It’s a weathery day. Overcast and coolish with high humidity. Rained 75mm/3inches over night. More rain on the way.
Cooked all day yesterday. Big meal last night. Family up and noisy this morn. Destruction of wrapped presents. Lots of smiles and laughter. Another big meal.
I took a nap after breakfast then decided to come back to the farm, feed the dogs here.
Funny how the suburban house is very much a house in the suburbs, and quite warm. Aircon runs in weather like this. The house when closed up is almost sound proof from the outside. Its a matter of living in a controlled environment. Less noise, less dust, more coolness. Here on the farm the house is open. The outside is inside. I like the open to air living here. Damn birds can be very noisy.
In the Suburban-house I note how well behaved and domesticated the two dogs, Big Red, and Quell, are. They are house-hounds. Its nice to have big house-hounds. They are still young, but very well conditioned to being good house-hounds. They have very nice manners. Paul is great with them. The little girls give them heaps of hugs and kisses. They will mature into fine animals… both the girls and the dogs.
The three dogs here on the farm are as wild as they are domesticated. Definitely not house-hounds. Not yet anyway.
Of course, Cmas with kiddies is best. G.G. is a big kid now, probably her last magical Cmas. Nova is a charming devil. She entertained me quite a bit last eve.
The teens are both cool dudes. They very much liked their underwear and socks from Santa.
And everyone very much liked my classic cinnamon rolls…
The end of the year looms, the silly season is upon us. Covid rulz, mandates and the reduction in civil liberties is the norm.
Ive been playing farmer today… ran my herd through the yard and gave them an anti-fly spray. The summer here is “fly-season”, so some measures of control required. I take a minimalist approach. But then my herd is small, my property is large, and I can change paddocks often. I am bragging when I say I have had no ticks on my herd for many months… must be doing something right.
I then, with the help of Angelo, did a big clean up of the house-yard. Did a good clean up around the yard-fence. Grass is high and thick. It’s a big area and requires a lot of maintenance.
Its a warm day with a cool breeze. The sun is bright and the sky is blue.
A cool, overcast Sunday here. Rains predicted. Things are soggy.
It rained 15mm/ 1/2inch over night.
I woke sore and unhappy… must have slept wrong and my dudd’d rib is very noticeable. Breakfast was a Panadol tab and coffee.
It’s a perfect Sunday for Blood-Sports… Looks like the next several hours offer a succession of UFC contests. Just what the Doktor ordered.
I may sit here and snooze and watch the blood sports all day.
Also, this is Bathurst 1000 weekend. For non Aussies, The Bathurst 1000 is the equivalent of the Indy 500. Bathurst is an iconic race track. I have driven many of the Iconic tracks in this land, but never managed to get to Bathurst. It’s always a very good show.
So plenty to occupy an aching old fart on an overcast Sunday.
I find this all telling in a world where so much general bullshit is purveyed about as “newz”.
Two big, muscled, light heavyweights are beating the hell outta each other. Gotta love blood sports…
I was caught-out by this…
It was put up on the newz, and it took me a bit of time to a) realise it was not satire, and b) that is really should have been… no B.S., the main stream newz was touting Biden’s ability to bring the fuel prices down so quickly, so sharply… but look again… though the line is long and the drop looks precipitous, the reality is this shows a 2cent per gallon drop, over one single week, 7 days. 2cpl on 3.40 per gallon price is something like one half of a percentage point. Wooopdy-fucking-dooo… a real newz maker, eh?
Can you say “propaganda”?
Just as a matter of comparison… a year ago a gallon of fuel in the US sold for around $2.00 perG.
Satirical Singularity at its finest.
Two light weight ladies are throwing kicks and punches. Round 1 and its pretty even. All on the feet, lots of strikes being thrown. A good round.
I have been involved in martial arts, in blood sports, all my life. I coached and managed the very successful Solomon Islands Olympic Wresting team through the 90s. Most of my bodily ailments and long term injuries come from “the gym”, from training. It’s only been in the last few years, after shoulder surgery, and a general geriatric pain filled existence, that I have given up routine training. Instead I have taken up farming. Farming keeps me active and healthy.
Did my annual checkup with the G.P. recently. Did all the tests. It’s so much easier in this modern world. You go give blood and they can tell pretty much everything needed to diagnose any ‘conditions”. Gone are the days of stripping down, putting on one of those drafty, tie in the back robes. Gone is the finger up the butt…
My lab report came back good. Positive. No issues to deal with. Come back in 12 months., thank you. In the land of oz that cost me $75 bucks. Very reasonable in my mind.
Socialised medicine does have many benefits.
Got a couple welterweight guys banging in the octagon… an old, experienced war horse v a young up and comer. First round is good. Looks like the young guy is taking a lot of punishment. Taking a whole bunch of leg kicks .
I did a very short stint training Muay Thai. First day in training we all paired off and took turns kicking each other in the shin. It fucking hurt. I took it, finished the training session, and never went back for a 2nd lesson.
I originally trained Tae Kwon Do. Grew up around wrestling. If you’re from Iowa, you absorb wrestling without ever going into a mat-room.
These Muay Thai type of kicks and punches were not something I ever learned. Of course, in the modern world of Cage-Fighting, Muay Thai is very important. Also known as “the art of the eight limbs”, or basically, Anything Goes kinda boxing… hands, knees, feet, elbows… thats 8 weapons.
UFC basically brings it all together. All the martial arts… boxing, kicking, grappling, submissions, all of it…
It’s called mixed martial arts for a reason.
A couple light weights are kicking the living shit outta each other. Ended in a 1st round TKO. Good bout.
Queensland is shining. Glowing. Showing off… after great rains, and perfect temps, everything is growing, vibrant, verdant.
A Saturday where I am. We’ve gone maybe 48 hours without any measurable rain fall. Some localities have been inundated by water. Some have been holding their breath, waiting to see… see if they get flooded out, evacuated, or NO.
Ive spent this fine-time in the weather to try to catch up with my mowing. Still behind but have managed to get a good amount done, yesterday and today.
The ground is wet, soggy, saturated. In some areas “”liquefaction” makes the lush green grass a dangerous trap. Like a quicksand pit. Once in it, you’re a goner.
I rolled my John Deere yesterday. Kinda scary. A 30hp, 3 blade ride-on mower sliding backwards and sideways down a steep bank. The first two times were kinda fun. The grass is so slick, the ground so liquid that once sideways, the mower simply lost all arguments with gravity. Like being on ice. No positive traction. Thus Gravity wins.
Remember, Gravity never sleeps…
I did a 360 degree sliding, upright spin down one short run. It was scary, gave me goose bumps, and made me smile like a fool once I realised all was well.
“Lets do That again”…
When my left rear dive-side tyre (tire) gave way on the slope, I knew it was not good. The bank of the slop simply gave way. Slipped out from under. A mini land-slide.
And over I went…
So I end up on my belly. Machine on top of me. A quick sit-check… Nothing damaged, that I feel. It’s was not a crash n burn. Not that dramatic. Only a gravity winning slide down the bank, and a roll over sorta gig. I felt it all happen…
I was tossed to my left, backwards, and down in an instant. I’m on top of three big blades spinning at 3000 RPM. Know I’m going to roll. Can only stay aware… I hear the engine cut out. There is a safety switch under the seat. If the weight is off the seat for even a second, the engine dies. This is very good. I know that I’ll roll over with the machine, but the rotating blades will not be a hazard. I know there and numerous hazards happening in these split seconds, but the blades ain’t one I gotta worry about.
Then its over. You know when shit is very bad. Your body tells you. You don’t need to look to know when really bad shit happens. this ain’t one of the very bad situations…
I have my hat and a dust mask on… get rid of these. Don’t need them now. Next I fish in my pocket for my phone. Its a ways down. I have deep pockets in my work pants. I am pinned, sorta, under the machine. But this is a story in the happening… I’m going to write about this, so…
Once in hand, I promptly snap a selfy…
May not look like it but I am laughing…
Then I assess getting disentangled from the machine….
Somewhere in the process I dudd’d a rib. It’s not broken, just a bit bruised, and very sore. All that equals dudd’d.
It was not much effort to roll the machine upright. It pretty much started right up. Had to wipe some engine oil and coolant off.
Went on to successfully finish a fair bit of mowing after the accident. Incident?
As my son commented, “It’s all about content”. It gives me something new to talk about. All olfarts need something new to talk about.
Us olfarts got heaps of ol-shit to talk about. It’s new stuff that is valuable.
Well, thereya’ go… November shot in the arse. Where’d it all go? The Month? The Year? The past Decade? or two?
Time sure flies when you are having fun.
70mm of rain over night. The streams are streaming, the ground is soggy, the dogs smell like very wet k9s. Don’t let the puppies jump on you. They are very muddy. The beautiful, fluffy, white maremma’s are matted and grey. Nothing I can do about any of it until it dries up a bit.
Its been raining now for a week or so. Consistent, daily, persistent. I have not recorded daily rain fall amounts but its over 300mm/ 1foot of precipitation in a week. The next week looks to be similar.
Do not think I am complaining. The pastures are lush. The cattle are plump and content. There have been no “Storms” yet so the trees and power lines and fences and roads and infrastructure have not been compromised. Not like some places not far from here…
Its one of the things that I really, really dig about the Land of Aus… it’s extremes. A decade long drought is followed by huge rain and flooding. Flooding is followed by beautiful conditions that last half a decade. Its only A or B here. No real copacetic in-between bullshit for the Land of Aus.
The Land Down Under takes no prisoners. You gotta be tough to be an Aussie. Pussies need not apply.
Speaking of which – Gracie and I have been granted Aus Citizenship. Makes me smile.
I shall not complain about the weather.
Folks hoot on about “Global Warming” and “Climate Change”. I simply call it “Weather”.
I believe that anyone that claims they can see change, spot cycles, take note of warming or cooling- I state that anyone who thinks they can see a difference from year to year to year is patently full of soggy cowshit. I believe the modern trends to “Go Green” is nothing more than an Elitist ploy to redistribute wealth and disenfranchise those that have attained a moderate to high middle class status.
Thats what I think.
I hear the peanut gallery hollering “Follow the Science”… and I do. The last guy I had this discussion with (A friend of over 30 years, a high level medical doctor, a smart guy) said exactly this to me. We were chatting. Having a beer. Catching up. Being friends. We hit on Climate Change and I stated my simple view and he said, “Yes, but you’re not following the science”. I asked him “what science”, he replied, “All of it”…
This is when I get a bit specific. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine, sorta gig…
I told by old buddy, my old peer, that I’d show him what I was reading. And indeed, I had on my phone a webpage I’d been studying. It was discussing the trends of ice-melt over the past thousand years or so. Measuring past melts and expansions. Bringing into the review the rise of global sea levels, and ensuing land mass degradation.
My buddy faltered.
This brought on one of my pet topics, the Sinking of the Pacific Islands. My bud and I had met in the early 80s in the Solomons. We both feel that we are somewhat authorities on the pacific Islands. So we opened another beer and got stuck into it.
Being a bright guy, my bud had a look, got my site addresses and eventually did, indeed, start to follow the science.
Previous to this his science consisted of left-leaning newz headlines and sensationalistic reporting predicting doom and gloom.
I admit, my bud is not your average arm chair pundit. He understands the facts are “out there” if one chooses to pursue.
Most folks don’t. Or don’t want to?
The rains are persistent here.
I have a number of chores to do outside but I shall choose to be a bit lazy. Like I have been for the past few days. No much needed fence repairs, no weed spraying or building maintenance. I’ll spend the morning doing some running and shopping I need. I’ll cook another big pot of dog food. I’ll reheat my several day old pot of red beans.
My family laughs at both my big pots of dog food, and my big pots of red beans.
Most of my clan believe my pots of dog food are more appetising than my red beans.
As an olfart, I find I do best on a simple diet. I do at times join the clan for pizza or burgers and usually regret my transgression. I cook-up a pot of red beans and add in heaps of veggies and garlic and onion and a bit of chilli and tomato paste. And eat it for days on end. Changing it daily. Adding rice or pasta. Turn into an oven bake with cheese or thin it out into a rich, healthy soup.
Had beans and rice last night.
My dogs get a kilo or so of meat and bones (beef or chicken) with pumpkin and carrots and what ever left overs survive. I cook about 8kilos/ 16pounds at a time. 4 dogs = 2kgs or more a day. I belie=ve the dogs need bones but I like to give them cooked bones. Unless its a leg or a big knuckle bone, I cook them up so they can chew and digest them. Raw bones can be dangerous.
I like cooking.
I like dogs.
I like rain.
I like being an Aussie.
And the beat goez on… As the Authorities lock us down harder. They invented Omicron (should be Xi) to maintain their grasp on our throats. I believe it is all becoming quite the farce.
As Honiara burns, as our beloved Solomon Islands plummets, once again, into anarchy and violent, I am compelled…
As a Solomon Islander I am ashamed of what is going on.
In a sad, joking, pathetic way I was told, when asked what is going on, thats it’s Christmas shopping time in Chinatown.
It’s a sign of our sad sensibilities when we joke about Honiara being razed.
For folks not “in the know”, this is not the first time Honiara has been set alight. Not the first time Civil unrest has boiled over, exploded, caused such destruction. Sadly, such is not terribly uncommon in what is affectionately called “The Hapi Isles”.
Not a recent photo
It is a sad, sad thing when we get used to the unrest and destruction.
Is there a future for the Solos?
Importantly, after pretty much two years of no tourism, we again take steps backwards.
Since 24 November a number of buildings and public facilities have been damaged during civil unrest in Honiara. A curfew is in place between 7pm and 6am daily until further notice. Respect all curfews and follow advice from the authorities.
Crimes that may affect you include petty crime, break-ins, robbery and sexual assault. Keep your accommodation locked. Lock your vehicle doors and windows, even while moving.
Political unrest can happen. It can happen during elections, sittings of Parliament, and times of political uncertainty. Demonstrations can turn violent. Avoid protests and political gatherings.
Be aware of local wildlife. Street dogs in Honiara can be vicious. Sharks and crocodiles are common. Get local advice before entering the water.
Natural disasters, such as tropical cyclones, earthquakes and tsunamis, occur. Listen to Solomon Islands Broadcasting Corporation on radio station AM1035 for official updates.
A pleasant, cool morning here in my little valley. The grass is growing so fast you can hear it. The cattle are plump and happy. the dogs are muddy.
We’ve had upwards to 200mm/ 8inches of rain in this past week. The ground is soggy. The green is so vivid its almost unreal. Verdant would be the word.
I’m watching as the draconian tightening of controls increases, again. A new “variant” has arrived, and like the last variant, the Elite that control us decide what is for our own good, lock us down tighter, harder.
As of December 17, here in Queensland, those who are Not Vaxx’d become a second class citizen. They shall be restricted as per…
Restrictions for unvaccinated people
From 17 December 2021, unvaccinated people will be unable to:
visit vulnerable settings, including hospitals, residential aged care, disability accommodation services, and prisons. This does not apply to residents and patients of these facilities, and there will be some exceptions for medical treatment, end-of-life visits, childbirth and emergency situations
attend hospitality venues such as hotels, pubs, clubs, taverns, bars, restaurants or cafes
attend indoor entertainment venues such as nightclubs, live music venues, karaoke bars, concerts, theatres or cinemas
attend outdoor entertainment activities such as sporting stadiums, theme parks or tourism experience like reef excursions
attend festivals – either indoor or outdoor – such as musical festivals, folk festivals or arts festivals
attend Queensland Government owned galleries, museums or libraries.
All this was before the new variant arrived so I’d expect things to get tighter and tougher soon.
It’s all so wrong. I am a bit unsure why and how such extreme measures have been allowed. Is the majority of the world willing to be herded and controlled? Where has critical-thought gone?
I say it a lot, but I am glad I’m an old fart. I dont have to make my way, build my life, construct my future. I’m content, occupied and independent of society. Sure, I shop and do ‘go out”, but I dont need night life, or entertainment, or excitement like when I was younger. I am more than hapi to tend to my life and my family and my animals.
Speaking of my animals… I’m moving forward with my dog breeding plans. I have my magnificent maremma bitches plus my mongrel mastiff babes. And the Big Red Dawg we call sperm bank.
I’m going to call my breed “XHounds”. Mike’s XHounds.
Ive come to the conclusion that the trend to breed for looks has destroyed many good blood lines. I use my Rhodesian Ridgebacks as an example: Got my first Ridgeback in 1990. Tane was a great dawg. big, beautiful, slept in our bed with the whole family. He was pretty, big, smart, but had health issues. Did not live very long. Our second RR was ChillyPepper. She was good but carried congenital issues in her breeding. I put her down due to terrible arthritis. She was less than 8yrs old. After came, Buster, Chewy, Jelly, Bean, Lauru, Iowa, Scarlet, and Rhett.
All were paper holding, registered pure bred Ridgebacks, and all had congenital problems. Not huge, terrible problems but enough issues to limit their longevity, their quality of life… noting well that Bean died earlier this year at the age of 12 and Lauru and Iowa and Scarlet are still alive and well in Honiara.
My aim with my current breeding programme is to breed pups that are healthy, long lived, and highly intelligent. And big. I like big dogs.
It’s a worthy hobby. A noble undertaking. And ensures that I shall never again not have a good dog in my life.
Earlier this year our big furry buddy, Kuma, died. He was only 8. had been terribly arthritic for ages. Way too long. Needed meds that made his gorgeous coat fall out.
So I’ll create a new breed, an XHound breed.
Here are a couple clips of 50kg Kuma being a good dawg with G.G., and ED when they were little. This is a good example of what a good dawg is. Big, beautiful, smart and a positive influence in your life…
I am trying to consider, feel, comprehend what it’d be like to not have my memories. My sense of History, Past, what once was. My sense of myself.
As a kid, the most enjoyable thing was to sit around and tell family stories… usually around the holidays: Turkeyday, Cmas, et al…. The old stories would roll out… like when the goose attacked mom, when dad had to clean up the dead cat out front of the Jackson St house, Bruce’s broken leg, Angela getting her head stuck in the wrought iron fence, looking at swans, at West Bend Grotto…
Memories are part of us, what we are, what we share with those close to us.
Where would we be without our memories? Without our past?
Im still chewing on the “history” topic. The fact that The Past, History is critical, important, of great value.
I said before that most folks live their lives attempting to be More or Less than they really are.
I am thinking of two dear friends. Each had been sexually assaulted when very young. He had been raped by a family member. She had been raped by a trusted member for the extended church-family. Both kept “their secret” until they were older. Both suffered silently until they found a way to bury their history. They both lived many years incomplete, refusing, shying away from “that chapter” of their past.
Then each, noting they are close friends and we have discussed their experiences in-depth, found a way “out” of the metal and emotional prisons. Age was a factor with each. Becoming old enough, mature enough to start the process of “looking back”. Another commonality here was a spiritual need to be complete. A desire to cease being “broken”.
I shall refrain from psychoanalysing each of my friends, and choose to focus on the process of a) admitting and accepting the historical situation, and b) accepting a healing process whereby the historical event(s) are no longer as important, as negative, as secretive, as hidden as they had been. More of that “Skeletons in The Closet” stuff…
Each of my friends spent many years building their lives. As we all do, indeed, but for some of us who have been lost to ourselves, it is a long process. Perhaps never completed.
A common “thing” in the process is HONESTY. It is very, very difficult to be honest with yourself. We are notorious liars. Its a mammalian trait. And we lie more to ourselves than anyone else…
So, after many years, much anxiety and disruption and confusion, my friends each found a path toward healing themselves, making themselves complete, whole, unbroken. My buddy once said to me, “you never get over it, you just learn to come to terms with it”.
Each of my friends’ pasts’ are littered with broken relationships, sad endings, unhappy beginnings.The “IT” I speak of is a big thing, a huge factor in life, recognised or unrecognised.
“IT”, of course, is a devastating, long lasting energetic injury. IT damages, cripples, makes certain aspects of life all but impossible. There is always a topic that is off limits. Verboten. The book-of-self is placed high up on a dusty shelf, for fear of opening that unwanted chapter.
As I said, I shan’t go into psychoanalysing any of this. I’m just a story teller.
And I do speak from personal experience. I have spent much of my life “blowing. myself up”, intimating I was more than I really was. Smarter, stronger, faster, better, more complete, than I really, really was.
It was the process of “recapitulation”, as taught by the disciples of Don Juan and CarlosC, that took me into and through myself, my past, my energetic being.
Up until Carlos died his foundation, “Clear Green”, was a big part of my life. But thats another story.
Perhaps it has been my journey into and through myself that allows me to open up and talk candidly with others. I claim I have come to terms with myself. I am comfortable with my past. Nothing is verboten. Any more.
And this is good.
And I smile.
Have more to say about all this but I have work to do. It is a glorious day. I slept like a rock.
I have been thinking about my “critical history”. About the idea that we all have, own, a history that is unique. Defining.
Of course we all have “a past”, a history, but I am coming to understand that there are points in my past that are critical, defining, unshakable, and ofttimes negative.
Some are positive. It’s great if defining points in one’s life are positive. But we all know that there is always a ying/yang effect in life, and the negative aspects of life can very much loom larger than the positives.
If you let them…
I guess a large part of where I am coming from has its foundation in meditation. I am a child of the 60s and have been imbued with, influenced by many divergent schools of Eastern thought. A large part of where I am coming from is based in the teachings of The Dojo, the Martial Arts. The way of The Warrior. As well, I have been very much influenced by “The Teachings of Don Juan”.
Perhaps most importantly to my thoughts today is a technique I learned in the 70s and 80s. Taught by Don Juan as “Recapitulation”…
I found this on line…
The recapitulation practice happens to be one of the most effective forms of active meditations invented to date. Unlike various forms of oriental meditation techniques with questionable results, such as the western version of mindfulness meditation and others, recapitulation has the potential to bring one up to speed with his/her own subconscious. In other words, once you become proficient in recalling past events without the intervention of the surface mind, the ability to focus and be self-aware become second nature in day to day circumstances, where the body-mind is able to assess and make decisions effectively and with confidence through “knowing.”… Castaneda might have been a creative story teller and you can question the authenticity of some of his stories but the concepts of impeccability along with the practice of recapitulation are the “holy grail” in my opinion.
And I agree, Carlos C. was indeed a creative story teller.
So, “critical history”, for me evolves around events in my past that energetically effect me in the long term. You might call it “karmic baggage”, but thats not 100% correct. It’s more definitive. More enduring.
I firmly believe that we are the sum total of our experiences. Most folks walk this earth being either more, or less, than they really are.
The old “Be here Now” theory is OK, but its not complete.
One cannot negate their past. One cannot be whole without their past.
Why am I chewing on this topic? For what purpose? For what end… of course a huge part is my personal journey. My energetic, cognisant, aware existence. Another part is the fact that I meet so many damaged people, so many walking wounded.
So many folks that are unaware of their critical history. Know not why they are wounded, injured, incomplete.
Some remain unaware by choice. Some are unaware because they are incapable of honestly looking into themselves. Too scared to be honest with themselves.
I have written about memory, how I practice remembering. How I exercise my memory. Basically, my practice of recapitulation.
I think knowing my past is important to me as I move into my future. I think that being aware of and coming to terms with my critical history is the same as “airing the skeletons in one’s closet”, so to speak. But much more.
I guess its one of the main reasons I write. I write to unload, to share, divest and understand. A good writer writes about what he knows. What he experiences. What he understands.
I go to bed early because I normally wake early. I like a good long sleep. I can easily snooze for 8-10 hours uninterrupted. Unless I gotta pee.
Last night, to bed as usual. Read a bit. Go to sleep. Weather is warm so the house is open. Sliding doors and sash window all open wide.
About 2am I woke as a frigid Sou-easterly made a racket. It made the old farm house howl and moan. The curtains flapped like a flag in the wind.
It was cold. Too cold. So I close the house a bit, as much as a drowsy old dude does at 2am. Go back to bed, and regret that I’d put my big winter’s blanket away. My lighter granny-blanket, and sheets didnt cut it. But I’m sleepy and lazy so I layer the pillows around me and curl up in the blankets I have, and listen to the howling night.
I didnt sleep as well as I normally do. I laid there in a semi-dream state both listening to the night and wandering the avenues of my mind. I love hitchhiking the roads of my memory. Wandering the avenues of life and fantasy.
The morning was clean and fresh. Still chilly and breezy, but the air was crisp and sweet. My morning chores led to a run up the range to buy a couple bales of hay. I brought coffee back for Gracie, then played farmer for a few hours. Needed another run into town, a little bit of mowing, a couple one-man jobs… Plenty to-do every day if you’re a farmer. And its all good.
By about 1pm I’m pretty ready for a break. I admit to the fact that I’m getting old. I’m not as strong nor as stupid as I once was. I don’t eat during “the day”, and haven’t really drank much more than a glass a water and a cup of coffee. I’m an old camel, and dont need much in my belly to function. But once I eat or drink anything I tend to get tired and lazy. So I’m OK with “quitting-early”. For a guy my age, maybe 5 hours of nonstop work/ activity is enough? My pedometer tells me I walked 5ks/ 3miles.
As I putter about, my thoughts are chewing on something… ruminating upon, the idea that the general public is eating the horse-shit being fed to them and agreeing with The Masters that they are eating caviar… “It’s Not Inflation”… “CRT is not being taught in our schools”… “The economy is doing fine”… “Coal is nasty”… “Green is Green”…
There is so much that is patently false that is agreed upon as deTruth… Black kids stand 90% higher chance of death by-cop than white kids. Guns are the cause for all our urban woes. Police are all white supremacy-dudes and all are bad. Defund the Police!
And folks know that its not all right but they nod and agree and say “ain’t that nice” as they join the herd…
I was talking to my buddy, Big-G., a while back. We were discussing the lack of Critical Thought… the lack of Honesty… the lack of Leadership…
And insanity rules… stupidity is the norm… Illegal Immigrants get offered big bucks for the damages and ills they have experienced at the hands of the USofA. While Veterans of Foreign Wars, the brave souls who served and protected, go totally unrecognised. As daily, law breakers crossing our borders, are treated with respect and courtesy. While local constabulary are defiled, reviled and exiled.
I know, I know… my words dont count. I’m a self-made, privileged, fat-cat, capitalist-pig. Oik, Oik!
There I beat some of you to it.
And I smile.
It’s a beautiful day. And the world around is regressing, getting dumber as I type.
Over the last couple days I have been inundated by failing, old, no longer serviceable battery powered hand tools. In my farm’s tool shop I have three lead cell batteries that have decided to no longer “take a charge”. I have a drawer in the kitchen full of various, unsorted batteries varying in size from “D”, to “AAA”. My family tends to drop the used batteries in the drawer when they go get a new one, thus there is little ability to tell usable from rooted battery-in-the-drawer. I have a high lumens rechargeable light in my office, on my desk. It’s three years old, is branded as “EverLast”, cost a bomb, and does not hold a charge at all. My beloved Segway needs to go in and get new batteries and a charging unit. As I speak I have no less than twelve motor vehicles (mostly vintage/ collectable cars and bikes) plugged into a charger. There are no less than twelve batteries on charge for my “power tools”. I have a couple old phones hanging around, that still work, but have zero battery life. On charge, in my house rights now, we have two lap tops, two pads, three phones, and Gracie’s headphones, all on charge.
I believe that this is the Green Tech we have been hearing about. The idea that we can live a better life without nasty coal or diesel fired power plants.
I am beginning to see “charging stations” pop up in my vicinity. At the supermarket, at roadside service centres, In front of my favourite fishmonger… I didn’t take note and parked in the charging spot and got frowned at by a rather modern looking mother.
I am doing some research about disposing of my said dead, toxic sources of green energy.
Noting that I have not gone too deeply into this, I find that:
“Batteries are hazardous items which should be disposed of appropriately at a major Waste Facility or participating battery recycling retailer. To prevent fire and safety hazards, never place batteries in wheelie bins or with mixed household waste. Fires have been started by batteries inside bin collection trucks.”
So, I’ll see if Kmart will take my old batteries, and if Tools Direct will come get my old power tools. I am of the mind to pull the lead out of my bigger batteries. Simply because lead is cool to melt.
So, in this new Green world, when I go into Tools Direct and replace my dead Bosch drill-driver and its two batteries and charger, I’ll ask for something Greener. Something that maybe lasts 5 years before failing.
I hear the noise…. Your batter powered tools will last more than 5 years… you bet, sure thing, IF, that is, you dont use them much. I use mine a lot, and very hard. A number of drills, drivers, impact tools, grinders, saws, et al, hang in my tool room. And I use them all hard. Very hard.
My charging station here on the farm
I failed to list the rechargeable backpack sprayer, and a 72v rechargeable ride on mower I recently bought.
I feel good about “goin green”. And I’m not talking about the Packers…
But what about the waste?
I have 15kva of solar on the roof in Pwoods. I have a Tesla battery that allows me to claim that I produce 75% of my own domestic power needs. Which is cool. But at what cost?
A quick check and we get this in regards to Tesla car batteries… “Any battery that is no longer meeting a customer’s needs can be serviced by Tesla at one of our service centers around the world. None of our scrapped lithium-ion batteries go to landfilling, and 100% are recycled.”
The blurb on recycling is good, but why am I a doubting Thomas? Maybe because I have heard this line before? Maybe because I doubt the words I read. Maybe because I have been involved in recycling batteries before.
I feel good when I read that numerous battery recycling centres across the land will accept you batteries free from charge. Word is they “recycle” the batteries but…. BUT! In a land where transport and manpower is so costly. In a land where regulations are constantly subverted or ignored.
Well, call me a doubting Thomas on this topic.
Here in QLD life is good. Weather is good. The little bastard calf I saved from certain death smiles at me when I walk near him. His mamma shakes her head a snorts me a warning. She remembers the tug of war we had.
“Animal husbandry is the branch of agriculture concerned with animals that are raised for meat, fibre, milk, or other products. It includes day-to-day care, selective breeding and the raising of livestock. … Modern animal husbandry relies on production systems adapted to the type of land available.”
I have been ruminating on this above topic. I watch the world spin and am perplexed that many people either have no real idea of what Animal Husbandry entails, or ignores what they know for that which they hear purveyed about… for instance: It is cruel to keep animals penned up. It is cruel and inhumane to seperate offspring from sires and dames. It is cruel to neuter some animals, and equally cruel to produce some animals solely for breeding. Even dumber is the idea that an appreciable amount of food-for-humans is being fed to animals for meat, milk, etc.
If we just became vegivores, all of us, everyone of us, world wide… if we simply turned away from meat, milk, eggs, cheese… of all kinds… no wild duck or deer, no bacon and eggs, no turkey for thanksgiving, no cheese melt on your imitation meat burger…
The best discussion on this topic comes from my old compadre, W.E. I copy it here, without expressed permission, but I think W.E. will be ok with it all:
I am considering this topic for a couple reasons: 1) I came close to losing a new born calf these past few days. It was touch n go, but I think I managed to win the battle with only minor damage. 2) There is a continuing vocal movement in this land that would have us believe farmers, the practitioners of animal husbandry, are bad people. On a par with old-day slave owners…
There are “activists” that tamper with, fuck with farmers and their livestock. Its considered noble, for the cause, to release animals, open gates, upset the animal husbandry code of ethics. Its always the animals that end up injured or dead. The saintly activists don’t see the damage they do.
As a farmer, as a practitioner of the Animal Husbandry Code of Ethics, I care for my animals. Its my job to care for them. To understand them, to watch and listen and protect. I don’t like branding, I don’t use shock-prods. I foolishly talk to my animals, all of them. The four dogs, the two chickens and the small herd of 20 cattle. And I learn stuff all the time.
For instance, my herd would rather be shown than to be driven. If I get behind them and try to push them in a direction they rebel. If I walk in front, and open the gates ahead, and talk and sing to them, they follow quite cooperatively. Ive been asked how I get them to cooperate so well and my answer is simply, “say please and thank you”.
I consider all my animals to be sentient beings. Of course not all animals are created equal, and my chickens are kinda dumb. They cant be trusted much. They lie a lot. But then all birds lie. My cattle are my friends. We interact and talk and play together. The big arsed bull, Hank, is gentle giant that enjoys making me nervous. He can walk up behind me and nudge me, make me jump, which makes him smile. A couple of the cows are favourites. A couple are untrustworthy trouble makers. Of course, my dogs are my overall favourites. I have exceptional dogs…
This morning I saved the couple-day-old calf.
A nice little bone-red bull-calf. His mamma is good but getting old and her teats is quite large. The little bugger couldn’t a suck going. Couldn’t figure it out. So one day, two days, onto three… mamma’s udder is swollen. Full of milk, and getting sore. Every time the little-guy tries she kicks. He is going to die if he cant get a drink.
So last eve I pushed mamma into the stock-crush. I tried to get the calf to suckle but failed. I got kicked for my effort. Damn near broke my arm. Was lucky really.
So I left mamma and baby in the crush last eve. This morn, armed with a decent rope and extra determination, I really don’t get more than this shot. If I cant get him suckling he will expire. So its either get him on the teat, or put him down…
I know it don’t look like much but my forearm above the wrist is beaten and swollen. My hand really hurts. I have rope burns across my fingers where I lost the tug of war.
What I ended up doing was getting a rope on mama’s leg and hold is up, so she couldn’t kick, and the lil-bugger could get a feed…
In the process of getting the calf to suck, I was kicked and abused by mamma, I got splattered head to toe with shit.
And I feel pretty darn good.
Being a farmer, a practitioner of the noble art of Animals Husbandry….
Summer is coming. You can feel it. The heat. The humidity. The flies…
My cattle are not too bad, yet, but the flies are coming on. We last “treated” the herd for pests and parasites last May. It’s been a very good, long run. This past “winter” has been very, very copacetic.
But the rainy season is here. The storm season is here. We’ve had over 75mm/ 3inches of rain in the past couple weeks. Nothing big and harsh, but lots of nice rainy, grey, drizzlie soakers. And a few fierce squalls.
My herd is kinda hapi. I decided the other day to sell my calves. What I call “teenagers”. Between 6-8 months old and they start causing trouble. So I did some separating and ended up with 10 I’ll sell. I’ll keep two very young calves and the 16 mamas, and the big arsed bull, Hank.
I am pleased to report that the seasonal “rainy-season” is on schedule.
I smile and think of my ol-pard, W.E., he lived for a decade or more in the Solomons and Fiji. He is a natural observer and a ‘fair dinkum’ climatologist… he claims that in the tropics you get a wet season, and then a wetter season.
Here in Qld we run the full spectrum of pendulum swings regularly. If it’s not in-drought, the floods are killing us.
Welcome to Queensland,
Mate.
Over 25mm/ 1inch of rain in the last 48 hours. Soft gentle enduring rain that fills the cracks, does not erode the surface. It’s a great start to the “wetter-season”.
I’m watching the US Pro-Baseball play offs. I like baseball. Played when young. Enjoyed the idea of one-guy with a bat, facing a full team. It is a game of subtleties, finesse. But not fitness. Some of these guys look like they train n ice cream n marshmallows. But they sure as shit can hit a ball.
Babe Ruth was no Adonis.
So far some good games going on.
I was a catcher in my day. Not a good catcher. Maybe dependable, but we were kids and some kid, usually the big one, the fat one, got into the catchers gear and squared behind Home-Plate. I started kinda young and enjoyed it.
Dodgers just scored. Bottom of the 1st. Short drop to centre field. (Or center field) two outs and man on second…
It’s the 10th month already. Where does time go? Or am I just distracted?
Busy, productive, lovely morn in QLD. This is a great time of the year, here. Today’s temps range from 11c-28c / 48f – 82f. Chilly n cold nights to warm n hot days. Could not be better. Noting that the morns warm up slowly. Its 1018am and the house is still chilly but the sun is warm and bright. Once the sun sets at 6pm, the temps plummet. Perfect sleeping weather.
I have been working on our final application for Australian Citizenship. We have rung all the bells, jumped through numerous hoops, paid huge fees, clocked up the required time, and now qualify for citizenship. It’s been a long road. All up we’ve been at this over 10years. A mountain of paper has been generated. It’s all but done n dusted.
Today I reviewed over 100pages of forms. Filled in some blanks spots, made sure the base info was correct, chased a few missing documents, and now have all in one file, ready to go. I need to get my Policeman-buddy, Smitty, to sign one form, then its all pretty much done.
It makes me consider what I see going on in the world… Diaspora, displacement, dissatisfaction… All leads to mass migration. Organised and disorganised migration.
I think it is timely to think about, ruminate on the circumstances that create an Emigrant… Creates a “refugee”…
Emigrant: A person who leaves their own country in order to settle permanently in another.
Refugee: A person who has been forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster.
But, in my mind, refugees are emigrants, tho not all emigrants are refugees…
I am a serial offender when It comes to emigration. I left the land of my birth and emigrated to the Solomon Islands. It was a conscience move. I built a life, a home, a family in the Solomons.
10 years ago I made the decision to “retire” to Australia. My life and time in the Solomons was ending. My needs were changing. A life of adventure and risk was less attractive as my knees and spine aged. Revolutions, civil strife, political instability were less attractive compared to quiet neighbourhoods, a positive policy force, magnificent medical care.
Aus is a very good place. There are pros and Cons but, at my age, at my station and time in life, Aus offers what I need.
One may ask why I chose Aus over the US… immediate answer is that its close to the Solomons. Retirement always included the Solomons. We have family there, we still luv deIslands. Bouncing back and forth between Aus and deIslands was dePlan…
Covid kinda messed that plan up…
Covid has messed a lot up…
So sad…
I consider the depth and breadth of the changes, the new-world order, that covid has created for us all… what aspect of our modern lives has NOT been effected? Of course my retirement plans evolved around travel. I purposely bought a home an hour from the International airport. Gracie and I previously spent about half our time “on the go”. It was a great gig, while it lasted. I do not see it all returning, any time soon.
And thats OK. I am content where I am. Of course I’d love to be able to visit my ageing mother. I’d really, really enjoying seeing our latest grandchild, Brimstone. I miss my regular visits to London. The bucket list of global “to-dos” shall go undone. And thats OK.
I say often these days, that I am glad I am an olFart. Glad I got to travel the planet for as long as I did.
And glad I get to settle in Aus. I like the idea of being an “Aussie”. A Queenslander.
Busy day, busy times. A friend recently commented how much I suck at being retired.
Through my busy day I have been thinking about global affairs, various national situations, and the price of eggs.
Yes, the price of eggs… my aforementioned friend is a chicken farmer. He works hard. Has a few-hundred layers and processes at least 200eggs a day. I know he’s doing it tough. Works very hard.
As I think of Australia, I think of it as a “Nanny State”. A very good place to be. Quite enlightened in many ways. A 49.9% tax rate for the higher earners says a lot.
I think of the USofA and what it is morphing into…
A Socialist State is very different to a Nanny State.
I don’t think many people understand this simple fact.
An overcast day. A damp chill in the air. I need to put a hoodie on… there, thats much better…
I’m thinking of a couple topics today: 1) is how damn fast the year is passing by, and 2) how much damage this covid-crisis has caused.
Its funny that my immediate life and life style has been little altered or effected by the crisis. Here in SE QLD we have to wear masks when we go into stores or such. There is a gov’t app we use to sign into the places we enter.
And thats about it.
But there are places that people are being kept locked-down by force. Police and military control the streets. They will stop and ask you about your business and if not happy, slap a big fine on you.
Pretty soon they will be issuing VAX-passports.
Its all very sad and more than a little bit scary.
Of course, the lack of travel is a big-thing in my family. We’re spread across the globe, unable to see each other, unable to share. My 94 yrold mother in Iowa, my multitudes of siblings and their offspring, our grown children and their children in the Solomons. All I can say is thank goodness for social media. I’d hate to be paying for the daily phone calls we make.
Where I am its spring, what little winter we had is gone, and now we can look forward to some rain. We need rain.
I talk like a farmer… and olfart farmer…
One of the covid-crisis-confusions I perceive is this: * People get ill, get tested and are positive, only to get sent home to isolate. * While in isolation they are not given any treatment (that I know of) that may alleviate symptoms, severity, etc. * Only after respiratory distress sets in are the ill moved to a hospital and if required, ventilated.
I find this difficult to accept. There must be- MUST BE -something that will assist in suppressing or alleviating the symptoms, and the severity of the virus. I have a lot of experience, over 40 years worth, dealing with Malaria. Both Vivax and Falsiparum. Make no joke about malaria, it will kill, does kill, is the second leading cause of death globally…
“The estimated number of malaria deaths stood at 409 000 in 2019. Children aged under 5 years are the most vulnerable group affected by malaria; in 2019, they accounted for 67% (274 000) of all malaria deaths worldwide. The WHO African Region carries a disproportionately high share of the global malaria burden.1 Apr 2021″ Malaria – WHO | World Health Organization
As far a covid goes, as far as I can discern, there is no standard protocol for treating a patient with covid. Its like the dark ages and the plague… you die, or you don’t. That simple.
I came across this recently and find it rather interesting…
Tuesday afternoon here. Quite warm out, almost hot. Almost too hot. Feels like it should rain. The cloud cover is thick. Humidity at a pleasant 50%. If this is winter, I’ll take it all day long…
My olFart life style offers a lot of time to “think about things”. To ruminate… Ruminate upon today, yesterday, and tomorrow. I’m an anal planner and task-master. Admitting though, I have much less to manage than days of yore. Yet my note taking and list making continues unchecked.
I am ruminating upon past teachings and philosophies. I am thinking of “The Teaching of don Juan”. My generation was enthralled by C. Castdaneda’s body of “anthropological” works, first published in 1968.
I’m not here to discuss the veracity of C.C.’s work, rather to ruminate upon salient points of of “The Teachings” that I still use in my life, consider to be personal truths in a way…
Recently I have been thinking about, dealing with what I call a “Petty Tyrant” situation.
I like what I find on this site… explains it very well… “A petty tyrant is a tormentor. Someone who either holds the power of life and death over warriors or simply annoys them to distraction.” ~Carlos Castaneda – The Fire from Within~
I remember the concept (as purveyed in the books) that we as modern mature individuals are challenged and tested by these Tyrants around us. It comes down to self-importance. How seriously we take ourselves and how well we maintain our poise and balance in times of trial… or such is how I see it.
I always liked this thought… “My benefactor used to say that a warrior who stumbles on a petty tyrant is a lucky one.” ~Don Juan~
It’s something quite simple, yet difficult to articulate… “A petty tyrant is a person who causes distress by imposing his/her will on others using psychological pressure rather than physical force. The petty tyrant feels he may impose his will because he believes that he is a superior being and because he wants to operate from a position of authority.”
In modern times we would refer to these Tyrants as being “toxic”… “Petty tyrants are the button-pushers, the individuals that have the ability to throw things off-balance for you if you let them. Many petty tyrants are unaware that they are the cause of so much frustration. They are effective teachers because they force the warrior to closely monitor their own reactions and habitual behaviors. The result is mindfulness and the ability to shift the assemblage point, even if ever so slightly, in order to loosen the fixation to the conditioned response that causes the reaction in the first place.”
I dig the idea of benefiting from the toxic situation… “Castaneda believed that by looking at the petty tyrant through a different filter, a person could not only co-exist with a petty tyrant but also benefit from the relationship. This type of relationship would be most common in the workplace, school or other public forum when you have no choice but to be in close proximity to the petty tyrant. The challenge for the warrior is to try to consciously get along with this co-worker without being petty yourself. It’s a “rise above it” opportunity that could challenge one to the core.”
I know, nothing earth shattering. Basic common sense, eh?
Much like the plethora of self-help books that come and go like fads? My day it was the “One Minute Manager”. Common sense in common words which were useful to me “then”, and remain part of my processes… https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_One_Minute_Manager
The Native Iowan 
thoughts and opinions