Oh thanks,

to Sherry for throwing her annual Halloween/B-day bash. Same beautiful location as the last party up in Olinda. October 25th, 2233 Olinda road. Pot luck. Dress to scare. Prizes awarded for blood and gore, best slutty look, best Einstien imitation and showing up buck nekkid. Starts at 5pm and ends when someone can't stop saying Booowaaahahahahahhhhaaaaaa...........

Also to nurse Lindsey for writing in and suggesting that I post a link to the blog page and send it out to the email list so that the latest edited offering of mental flotsom, bubbling to the surface with distressing regularity is but a double click away.

Here's a quick tutorial:

Click here to enjoy (or disparage) this weeks blog, www.ranchorelaxzo.com/blog/ , and hey, while your at it, why not check out our selection of farm fresh delectables and House of Yumm scrummies at www.ranchorelaxzo.com/c-s-a/ .

"Is that it unky Jp, its that easy?" "Thats right little feller, even a tiny tard like yourself could do it."

So you can keep reading it here, or take the leap through cyberspace and find yourself immersed in our moderately captivating and spell checked website. Soon, however, you will have no choice in the matter. Such is my hunger for control. Yes, momentary control of your funbone. No matter how hard you try to resist clicking on the link you will be compelled like a moth to the flame, a compulsive gambler to the game. an ego to the promise of fame.

Think Muddy Waters, delta blues, moderate to slow

Da dada da daow (guitar), ch-ch chih, ch-ch chih, ch-ch chih, (high hat)

da dada da daow

Well i woke up dis' mownin',

da dada da daow

Bout fo' fitty five,

da dada da daow

Some stars still out twinklin',

da dada da daow

an a booger in my eye,

da dada da daow

I'ze feelin' mighty happy

da dada da daow,

Jus' to be here alive,

da dada da daow,

If I didn't know better,

I'd think a grown mans s'posed to cry.

Cause I'm a doit farmer, baby.

Won't find no clean under These finger nails....

ch-ch chih ch-ch chih ch-ch chih

Yes I'm a doit farmer darlin',

an' I'm thinkin' of blazin' me some trails.

Yeah, I was about to bed down when that came to me. Such is the life of a permaculturist wandering the fringes, guided by acid flashbacks and an urge to prove Aeschylus wrong. I've got a couple a' few more verses for that bluesey selection and will be featuring it with twelve other musical epiphanies on an upcoming album called "Blue Bakers Dozen", to be released on the "Get outta Hear" label.

I had Doc Bebockboc roll by the other day to check out Duck World. He's a wealth of information and a great source for poultry tranquilizers when the chickens get too feisty. We were wandering around, talking about this and that. Got to the gate at Duck World and moved it aside. The ducks were down at the lower pond (big puddle really) and when they heard us come in headed our way in the hopes of big bipeds bearing food pellets.

We had a plastic cup full of feed because doc wanted to get close to them without chasing them down. We sat by the upper pond and waited for them to come crowding around us. Doc put a handful of feed in his palm and was pounced on by a half dozen ducklings. It gave him the chance to gently probe here and there and look closely at their features for any problems. He declared them to be in fine fettle although I sensed that he was not.

Problem was, he had hit a snag with nurse Sally and was a bit down in the dumps. He just wasn't really "there". So I coaxed it out of him. Seems he had run into an old flame and shared a moment of spontaneous huggyness in front of Sally which led to a look akin to what a frozen daiquiri brainfreeze feels like. So here he is, on the backside, trying to be attentive but hardly succeeding when I spot what appears to be a perfectly ripe r2e2 mango hanging on a tree by the knucklehead asylum. I said, "scuse me, I believe I see something that will make you feel better." I walked over to the tree, gently squeezed the already softened and colorful fruit which popped off its stem with the lightest touch, and into my hand .

Now the Doc is a mango aficionado, and if there's anything short of Absinthe and Laudanum that will sidestep a funk its tasting a perfectly ripe specimen, fiber-less, juicy and melting, erasing all that is wrong with life and leaving in its wake a moment in the eye of the storm which is our collective existence. A brief pause. A moment of clarity, soon to be swallowed up in the chaos that can brand affairs of the heart.

I strolled back over to Duck World and closed the gate behind me. I sat beside him by the smaller of the two ponds as he played with the youngsters and did that kind of shaking his head while mumbling something to himself kind of thing. Pulled a pocket knife and made a couple of mango rosettes. I handed him one and we toasted a time when peace of mind would be considered baseline, not benchmark.

I've been a bit like the kid in the candy store with the water. These past couple of months since we got the ag rates back I had to fight to beat back my inhibitions until finally I just gave in and started watering the crap out of everything. We've even resurrected a privacy corridor between the pond and the road whose trees withered in the drought of the late 90s. We'll be planting Ice Cream Bean, white guava, mulberry, allspice, clove and cinnamon with a couple of brazil plums here and there for the heck of it.

I'm so used to a state of stasis that moving to more complexity is almost hard to accept. Odd how so much of life is defined by the limitations imposed by "others" and liberated in a gush of novelty. Now that our well has come in, we plan to gush on into the foreseeable future with the gardens radiating, poultry plumping and fruits growing sweet and juicy. Can I get a big Shamalama? Lemme hear it........

The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp