Archive for April, 2010

Hoo boy,

Thanks to the intrepid Dzinah Faloley and our shared interest in all things ridiculous, I received a link to an article about the recently instituted changes regarding the rules of Scrabble. Dinah's interest in Scrabble is heart attach serious. She's into it. Me too, but mostly to see the look of consternation on her face when she loses by two points because she's holding a "q" at the end of the game.

That's why finding out that the new rules allow for the use of proper nouns, words spelled backwards and words placed without benefit of being connected to other "words" resulted in a cascade of neuro peptides revealing a vision of the next generation of Scrabble enthusiasts to be unimaginative trolls, living under bridges made of recycled walmart trash, spewing pop culture on to what used to be a proving ground for wordsmiths and strategists.

This is a sad state of affairs and says gobs about the way our culture is being gobbled down by the trivial and led farther and farther astray from issues of substance and the handling of such things. But really its o.k. because your government and the corporations Really Care.

Here's what I think is going on. The makers of Scrabble are doing a  "new coke" thing. They're introducing a new and improved version of the game, knowing there will be a backlash amongst the purists which will then allow them to re-introduce Scrabble Classic, thereby cutting the venom of harsh reprisals and increasing their market share by catering to the noodniks that now think they're playing Scrabble because they can spell " Beyonce" or "Jay-z".

Lets say I spell the word grime and the next time around I spell pizzzas backward and connect it to the end of grime, bingo, seventeen hundred and twelve points. And yes, I can fucking spell pizzza with three z's if i wanna. The vision of a bunch of chimps throwing their shit against a wall and calling it art comes to mind. Ooooo Ooooooo Ooooooo Aahaahhahhaaaaahh.

Its amazing how much food there is within a five mile radius of this place. We've taken to cruising around with a mind to making mental notes of fruit trees that are bearing and don't seem to be cared for or harvested. Right now there are several varieties of citrus as well as tons of avo's. The loquats are lighting upcountry roadsides with their golden glow and sweet tang. All this makes for jams and juice, crisps and chocavo mousse, and all on the cheap. With the right equipment and an enterprising smile, a person could get by just fine as a fruit scavenger. Never too early to consider retirement options.

We got the survivors of our last batch of day olds out of their nursery and into the great outdoors, and boy do they dig it. They're in with a handful of Muscovies who are well versed in the school of poultry integration techniques and have been doing their best imitations of chicken behavior while retaining the essence of duckness. Suffice to say that come september there will be a couple of dozen more eggs a day including the exotic dark reddish brown offerings of the Cuckoo Maran.

Doc Bebockbok, the local poultrypuncturist and his lovely wife nurse Sally were by the day we put them out and quite impressed with their size and healthy demeanor. They were, however compelled to confide in me that they thought I should consider an intervention with them and Doc Liebenlobe given the anxiety attacks which had so plagued me in the recent past over things like winter molting, diminished egg production and having to attend chicken sensitivity training after being caught kicking a chook that had flown up into my face in an attempt to eat an eyeball.

I told them not to worry, and that my Taoist training was gaining traction. I told them that I had reached a point of equilibrium. A place where all chicken behavior was one energetic continuum and that no matter what kind of changes the feathered freakshows went through I would be as the eye of a hurricane in my acceptance of the swirling turmoil. Then I threw up and started to weep.

I suppose it's much like any challenge that presents itself in such a way as to tell you that avoidance will only bring the challenge back around and that engaging in the process of knowing more will bring resolution, or a lot of freshly cleaned and dressed chickens languishing in the freezer. Either way, bring it.

So, after a few brief but heartfelt primal screams I thanked the doc and the lovely nurse Sally for their concern and let them know that I would most assuredly contact them if the stress levels breached the red zone. Nice to have friends who care, even if they're imaginary.

Now that Spring is fully upon us we've been bit by the planting bug. Holes are being popped out, irrigation laid, banana keiki's pried up, papaya seeds sprouting, olive groves in the planning, biofuel plants growing nicely in the nursery, Acai palms developing root balls big enough to put out and a whole lot of brainstorming  about how to get the most out of the orchards and vegetable gardens during this period of increasing photo period.

One of the most captivating features of the Permaculture method is it's open ended nature. The more one does, the more possibilities open up. This is the beauty of sustainable design. It becomes a matrix of useful connections, guilds and networks that perpetuate themselves by supporting each other. And like any biological system, it is a work in constant progress with each and every changing pattern revealing the wonders of successful design strategies and pointing the way to abundant harvests and the assurance of a stable and productive environment. And all we have to do is be Human.

Oh yeah, forgot to mention our little ordeal with one of the adolescent chicklettes. Turns out this one Barred Rock got loose in the transfer process and found her way into the cistern. The cistern is about fifteen feet deep and thirty feet across. I assigned the task of rescue to Nurse Natty who has a head for puzzling out these problems and a heart to melt the anxieties of any stunned chicken. I saw her sitting in deep meditation the other day in what appeared to be a quest to find the best approach to the dilemma at hand. After awhile she came out of her trance with a sort of "i've got it" look on her face.

The next morning, Nurse Caley came to me and said, "c'mere, you've gotta see this".  She walked me over to the cistern on tippy toes and pointed over the side at a spot where Natty was sitting very still. She had arranged her riot of dreads into the shape of a huge and ultra inviting birds nest ( i've seen her arrange it in the image of a 65 mustang), which after several minutes attracted the little chook to her lap and then with one jump up into the penthouse suite. They both sat very still for the next few minutes until the little critter fell asleep, so comforting was this massive bowl of warmth combined with the meditative glow of Natty's noggin.

At that point Natty just got up, slowly climbed the ladder up the side of the cistern, reached up, pulled the sleeping chook from her coif and walked her over to duck world, where she awoke just in time to be greeted by her long lost sisters.

Natalie was named wwoof o' the week and regaled with bouquets of salad greens and brief, but heartfelt primal screams.

The more you show, the more we'll grow.  Rain would be nice, Jp

Oh low blow,

Reason I say that is because of the news that Barry just assigned the task of chief agricultural negotiator to this Charles Addams cartoon character looking dude name of Islam Siddiqui. Looks like he could be Lurch's demented uncle. He's one of the Mansonto posse specializing in the advocacy of pesticide and herbicide use worldwide. From the little I've read, and any more would make me hurl, this fella is steeped in the corporate lore of profits before real consideration for the effects of the products advocated on the general population, plant, insect, animal, fish, human etc.. I bet Michelle is wagging her index finger going "oh no you di-ent". No nookie for the first pecker tonight.

Speaking of which, Nurse Natty was taking her evening constitutional up to Sun Yat Sen park the other evening and upon approaching from below saw an oriental couple cavorting on the grassy hillside. At first it appeared as though the woman was simply sitting astride the gent, however when asses began to make their presence known and little ornamental yipping and moaning sounds began to break the wind she thought "youtube moment".

So she stealthily crept up from behind and hid beside the Fu Dog statue where she would be assured of getting the best money shot (the guy collapsing in a heap of giggles) and turned her phone camera on. They were done in forty nine seconds. Its listed under "oriental couple worshiping ancestors".

We had a painful moment on the farm a couple of weeks back. I was going to feed the young chicks one day and upon opening the door found the headcount to be way low. My eyes went immediately to a spot where it appeared that a tarp had been breached. Sure enough there was a hole big enough for the chicks to get out, or a mongoose to get in. I didn't panic, really, I just went walking outside and around the perimeter of the building to see if any of them had survived by hiding in the grasses or jumping into a tree, but I couldn't find a one. Natalie located one later that day and put her back in with her traumatized sisters. There are about thirty remaining of the eighty four that were there. One of them edumacational moments in which a whole lot of information got collated quickly to come up with a," here's how i'd do it next time" fix.

It may be a blessing in disguise because after awhile I question my motives in wanting to increase the flock size. It is not a search for the perfect chicken or the perfect egg. It has nothing to do with satisfying some financial craving to have egg sales set me free to roam the earth in my emmision free Mercedes planting the seeds of Permaculture wherever wealthy, well meaning chowderheads would buy my rap and pay me cash. It's hardly the fascinating dialects and colloquialisms that each species displays.

Truth be told, I love the smell of estrogen in the morning. Far superior to napalm and much more soothing to the skin. Surround me with egginess and the sound of female voices singing their way through the garden. Throw in a couple of female kitties and mostly duckettes and oh my god, a subtle balance is struck with the testostitude that lies within these fleshy curves. Good thing too, otherwise my life would smell like a urinal in the old Grand Central Station and I would act out that scene from The Shining over and over again, where Nicholson axes his way through the bathroom door ranting "Here's Johnny".

If I had to guess, I'd say about twenty percent of what we do here is somewhat painful. Why just today I found one of our mongoose traps inhabited. This time of year they can get into the chicken yards and cut back your production plenty so its not a catch and release program. Its a catch and drown program. Ever drown anything? I mean its not like I had him by the throat and held him under as he thrashed about. I just lowered the trap into one of the duck ponds, went about some other chores and came back ten minutes later. After about five times and the recognition that you're gonna fry in hell, its a piece of cake.

So the pain becomes a window on to the realities of farming and lifes general patterns of chaotic survival embraced by our attempts to see a greater order in things and manifest something that smacks of stability and longevity. Without the experience of painful moments we have no way of appreciating those filled with joy and without that appreciation we're just like a bunch of fish tossed to shore, flopping about hoping some benevolent soul will find us and throw us back into the sea where we can breathe freely.

Good week at the farmers market. There were more vendors than ever and the usual festive atmosphere. We're now on a first name basis with many of the folks that come shop it up at our little niche. Its nice because you get to joke around and bust balls. By the end of the afternoon everyone is in the goofy zone and trading out leftover products. Caley and Natty and I have given in to the fact that market day is to be devoted to the consumption as well as the distribution of good food. Surrounded by such goodies as pad thai, tandoori chicken, fresh cracked coconut and those goddamn cookies that the sprout lady makes, our wills buckle and our belts loosen. Life is surrender, and on Wednesdays, life is easy.

Let it be known that official notice is hereby given announcing the season opener. That"s right, even though I'm sick and tired of seeing everyone together and having a good time, my therapist tells me that it's a good thing and will fortify my self esteem and help me cope with the fact that nobody really likes me and that the reason I throw these shindigs is to compensate for my need to be loved and bathed in warm milk while honey drizzles from the shower head.

So see ya' on the 25th of April. That's a Sunday with a start time of around four p.m.. We'll go till around ten at which time Grimes will drop his drawers and send any remaining guests screaming into the night. Pot luck with the theme being any food that stimulates the urge to get naked and sing.

"Really unky jp, Grimes is gonna show his tookus?"

"Thats right little fella, best way I know to clear a room."

"Better than Glenn Beck farting out his mouth?"

"Ya' got me there little fella, ya' got me there."

O.k., so how many of you actually went to youtube to check out Natalie's vide0?

April fools, perverts.

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