modern housing = toxic, indentured servitude

how to break free of economic slavery

Bamboo house in Bali. Architecture by Imbuku.

Some declined the jabs because they refused to give up their Sacred right to have autonomy over their body.

Some didn’t wear a mask because they refused to give up Constitutional and Sacred rights to express themselves.

Some didn’t lock down because they refused to give up Constitutional and Sacred rights move about freely.

Shouldn’t our financial freedom and the right to live in a nontoxic house be equally important? The economic, psychological and health issues that arise from signing away thirty years of ones life to live in toxic, indentured servitude to the predatory globalists is a very high price to pay.

And why is it that we don’t have Constitutional protection for our bodies?

And now those same predatory globalists, the BlackRocks, Vanguards and State Streets of the world, are buying up houses across the country, rehabbing them with the latest toxic materials and forcing people to live in lifelong, toxic servitude.

For most people, buying a house is the largest financial transaction they’ll ever take on. And that modern house is part of a much older and vastly larger con game than the one perpetrated by the predatory globalists during covidcon. The toxic housing/economic slavery agenda is funded by the same globalist bankers that have funded all the other profitable wars against humanity, including the current depopulation agenda via jabs, 5G, geoengineering and the wars in Ukraine and the Middle East.

A mere hundred years ago a family could build a comfortable home without the need to jump through any regulatory hoops. Most importantly, they could pay for it on a single, meager, income.

Today, many families with two or three incomes cannot afford to buy an older house, let alone a new one.

How did this housing crises come about?

Let’s talk about that. More importantly, let’s consider how to bypass the globalist housing agenda to build a comfortable, nontoxic home without going into debt.

Let’s also consider how doing so can help bring down the financial system that has far too many people indentured into economic slavery.

why is housing so important?

Before I pick up the trail from the last post, it seems important to clarify why this is all so important.

Historically - thousands of years ago - housing was mostly a matter of energy and local resources. If the house made efficient use of local resources and was efficient to live in, the owner/builder could build a more comfortable house with fewer local resources. The less resources needed the healthier the local landscape. Everyone and everything benefited from that ethos.

Today, banks have tossed that historically sound ethos out the window in favor of one that favors the opposite approach - consumption of vast amounts of energy and huge amounts of resources that come from as far away as possible. Why? Because of a thing called embodied energy. The more embodied energy a building material has, the more expensive it is. The more expensive it is the more your house will cost. The more your house costs, the more money the bank makes. As I pointed out last time, all of this has been compounded by doubling, then tripling the amount of resources used to build the average home. No wonder banksters are having ongoing field days!

We cannot go into our local forest or woodland to cut steel beams and metal studs. Nor can we gather copper pipe, electrical wire or windows from our local landscape. All of these materials are mined from the earth in ways that consume vast amounts of energy. Most of them are then made into beams, studs, pipe, wire and glass in ways that require even more unimaginable amounts of energy. Then there is the fact that all of this is done in parts of the world that are often on the other side of the earth from where they will be utilized in the construction of a house in the US. The amount of embodied energy that exists in the typical modern house quickly becomes apparent. This foreign resource/energy paradigm is what has made shipping one of the largest industries on earth.

Then we have to add to this the fact that all of these industries and their banks have powerful lobbies that constantly lobby the US government to add ever more new regulations to the building code, all of which require more resources and embodied energy. All of that further drives up the cost of new homes.

Alternatively, many of us can go out into our local forest and woodlands to gather stones, harvest tree branches and cut reed or palm fronds for thatched roofing to build a safe, natural house. Some of us can do some of that on our own property. More on that coming up.

When my parents were young there was no requirement for electrical outlets. I know because the house in which I spent the first few years of my life had no electricity. By the time I was eight the building code required one electrical outlet per room. Then it became one per wall. Today, in some jurisdictions, it’s one every eight feet. Why? So there is more embodied energy in the house and so there are more places to plug in all the widgets that Madison Avenue wants to sell you. Of course that also means more EMF’s. All of that may be profitable for globalist corporations, but it’s unprofitable for a young couple looking to buy a home. Those who are able to buy have been sold a bill of toxic goods embodied with lots of energy that will take lifetimes to recoup.

As will be pointed out, except for the most stark desert, there are few places on earth that don’t have the local resources needed to build a nontoxic home.

As for the unconstitutional, freedom sapping, regulatory aspects imposed by money grubbing bankers and their lackeys in gubberment, that’ll be a whole ‘nuther series of posts.

onward

After leaving Hawaii I returned to Southern California… for a time. By then I knew that was not where I wanted to be. The traffic and pollution of Southern California was taking a toll on my psyche. But I also knew I could always make a living there designing and installing landscapes.

Then Mexico began to beckon. I decided to throw caution the the wind and heed that call.

mexico

Because I was traveling a lot in those years, I may have the time frame on some of this a bit out of order. I think it was in late 1979 that I drove my 1972 Chevy Luv truck down the Baja California peninsula - a long drive I had made several times - to meet a friend who was conducting a whale watching expedition in Magdalena Bay, Baja California Sur.

Let’s call him Bart.

From there we went down to check on my small travel trailer that I kept at the southern tip of Baja California on a small rancho owned by a friend. This place was located about half way between Cabo San Lucas and San Jose del Cabo, both of which were still largely undeveloped fishing villages back then. We spent a week on the beach there. Then we drove north to La Paz to put ourselves and my truck on the ferry that crosses the Gulfo de California from La Paz. Sixteen hours later we arrived in Mazatlan. From there we headed south, down the West coast of Mexico.

Long story short, over the next four months we circumnavigated the country of Mexico - mostly down the West coast, across the mountains of Chiapas (just north of Guatemala), with a side tour into Belize, just stepping into Guatemala. Then back up the East coast of Mexico, crossing into the US at Brownsville, Texas.

That was how I came to fall in love with Mexico - the people, the landscape, the food, the various indigenous cultures, the whole enchilada.

Because I did most of the driving and because it was my truck, I wanted to see more of the countryside and less of cities. Bart wanted to see the cities. I initially agreed to compromise a bit… until my truck got broken into in Guadalajara. After that we traveled through ever more rural areas, taking lots of backroads. The one thing we both agreed on was to see as many archeological ruins as possible. That turned out to be a really good decision. Back then we were able to freely explore many ruins unencumbered. Because of their sensitive nature, some of those ruins have since been closed to the public. Those explorations triggered an ongoing interest in the ancient history of earth. At some point I hope to devote a series of posts to that topic.

Because there were no laundry mats in the countryside and because we often camped, we did our laundry and bathed in rivers alongside the locals. We offered rides to anyone we saw walking along the highway. This led to being invited into the homes of campesinos to eat some of the best wild crafted and traditionally cooked meals I’ve eaten in my life.

Many people went barefoot because they had no shoes. Some of tribes wore only traditional hand spun, hand woven clothing.

Looking back on that trip now, I’m so happy I threw caution to the wind and went when I did. Many of the places and cultures I saw back then have since had their long held traditions destroyed by the introduction of electricity, satellite tv, medical clinics (traditional herbalism is now almost gone), highways and all the other trappings of modern syphilization. The last vestige of tradition to go was indigenous, vernacular construction. But if one knows where to look, some can still be found.

One of the things that stood out the most about that trip were the numerous homes we were invited into that were made of completely of naturally occurring, local resources. Some of the most elegant were simple homes made with mud, stones and tree branches right from the building site. The materials and techniques used had changed little over the past two thousand years.

primitive construction is amazing

Today, material’s and construction techniques that can be worked by hand or with a simple tools like an axe or a machete are sometimes referred to as primitive construction. Don’t be fooled. As the photos and videos below show, primitive does not mean uncomfortable, dirty or impractical.

It’s important to cover primitive construction because it provides a foundation for the techniques and materials we can employ today to overcome our current housing travails. It also provides a stark contrast that highlights how far we’ve strayed from safe, comfortable, affordable housing.

If we follow the evolutionary thread of primitive construction through to the present, we arrive at what many today call natural construction. That’s a vast topic that I’ll only begin to touch on later in this post. For now let’s return to the fascinating and diverse world of primitive construction. Today we’ll look at two earthen wall systems. Other systems will be covered later.

adobe and rammed earth

One of the more common building systems that evolved in many of the drier climates of the world is adobe construction. In north America this included the southern third of Arizona (where I now live), the Rio Grande Valley of New Mexico, parts of Western Texas, stretching south to encompass much of Mexico (especially northwest Mexico).

People often mistakenly credit the arrival of the Spaniards with earthen construction. However, rammed earth construction evolved here in Arizona well before their arrival. Casas Grandes is a rammed earth site that began to arise around 800 to 1,200 AD. There is a much larger rammed earth site of a similar age just south of Douglas, Arizona in Chijuajua, Mexico (photo below). Even older Hohokum and Anasazi sites made of mud and stone exist in the canyon systems throughout the southwest, but those deserve their own post.

What the Spaniards brought with them was a method of making blocks from mud and laying them up like brick. In some areas, grass or straw was added to the mud mix.

But this didn’t originate with the Spanish. It was a Moorish technique that the Moors brought with them and implanted on the Iberian peninsula during their 700 year long stay there. The Spanish inherited the Moorish adobe system.

The Moors likely adopted it from earlier cultures along the Tigris and Euphrates who may have adopted it from Babylon. They likely got it from the Anunnaki. Were talking really old now - possibly as long as eight or nine thousand years ago. Some say before the Younger Dryas, which occurred around eleven or twelve thousand years ago.

To say that adobe has withstood the test of time would be an understatement.

For the typical, primitive adobe home builder anywhere in the ancient world, sizable stones laying around the building site would be gathered and laid up without the use of mortar (dry) to create a foundation. Water, manure from ruminants (camel, oryx, deer, goats, cattle) would be added to soil in a pit and mixed well with bare feet to form a thick mud. That mix was then placed in forms to make the shape of a rectangular block. The form was then quickly removed (see video below). The blocks were allowed to cure in the sun for several weeks until hard. At this point they’re called adobes (ah-dough-bees).

Here in Arizona and throughout much of Mexico, this mix was improved by the addition of fermented nopal juice. Nopal are cactus - various members of the genus Opuntia - a few of which have been somewhat domesticated. They’ve been used by humans for food, fiber, medicine and as a building material for thousands of years by native tribes from Arizona south to central Mexico: the Tohono O’Odham, the Pima, the Seri, the Mayo (not to be confused with the Maya), the Huichol, the Aztec and just about every other tribe in the adobe/nopal region of Arizona and northwest Mexico. Like the Moors, these people all learned about it from their much more ancient predecessors.

There are dozens of wild species that also produce edible fruit and can be used medicinally.

Where I live, Opuntia ficus indica is the most commonly used species. It’s also one of the most domesticated, with very few thorns. My huerta de nopal has about 75 to 100 plants, many of which are nearly twice as tall as I am. Some of them weigh several tons and produce tens of thousands of delicious fruit nearly every spring.

I’ve made fermented nopal juice by the barrel to use in adobe mixes and earthen plasters. The pads are cut from the plant with a machete, then roughly chopped into smaller pieces and tossed into a barrel. The barrel is then filled with water and left to sit in the sun. In a few days it begins to bubble as microbes work their magic and begin the fermentation process. The trick is to stop the fermentation before it goes south. If it does so, it’s worthless as an addition to adobe. This is because the microbes can break down the valuable lignin’s and fibers to the point of making them useless.

Fermented nopal works as a stabilizer, adhesive, hardener and binder. It’s also added to the adobe (earthen) mortar mix used to lay-up the blocks, which helps make the mix more workable and tackier.

The end result are blocks and walls that are much harder and more weather resistant.

Opuntia ficus indica - nopal

The adobes are then laid-up on the stone foundation to create a very thick, very sturdy wall. If the campesino could afford a window or a door, they would be installed as the blocks are laid.

sisal rope

Upon reaching the top of the wall, simple beams and rafters would be cut from nearby trees with an obsidian axe. Today, a machete would be used by campesinos. Typically these beams and rafters were just branches. The only time entire trees were cut down was for use in larger, community buildings like Kivas.

These branches would often be lashed together with rope called sisal. Sisal is the fiber from Agave sisalana. The making of this rope is a cottage industry in northwestern region of Mexico that dates back thousands of years. Although the introduction of machinery has led to the demise of this cottage industry, many charros still prefer to use hand made, sisal lariats. This has helped to keep a few sisal artisans employed. Here is a traditional sisal artisan crafting some rope.

sinew lashing

Sinew is a very tough tendon from the back of herbivores. Traditionally it was used to make bowstrings, to sew leather clothing, moccasins, utilitarian items, as well as for hafting. It was also used to lash poles and beams together in primitive construction.

When sinew is wet it expands. As it drys, it shrinks. This means that when it’s used to tie rafters to beams for a traditional thatched roof in its wet state, it will dry/shrink to a tightness difficult to achieve with other lashing materials.

purlins

Once the basic framework of the roof is complete, the purlins are then lashed on.

Purlins are the horizontal members onto which the roofing, typically palm thatching, is lashed. They are placed a strategic distance part to make the overlap of the palm fronds shed rain well enough to keep the living space secure and dry. Historically, along the Western slope of the northern Sierra Madre, the preferred material for purlins was a bamboo native to that region, known by locals as Otatea (Otatea acuminata azecorum). Due to overgrazing and deforestation, this bamboo is nearly extinct in its native habitat. This one is growing in Quail Botanical Gardens in Encinitas, California.

Another plant that’s still commonly used for purlins is a shrubby tree known as Vara Blanca. I believe its botanical name is Croton fantzianus. It gets a little confusing because the campesinos (the people of the land) tend to use the same common name for several species of plants.

Vara Blanca is also used as latas (the Spanish term) or wattle (the English term) to create a framework for what is known in English as wattle and daub (see video). In Spanish this technique is called bahareque (see video). However, bahareque is typically a more robust system than wattle and daub. I’ll get into that later.

Here is a short video by Benito and Kalin Steen, two of Bill and Athena Steen’s sons, showing some basic earthen wall systems. More on the Steen’s shortly. The walls are part of Benito’s traditional timber frame shop.

thatching

Once the purlins were securely lashed, the roof was thatched with native palm fronds. Here in Arizona, prior to the arrival of the Spaniards, that would have been with our native Washington filifera.

As Spaniards made their way north they brought with them the seeds of another palm native to Mexico, Washingtonia robusta.

For those who have never seen traditional palm thatching, it’s beautiful. It’s an exquisite craft that I’ve had the chance to practice a little bit. Fortunately, this craft has been making a comeback in many parts of the world, including Mexico.

Wait a minute. Palm thatch as a roofing material?

As the crow flies, just a few hundred miles south of where I live is an ejido in the foothills of Sonora called Paradones. This community is centered on a disperse grove of diminutive palm trees known by the locals as Sabal. Groves of these palms are scattered along the Western slope of the northern Sierra Madre. Like Otatea, botanists honored this traditional name by naming the palm Sabal Urisana - Urisana is the name of a town that has existed along the Rio Sonora for as long as anyone can remember. This palm is not common, existing only in remote regions where there is sufficient surface water. Paradones is blessed with hundreds of springs. Unlike the palms used in much of the rest of the world that have a lifespan as a roof of about 3 to 5 years, the fronds - know as pencas - of these Sabal have a lifespan of 25 years or more, surpassing the lifespan of many modern roofing materials. (The 15 year old modern roofing on my house needs to be replaced.). The people of this community make a living by sustainably harvesting these pencas. To insure an ongoing occupation for their grandchildren, they plant seeds to replace older palms as they wane or die off.

The traditional village of Paradones Sonora Mexico with native Sabal growing all around.

Pencas of Sabal Urisana.

The last three photos above show some of the palm thatching from the inner courtyard of the FAI straw bale office building in Obregon, Sonora (photos by Bill Steen). The pencas came from Paradones. This is where I learned how to do palm thatching.

In the southern portions of Mexico a simplified version of the bahareque format was traditionally employed.

While on the previously discussed trip, Bart and I spent three weeks camping on the beach near what was at that time the tiny village of Tulum.

On our way to Tulum we crossed the Sierra Madre de Chiapas and found the remote waterfall now known as Augua Azul. While camping there for several days we met some French-Canadian gals who decided to travel with us to the Caribbean coast near Tulum.

We found a secluded beach near Tulum and set up the camp where we spent the next three weeks.

I dodged barracuda and sharks in the coral reef to spear fish for lunch. The French-Canadian gals gathered wild fruit along the coastline and Bart climbed coconut palms to cut fresh coconuts with my machete. In the evenings we would swim in a nearby fresh water cenote to wash off the days accumulation of sand and salt. While swimming one of us had to keep watch for the alligators that prowled all the wild cenotes of that area.

For a respite from the tropical sun we would all occasionally head into the village of Tulum to a small restaurant. Actually it was a house that belonged to a widow with kids. She served some very nice traditional cooking of the area.

We often had to chase the chickens off the two tables and six chairs before siting down. Once the food was served we then had to watch out for a spider monkey that would swoop down from the rafters to steal food from our plates. That little monkey was quick as lightening.

This house showcased the traditional construction format of the region. It was built using the single thickness bahareque (wattle and daub) format. The latas were woven between vertical poles that were spaced closer together than the poles in the houses in Paradones. The private areas of the house were plastered on the inside and outside with earthen mud. The rafter system was similar to the one described earlier, which provided a great indoor jungle gym for the spider monkey. The palm thatched roof had a very pronounced overhang to protect the mud on the exterior from the tropical rains. If the mud became eroded after several years, it only took a few days to replaster.

Due to the discovery of this area by globalist developers, Tulum is now a crass, butt ugly, over-developed, high-end Mecca for well-to-do travelers looking for a “luxurious”, tropical vacation.

The charming vernacular architecture of Tulum has been replaced with an architectural style that Bamboo builder John Hardy (Bali) appropriately calls Brutalism. Tourists now spend ten thousand dollars or more to exist for two weeks in a prison-like, heartless, concrete box exposed to large amounts of EMF’s, 5G and wifi while surrounded by thousands of others doing the same.

The beaches are now clogged with Sargasso seaweed for much of the year due to the out-of-balance PH and excessive levels of nitrates in the water. The fabulous, pristine coral reefs in which I speared fish forty four years ago are now disappearing.

No one will ever again be able to experience the charm and soul replenishing nature of that area as we experienced it forty four years ago in January of 1980.

Next I’ll be covering the three years I spent working with Bill and Athena Steen innovating the construction of low income straw bale homes in southern Sonora Mexico for Fundación de Apoyo Infantil Sonora (FAI).

Bill and Athena also designed and supervised the construction of a five thousand square foot straw bale office building for FAI. Much of the work was done by a family of local artisans, but we all pitched in as needed.

With the exception of a few beams in parts of the roof and a little concrete in the floors, all of the materials used to build this were locally derived; straw bales, mud and carriso (a local reed). Interior plasters were all done with local clay’s.

This project kicked-off an ongoing straw bale construction revolution in Mexico.

Here is of some of that work.

The exterior of the FAI straw bale office building. In the foreground is a newly planted heurta de nopal. Can you spot all of the bamboo and moringa I planted there?

A truth window. Yes, that’s the straw bales on the inside of the wall. Raised relief by Athena Steen.

These floor tiles were hand-cast concrete that were then stained.

These shelves were built by a mother/daughter duo using carriso and mud. Carriso was also used to create the vaulted roof.

The pattern carved into the earthen wall plaster was done by Athena Steen. Regional artisanal furniture.

In the foreground is a retaining wall made of urbanite - broken up slabs of sidewalks and streets that had been dumped by the city of Obregon on a lot across the street. I got permission from the Mayor to use this material. To the best of my knowledge, the wall above was the first use of this resource in this way. It’s now used all over the world. To cover all the work I’ve done with Urbanite will require another post.

Photos by Bill Steen. For more about the Steens work, go here.

The FAI office building is next-level primitive construction, now known as natural building. Much more on that coming up.