Here's a question or few worth asking. How many ways are there to feel the shame associated with not knowing what to do, or how to do it? How many ways do inappropriate acts feed the shame because, what else? The loop has been closed. How many ways do we shame ourselves into believing that some magic mojo type deal will get us through the heated turbulence at our door like a gang of Fiji fire walkers surfing the lava hot waves of Kilauea, brandishing samurai swords and golf clubs, and undoing Evil in all its forms and forces. These things occur to me because while knowing that the tipping point within the singularity surrounded by the string that vibrates in twelve different ways creating everything, could pop right up and go, ready for the 'pocyclypse, here it comes, Wwwhhhheeeeeeee, the meaning of that moment is obscured. By what? By the shame. And so, no focus, no hocuspocus. Its a pearly gates phenomenon. You know, st. pete gives you the rundown, you are naked on every level in his/her presence but by the time you actually get there, you've had the revelation of Truth that not only liberates in hitherto unknown ways but brings with gut wrenching certainty what uncompromising fuck ups we are. This would be a good time to say something like, " listen, Pete, it's all good, right? I mean what with the arthritis and that frump of a wife and the pension devalued. At least I recycled, most of the time." So whether you have rock star status or are a complete schmendrake, you WILL make excuses for the fuck up factor. Don't get me wrong, I'm not lookin' for an answer or heart felt epiphany or nuthin', I personally just infuse the appropriate sacraments into this meat locker and practice my pearly gates speech. I'm thinking "listen Pete", might be a bit cheeky. Not so long ago, in what seemed like a dream I sat on a sandy beach, waves gently lapping the shore and looked out over west maui with Haleakala in the distance. A magnificent sight made even more of a revelation by the feel of the warm water and coarse sand playing footsie with me. Then I realized that there was this yellow greyish blob of cane smoke hovering over the valley awaiting the trade winds to mount a take off.  As fate would have it, not much wind till much later in the morning. I know you're dyin' to know what happened. I was too. So I sat on the beach and watched as the toxic cloud began to spread out and leave its pall over the entire central valley and surrounding shoreline waters. And it hung, and it hung, and it hung. This is the smog that smog aspires to be, thought I. Bbbblllleeeeechchhcchch, as they would say in the halls of Mad Magazine. Where the fuck is the shame? Here's when I decided to cast my fate to the next narcissistic hottie to walk into my life needing an oil change. As I sat and watched the wind line begin to ripple, and pond fronds start to click and clack, the umbrella like shroud of canedoom dispersed in such a way as to cascade its somewhat diluted filth over the WEST maui moutains and down toward the premier touist haven on planet Oyyth. I mean Kapalua would be the seventh chakra of Maui for chrissake........Where, you might ask, is the Shame? We are imbued with a sense of entitlement granted on the basis of myth and flaunted with impunity in the name of Shame. I have, in some ways grown to appreciate the crazyass monsoon weather that has characterized a pattern of remarkable change in the array of choices made by the orchard creatures, rooted, crawling, wwoofing or flying. Having watched this movie for many moons, I can say with some authority that the amount of vegetative growth in the orchards this year matches that of the last four or five years. The amount of biomass covering the land is staggering. I'm thinking of petitioning the Chinese gov't for some part time labor to build a huge methane generator out of the cistern and then petitioning the mexican gov't to give me the addresses of illegal immigrants so I can hire them under the table to cut the greenery and turn it to gas. That way, I can fuel the generator that creates the electricity to keep my Leaf charged so I can go to Fong store for my red dog, Toggi bar fix. In a perfect world, maybe. I'm in a tradition starting mood. Having watched the Burning Man phenomenon take hold in such magical and shameful ways I'm thinkin' that the Rancho needs to redefine itself in terms of providing annual entertainment in the form of several parties a year, attended by some of the most overlooked and underqualified musicians on the island. I was thinking that the kicker would be to have a mini festival for the season finale after the fashion of the great shame on the playa. I would call it Burning Spam. If nothing else, it would smell sublime, down to the last crackling chunk oozing some fat like material from the face of Spamann. We are taking submissions for sculptures and interactive displays. They must all be made of spam, have some kinetic component as well as l.e.d. lighting and an adequate supply of toasted bagels for the aftermath of the burn. See how Eco freakin' friendly. No shame whatsoever. Party on. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp p.s. nurse kristen was last seen diving head first into a large, ripe jak fruit. She has not been seen since.

(P.s. Fanfare followed by rose petals floating to ground...........Announcing the 18th annual fiftieth birthday party of Dame Dorothy the Betz and the jp person. Sunday, the fourteenth at five pm ish. pot luck. The weather has been a bear lately, so be advised and give a call if in doubt and if it sucks, i'll get the word out.) It is a moment, illuminated by some mystery weaving its way and bringing future and past together. And in that moment, no tale is left untold. Somehow all is revealed. Then, gone until the next time and the next form and the next circumstance brings the same revelation, clothed in finery of a different sort. And when we see through the fashion to our innermost passion, it is then and only then that............................... This miniature epiphany has been brought to you by an intuitive if incomplete Flash, triggered by the act of swatting to their doom two mosquitoes, joined in coitu flying in front of my very face. My very face. The Noive...... In my entire life I have only twice had the opportunity to even behold the sight of mosquitoes "doinit" mid flight, no less feel their teensy malevolent life force meld with oblivion in the palms of my hands. Not at all sure if anyone else has had this experience, but it fulfills so many levels of seratonin releasing stimuli that one cannot help but run smack dab into a visionary experience not unlike eating chocolate farina laced with dmt for breakfast, which I promised I would never do again. O.k., now that I have your attention, the small above ground "kiddy" pool whose sole purpose is for the display of young koi looking for loving water features and large aquatic tanks, whose placement was strategically planned under the shade of an Inia tree to discourage the growth of algae and whose filtration system claimed to be adequate to keeping clarity has, after the first rain turned to what could be described as an entry into a lentil soup contest in downtown Mysore. Now solution has turned to dilemma but has already begun to describe itself as solution again. Howizit possible? Where's that shit come from? I like giving up, too. Sometimes. But NNNooooooooo. Must figure this shit out. NOW. Seeing the deeper meaning to the saying "plenty of time for rest when your dead." We are endowed by and indebted to the relentless refinement of life force. We thrive, To thrive so that giving up comes with a certain grace and ease. Embrace and transcend. Our motto should read: "Rancho Relaxzo, we'll get this shit figured out yet, and if not, s'what." Makes for a very layed back, "bring it" attitude. Like bring it, but maybe a week from this coming thursday, eh. If musical notes were bananas, then I be playin' bunches. Been fun teaming up with Grimes and getting our wig on. Miss Meaghan continues to delight and i'm always thankful for the opportunity to get out and get it out. No matter how long one has been immersed in a pastime like playing music, it never gets old and continues to grow in its inclusiveness. I did give up on the grand chicken revision plan whereby day olds would be brought in just in time to start laying when the remaining chowder heads have forgotten their raison d'etre. This will cost me in more ways than one, but there are silver linings popping up all over the place allowing me to, once again editorialize my way to being correct in every way, and profoundly, nay prophetically so. Howizit possible? The wall that separates a certain measurable control from utter chaos is paper thin. I live in that wall. Everything = Possible. On the farm there are so many known variables constantly effecting outcomes. Variables that can be tamed or enhanced or made to self replicate. But there are also the unknown variables vectored in by insect or wind or on the heal of a boot or the wake of a bad idea which can and do change everything in ways that compel us to make them part of the known so that the chaos is somehow re branded and brought into the realm of measurable control. Paper thin. Had a nice skype with the mother ship earlier. She is whittling her way to escape velocity as thirty four years of life in her home is slowly reduced to the essential mah, ready to transport at the drop of a dime. Hard to imagine the floodgates and the memories pouring forth. She is, as usual handling it all with characteristic wisdom and grace. Nurse Kristen has passed the three week mark without need of a psychiatrist, so that's a good sign. She is still "off the scale," although the scale has been recalibrated so as to be able to explain and include such a phenomenon into the realm of the known so that a degree of measurable control can be applied to what would otherwise be delightfully hard to explain. Paper thin baby, paper thin. Yes, I don't want any of your gifts, so bring them anyway and I'll donate them to a charity that benefits me and me alone. It is my sincere hope that at the next writing I will be able to report that we have koi for sale that you can actually see swimming around and that we will, once again have overcome the odds and achieved the "better than a baboon" award for intelligence and inventiveness in the use of Amazon dot com. Week in brief: kind of peaked with the mosquito thing. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp

The day began full of potential. Like most mondays a crowded agenda presented itself for me to edit and render reasonable. One thing that had come to the top of the priority list was to dump the DISH and here's why, thousand dollar a year piece of shit. Which leaves another thouish a year for piece of shit phone and internet, but thanks to cyber anarchists everywhere one can pretty much milk the web for entertainment with impunity. It got to the point where I kept the DISH up to add the golf channel which i thought would have me more actively engaged with this goliath of boredom. When I called, it turned out that I should have had golf channel all along (like years). They said oops and sent a guy up to install another receiver so I could get to see 'em tee it up and, or watch Tin Cup. Over it. So I call and I wade through the phone tree, choose the appropriate number, refuse to participate in a survey and am put on hold with the usual blah blah about how very important or muy importante I am to "them". In this case, however there is an annoying ad about how easily your DISH service travels if you should choose to relocate. Adrenalin levels increasing. Next a human comes on the line whose English I understand except for the tinitis that makes some of the words solicit a "say again". When I tell him what I want, there is a stunned silence after which he looks at his records and tells me, to the day and hour how long I've been a valued DISH customer, which is over eleven years. Tempus Fugit. He asks me what's the beef and I tells him that I've just been watching less and less t.v. cause, no need. Tell him its costing a grand a year which could happily go to scotch and flowers for loved ones. He finally accepts the notion that I'm serious about wanting to drop the service and tells me that he will start the download process which will take "awhile". Now, in alternating cadence, he begins to tell me what percentage of the data mining has past while reading from the script of puckering up to a "valued" customer by making offers designed to prevent refusal and keep the valued customer in his or her place. "Twenty eight percent", he said "and by the way we'll give you half price for a whole year without a contract. Just sayin'" Thirty six percent done and he's gonna throw in some premier package 'cause, the Love. When he gets to forty five percent I tell him that I realize he has to read from a script and do his best to keep me in the thrall of his heartfelt plea to keep me from wandering astray. I told him I wasn't in a hurry and that we could just wait it out in silence. Turns out we couldn't. His final offer was actually hard to refuse. I was officially declared a "tough nut to crack" and informed that my service would be terminated at the end of the current pay period. At this point I said, "here's a suggestion. Why not install some program on your system that spits out customers who have passed the ten year loyalty test and automatically send them, not an offer, but a gift of half price for a year, or NFL channel recently purchased by Playboy, or a genuine heart felt thanks in the form of a box of cookies instead of waiting for them to fucking dump you before pretending you really dig them?" There was a bit of an unscripted silence, after which he said, " I'm gonna walk that idea upstairs and probably get a promotion." Through the looking glass people...... A case of common sense gone missing in a steaming pile of profit driven, void of empathy Ppoooooop. This won't change until the Big Divestiture begins. And now for a shortish rant on Glycine wightii. Or more correctly Fucking Glycine wightii. I believe that's the full botanical nomenclature. Looking into the history, the introduction of this innocuous looking vine was the brain child of the soil conservation service in conjunction with ranchers suffering soil erosion by virtue of "grazing" cud chewing bovines eating everything whose roots tend to hold the soil together and trap moisture. Nice choice. Virtues of Glycine: breaks up soil with root penetration allowing more moisture in and less soil wash out. Good pasture fodder (soybean relative) and long term soil "creator". Vices of Glycine: Goes rampant, impossible to eradicate without serious herbicide use, work load in wet times increased by thirty percent along with fuel cost and man, woman hours. Will choke out and drown out untended plants and trees, sends tendrils into my house to steal money and uses it to buy cocaine. The fact that not so much as an apology has been issued to those of us who now suffer the unintended consequences of this mistake typifies the action of government everywhere. "What, baddah you?" It also points out the lack of concern for the small sustainable farms that do not have any real recourse to reconciliation through legal channels. So we live with the fact that the contagion of bone headedness from which we all suffer has stifled our collective ability to move forward. In spite of this it is still my fervent belief that each and every moment offers the promise of the possibility of a chance that we'll be slightly less bone headed tomorrow. We have welcomed nurse Kristen to the Rancho. Only one thing to say: Off the scale. Week in brief: 'nuther birthday, oh well. Wondering if we can push enough joy around to balance the strange. Doing our best........ The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp

  There's a lot of things about being a chicken that I'll most likely never understand, which is probably for the best because after all, there's only so much time in the day to contemplate such mysteries and only so many moments in which it feels acceptable to be dumbfounded by a chicken, then one must move along. I got caught today wondering, out loud I might add, how it is that given twenty nest boxes in which to lay that the girls will crowd each other out of a single box by competing for the space, and then never actually lay an egg as though the jockeying for position took priority over that most primal instinct. Hmmmmm. Then they'll proceed to drop five or six in one box and ignore the flashing "vacancy" sign hovering over one empty nest after another. In this case it was a matter of finding six blue eggs in one nest box in a row of nests that had yielded not one egg in days. Now I sat down with a few of the girls to try to get some kind of notion as to how these decisions come about, but aside from a bit of the usual pekawking, soul scratching, sideways glances and my acute sensitivity to fowl language inflection, the mystery remains safe. Moving on. Got a mighty thumbs up from aquaponics John who came by to check out the progress in the watery realms of the Rancho. As I had hoped, the quality of the water, the vitality of the fish and the brainstorming session as to future moves all met with enthusiastic support. Talked a bit about souping up the system with a couple of aquaponic beds. What the heck, I like watercress. We got to talking about feed and percentage protein and gmo stuff and really exciting shit like that, when on a whim I grabbed a handful of glycine, shredded it up a bit and tossed it on the surface of lake bigshot. While one would not refer to this event as a feeding frenzy, it was not without interest. Nibbling was to be had. Tugging leaves under the surface for further shredding was observed. And the ultimate test which is that the fish will try practically anything floating around but will almost immediately cough it up if it resembles "junk" food. In this case the only aversion seemed to be the leaf size. Otherwise, they swallowed and went lookin' around for more. Thought about chopping methods that would yield bite size nugs. Dried fish food pellets in different colors, sizes and flavors for the discriminating fish came to mind. Dollar signs flashing. A way to cash in on this all encompassing mess of greenery, destined from its invasive start to be a thorn in the collective side of Hawaii. But before getting too far ahead, John said that the algae would provide all the nutrient density that the fish could need which is good, because I really only feed them to bring em' in close and commune. Here's an interesting factoid. During the afternoon feeding/dangling legs in pond/pre sunset pump up, I will often bring an instrument down and pick away. The fish hang close when I'm playing, even when the food is gone. They just kind of meander around nibbling at the surface flotsam and while not exactly eyeballing me, seem interested in what might be next on the musical agenda. Today I cruised without strings and spent some dangle time. They dawdled around the food for awhile but engaged with me in an entirely different way. Aloof and uncommitted, like ladies nite in Paia. The power of sound as expressed in music reaches under water to change behaviors. To favor a communal lingering. To stimulate a bridge between two ideas of life. Wish I could be a fish. I'd learn to play fish fiddle and dazzle the humans on shore. Looks like we've beaten the lace bug. You heard me. This is the innocuous looking diaphanous winged cuteness that hangs out under the leaves of the white sapote tree and other legal in the state of Hawaii for medicinal use plants, and slowly in a round about sort of way, sucks the chlorophyll out of the leaves. Clever little devil. Mostly doesn't seem to effect the fruit set or overall health of the tree, Buuuuut, it does. Been trying over the years to spray with the oh so useful neem oil/safers combo which works quite well, except that my backpack sprayer only sprays so high, so the hoi palloi in the upper limbs continue to re populate and with every new leaf flush the hope for clean growth is dashed on the rocks of psychosis, i.e. doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result........... Now this is just like me. I've been down to Dells dozens of times for this or that and each and every time, I stand beneath the upper shelves that display their selection of battery powered sprayers, compare sizes and capacities (which i already know), scratch my brain way too hard and walk away with a roll of chicken wire. We're talkin' years here. Ah hoonded sheventee niyn dahhlersh (for the goyim, that's an old jewish guy saying a hundred seventy nine dollars). I made the leap. I took the plunge. I whipped out two benjies and left with a pocket full of loot. Picked up a motorcycle battery to power my new best friend and proceeded to treat my beautiful trees to their first new leaf flush in years that is free, ah say FREE of trace of lace. Note to self: what a Marooon. Week in Brief: I WILL be the Koilapia king of Kealakapu, got a new camera, film at eight, moms moving to maui to wwoof. You heard me. Chorus to an unwritten song in 3/4 time: "Forgive me.......        Me. Forgive you........       You, and maybe We get past this chowder head stew.   Forgive them........      Us. Forgive us.......             We, and maybe we get past this knucklehead spree."   The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp    

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

Okay, correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't I the guy who days, weeks and months ago was displaying maximum piss and moan posturing over the issue of wet, wet, oh so wet. Moths, moths, oh my god more moths. Soooo much weed whacking to do. A faded memory friends, like a blind date quarantined. Like a fantasy money making scheme turned bogus in so many ways that your mind goes blank and you have a moment of satori instead. Like the creepy uncle who requires a constant supply of breath mints rolling around his mouth to produce enough saliva to speak. We have now segued into clear skies most of the day, summer heat rising like a clarion call to circadian siesta's and the surly and self consciously annoying "idiot" wind. I say self consciously because to some farmers, the elements are living, conscious Beings, for whom periods of time in which one or the others are withheld requires the sacrifice of all sense of resistance as well as the occasional goat or small child. Battling the elements ? Be prepared to lose. Prayer helps, maybe. Placebo effect, apply here. The other thing is the sure and certain knowledge gained from seeing and feeling the patterns arise and recede which, far from giving us a sense of control keeps us on our toes, plugging holes in the bucket and putting out fires as time instructs with a gentle humor and deadly seriousness. So now, the moisture is being sucked out of the ground and out of the plants and out of my skin like the vampire cousin of a cool damp  breeze and all I can do is try to rediscover the hoses tangled in the glycine and lost in the winter green bomb so that I can watch for flowering in the orchard and give 'em a good soaking.  And as the sun perches high above and moves slowly to the west one senses the need to make friends with Fire and surrender to its galvanizing effect. Its approaching sunset time at the Rancho and as I sit here looking out on an oceanscape painted with Kahoolawe, Molokini, Lanai, Molokai and west Maui I can't help but wonder if the sun will dip below the cloud shelf spanning the horizon and make it unimpeded to the oceans rest, producing the rare and always spectacular lingering underglow. There are already "religious" rays cutting through the random cluster of clouds directing the photon traffic in ways unimagined by grandpa sun as he giggles out light. A golden glow and grey bottomed clouds tipped in white foreshadow the "dip". Now the golden cloud liner begins to highlight the borders left and right as mother earth turns her back on grandpa sun for another day, as if to say "show me what ya got grandfather. Haven't seen an A+ in many a moon and this one has potential." I'm kvelling. In full regalia, dipping beneath the awestruck cloud shelf and warming its belly, the ninety three million mile glow has no need to sing its own glory. Its already a strong B and the underglow has yet to get lit. Whats exciting is that i can still see the horizon which could produce the trifecta of all sunset moments i.e. Religious rays, linering Underglow and clear splashdown with (dare we even think it) a green flash. OMG........ The glow is kicking in. One or two Religious rays carving a golden path under the cloudshelf which is beginning  to resemble some kind of organic space ship with claws and pads hanging down and wings and tailfin. There's a trail of particularly bright cloud resembling the exhaust trail coming out the bottom of said morphing cloudship. Alas, and once again, my disappointment could not be more complete as the sun had to pass behind a cloud bridge spanning Lanai and west maui, and upon emerging fell almost immediately behind  the dreaded wall o' cloud hugging the horizon and eliminating all but the "religious" rays component of our complex and accurate unto itself rating system. So as we approach the salmon/grey spectacle know as the "wall street suit", another potential A plus will now rank among the B minus's which, if they could speak would say, " I will tease and tease and tease to show that you are spoiled, if you please , to think that any sunset viewed while sitting on your toochis, sipping and dipping when even now as the stars twinkle and the grey goes charcoal your ranking leaves the elements rolling in the aisles. Satisfied? We have a pair of flashwwoofs approaching escape velocity and they will be missed. Friend of the farm and five time wwoofer, Justin Williams has carved out a spot for himself any old time he wants. I have the feeling that he has reached a tipping point and is now reasonably convinced that Maui is the place for him. Why not, he's hunkish, crazy smart, has work that travels, is open to any vices and has a jaw that can buss open coconuts. Thanks man. Then there is nurse Lara. While on a mission to incorporate an understanding of things Permaculture, ms. Farina is also ferreting away bits of information designed to enhance her vision of a world in which the rights of woman and children and  the issue of climate change are understood in such a way as to catalyse an awareness while developing ways of getting the word out to a world sorely in need of hearing. But really, she's being led about by the ebb and flow of her life's desire which will now be forged in the fiery cold of the Saturn return. Next week she returns to the serenity of the Marshall Islands where her good works are already chronicled in the Akashic Record. One need not wish her luck as luck seeks her out. Thanks my friend. Lastly and at long last, the lower pond is up and flowing with a small measure of glorious. Another one of those cycles. Another excuse to be grateful for being able to cobble together a piece of the puzzle and watch as it snaps right into place. Can I get a BOOYA? It will be home to the mighty Tilopia and provide food, fun and serenity second to none. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp .            

As I clicked on the "add new" post menu item, I realized that the last entry was offering number 70. Thought, that calls for a celebration. With the exception of autonomic nervous function and basic fight or flight mechanisms, i've hardly done anything seventy times. Cracked a brew (room temp., full flavored) and sauntered out to the pond, where I breathed it in for awhile. "In with the psychotic, out with the merely ridiculous." Advanced Vipassana stuff. There's a scent to the water that tells you how healthy it is. In this case it was a very healthy aquatic scent blended with inia blossoms in full flower and oozing a lilac perfume fit to tie any flying insect gone berserk over a signal so strong that crab spider webs pose no obstacle. The "must have" impulse overriding any semblance of control. Kamakaze mentality. The scent of a woman. The "Inia" (Melia azaderach (sp?) is a cousin to the good and benevolent Neem tree. Both mahogany family and although of lesser use, the Inia has insecticidal and vermifugal properties. Also a great "nurse" and canopy tree. The ground up seed cake from the neem oil press is used for fertilizer with a real nice macro and micro nutrient profile, so I'd imagine the inia seed would as well. Anyone? I went ahead and settled into one of the eclectic blend of yard furniture giving the area surrounding the pond a feel of hippie chic meets Sunday yard sale drive by. When I start piping in the Doors, passers by will have acid flashbacks. Fun summer stuff. Took a full swallow of the lemon shandy and savored the flavor. Felt my eyelids relax. Set the beer down on a rock and picked up the fish food bucket. Tossed a handful out over the algae green ripples. Tossed another couple of few. There's really nothing else to do. Watching doesn't really describe it. It's more like surrendering to a very mesmerizing effect (endorphin release?) of brightly colored fish swimming, eating, showing off, daring you to try to be even remotely as fluid and at ease. Took another full swallow and set the beer down on that rock. Ol' doc Bebokbak, the poultrypuncturist stopped in the other day to chew the shoe. He was, of course accompanied by Nurse Sally, newly minted Bebokbak. They were aglow and told me that they had a little one on the way. "No way", says I. "Way", says they. Went on to tell me that Ferdy, the bull that pastures over at Ventura's place finally got it up and schtooped their prize hereford who is now 'specting. They were beside themselves because, new life. The promise, the hope, the renewal, the legacy, plus it's kinda fun to watch bovine porn for the strictly lizard brain satisfaction of it. Anyone? Talked to him a bit about my plan to consolidate our six groups of birds into three groups and open up former enclosures to new plantings and design strategies. Also wanted to try to go feed free and let the feathered freak shows fend for themselves. Interested to see how the egg count goes if we use just whats growing and keep the areas watered in dry times so that bugs seek it out. Also still open to give away of elders of the flock. Still good foragers and will continue to lay for quite some time. Amazing how hard it can be to give shit away. He looked at me somewhat quizzically and said, "you're gonna piss them off, ya know". I told him that I could live with their iracibility and that I'd done battle with them before and prevailed. He chuckled, remembering the time i took away their chicktendo machines and sedated their water supply. Worked well until I started getting egg customers coming to me and saying, " I nodded out after eating an omelet this morning, wtf?" I had almost nodded out when the text came in. Mesmerizing. Took the text and another swallow, right there by the pond in the middle of the part of the circadian cycle that suggests that just to the right of midday is a great time to have a bit of a nap. I like it when my body does the deciding. Tossed in a bit more food just to get a closer look at the fry. They're growing fast and healthy with some real beauties showing up. Can't help but see some dollar signs. Nice to know that the exchange will lead to some meditative moments and enough money to travel the world like the shoeless, mandolin totin' vagabond I've always wanted to be. I can dream, can't I. I think there is actually a bill in front of Congress right now, prohibiting the right to dream. Algorithms have been developed that allow the NSA to monitor the brain waves of any cell phone user, and if they see dream waves emanating from your i phone they will send a powerful electromagnetic pulse directed at your brain stem which will, in turn cause a small electronic storm in the folds of the frontal lobe. Kind of a "one flew over the cuckoos nest" moment. Those who can't afford cell phones get a reprieve because they can't afford to have dreams. So, I picked up the beer to enjoy the last swallow. Tilted it back and as the last of it hit my throat, so did a large fly. Its not that I just hate when that happens because its a total buzzkill,  its also because you can't help but wonder what pile of poop it engaged with its suck tube just before hopping into the beer. Life's full of little surprising moments. My typical response: mustuv needed that. Lastly, the dept of health has decided that instead of paying fifty bucks for a two year vendor permit, us farmers market types must now pay per view. That's right. If you are the simplest (like me) type of vendor with eggs and mostly fresh fruits or veggies, you must pay 25 smackeroos to get twenty visits to the market of your choice per one hundred twenty days. If you do two markets, must jump through hoop number two and double your loss of civil liberty. This effectively increases the cost of vending at least three hundred percent and farmers who vend at two or more places and who have say, cooked food or value added stuffs, must present their noses for fee assessment before paying through them. Good times. I will remain optimistic in the face of so many portents of looming doom, knowing  that the seditious behavior of growing ones own food and living outside the "law" are finally and at last the only refuge in which I can be at peace and should at least give me some bonus points when I talk Levels with Lucifer. Week in brief: The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp      

I just right now figured out why I don't write more ( of course when you actually read this it won't be just right now, but go with it). Life on the farm is fucking ridiculously busy, and that's not the half of it. Spend a few moments in my mind and see if you don't need a stiff drink. Now it seems to me that farmers should, by all rights get to piss and moan at least as much as say, a Minnesota postal worker on a walking route in mid winter or a lion tamer lobbying for better safety gear, or a Sherpa guide putting up with the desecration of Mt. Everest.  It becomes a compare and contrast kind of thing. I just got back from two whole weeks on the eastern coast of america, in a quaint little college town called Princeton. My mommy lives there, and coming from her womb, as I do, I am inexorably drawn to the bond. My life of suffering, scratching out a living by clawing away at this rock pile and hoping to stay one step ahead of Death in all forms, only allows me to break away a couple of times a year for a measly ten to twelve days. Last year, in the spring, we conspired to build a trip around a Chris Thile concert at Richardson Hall on the splendid campus grounds. Mahmah was the driving force on the transformation of what was a "hall" really only fit for mud wrestling, into a magnificent venue for the arts, but especially music. Thile was on his "Bachtober Fest" tour and wove his way in and out of a musical mandolin tapestry that could only be described as masterful. It was freakin' Perfect. Don't say that very often. Didn't miss a note. Not a beat. Genius. We shook hands back stage and talked story a bit. My dreams for the next couple of night were full of laughter. So me and mah are doing our imitation of imitating mother and son being couch potahtoes. She, with her fifth crossword puzzle of the day and me watching the Players Championship. The munchie menu includes, brie, small rye bread squares, cold chicken, yummy pate of something, and an array of cookies which we dip into as we please. Take your choice of club soda or beer. I've got the mandolin within arms reach and she awaits the onset of Jeopardy,  a family tradition allowing us to see just how far behind the curve we really are. Hoo boy. She kicks the crap out of me each and every time. So mah gets up and takes a couple of steps to the computer, checks her mail and whaddaya know, Mr. Thile will be included in this years concert series in October. Not only that, he will be joined by Edgar Meyer. I'm beginning to kvell. So mah gives me a little eyebrow waggle and the conspiracy begins. Now spring and fall in Princeton could hardly be better timing. My arrival was in the midst of a retro winter hiccup but quickly segued into ideal Spring weather. Leaves pushing out everywhere, all shades of green. Flowering pear and cherry, crab apple blossoms, azaleas  of varied shades, pink and white dogwoods, wisteria and, lucky me, lilac in bloom with dandelions everywhere. And really that's not the half of it. I gained my usual four pounds ten ounces, mostly in goose fat and happy in doing so. Came back home to what I hoped would be a parched and dry environment with the hot and dry conditions that make this place so attractive to me, but NOoooooooo. More rain. Now some say that the "old" days are back, as in when this was the normal pattern, but I been out here a fuhrbit and can honestly say that mostly I don't remember, but that on balance over thirty four years, its been dryer than this, for sure. That much I do remember. If you see my propensity toward pissing and moaning beginning to surface, Well? In the interest of taking into consideration this shifting weather meme, we are moving into asparagus fed, farmed fish. Wait, no that's farmed fish and raised bed asparagus and golf ball trees. The dread fruit sucking moth bothers not a one of them. I do have to say that this rolling with the punches shit does get old. Urge to suppress P and M splooge weakening. Can't hold it in much longer. This solution orientation is good and all but its like the nagging mother in law, for whom you can do NOTHING right. "You think your done, sonny boy, c'mere." So next time you see a farmer, give us a hug and pay it forward. Had loads of fun playing with miss Meaghan at the Hana hou. Good to be back out playing. Meg is going to america to do some touring so I'm hoping to get my bud Nathan to come play with me for the next couple of months. Great singer song writer. Upbeat and with feeling. Been in touch with a couple of fellas from BCBC band, now sub-dubbed YumYum Beast and how cool is that? Like salsa just hot enough that you can't stop eating it, or every dessert that has ever tempted you to say no, and failed. Beware the YumYum Beast.Tried to beg my way into rehearsing a bit with them and then maybe sitting in at a gig or three. The response from Justin was, and I quote, "cool beans". Now I'm not from West Virginia, or Neptune, or wherever they use that expression, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that what that means is that he is open to the idea and to a certain degree shares my sentiment, but that he is not enthusiastic to the point at which he would respond "Hot beans". This is all completely kosher by me. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp

I was chatting with Monci the other day. He was straddling the corpus callosom in a small netted hammock made from stolen neurons and decided that I needed a little talking to. Now its not easy to converse with one's homunculus, particularly when he is insistent and intrusive. Usually the little fella is real layed back. Love listening to his musings on almost any subject. The other day though, he was taking a rather solemn tone while dealing with what he sensed to be a growing malaise. Said the signals were coming in from far and wide and pointed to despair gathering like a fur ball in the gut of a cat. "A fur ball? That's the best analogy you got?" "Yes, my liege, and it serves well the situation. You see, a fur ball takes time and forms along with pleasant morsels of food found secreted away in the folds of a couch or on the carpet behind the fridge." "Fascinating. Do go on." "Gladly, your hugeness. The illusion of pleasantness is overtaken by the need to be rid of the tangled mass of hair and fur. It is then simply a matter of this malaise being tossed out like a kitty kat convulsing its way to fur ball freedom." "And so?" "Forgive me, my all and everything but have you ever examined a fresh fur ball and not felt despair?" "Good point." He went on to tell me that he thought he tasted cesium on my head the last time it rained and that that Cousteau guy swore he would never eat fish again and that the folks in New Mexico are dining on plumes of plutonium. He said if we could see the methane pouring out of the melting polar caps, it would look like an upside down avalanche and that yes, those silver metallic looking flecks on the surface of the pond is the residue of chem trails. I tried to comfort him by saying that life is inherently weird and that the skills we should value the most are the ones that transform to "normal" that which would demand otherwise. The sip of iced tea he had just taken came shooting out his nose. "What kind of hippie hogwash is that? Is that the sequel to "it's all good" or the beginning of a new failed philosophy?" "A bit of both", I had to admit. He said if I was finished being a dipshit he would turn to the less natural and more human aspects of today's world like the hunger, resource depletion, food quality, water quality, income inequality, rampant scumbaggery, tar sands frackery and the infamous "bottom line" which is about to loose the four horse guys on their rampage to ruin. "Is there anything I can eat or drink or smoke or snort or shoot or use in suppository form that would make you feel more at ease", I asked. After quite a long silence he said, "three beers, two doobs, the stem of a mushroom, a piece of new york cheesecake, hot chocolate and a viewing of Field of Dreams." I'll get right on it. I love hanging out by the pond. With the weather turning to leeward trade wind dry, sitting with feet dangling in the water is more and more attractive. The other day, to my surprise and delight I saw what appeared to be several hundred koi fry cruising the edge of the pond. I tried to think back to when we put the first koi in and how old that would make them but that just reminded me that I don't do statistics. Happy to say, old enough to reproduce in the open pond and survive whatever onslaught of bigger fish hunger that has thus far come their way. The unstoppable urge to life. I've decided, as proud papa to name them all so that when they grow up I can train them to jump into my net when a customer picks one out for his water feature. Shouldn't be too hard to do. I will fill them with tales of their amazing ancestry, of their ability to live over two hundred years, of their proud heritage in being able to jump into fish nets on command. See where I'm going with this? Although we have seen a winter and spring season go by with some heartbreaking results when it comes to watching fruits destined for market go to ground instead, there is the largest fruit set I've ever seen on the Whitsell avo and what is looking like quite a good count on the sharwil as well. The mango's, which have gone through three flowerings with little to show just flowered for a fourth time ( not good with stats, but I don't remember that happening before). This time around, the signs look very good. Very good indeed. The longans and lychee are racing each other for most flowers and leaving their lithe floral scents breezing through the orchard. The atemoya's are pushing out new leaves and that can only mean one thing, flowers and fruit to come. If we get through this cycle of winged demon assaults and the next batch has a hard time keeping up with the dry conditions, we might could get us some abundant harvest a couple a' few months down the road. Fingers crossed. One of the best farming techniques available. The process never grows old. The observed becomes the observer. The roles played are synergy at its best and with increased focus comes the simple pleasure of being engaged in an activity which is human. Week in brief: pond liner arrived, baby koi, oh boy, Ukraine has most plays of the Ballad (how cool is that), got a sprayer so look out lace bug. Homunculus wept himself to slumber while watching Field of Dreams. And so, to bed. the more you show, the more we'll grow. peace, jp  

There are times when gigs go well, in the sense that if you're playing a club or restaurant, its a good gig if you can be heard over the chatter and clinking of glass. Even better when someone looks up and bobs their head a bit before diving back in to the beef wellington. Better still if there is a smattering of applause indicating an attention level seldom seen in those who dine out. Just got back from the hana hou where Meaghan and I played to a crowded lanai. We're starting to get some regulars. Tonite, the regulars combined with the randoms and the family friends to create a synergy rarely seen. Rapt attention. Food came in second. It was interactive. There was the kind of appreciation one might feel at a small jazz club where the crowd is in the know and hears the tears that go into the music. Some players in the audience too. That's the best, when a musician gets to play for peers. It's a tuneup and a springboard. Tonite, in spite of the usual handful of clams, we held the audience and raked in the kind applause and post gig kudo's that make up for all the nights that someone slurred a request for "mustang sally". I have to say that Meg is the consummate pro. She has the casual funny, great story telling ability and she's way into it. Really never seen her get flummoxed. Laughs most gaffs off. Nice. While we're on the music news, the video posted the evening of the 15th of april on youtube has now gotten 7,305 views in just four days. We've gone bacterial. Some tell me that with that kind of start, its got a life of its own and one only need wait and goof on the spread. I find myself stopping strangers on the street (especially german tourists) and insisting that they whip out their smartphones and punch up youtube. "C'mon man, you're gonna love this." " C'mere dude, i'll give you a doob if you watch this shit." Mostly they make haste in a tangential tack. One cannot be overly zealous when it comes to self promotion. No bigger buzz kill. Unless its mom, with whom i share the new numbers at the top of the hour, 24/7. What i'm loving the most about the whole process of making and posting this work is the collaboration with some wonderful and talented young musicians whose mugs are being taken in each time some sucker checks us out. There is a collective resonance there that makes us all closer and happier. To quote nurse Jessica, "Groovy." My little splash in the vast puddle that is the "network" will send out a ripple which will ricochet off a few planets and fly, fragmented at vast alien populations galaxies away. And when they hear the staticee redacted version of the song, they will seek out this "sweet smoke", repent of their sins and say "It is gooood."7319 and counting. Been gearing down a bit on the farm stuff, mostly because we're short on fruit and long on the need to redefine ourselves in the light of wetter condition, more insect predation  and the recently discovered t.o.f. syndrome which effects most humans on the wrong side of sixty five. "Tired old Fart" syndrome was first diagnosed at the Happy Chanukah Rest Home in west palm beach florida. It's the kvetching that gives it away, aside from the actual smell of tired old farts. It was determined by a team of skilled specialists that if any given subject spent more than eleven and a half minutes of each hour kvetching that they were candidates for a new theraputic protocol involving silk stockings, shaved legs, a doily and steak tartar. In some cases heroic doses of antibiotics become necessary. There's really so little known about the origins and causes of t.o.f. that new methods of treatment are popping up all the time. My favorite includes cold milk and brownies while watching Dr.Strangelove. Come to think of it, that's what I used to do to avoid studying. 7451 and up. The trade winds are bringing the misery to the north shore with reports of mold creeping from clothing to toothbrush and calls coming in asking if there is any sun in the world. Even though there is still a good deal of moisture in the ground out here, the effects of the wind and sun are beginning to show as the rich green pastures start to pale. Another couple of weeks and the straw color will dominate after which the absence of rain will leave wind and sun to blanch the earth. Me likey. Hot and dry, baby. Hot and dry. The meat birds have moved to an outdoor "halfway house" facility. They are now four and a half weeks old and big enough to roam free, but the feral cat that I refer to as the ripper still lurks. Older hens have been found beheaded and or gutted as though Dexter was on the job. Traps have not worked, bait has not worked, repeating the words go away peckerhead has yet to work, so I worry about the little plumplings. We're loading them up on honohono grass which is a runner like plant that is rather succulent and obviously preferred to the pellet feed that they get in small measure. The glycine and garden clippings have also gotten approval from the council of cockerels. So be it. Easter and four twenty are here and I, for one hope that the convergence of resurrection and reefer make it less necessary to be nailed to a cross to have a good time. Amen brothers and sisters. Amen. The more you show, the more we'll grow. 7459 and growing. peace, jp