weed's lived in so they yodeled and hollered for him.
It wasn't too far away and before they knew it, he came
running at top speed down a side road pushing a
wheelbarrow. They leapt in and he pushed them along for
a while. Then they just threw the backpacks in and took
turns pushing.
Olson / WEED                                                4


                         * * *

     Uncle Weed's hut sat amongst a bunch of trees,
bushes, flowers and gardens. All around lived rabbits,
squirrels, butterflies and bugs. Tree-forts, doghouses
and bird-feeders appeared here and there around the
colorful yard as did the dogs, birds and even a few
wiener pigs with bright collars and name tags.

     Inside was filled with boxes, shelves, crates and
closets filled with stuff. It was one of those places
you could stay for a year or two just looking. Looking
and touching a lot. Sort of like a museum and petting
zoo mixed together. There were bicycle parts, wooden
toys, plenty of books, paintings, pots and pans, garlic
bulbs, mobiles, photographs and sculpture. Bob and Otto
decided that Uncle Weed was certainly creative and
handy.

                         * * *

     Bob's favorite thing was a collection of   about a
half-dozen wooden drummer statues. Some were    brown but
most were black. Otto's favorite was all the    bikes,
four that actually worked and a bunch more in   a
haphazard stack in the corner.

     They emptied their backpacks on the bed so Uncle
Weed could make sure they had everything they needed.
"Leave the chewing gum and foam mattresses here and make
sure to bring all your paint-brushes and granola bars,"
he suggested. He threw a toothbrush, spare socks,
pocketknife and a big floppy hat into a burlap sack and
off they went.

                         * * *

     They all sat in the front seat of the `Earth Ship'
which was the old van's name. It looked a lot like
Uncle Weed's house except it had wheels. A built-in
ice-box, a propane stove and a sink sat, ready for use.
The table and back seat folded into a comfortable bed
Olson / WEED                                              5


and the cupboards were full of useful equipment and
tools.

     The three happy nomads headed south, singing along
loudly to songs playing from an old stereo that was duct
taped to the dashboard. Bob and Otto were soon laughing
too hard to sing because of the words Uncle Weed made up
for the songs. He was a good singer too, or a least
knew a lot of songs.

                         * * *

     They took their time and stopped several times
along the way. They stopped in small town city parks to
monkey on the monkey bars and talked with old folks in
motorhomes at rest areas. At one point, Uncle Weed made
an abrupt turn and headed up a skinny, twisty road.
They hiked over some slippery rocks and climbed over a
ledge to see a cliff with a sun etched in it. Bob and
Otto decided everyone should know where these things are
or at least, have an uncle who does.

                         * * *

     After a while, Uncle Weed landed the Earth Ship,
hopped out and threw on his pack. He carried almost
everything so Bob and Otto could run around and dig the
scenery. They stopped often so Uncle Weed could point
out interesting rocks, plants and lizards or answer
questions about things Bob and Otto found peculiar.
Uncle Weed knew the names of most things and they made
up names for the things he didn't. "Someone has to or
did at one time," the three of them determined.

                         * * *

     When they found a comfortable box canyon which met
their needs, Uncle Weed kicked out some sand and threw
down his bedroll. He flopped down, pulled his hat over
his eyes and was asleep in no time.

     Bob and Otto continued exploring, with so much to
Olson / WEED                                              6


see, sleeping seemed a waste of time and a burden.

                          * * *

     By the time they returned to the campsite, Uncle
Weed was almost done with dinner. They all sat down
amongst the tiny cacti and ate pinto beans and homemade
salsa wrapped in flour tortillas. They washed it down
with fresh spring water which poured from a nearby
crevice. Blossoms from a prickly pear provided a tasty
desert.

                          * * *

     They lay down, bellies full, beside their little
fire and told stories. Bob and Otto told about the
Arches and the cave they found while exploring. "Now
you tell us a story, another good one," the boys asked.

     "Alright, alright, once I had a job repairing
lawnmowers and one day this guy comes in and says; Well
I reckon my valve cover gasket is blown to tarnation and
my piston rings aren't seating in the proper
circumference in the cylinder which is resulting in an
acute lack of synchronization in the timing, so as a
result, the camshaft is opening the intake and exhaust
valves on the wrong lobes causing premature wear on the
crankshaft main bearing on account of the push-rod tubes
spurting because the oil cooler isn't. . . "

     "Uncle!   We told you a good story!"


                          * * *


     "What, you didn't like that one?" Uncle Weed
teased. "Well, here's a good one, an important one in
fact." Uncle Weed sat up to tell the story better and
collect his thoughts. "Back when I was about your age,
I think I was eleven, I went with my dad on a trip to a
place not too far away from here. Our friend Ed and his
Olson / WEED                                              7


daughter who was about my age came along as well.
Before we left the city, we bought an old rubber dinghy
at an Army-Navy surplus store and taking just a couple
bags of gear and the clothes on our back, we pushed off
a sandy bank into a beautiful, vibrant river. We
floated down this cascading river for about two weeks."

     "Two weeks in a boat with a girl and the same
clothes!"

                         * * *


      "Don't say anything yet you two, it was amazing.
Anyway, everynight, whenever we felt like it, we pulled
up to a sandy shore or rocky beach up a side canyon and
throw our sleeping bags down on the ground. My dad
would cook up a pot of grub, he used plants, roots,
berries, whatever he could find around. You Grandpa's
real good at that sort of thing you know, cooking and
all."

     "Then," Uncle Weed continued, "We would lie around
the fire and tell about what we had seen, heard,
touched, smelled, tasted and thought that day. Sort of
like what we're doing here. You might think that after
a couple of weeks, you would run out of things to say,
but you wouldn't. Those two weeks could've been a
thousand and you'd still want more. Every time you
would find a perfect view, you would turn around and
find one twice as stunning. Then you would turn your
head again and find something more breathtaking still."


                         * * *


     "There I was, a youngster, out digging the scenery,
while all the other kids went to Disneyland. I wouldn't
trade it for anything, I couldn't. I learned how
important it is to notice every detail possible, to
remember the majesty of the Earth and respect all living
Olson / WEED                                              8


things. There's so much to see and experience but
people still don't notice or even take the time to look
and when they do, it's through the window of a car.
Well, all the more space for us to roam 'eh?" It almost
looked like Uncle weed was crying, not exactly, but sort
of leaking around the eyes.

     "Is that where we're going tomorrow or something?"
 The boys figure that anyplace that got Uncle Weed this
emotional had to quite amazing.

                         * * *

     "I wish we could, but it's closed.   Closed for
renovations."

     "How can they close a river?   You're teasing
again."

     "Well, I'll tell more of the story. Shortly after
we finished our adventure, a bunch of government guys
came and said; "Wow, sure is nice out here but all
canyons look the same and there's plenty of them anyhow.
This one would be ideal for our purposes. Barely anyone
comes here anyhow, we could probably score us some
medals and high-paying office jobs for fixing this place
up."

     Uncle Weed continued, "So they built a huge
concrete plug of a dam. "One of the biggest in the
world," they were proud to say. They went on to build a
matching visitors center, highways and byways, hotels,
marinas, liquor stores, bridges, convenience stores,
government offices, fast food chains, trailer parks and
eventually, a whole town. They called it a National
Recreation Area and received their shiny medals and
increase in dollars. I call it a National Recreation
Slum, a filthy, bathtub playground for the inconsiderate
and wealthy to play with expensive, polluting toys."

     "These politicians felt it was more important to
create electricity to light giant clowns and waving
Olson / WEED                                             9


cowboys in Las Vegas and keep the malls in Phoenix air-
conditioned then it is to preserve a natural splendor
filled with life and history. "All in the name of
progress, can't let technology pass you by, it ain't
worth anything unless it shows a profit," they said, so
they abused it until it did. Now bus-loads of people go
down and gaze with wonder at this glorious piece of
cement and steel, buy postcards and motor on to their
next stop. I don't know about you guys, but I find it
hard to love concrete."

                           * * *

     "Well that's lame. If they did that, why don't we
go down and torch the waving cowboy! Yeah! and throw
rocks at the buildings and tear down the dam!" Bob and
Otto were excited.

     "Well boys, direct action speaks louder than
words!" shouted Uncle Weed.

       "Talk minus action equals nothin'," yelled Otto and
Bob.

     Then, all of a sudden, Uncle Weed hollered, "Who
wants wedgies?" Bob and Otto ran for cover as the
crazy, bearded man chased after them, "Come here you
little revolutionaries, this is tradition." He yanked
Bob from his sleeping bag and climbed up a tree after
Otto. After pulling boths' underwear clear up by their
neck, they groaned, laughed, wrestled and went to bed.


                           * * *

     It was one of those nights where the air is warm
yet crisp. The moon was fat and full and made
everything radiate. The prickly pears, scrub oak,
pinyons, junipers, little flowers on hardy plants cast
long, sharp shadows against the deep orange slickrock.
The desert sounds of scurrying feet, rustling breeze and
creature calling out bounced around the canyons. It
Olson / WEED                                             10


made everything seem comfortable, alive and content. It
was a good night, a good night for just about anything.


                         * * *


     Awhile later, someone singing off in the distance
woke Otto up. "Bob, Bob, hey wake up guy."

     Bob heard it too. Uncle Weed wasn't in his
sleeping bag or anywhere to be seen. "Should we go find
him and see what he's doing?" Bob wondered.

     "No, he's probably just throwing a whiz or
something," Otto answered.

     "Not for that long, c'mon, let's go find him, we'll
surprise him." They could barely make out the words of
the song but it was loud enough to find him easily. He
was just over a few slickrock hills and through a few
stream washes.


                         * * *


     "He looks like the lady in the Sound of Music,"
laughed Bob and Otto, perched up on a hill watching as
Uncle Weed danced around a field. He was spinning and
whirling in just his cut-offs and floppy hat. Every few
feet, he pulled something out of the ground and tossed
it off into the darkness.

     "What's he doing?" the kids wondered. It looked
goofy whatever it was they laughed quietly some more.

     As Uncle Weed got closer, the words became clearer;

          Stealing survey stakes, on a friday night
          stealing survey stakes, by candlelight
          you better not get caught
Olson / WEED                                                11


             you'll be thrown in an institution
             they'll give crazy shots
             then a long conviction.
             Someone's got to do it
             to prevent the mass destruction
             of Earth's private property
             from wholesale degradation.


                            * * *

     "Survey stakes! he's yanking those wooden things,
you know, the ones with the orange on top!" said Bob.

        "What's wrong with those?   Are they dumb?" asked
Otto.

        "I guess, we should ask."


                            * * *

        Uncle Weed's song continued;

             Some people say that we're crazy
             sick and all alone
             we pull up your stakes
             and roll on the ground
             Ha ha hah ha.

     Bob and otto started throwing pebbles at the
dancing man to startle him. All of a sudden, he
vanished, disappeared.

     "Where did he go?    Dang, we must of spooked him,"
said Bob.

     "It was your idea you meathead, we better blaze
back to camp before he discovers us," said Otto.

                            * * *
Olson / WEED                                            12


      They started quietly running back to camp, but
within seconds, Uncle Weed was tackling them into the
sand.

     "You maniacs," he said, out of breath, "You scared
me half to death." He turned around and started
galloping back to the field as if nothing had happened.
 Then he turned around and told them to wait up.

     "See that sign over there," he said, "That's why
we're doing this. That sign announces the building of a
smooth new road that will wind right through here. The
weird thing is, a strong, healthy gravel road goes the
exact same places, it may take an hour longer, but it
works fine."

     "Some people feel that the land belongs to them
only or to one group of people just because they have a
piece of paper stamped by someone," continued Uncle
weed, searching for the best words, "This is alright
sometimes, you need some sense of order, but often,
people try to find personal gain by irresponsibly
manipulating, damaging or destroying the land when its
not necessary."

     "Like stinky factories with thick orange stuff
coming from the smokestacks, making it hard to breathe?"
asked Bob.

     "Or buildings big hotels in the middle of national
parks?" Asked Otto, "Or dumping dangerous trash in the
ocean?"

     "Exactly!" said Uncle Weed, "Sometimes you have to
help the rocks, plants and lizards out a bit, give the
land back the Mother Nature. A lot of great men and
women have been fighting for the planet for years and we
can't let their efforts die."

                         * * *

     The boys sat confused for a minute sorting out what
Olson / WEED                                              13


they had heard.

     "C'mon guys, don't let it get to ya, there's still
a lot more to it then that. Just remember to question
everything someone tries to convince you of and always
think clearly. Let's go back to bed."

     They started back to camp following the trail of
survey stakes, pulling them up along the way and tossing
them into the sagebrush.

                           * * *

     Someone threw a stake and it didn't make the soft
thud of landing on the ground. Instead, there a sharp
metallic ring sounded from the darkness. It must of
landed on a trailer or a bulldozer or something.

                           * * *

       Searchlights came on, the three of them dove and
hid.

     "Bob, bob, is there anyone there?" Otto asked
nervously.

       "There must be, there's lights," answered Bob.

     The bright, yellow lights scanned back and forth
across the area, then a new voice spoke up and it didn't
sound too friendly. "Hey, what's the big idea? Who's
there? What's going on?" The man walked around poking
his flashlight beam under every cactus, bush and beside
every rock.

     "Whoever you are, you better surrender yourselves
now or you'll be in even bigger trouble," called out the
man.

                           * * *

       "Yikes, what are we going to do, where's Uncle
Olson / WEED                                              14


Weed?    He didn't ditch us did he?' Otto whispered.

     "Relax guy, he's over there doing something to that
earthmover machine," answered Bob.

     The new voice spoke again, "I can see you so stand
up and walk towards me with you hands up or else they'll
be some real problems."

     "Bob, what are we gonna do, I think we're in
trouble."

     "Don't worry, he's just trying to psyche us out, he
doesn't know where we are. Uncle Weed won't let us
down, we're safe here I think."

     The man spoke softly now, "Ah, I see, there's the
culprit, there on the machine. a monkeywrencher, toying
with the equipment." He rushed over towards the action,
"Well I ain't letting this maniac radical get away this
time I tell you for sure." His heavy shot-gun made one
noises it does before it a fires, a loud CLICK-CLUNK.
Uncle Weed disappeared again. Vanished.

                            * * *

     The man stood confused for a moment, "Son of a gun,
where did that madman feller go." Then he started
blasting his shotgun all over the place, screaming,
yelling and shooting.

     "Fools, you can't win, you just can't, it's not in
the orders. That's just the nature of the way things
is," he bellowed, his voice shaky and rough.

                            * * *

     "Holy smokes," said the boys, looking down from
their hiding place, "Did he shoot Uncle Weed? This
sucks!"

        "Calm down, Uncle Weed's fine," a voice said.   Bob
Olson / WEED                                             15


and Otto turned around to see an exhausted Uncle Weed
lying down right behind them. "Shh, stay quiet and don't
move." He took off again into the night.

                         * * *

     The man continued blasting off his blunderbuss.
"Gosh dang it, you terrorists, thieves, bad guys,
criminals, justice obstructers, malcontents. You won't
get away!"

     Uncle Weed crept up behind him and leapt into
action. He tackled him to the ground and grabbed his
weapon and tossed it away. They wrestled, kicked,
yelled and worked up a furious cloud of dust.

     "C'mon Uncle Weed!" Bob and Otto cheered, " Waste
him! Give him a wedgie! Piledrive him!"

     "How am I doing guys?"   Uncle Weed called back,
"Should I supplex him?"

     "Arghh!" the man said, "You won't get away, let go
of me! Don't hurt me!" The man huffed and puffed.

     "Hey, don't worry old man, I mean you no harm,"
said Uncle Weed as he hauled his struggling body into
the government issue, corrugated tin trailer.


                         * * *

     He propped his chubby body up against the
refrigerator and duct taped him securely to it. "Well
that ought to hold you for the night my silly friend,"
said Uncle Weed.

     "Mmmmmmmm," struggled the man. from the freezer,
Uncle Weed selected a variety of creamsicles,
fudgesicles and drumsticks. From the cupboard, he
borrwed a handful of popcorn kernels and marshmallows.
Olson / WEED                                            16


     "Listen, my misguided captive," said Uncle Weed, "I
would think twice before I pursued this further, I'd be
quite embarrassed if I was you being defeated by a
skinny, longhair. They might even put you back on
garbage patrol on account of this slacking. I would
sure hate to see that happen. Cheers!" He tipped his
hat, walked out and secured the outside door handles
with the barrel of the gun.

     "Mmmmmmm," mumbled the gagged man.

                         *    * *

     Bob and Otto ran up to Uncle Weed, "Wow, you could
probably take on Jimmy Snuka!"

     "Ah, stop it guys. Hey, go gather up some survey
stakes and three long, skinny branches.

     The three compadres sat around their little fire
eating creamsicles, roasting marshmallows and talking
about what they had seen, heard, smelled, touched,
tasted and thought that day. It was a good night, a
good night for just about anything.



                    -----------------


Dave Olson
P.O. Box 7612
Olympia, WA 98507
www.uncleweed.net

© 1988, written in Orem, UT