So first off, I've got an announcement. Ta dahhh. My good buddy Micro Dot called me the other day to inform me that the acts she had booked for the December fifth upcountry Sundays at Casanova's had bagged on her and she was thinkin' it might be cool if we convened the usual gang of scofflaws and nincompoops who show up for parties out here and have one massive holiday jam session, Rancho Relaxzo style. I know, I know you're probably thinking, oh great, a bunch of proto hippies trying to relive the musical glory days that they never actually had. Just keep in mind that there will be a core of players whose first gig together was the Magna Carta signing party, so if nothing else, we'll look comfy and relaxed on stage. I'm thinking of it as a party at my place with pizza and no cleanup. We knew that if we got Grimes to sign on that the rest would fall in place like a bunch of drunken dominoes. He agreed to do it for half the door. We're giving him the half with the knob. So come on out on December fifth and support Mana'o radio at Casanova's between two and five. The Rancho Relaxzo All Star Jam Band will be doing their very first, and quite likely last road gig, so don't miss it. And for those of you who are far, far away pining over the fact that you can't be there, tune in at www.manaoradio.com where the music streams live, worldwide. Passed Thanksgiving quietly. Took my traditional route of fasting. A small measure of austerity designed to bring focus to things easily overlooked on a churning stomach. I also figure that since the scales of gluttony are tipped toward overindulgence, might as well do my bit to create some semblance of balance in the skinny vs. porker equation. Fasting is a bit like having the sight of something stop you in your tracks,  like a pheasant taking flight from underbrush that's just a stones throw away. It's an immediate look into the body/mind relationship to food. For a brief moment one goes from subjective processing to objective innerview. The alimentary canal keeps chugging along, but there's nothing much to process so the body can heave a bit of a sigh and relax. Relax in a way that the body can't while processing food. Relax enough to sense the fundamental  health benefits of the practice. The body often encourages the effects and yearns for more. The mind however, is a different kettle of guppies. Any manner of scam available will be deployed in an effort to direct my attention to a steaming hot pizza backed by a cold beer. I mean how else will I overcome this foolhardy notion that starving myself will result in anything useful. All manner of zoozoo and gooball parades before my minds eye imploring me to give up this meaningless self flagellation. I resist. Driving down to the airport to pick up an arriving Wwoofer becomes a study in not blowing it. Nearly wolfed down a stack of peanut butter cups at the gas station. I still resist. Wwoofmeister Natalie cooked up a wonderful venison stew with lots of stuff from the garden and agreed to defer to my silliness by only giving me a small ration of shit for not eating it on Thanksgiving day. All in all, a Thanksgiving well spent. Hope the same was true for yooz. (your favorite emoticon here) We're seeing some good results from the broadcasting of pasture poultry seed in paddock one, of two paddocks that the Ameraucana's roam. It's a blend of common flax, ladino clover, birdsfoot trefoil, alfalfa, red cowpeas and buckwheat. Mmmmm, yummy. Actually sounds like it would make a great breakfast gruel with a drizzle of honey. Being the worst keeper of records in the known galaxy, I can only guestimate that it was planted five, six weeks ago (maybe more), and is now looking lush and green with flower heads popping and the promise of reduced feed cost and eggs rich in omega 3 fatty acids. The mix itself costs about three fitty a pound, which covers about twelve hundred square feet.  I know, its kinda boring, but when you crunch the numbers out, the savings leave me with enough to stop calling my mom collect. Now there's several factors that come into play equaling the kind of strange flowering patterns we're seeing this year. Many of the fruiting trees so coveted by humans have a habit of bearing sporadically. One year, choke, next year, pinchy. We've got five varieties of avo and all but two said in avospeak, "sorry mate, takin' a break. Tired of holding up all that bloody fruit while you walk around gloating  over futures prices." Yes, they're Australian cultivars. The mangoes held their own this year, and owing to high mortality rates in feral fowl populations (due to the drought and predation), not much damage to the fruits due to famished tweeters. But here's how quirky it gets. I've got two Keitt mango trees side by side. Both planted on the same day and now some eighteen years old. Both trees flowered like crazy. One bore a couple of hundred fruit, the other, three. We suspect that its the fertile duck pond water that empties onto the tree that set all the fruit. The longan didn't appear to flower much at all, setting little fruit, but a month and a half later a few of the trees are full of flowers, making for a longan harvest in February/March instead of November. The white sapotes are also acting a bit lolo and unresponsive to somewhat established patterns. The Jaboticaba is flowering two months later than usual, atemoya and cherimoya are sparse and small. The drought played no small role in putting things kapa kahi most of the year, and while having enough inexpensive water to keep things flourishing has been great, it also makes for trees that don't feel as threatened by drought into producing a lot of seed. Finding the balance. It's hard, being human. More esoteric factors include chem trails of aluminum, barium and strontium meant to geo-engineer a cooler planet by creating "clouds", but having secondary effects which include but are not limited to reduced phosphate uptake in the soil and elevated pH and heavy metal residues in soil and water. I'm thinking that the plants are getting their version of Asthma and Alzheimer's . So what appears to be up is that I am, in Natures eye, a particle of whimsy, an amusement, a droll distraction, and that the entirety of the plant kingdom has been put in place for the sole purpose of using me for mulch after having mugged forty years of service out of this bent and wrinkled frame. This peripatetic life had made pathways where before only weeds stood tall. I have schlepped trees over rock and hill to assure them a singularly nurtured existence with food, water and sunset views. I have forsaken fortune, fame and my very own playstation for a shot at the ipsissimus of mans desires. To be merged with life unbroken, to feel the seamless integrity of the Grand Plan, to question no more the endless profusion of perfect. What a maroon. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp