Yellow Chat sighting, he looks fit and well, his eyebrows magnificent, and damn
right he's ready for his high noon performance. Our Mockingbird pair are
intensely in love, when he's not following her around and cooing in a sometimes
sickly way he's doing his best to locate nest sites, I guess in the vernacular
"they look cute together." Tree Swallows are debating the merits of a relocated
nest box. Cowbirds have found the Robin nest. A Phoebe, bright in dark places,
has eggs to brood, she's stubborn as a rock in the rafters which Barn Swallows
once owned.
There's a whole thing with Matron Turkeys wandering the hay field hunting down
their nest site so they can lay in plenty of time to contribute their eggs and
sometimes themselves to hay making, their nestlings to the diet of Barred Owls
or play-toys for a cat. I could go on about the Goldfinch dressed in his best
yellow, the blues of the Boy Bluebirds, the flick of a Least Flycatcher's tail,
the folly of Doves in the barn, and the white feather from what has to be a Barn
Owl, but that would be soppy, it would be wandering lonely as a supercilious
cloud, a host of golden Daffodils, when yes indeed I belong to this.
Tuesday, April 24, 2018
Monday, April 23, 2018
Fit to Print
John Walking Stewart once decided to leave London following a pamphlet he'd
written on the subject of a future queen. If I recall he'd taken a position on
the future King of England's choice of wife and what with one thing and another
his pamphlet had raised a suspicion in the authorities that Stewart could well
have been a dangerous radical, well worth keeping an eye on. In those days
pamphlet writing was more like an opinion page in a newspaper or on electronic
devices where this or that pompous ass gets paid or volunteers to interpret the
news of the day for those of us who might be unable or are unwilling to form an
opinion of our own. Generally in those days pamphleteers had to pay the costs of
printing their pamphlets. Over time the more recognizable newspapers emerged
from bright sparks in the printing business who had decided to make their
fortune by combining advertizing, pamphleteering and actual news, all of it
wrapped around the more censorious instincts of the authorities into a source of
constant entertainment as well as a political weapon.
In those days too, an English King's choice of life mate was more about Genetics, European Politics and Religion than it was about glass slippers and swooning. Stewart wasn't big on the existence of God or monarchies yet he found it impossible to remain silent on the revelation that a future king of England had secretly married a Roman Catholic widow. It was marriage declared legitimate by the Pope but the line of succession laws for the English Royals declared that anyone marrying a Catholic couldn't be king. The marriage was finally declared invalid because apparently George III, who was by then totally insane, hadn't given permission. In the end, so that he could be King, George III's eldest son married a solid, properly born daughter of a German Duke. If I recall, after being followed around by agents of the state, Stewart decided to get out of town, visit Lapland for a couple of years until the whole thing blew over.
In those days too, an English King's choice of life mate was more about Genetics, European Politics and Religion than it was about glass slippers and swooning. Stewart wasn't big on the existence of God or monarchies yet he found it impossible to remain silent on the revelation that a future king of England had secretly married a Roman Catholic widow. It was marriage declared legitimate by the Pope but the line of succession laws for the English Royals declared that anyone marrying a Catholic couldn't be king. The marriage was finally declared invalid because apparently George III, who was by then totally insane, hadn't given permission. In the end, so that he could be King, George III's eldest son married a solid, properly born daughter of a German Duke. If I recall, after being followed around by agents of the state, Stewart decided to get out of town, visit Lapland for a couple of years until the whole thing blew over.
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Spelling
Not that it matters any longer, but a Council is deliberative body that
discusses then decides stuff, a Counsel is a source of advice and a Consul is a nation's representative. The
congress is supposed to be a Council. Robert Swan
Mueller III is a Counsel. And Japan has a Consul in
Nashville. One way to remember it goes this way: if you
want advice and a broader opinion you don't just make it
up as you go along, you consult a counsel, if you want
to quarrel and get grumpy you go to a Council and if you
want a visa to visit a foreign land you go to a Consul.
The other thing to recall is that your correspondent is an appalling speller. Grey, Gray, traveler, traveller, whether, weather, seal, ceil, and it just goes on into the wild blue yonder of i before e except after c and whole bunch of things that have been forced upon us by those obsessed by precision in the use of a shared written language. And then there's the idea that not being able to spell is symptomatic of careless, ill discipline mental habits characteristic of those in our number who might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer. Oddly in the arena of Counsels and Consuls precision is advantageous. But when it comes to Councils it's more like a blood sport where pretty much anything goes.
The other thing to recall is that your correspondent is an appalling speller. Grey, Gray, traveler, traveller, whether, weather, seal, ceil, and it just goes on into the wild blue yonder of i before e except after c and whole bunch of things that have been forced upon us by those obsessed by precision in the use of a shared written language. And then there's the idea that not being able to spell is symptomatic of careless, ill discipline mental habits characteristic of those in our number who might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer. Oddly in the arena of Counsels and Consuls precision is advantageous. But when it comes to Councils it's more like a blood sport where pretty much anything goes.
Saturday, April 21, 2018
Olden Days
Like so many things I can't remember with any kind of clarity where I might have
been in the year 1974, let alone what I might have been doing on August 9th of
that year when President Nixon did the sensible thing, put his country out of
its misery, he resigned, disappeared into a comfortable retirement, leaving a
whole bunch of people to face jail time. After much thought, I suspect
that in 1974 I could have been doing shift work for Parcel Department of the
Royal Mail which was located on the west end of the City of Cardiff in South
Wales. It's also possible that on August 9th of that year I was on the night
shift, working the dock, which was a nice job because you could smoke cigarettes
out there.
We were a fairly loose leaf collective, none of us had qualified for the prized role of door to door mail delivery and had been shunted into the recently automated Parcel Department where we essentially just put parcels into mail sacks. Our only important skill was tying the correct label onto the correct mail bag. Those of us who had also failed to master labeling were consigned to the dock where we loaded and unloaded well labeled mail bags. What I do remember with intense clarity, out there in the fresh air, an older dock worker suddenly stopped and said, "Listen." And we all listened to a distant Nightingale serenade a warm night until our supervisor turned up.
We were a fairly loose leaf collective, none of us had qualified for the prized role of door to door mail delivery and had been shunted into the recently automated Parcel Department where we essentially just put parcels into mail sacks. Our only important skill was tying the correct label onto the correct mail bag. Those of us who had also failed to master labeling were consigned to the dock where we loaded and unloaded well labeled mail bags. What I do remember with intense clarity, out there in the fresh air, an older dock worker suddenly stopped and said, "Listen." And we all listened to a distant Nightingale serenade a warm night until our supervisor turned up.
Friday, April 20, 2018
Signs of Spring
Interesting frost on an icy breeze this morning and a Boy Humming Bird sighting.
Could be a rogue Humming Bird, of course. One that's gone completely to the
banana and is drifting through a life dedicated to one day maybe nesting on
Baffin Island. Possibly has a family line which for generations has nested in a
suburb of Montreal, and he's just very anxious to catch up on the gossip. And
there's always a chance he might actually know what he's doing.
Me, as someone who was once viciously harassed by a swarm of young Humming Birds while I was doing the right thing by making pectin free jam, I'm not that fond of them. Close-up they have a very sharp pointed beak and a crazed look in their killer instinct eyes, kind of like a giant Mosquito. No doubt about it their species has been around much longer than the species I have the misfortune to belong to, so they've got that sort of wisdom going for them.
Me, as someone who was once viciously harassed by a swarm of young Humming Birds while I was doing the right thing by making pectin free jam, I'm not that fond of them. Close-up they have a very sharp pointed beak and a crazed look in their killer instinct eyes, kind of like a giant Mosquito. No doubt about it their species has been around much longer than the species I have the misfortune to belong to, so they've got that sort of wisdom going for them.
Thursday, April 19, 2018
Local Gossip
There'll be no Peaches this summer, their blossoms have gone to the cold. Odds
are against the Asian Pear. There's a slight chance of a few Soft Pears if the
Fox Squirrel doesn't get them first. The Potato are struggling. But the first
Compost Pile of the year has achieved 80 Fahrenheit and rising, which is
exciting because in the morning, following tonight's frost, I'll be able to
jiggle the pile's surface a little, see steam and maybe just perch on top of it
for a bit.
Meanwhile I have given consideration to selling my soul to the devil in exchange for an Asparagus Bed in which weeds do not grow. There's a weed in the Asparagus that I've not seen for years, it's what some call Nursery Bane, my own name for it sounds like waking up in the morning to discover your left hand is missing. I've declared Fake News on the Artist's suggestion that these weeds come from the Compost Piles, it's far too obvious to me they arrived in the toe nails of Voles.
Meanwhile I have given consideration to selling my soul to the devil in exchange for an Asparagus Bed in which weeds do not grow. There's a weed in the Asparagus that I've not seen for years, it's what some call Nursery Bane, my own name for it sounds like waking up in the morning to discover your left hand is missing. I've declared Fake News on the Artist's suggestion that these weeds come from the Compost Piles, it's far too obvious to me they arrived in the toe nails of Voles.
Wednesday, April 18, 2018
The Mole
The main problem with Moles is that a person rarely gets to see one. They lurk
around under the ground, they rip through carefully prepared earth, wreack havoc
with the more tender roots, they devour our comrades the worms, they wreck the
appearance of the short grass, and every now and then a gardener spots a little
tickle in the corner of an eye and you know deep down in your soul there's a
Mole moving through the ground, polishing the walls of its tunnel.
Some might come up with something like "how cute," then go on to invest time in attempting to understand the Mole, it's habits, it's life style and its life cycle. Others just see blood, they grab the shovel and proceed to beat the ground as though suddenly possessed by demons. Mostly the results of such a blood thirsty reaction is considerable damage to something like a neatly planted row of Chard. But sometimes there's a victim, it's about the size of a slipper, it has huge paws, a friendly snout, a little tail and very, very soft fur.
Some might come up with something like "how cute," then go on to invest time in attempting to understand the Mole, it's habits, it's life style and its life cycle. Others just see blood, they grab the shovel and proceed to beat the ground as though suddenly possessed by demons. Mostly the results of such a blood thirsty reaction is considerable damage to something like a neatly planted row of Chard. But sometimes there's a victim, it's about the size of a slipper, it has huge paws, a friendly snout, a little tail and very, very soft fur.
Tuesday, April 17, 2018
Cyrus
Old Testament Christians have discovered purpose in the idea of being persecuted
by wishy-washy liberals. We've enslaved them apparently and have dedicated
ourselves to making their lives miserable by doing things like insisting they
put two boys on a wedding cake, our left wing media biased and as a result they
are keenly anticipating a return to the promised land. You jest? I hear the
call. Not at all! It's all in the more confusing parts of Bible, Daniel and
books like that. Goes back to about 500BC when the Babylonians enslaved the
Israelites and being a particularly unpleasant variety of Pagan the Babylonians
took great delight in raising Jerusalem to the ground, enslaving the Israelites
and doing dreadful things like trying to persuade them to give up on their One
True God or face cruel tortures, fiery furnaces, cross dressing and throwing the
stubborn to hungry meat eating wild animals was a Babylonian favorite.
Then a King of Persia, which oddly enough is Iran today, a man called Cyrus defeated a man called Belshazzar who was the vile King of Babylon. Worth noting that both Cyrus and Belshazzar were high order Pagans, we're talking harem owning, throwing to the lions type Pagans who probably never brushed their own teeth or cut their own toe nails. But Cyrus had made a deal with the Israelites and after vanquishing Babylon Cyrus kept his promise and he returned the Israelites to their Jerusalem and to their promised land. It might sound nuts, but the thing is this, in the Old Testament Christian mind we wishy-washy Liberals with our free wheeling and sometimes tolerant ways are kind of like Belshazzar and his Babylonians. The Pagan hero Cyrus and Persian horde, no matter their faults, are kind of like Donald Trump and his Republican party. Where the Old Testament Non-Beatitude reading Christian promised land of milk and honey might be, remains a mystery, but our President and his Republican Party can do no wrong in their eyes.
Then a King of Persia, which oddly enough is Iran today, a man called Cyrus defeated a man called Belshazzar who was the vile King of Babylon. Worth noting that both Cyrus and Belshazzar were high order Pagans, we're talking harem owning, throwing to the lions type Pagans who probably never brushed their own teeth or cut their own toe nails. But Cyrus had made a deal with the Israelites and after vanquishing Babylon Cyrus kept his promise and he returned the Israelites to their Jerusalem and to their promised land. It might sound nuts, but the thing is this, in the Old Testament Christian mind we wishy-washy Liberals with our free wheeling and sometimes tolerant ways are kind of like Belshazzar and his Babylonians. The Pagan hero Cyrus and Persian horde, no matter their faults, are kind of like Donald Trump and his Republican party. Where the Old Testament Non-Beatitude reading Christian promised land of milk and honey might be, remains a mystery, but our President and his Republican Party can do no wrong in their eyes.
Monday, April 16, 2018
Brands of Comfort
It's not what I'd call snow falling from the sky, it's far too heavy to float or
dance around in a very chilly breeze, which gives these April showers an ice
foam and hail quality that quickly reminds a person of his temporal nature and
of how fundamentally unsuited he is to an earthly existence. So it's no wonder a
mind sometimes looks beyond the heavens for solace and finds Planet X which
following its collision with earth in a couple of days times offers the pure a
guarantee of rapture, an eternity of unutterable monotony.
You'd think that in times of uncertainty a gardener would put his slippers on, cuddle up to the teapot and develop the fatalistic attitudes necessary for calm. But no. What happens is that the mind begins to take comfort from theories which in a reasonable world would seem totally absurd. I'm pretty convinced that had I not insisted on putting the Cabbage out early the Strawberry wouldn't have been so tempted to produce a profusion of bloom in plenty of time for the hard freeze tonight.
You'd think that in times of uncertainty a gardener would put his slippers on, cuddle up to the teapot and develop the fatalistic attitudes necessary for calm. But no. What happens is that the mind begins to take comfort from theories which in a reasonable world would seem totally absurd. I'm pretty convinced that had I not insisted on putting the Cabbage out early the Strawberry wouldn't have been so tempted to produce a profusion of bloom in plenty of time for the hard freeze tonight.
Sunday, April 15, 2018
Peanuts and Turtles
With 29 weeks to the midterm elections this November, and some of us are finding
it very difficult to maintain a sense of reasonableness in the face of our
Governor's recent and frequent statements on the subject of our fine state
school teachers who are in the process of setting an excellent example for us
all, including the children. Sadly it's a whole year
and 29 weeks before what's called the Kentucky
Gubernatorial Election in the November of next year. Nor
does name calling add much more to civil
discourse, it's about as as facile as the apology of
thoughts and prayers or a charitable donation.
However, when I first came to the United States I'd never actually concentrated on the word "Gubernatorial." I just assumed that the word "Gubernatorial" was some how related to "Goober," sometimes "Guber." Of its meanings the name "Goober" has an origin in the Bantu for peanut, in the same way that the name "Cooter" has an origin in the Mandigo word for turtle. A bit of a stretch perhaps but in our governor we're looking at an out of control hybrid, a sort of Yahweh of Peanut/McConnell. They are who they are I guess.
However, when I first came to the United States I'd never actually concentrated on the word "Gubernatorial." I just assumed that the word "Gubernatorial" was some how related to "Goober," sometimes "Guber." Of its meanings the name "Goober" has an origin in the Bantu for peanut, in the same way that the name "Cooter" has an origin in the Mandigo word for turtle. A bit of a stretch perhaps but in our governor we're looking at an out of control hybrid, a sort of Yahweh of Peanut/McConnell. They are who they are I guess.
Saturday, April 14, 2018
Tree Swallow
Tree Swallows arrived just in time for the rain. And it does seem that Tree
Swallows always arrive just in time for a period of extended rain followed by a
chill and a little frost that does nothing for anyone's flight feathers. Have to
think that in the community of Tree Swallows there's a classic "there is no
alternative" philosophy of mind. And you have to think some times that Tree
Swallows have at least something in common with the us. Looks pretty, looks
easy, warm enough for insects to swarm and then whoops-a-daisy it's World War I
all over again.
The other thing Tree Swallows have in common with some of us is their twitter habit. They'll sit on the electric line and tweet up a storm, it's more of a clicking sound, but very expressive and usually addressed at blaming no one in particular. Mockingbirds wisely find it irritating and I always reckon this Tree Swallow tirade is addressed directly at me, a sure sign I should probably get out and about a little more. More sobering perhaps is the possibility that Artificial Intelligence if it's to succeed in emulating us needs flesh and bone otherwise it's without purpose.
The other thing Tree Swallows have in common with some of us is their twitter habit. They'll sit on the electric line and tweet up a storm, it's more of a clicking sound, but very expressive and usually addressed at blaming no one in particular. Mockingbirds wisely find it irritating and I always reckon this Tree Swallow tirade is addressed directly at me, a sure sign I should probably get out and about a little more. More sobering perhaps is the possibility that Artificial Intelligence if it's to succeed in emulating us needs flesh and bone otherwise it's without purpose.
Friday, April 13, 2018
New Cracy
"....for the Benefit of knaves at the cost of fools." Yes indeed! My own
preference in the area of morality is the line from Genesis which basically
suggests, "For Esau was an hairy man, but I am an smooth man." And yet you got
to love the wonderful word Katistocracy as used by the former CIA boss John O.
Brennan, in of all things a tweet, "Your Katistocracy is collapsing after its
lamentable journey." Call him the Samuel Johnson of the secret services, and
wait around for "Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel." Mind you, I'm
with Lemuel Caution on this one. "Slimeball," says it all.
I imagine in the CIA, cracies of all kinds are regularly discussed and joked about, probably a long list of them have to be memorized otherwise you're considered a moron, but I had to look up Katistocracy. I assumed it had purring animal connotations, Lions, Hyena, Bears, Rabbits, Guinea Pigs, that sort of thing. I was wrong. The "kati" part of the word comes from the Greek for the very worst, totally useless, fit only to be thrown away. The "cracy" part comes from the Greek word for style of rule. Over the years those more faint hearted in our number have yearned for a return to an Arthurian wet dream of Aristocracy and they have questioned the capacity of Democracy to avoid becoming a Katistocracy.
I imagine in the CIA, cracies of all kinds are regularly discussed and joked about, probably a long list of them have to be memorized otherwise you're considered a moron, but I had to look up Katistocracy. I assumed it had purring animal connotations, Lions, Hyena, Bears, Rabbits, Guinea Pigs, that sort of thing. I was wrong. The "kati" part of the word comes from the Greek for the very worst, totally useless, fit only to be thrown away. The "cracy" part comes from the Greek word for style of rule. Over the years those more faint hearted in our number have yearned for a return to an Arthurian wet dream of Aristocracy and they have questioned the capacity of Democracy to avoid becoming a Katistocracy.
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
New Leaf
Your correspondent may well have spent much of the past four months complaining
about the appalling weather, the political circumstance, his declining
capacities, his teeth, his struggle to eat lunch without becoming psychotic, his
rejection of Saint Patrick as the go to patron saint for Potato, but no longer.
A bright new golden leaf is to be turned.
It's a simple, familiar story of a non-smoking, elderly neighbor who decided he'd gained weight as a result of giving up on his annual Tobacco crop. This year the neighbor is growing Tobacco, and your correspondent will be serving as apprentice. Got the sticks, thousands of them, ground is ploughed, loan of a carousel planter secured, seedlings arrive around May 20th.
It's a simple, familiar story of a non-smoking, elderly neighbor who decided he'd gained weight as a result of giving up on his annual Tobacco crop. This year the neighbor is growing Tobacco, and your correspondent will be serving as apprentice. Got the sticks, thousands of them, ground is ploughed, loan of a carousel planter secured, seedlings arrive around May 20th.
Monday, April 9, 2018
Cryptography
Warren Buffet might well be looking at Bitcoins. Me, I have come to the
conclusion that I'm just too far gone to grasp them much beyond an understanding
that they offer an attempt to introduce an entirely digital alternative to the
established means of exchange. A brave new frontier, heavily reliant upon the
electric supply and a functioning internet, or Blind Faith as we call it round
here.
I do know that during the times of the Roman Empire, Emperors who were a little short on cash often chose to mint new coins. And on one occasion an Emperor minted so many new coins that the means of exchange became worthless and much of the Empire was reduced to bartering. So we've got that to look forward to. Two fresh Eggs for a can of Tomato.
I do know that during the times of the Roman Empire, Emperors who were a little short on cash often chose to mint new coins. And on one occasion an Emperor minted so many new coins that the means of exchange became worthless and much of the Empire was reduced to bartering. So we've got that to look forward to. Two fresh Eggs for a can of Tomato.
Sunday, April 8, 2018
Sunday Afternoon
I've never liked Sunday afternoons. Sunday mornings aren't too bad but Sunday
afternoons are empty, restless places, with absolutely nothing going for them.
Nor does the internet work very well on Sunday afternoons, so a person is down
to reading a book if they wish to escape.
Fortunately I have been able to download Peter Cheyney's entire Dark Series. It's the Second World War, and Cheyney's hero is hunting down spies, leering at female night club singers and playing very loose with the rules so that the novelist might find ever more endearing descriptions of cigarette smoking. It's a feast.
Fortunately I have been able to download Peter Cheyney's entire Dark Series. It's the Second World War, and Cheyney's hero is hunting down spies, leering at female night club singers and playing very loose with the rules so that the novelist might find ever more endearing descriptions of cigarette smoking. It's a feast.
Saturday, April 7, 2018
Big Chill
Frigid outside, it's wet with wind, hell on the gloves, it feels like minus 20
Fahrenheit, a Naraka not even the Tibetans can imagine. Currently the whole
business of blanketing delicate little dears with row cloth is a subject and not
a target, but if it gets any colder all of us will become witnesses to a night
of biting frost that will live in infamy.
And of course tomorrow there will be wailing, gnashing, the whole panoply of regret, self recrimination followed by a re-education program that will include the understanding that winter doesn't really end until something like the end of May. Last time we had a beginning of April like this there was drought through the Fall. The notebook's faded and coffee stained but that year looks like 2007, or 2005, I think.
And of course tomorrow there will be wailing, gnashing, the whole panoply of regret, self recrimination followed by a re-education program that will include the understanding that winter doesn't really end until something like the end of May. Last time we had a beginning of April like this there was drought through the Fall. The notebook's faded and coffee stained but that year looks like 2007, or 2005, I think.
Friday, April 6, 2018
Tidings
Very important to retain a positive attitude, and I'll tell you why. Imagine if
you will, something like a forecast for wind, rain, freezing rain, snow followed
by rain, followed by temperatures in the lower twenties, followed by a dentist
appointment. And all this in the first week of April.
It's a dire and terrible image, probably totally fanciful, the act of a perverse imagination, can't possibly be true, clearly the work of a Russian Bot hell bent on creating a moral panic, I know. But does no good to find a bed to hide under, curl up, enter the fetal position and utter the occasional primal scream.
It's a dire and terrible image, probably totally fanciful, the act of a perverse imagination, can't possibly be true, clearly the work of a Russian Bot hell bent on creating a moral panic, I know. But does no good to find a bed to hide under, curl up, enter the fetal position and utter the occasional primal scream.
Thursday, April 5, 2018
Travel as Therapy
Took the big road yesterday toward that part of the world where the fences are
all about wood and weedeaters, none of this elegant wire strand with honeysuckle
and briar. Up there it's an anal esthetic that produces a dull landscape with
few redeeming features. It's where fields are mowed regularly so that over
priced Horses do whatever over priced Horses do to earn their keep. Must say you
have to admire the French, at least they see nothing wrong with eating horses.
Otherwise it was sunny day with a very cold wind, which was spent mostly amongst fast drivers, none of whom waved and most of whom seemed attached to their mobile telephones. All I can say it's just as well the Artist was the motive force behind the adventure, the theory being that a Shut-In should occasionally be prized away from the every day. Call it a new age electric shock therapy. My reward three small jars of incredibly over priced Marmite.
Otherwise it was sunny day with a very cold wind, which was spent mostly amongst fast drivers, none of whom waved and most of whom seemed attached to their mobile telephones. All I can say it's just as well the Artist was the motive force behind the adventure, the theory being that a Shut-In should occasionally be prized away from the every day. Call it a new age electric shock therapy. My reward three small jars of incredibly over priced Marmite.
Tuesday, April 3, 2018
The Menace of Bald Eagles
As a Secondary Caregiver for two small somewhat self centered domestic felines I
am not in the least excited by the reappearance of the local Bald Eagle.
Fortunately Bald Eagle are an idle creature, they'd rather steal food from
others than actually go to the effort of risking feather damage by hunting it
down themselves. But there's always the chance of an anomalous behavior from
them. Good mind to nip down to the local merchant, purchase an overstocked
Remington AR 15 and a secondhand camouflage jacket with which to patrol the
perimeters. Thank God the Nearctic Golden Eagle is way up in the north, north. I
claim Fake News on the heart stopping suggestion they winter in the top part of
Indiana. Golden Eagle have been known to take Lambs and Foxes.
Does strike me that an AR 15 might not be the best weapon to make short work of a Bald Eagle. It has excellent range, but a moving target that jumps out of nowhere and flies with some agility requires something like an Oerlikon 35 mm twin cannon with radar fire control. Old fashioned, I know, but Sadly such a venerable anti aircraft gun needs a team of well trained and like minded souls, otherwise there's a great deal of collateral damage, and every time you pull the trigger, dispatch a burst of 20 odd shells, you've spent around a hundred dollars with no guarantee of a bulls eye. It's a cost factor that can really only be made up by selling tickets, and in this wimpy age of instant gratification, fast food and online shopping not sure that I'd sell many.
Does strike me that an AR 15 might not be the best weapon to make short work of a Bald Eagle. It has excellent range, but a moving target that jumps out of nowhere and flies with some agility requires something like an Oerlikon 35 mm twin cannon with radar fire control. Old fashioned, I know, but Sadly such a venerable anti aircraft gun needs a team of well trained and like minded souls, otherwise there's a great deal of collateral damage, and every time you pull the trigger, dispatch a burst of 20 odd shells, you've spent around a hundred dollars with no guarantee of a bulls eye. It's a cost factor that can really only be made up by selling tickets, and in this wimpy age of instant gratification, fast food and online shopping not sure that I'd sell many.
Monday, April 2, 2018
Potato Angst
Saint Patrick might not be the go to Saint for Irish Potato planting. He was
what's called a Roman-British Christian. His dates are the Fifth Century,
which is somewhere between 400 AD to 500 AD. He probably knew spoken Latin and
his first visit to the Emerald Isle was as a result of being kidnapped by
pirates, sold to an Irish Farmer who set him to work in the fields. He escaped,
somehow he made his way back to the British Island and having fallen madly in
love with an Irish Lass during his captivity he determined to mend his broken
heart by returning to Ireland. Quite how he did it, no one knows, but he got
funding from Rome on the understanding that he'd lead a mission to convert the
Irish Celts. In those days Boy Saints were allowed to do things like get married
and stuff. Those of us who are alive today know that Europe had to wait for
around a thousand years before the first Potato arrived from the New World. In
short your gardener is beginning to wonder whether his Potato crop has drowned.
Potato plants in these parts do not struggle against the Deer. One nibble of a Potato leaf and that's it for Deer. But at this time of year there is nothing a Deer likes better than to find a neatly dug and raked patch of unfenced ground to stomp around on. It must have something to do with foot-care. But if that piece of ground has shallow Potato trenches waiting patiently for signs of something like a Potato crop, Deer tend to consider it necessary to walk up and down in those shallow trenches, churning up the mud in a manner that an emissary from Rome would consider high end barbaric behavior that was totally beyond redemption. There'd be a Jihad or an Edict and images of Deer would be removed from stain glass windows. All this requires a total reappraisal of Potato planting time, and none of this pathetic clinging to "well it's Saint Patrick's Day, aren't I clever." Even less exciting is local lore which declares that if it rains on April 1st, you got seventeen wet days in the month of April. Guess what? It rained yesterday.
Potato plants in these parts do not struggle against the Deer. One nibble of a Potato leaf and that's it for Deer. But at this time of year there is nothing a Deer likes better than to find a neatly dug and raked patch of unfenced ground to stomp around on. It must have something to do with foot-care. But if that piece of ground has shallow Potato trenches waiting patiently for signs of something like a Potato crop, Deer tend to consider it necessary to walk up and down in those shallow trenches, churning up the mud in a manner that an emissary from Rome would consider high end barbaric behavior that was totally beyond redemption. There'd be a Jihad or an Edict and images of Deer would be removed from stain glass windows. All this requires a total reappraisal of Potato planting time, and none of this pathetic clinging to "well it's Saint Patrick's Day, aren't I clever." Even less exciting is local lore which declares that if it rains on April 1st, you got seventeen wet days in the month of April. Guess what? It rained yesterday.
Sunday, April 1, 2018
Hedges
Quite a confluence. A Savior rising from the dead and April 1st. In the interest
of harmony and as a contribution to the great oneness I'll make no joke about
the Easter Bunny summing a conjoining of themes, nor will I mention an origin of
April Fools Day which had to do with a chance to laugh at those in the Middle
Ages who stubbornly continued to celebrate the new year between March 25th and
the first day of April, despite reprimands from the King of France to get with
the January 1st program and jolly well enjoy it or suffer the consequences. Mind
you beginning the year at the end of March does make great sense to me which
puts me firmly on the side of the heathen.
Then there's hedging. One of the true mysteries of life is a fast growing evergreen plant that achieves noble stature within a few brief years, totally blocks out the neighbors, lasts for eternity, never needs to be trimmed and is immune to all pests. Once upon a time that plant was called Leyland Cypress, which in my life time is a plant that's been a great source of employment, of the millions planted I think I might have been paid to remove several hundred. More recently the new miracle hedge is a cross between an Arborvitae of Japanese origin and a Red Cedar. It's called Thuja Green Giant. No one knows quite how tall they grow, or how they manage through the intense stress of aging because they've only been in existence for around forty years. The saplings of Thuja Green Giant we planted here, twelve or so years ago, are getting on for thirty foot and are very prone to Bagworm.
Then there's hedging. One of the true mysteries of life is a fast growing evergreen plant that achieves noble stature within a few brief years, totally blocks out the neighbors, lasts for eternity, never needs to be trimmed and is immune to all pests. Once upon a time that plant was called Leyland Cypress, which in my life time is a plant that's been a great source of employment, of the millions planted I think I might have been paid to remove several hundred. More recently the new miracle hedge is a cross between an Arborvitae of Japanese origin and a Red Cedar. It's called Thuja Green Giant. No one knows quite how tall they grow, or how they manage through the intense stress of aging because they've only been in existence for around forty years. The saplings of Thuja Green Giant we planted here, twelve or so years ago, are getting on for thirty foot and are very prone to Bagworm.
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