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