Archive for December, 2009

Oh farewell,

And a wicked weird little year its been. Full of illusions befitting the big top and nearly bereft of anything resembling a meaningful shift in the staggering inequities in class and economic status found worldwide. The industry that is war continues to plunder and pillage. The suppression of environmental stop gaps continue in the name of corporate profit. The devastating realization that Tiger Woods  probably isn't the second coming, or the third or fourth for that matter. Life strikes back.

Fresh off the climate summit at Brokenhagen and the passage of the senate insurance care bill we twitter on the brink of "what now" and continue to live as though we are somehow immune. Shot full of the superiority vaccine we strut to the beat of our own opinions as though having them makes them fact. And as to facts, if you must bring them up do so with an apologetic tone so as not to offend the delicate sensibilities of the lying scumbags who while beating their chests in protest will also condemn the facts on the basis of unacceptable presentation. Thus ends a new blog feature: The Gnome Chompsky moment of irony.

"Wow, that's neat unky Jp. I thought you were really pissed there for a minute."

"Not at all, little fella. A little frenzy talk is tonic for the soul. Like the olive in a Martini."

I met my godson when he was one week old. He had a shock of dark hair, soon to turn blond, a wayward cross eyed look, arms that reached out in a quest for discovery and fingers that held my pinkies tight. He reclined in the cradle formed by my lap as we swapped pheromones. He had a gummy little grin that was set off by practically anything.

In a moment I'll never forget, I began gently bouncing him in my lap. His response was a startled little look followed by the stiffening of legs and a waving of arms in some imitation of a conductor leading a symphony of spastic mutants. He added a dash of toothless squealing. So little attention for such an awesome response. I was bowled over by the sense of love, pure and simple, asking nothing, expecting less and amazed by the connection.

So it has been for over twenty years now. So many memory bubbles. I remember when we sat together and figured out that we had reluctantly said goodbye to each other around two hundred times before he got to move in with me. I remember Wood Valley and Turtle beach where we would do our explorin' up in dry stream beds and  ocean tide pools. And the time when he stuttered for a couple of months at around age four. It was all you could do to hold back the tears. I just thought, too young to be strapped. Turned out to be a bit of unfinished wiring in the old noggin and he was good as new.

I recall his first day of school with snappy clothes and combed hair. His secret places in the woods behind his backyard on the big island that he would share with me. Stories of brave adventures and the slaying of dragons were tossed about liberally. We built legos together and constructed small ponds in the backyard as habitat for the tadpoles and water bugs  we'd catch on our weekend outings. He had enough Pokeman cards to choke a t-rex. When Quake came out, we did nothing but play for months. Bleary eyed and plagued by demonic dreams, we grimaced and laughed  our way through the first person shooter world of adrenalin pumping action. Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoowah. Good times.

I recall these things because at years end when the heart quiets and the mind turns reflective, my young son helps me remember. To remember how central to any sane appraisal of life is the virtue of loving in a way unconditioned by events and able to withstand the maelstrom. Thank you, my brave young warrior for giving me the experience of parenthood. Thanks to you too mah, for showing me the way.

Oh yeah, the crater. Its been a few weeks since ms. Faloley and I traipsed our way through the meditative space that is Haleakala. In brief, the weather was perfection, the company was lovely beyond measure and the overall effect was to have our soulful fuel compartments topped off for the next however long and be reminded of the fact that that place ROCKS. That's right, no five part recap. I will say that the experience is always akin to a spiritual awakening in that there is really no way of describing the clarity and peace within which one is embraced.

The year in farming. Ta Dah. Pretty freakin' good. Learned alot. Mostly about how much i don't know, and yet people consider me an authority of sorts. Deep kimchee. Ramped up to broader marketing strategies as well as expanding value added items to House of Yumm menu. Sprouting seedling plants useful for fuel production i.e. bio diesel, ethanol, and methane. Enjoying it all more because hey, i'd be an idiot not to. We celebrated our relative success in the realm of poultry productivity by cooking up a few holiday turkeys for the chickens. They moved slowly at first, approaching and sniffing then backing off, with one finally taking a peck. At that point they descended like a school of piranhas on spring break. Ate everything but the turnips and the bones and the vegan stuffing that nurse Dinah made.

Political observations: wouldn't vote for Sarah Palin but rank her at about a seven point four on the MILF scale. Getting tired of the talking heads. Glad Peter Ortzag found a babe. Our geopolitical aspirations are doomed. No way out. Ohmygod. No way out. Unless...........what if, one bright sunny morning we all went to our mailbox and found that the government had sent a perfectly measured dose of ecstasy to each and ever adult (over twelve) in the nation with instructions to launch in sync with each time zone and tune in to Turner classic movies to view an HDTV version of "Field of Dreams", after which well, use your imagination. If we all collected our tears, we could raise the level of the oceans to combat global warming. Totally cool. But really and c'mon, blowing the lid off the current memadigm is the only way out. So lets get crackin'.

From mohawk and missy and smartypantz and buddi and runterella and lahki. From the Rhode Island Red choir and the Leg horn section. From the mangoes hanging and the atemoyas plumping. From the dew kissed greens and all the space in between, we wish you all that you wish for yourself.

"Hey, what about me, unky Jp." " Oh yeah, and from the little noodge too."

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

Ohhoho,

Its been said that turkeys raised as meat birds for the holiday season are so dumb that if one happens to be hanging out under a rain spout or a roof line during a downpour it will, rather than move a foot to the left or right, either drown or commence to cussin' in Chinese. My question would be, "does the dumb get consumed with the drumstick?" Heck, I just cooked up a pullet that decided to turn cockerel, thus sealing his fate and within minutes of the onset of digestion felt like  buying a pouch of chaw,  a pair of overalls and a shotgun after booking a flight to Mississippi. Don't know if there's a connection.

I do know that this blog is in some small way tied to the behaviour of my feathered buddies because I feel increasingly that writing this stuff is akin to the process of laying an egg. You know, the ideas flow in random patterns through the caverns and sluice-ways formed by the convolutions of grey matter packed into my skull, and somehow make their way into ideas which coalesce to words and phrases, actions scurrying around like some crazed chipmunk  stocking up on food for the winter, not realizing that the mushroom it just nibbled was an Amanita and that it's been mistaking tree bark and animal turds for nuts.

All of this fractalized electronic flotsam darting around synaptic highways and acting like a hen gathering the ingredients for an egg from its own chemistry lab. And like yolk, white, membrane and shell appearing quixotically from the ass end of said hen, so too these blogzzz issue forth from the noosphere and park themselves in the nests that are your brains.  Oddly enough, now that the little darlings are beginning to molt and laying less as the photo-period diminishes, so too has the writing slowed down. I am slave to the pulse of farm life and surrendered to my dharma.

Interesting time of year, this autumn to winter transition. We've seen hardly any measurable  rain since August and the hillsides are a burnt out dirty blond. The scent of deer is strong throughout the old orchard and signs of damage appear daily. Its the equivalent of some biker dudes stopping by for a friendly rape and pillage. I say friendly because they know not what they do. They're just four legged knuckleheads in search of sustenance who've made the Rancho a hot spot on their map of local watering holes. Serves me right for having a pond and trees begging to be browsed and rubbed by fuzzy antlers.

On the other hand, I'd gladly tear out the jugular of each and every one of them with my teeth and stand watching with perverse pleasure as warm blood spurts hither and yon, altering the hillside like some demonic Jackson Pollock painting as legs do the deer version of kicking the bucket, except that I can hardly take a bite out of an apple for fear of my teeth falling out. The spirit is willing but the gums  are weak.

The only real solution is to fence the buggers out. I'm salting away my spare change. Cheapest way is eight foot t-post  about ten to twelve feet apart with deer netting stretched and zip tied to the posts. This would allow for the planting of a living fence consisting of multiple species growing on the inside of the netting which would, after about a year or two, form a live, species rich, productive barrier for privacy and pesky feral quadrupeds. Every now and again you'd have to walk the fence line harvesting mulberry, brazil plum, lilikoi, surinam cherry, jaboticaba, coffee, papaya, banana and such, but that's why the great Spirit invented Wwoofers. Thanks and praises.

It's true that from time to time I make the mistake of thinking I'm normal. It occurred to me the other day as I was examining the contents of my fridge that a compare and contrast moment was in order. First, its a counter top model making it less than half the size of a "normal" fridge. Second, it has no freezer because I take my scotch neat. Last but certainly not least, the contents, which on that particular day consisted of two eight ounce tubs of home made pesto, a bag of garden greens, half an avo, an r2e2 mango on the chill,  a pitcher of yard juice (lilikoi, lemon, maple syrup, water and hot pepper), some hemp oil, Mai Ploy sauce and a half bottle of ghb that Doc Bebockboc gave me for when the leghorns start munching on each other. He said, "just put half a cup in their drinking water and they'll be huggin' the roosts within minutes." I usually take it myself instead. It's ten p.m., do you know what's in your fridge?

A friend who's on island called the other day and was talking about hiking the crater so I checked the calendar online and to my surprise, found the ninth and tenth open at Kapalaoa and Paliku cabins. He said he couldn't make those days because of prior engagements, so I snagged em'. Nurse Dinah who, because of her diminutive pulchritude and sassy smarts is  rapidly making her way to executive assistant status will be wandering through the caverns of quiet with the sound of the wind and my creaking joints to keep her company. I always enjoy doing the trek with a first timer. Lives change in that temple of nature. The moon will be dipping under the western ridge line early, setting the stage for stars to be gazed. I'm kvelling.

How about this for a new system of taxation. Everyone figures out what they owe based on income. Then they are given a form listing the various government departments, federal, state and local at which time they designate what percentage of their payment goes to what department. So if you're a peacenik you can put zero percent next to the dept. of defense and if you believe in diplomacy you can lavish it on the state department. That way everyone would at least feel like they had a say in who gets the juice.

I guess it doesn't really matter much since the alien overlords have reached a tipping point in the placement of gmo'd humans in strategic positions of power throughout the governments of the world and are poised to initiate phase one of their plan to loot our most precious resource, water, which they use for the hydrogen fuel that powers their world. A world run dry and a race in desperation. They wandered from galaxy to galaxy to find this little blue gem with its life giving cargo. Since Obama is a galactic centrist, look to the privatization of water as key to his success. And since it will become common knowledge that aliens have been hybridizing humans, I predict that New Jersey will pass legislation allowing gay marriage. So sayeth the Sooth.

Check out the CSA tab for this weeks food stuffs. The honey is harvested and bottling has begun. Yumm's the word.

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