Archive for July, 2010

Oh Jeez,

O.k., so now that the spokesperson for Walmart is an obese black gentleman whose best friends are Ben and Jerry, I think its time we talked about schmootz. If you go with the Yiddish, you get "dirt", as in "you've got some schmootz on your clean shirt boobee", or as a means of being polite about pointing out a flaw in ones appearance, "Bubelah, you should vipe the schmootz  (a.k.a. booger) from your noje", or as a generic term encompassing any number of items classified as detritus, like the other day when nurse Natty asked me what was on my shirt, at which point I looked down and saw some grass clippings, leaves and a small twig or two clinging and I replied, "oh just some schmootz."

This is the concept of schmootz in its microcosmic sense, but in the macrocosm, the layers of meaning unfold to reveal that we are in fact, in a world of Schmootz. The Walmart ad is a good example. Here's a guy, probably stoked beyond belief to have landed the job of spokesperson for a megacorp ( in spite of being a trained thespian whose King Lear is to die for) who is pitching the idea that shopping the store specials will make your life more economically sound and your tummy all hap hap happy. Basically you will become him, the overjoyed obese black gentleman whose best friends are Haagen and Dazs (on sale now).

The impression that Walmart promotes is of this jovial fellow being a normal and acceptable role model for all those who enter the hallowed halls of compulsive shopping. Do you see the layers of schmootz here people? There's the acceptance of degrading standards, the "normalcy" of tough economic times and the "your best friend" projection of comfort and security in your shopping experience. These are bits of schmootz showing up between the toes of cultures world wide, people. The kind of schmootz that's secreted in the folds of Mankind"s foreskin.  It is a red wine stain on the white ruffled tuxedo shirt of America's prom night.

Now when you live on a farm, there's schmootz everywhere you look, and being immersed in schmootz has its advantages. First, you know it when you see it. Second, you see it for what it is. Part of the ever loving cycle of birth, life, schmootz, death and birth. I can glance down at the stuff stuck to my shirt and imagine the life of that piece of white sapote leaf from sprouting seed to succulent fruit and how its existence  from tiny leaflet to fully fledged photosynthesis lab helped support the needs of the whole in a labyrinthine spectacle of unnumbered connections.  And  now, as I brush it from my shirt it will fall softly to ground, decompose further and leave its nutrients for some drunken microorganisms to feast on, rendering their poop available to small hungry rootlets. Happy now?

By the way, I don't know why, but I always envision soil microorganisms as being drunk, dancing and waving their little microorganism hands skyward. Did you know that there are billions of microorganisms in a few grams of healthy soil?

"In that little pile of schmootz, unky jp?"

"Thats right little fella, in that little pile."

Nope, no point really, just that it pays to know it when you see it, and see it for what it is.

The grand "cost of keeping chickens" experiment has run its two month course and we've found that although the system could probably use several tweaks to become more productive, we're running about two and a half times our cost in the black. Our only other cost is cartons for the eggs. We get a lot back, but not enough to keep up with the supply. This is all good news, particularly because we've got another thirty birds about to start producing in the next couple of months and should increase our standing in the worldwide chicken consortium to just under three hundred ten millionth largest producer in the world.

The rancho has been graced with the presence of nurse Lindsey and her sidekick Joshua. Fresh off a newly minted marriage, having tossed their lives on the mainland to the four winds, they have landed on Maui in search of something to be in search of.  Want your world rocked for four minutes? Google "Lyndsey Redding holy land".  Poetry"s her game and yoga too. Good fit for the land of the loony. Joshua appears primed and ready to gobble down all things Permaculture as his academic background is a wellspring of environmental policy and leadership skills (whatever the fuck that means). They are ridiculously cute and obviously meant for each other. Disgusting really, but as a wwoof host, I've learned to put up with this sort of thing. They are in the eager to please and gung-ho phase. I give 'em a couple of weeks to see what a fuck up I am and adjust to the relaxed chaos of farm life.

Update: the cow came back, three nights in a row, breaking fences, settling in and gently munching tufts of newly mown Buffel  grass while allowing any deer in the vicinity a clear shot at some succulent young mango trees and of course their favorite, the new shoots of young banana trees.  Didn't get much sleep those nights. Had to get up to chase the cow out and fix the fence by flashlight, or get up pre dawn to get down before the deer could do much damage. Big fun.

Did end up cornering a couple of big does and sending them to that great pasture in the sky where mango shoots sprout like alfalfa and bubbling springs pop up at the first signs of thirst. Their earthly remains grace our freezer and serve as a reminder that the best method of dealing with a problem is killing it and eating it. Cheers Bubba.

Speaking of which, I just had a memory bubble float up. I think probably everybody loves gecko's. Especially with the spokesperson for Geico thing. Well, I used to be one of those people, and still am but only to a certain extent. That's because I was sitting in my little dining nook one night many years ago and watching the nightly gecko show which consisted of moths being attracted to the dining area window because of the light and the geckos laying in wait for the feast that lay ahead (albeit a bit frustrating for the geckos on the inside of the window). This particular night was different because there was a baby gecko out with one of the big ones. Baby gecko's have to rank right up there with gremlin dolls and dimples on the cuteness scale and I thought totally cool, right. Here's mom teaching youngster hunting skills. And that's what it looked like with the little tyke taking the lead and heading for this big mother moth with mom bringing up the rear. Just when I thought the little fella was going to make his David slew Goliath move, mom gobbled him down in a pounce so shocking as make me forcibly expel not only my breath but the lilikoi juice in my mouth, through my nose.

You know how they're translucent and you can kind of see whats going on inside them, especially on the belly side. It was like I didn't really want to watch, but............

She just went on hunting.

"Is life really that cruel unky jp?"

"Seems so little fella, sadly so."

"Maybe we just forgot how good our young really taste unky jp."

"Point well taken little fella, point well taken."

The more you show, the more plant life we'll kill to keep you runnin' smooth. Peace, Jp