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