Its hard to imagine a more polarizing time.  And while I realize that we haven't quite hit the rapids ahead, barring a tipping point wherein heightened awareness brings about qualitative change, we look to be in for some mighty turbulent moments. I could whip out a bunch of toe curling examples of madness juxstaposed, but the one that always grabs me is the invisible intrusion and death grip of radioactivity in our midst. Being in one of the most beautiful places on earth, it is hard to imagine that there might come a time when the oceans are too toxic to enjoy, or the earth too hot to harvest. As I write, there is a typhoon some 600 miles wide with sustained winds of 123 mph, bearing down on Japan with Fukushima very much in play. The consequences of further damage to the crippled facility are very scary to unknown scary. One thing is certain, they involve the kind of radioactive material that scoffs at thousands of generations of life on earth. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure that Paul Stamets has already found a mushroom capable of gobbling down plutonium radionuclides and turning them into recyclable packaging material. And, we can probably leave the rest in the hands of the gmo folks who are almost certainly working on "mods" that give us super powers when in the presence of Americium isotopes. And leave us not forget the natural mutagenetic sequencing which we are already experiencing via so many "waves" and "chemicals" conspiring to take charge of our bodies and minds. Damn you, Koch brothers. One good thing to take away from all the moments that freak us to the bone is that each and every one of those instances offer an infinite number of choices, many of which are transformational  in ways yet unknown. Past is prologue, but the rest is Possibility. Thinking outside the box becomes an essential sacrament, and contentment becomes the cure. "He who remains content, contains content." Lao Tzu. Contentment, among other things is seeing that the young tilapia caught in the upper pond, a.k.a. Lake Bigshot have survived the transplant into the lower pond, a.k.a. Lake Inferior. The first such attempt was met by a complete die off due to chloramine toxicity. I let the pond get green with the first wave of algae brought in by some rain and tried again. Given that the chloramines are used for reducing algae, I figured a thriving algae colony would signal safe conditions. Threw some food in this afternoon and saw that the fry I had put in over several days had met up with each other and formed a tidy little school. Very chool. They actively nibbled away at the small round pellets and seemed frisky and healthy. Should be about six months till regular harvesting begins. Who's in? Since completing Lake Inferior, there has been a deep calm come over the land, as though maybe not the final piece of the puzzle has been snapped into place, but the piece that  finally reveals the nature of the puzzle and ties it all together has in some subtle but definitive way described itself. So it feels like the Golden Age of the Rancho has begun. A time which Mollison reckons should last for about twelve hundred seventy one years (on average, at least for the olive trees). A time when the designer becomes the recliner and the trees do as they please. A time when doing nothing reveals everything. A time when being integrated with the environment brings about the deepest sense of gratitude for life beyond the fray. All of this follows on the heels of what has been a trying time through the winter and spring months. A rain drenched, moth infested time. A time of diminishing hope on a global scale. A time to gird ones loins and turn the ship into the gale and feel the fury of the winds relentless howl until nothing but full bellied laughter prevails. Because there is no winning or losing in this game. There is only how we ride, whether a cantor through the glen or a gallop till the end, we all bed down in the same stable. The mango trees are flowering yet again (fifth time) and appear to be setting a good bit of fruit, while the January flowering has produced a sparse harvest that bears checking on a daily basis. With mangoes, one doesn't want to see any go to ground and these babies are plumping up and showing signs of color. With the hillsides showing their usual parched summer colors, the chances are that the demon moths will be in short supply. So far I've only seen a few fruits getting stung. With any luck, the mangoes, atemoyas, avocados, longan, jakfruit, jaboticaba, lychee, papaya, citrus, fig, white sapote, banana and other lesser crops will go unscathed, leading to an autumn harvest that will catapult us right into the fortune 500 club. I'm not sure if i should spend the money i haven't earned yet on that candy apple green, metal flake maserati that haunts my dreams. I mean I know I should be prudent and think beyond my own miserable obsessions but I feel my mid life crisis passing me by without treating myself to so much as a motorcycle. OMG  (I learned that on Facebook). LOL The beloved hanai son has moved from his ancestral  home to le domain de la wwoof. Replacing the lovely L.L. Farina (never in a million years), Tyler has taken up residence in the lower forty. He and roomy Willie Ray have made a bond that  would make crazy glue pucker with envy. And so it goes. And me, I am securely ensconsed as the soul resident of my wittle home, for the first time in seven years, I might add. Ask me how wildly novel that feels..... Week in brief: learning to be lazier, loving the fish thing, that small portion of the spectrum of "energy" occupied by things material is entirely the realm of the feminine and men, being the proverbial fish out of water are really just trying to figure out how much pressure to apply to the clitoris to make y'all happy. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp