or, How a Hoe is Like a Canoe Paddle
So the field corn has been replanted, after the geese were freeranged and got into the field corn patch and devoured it. The replanted fied corn patch is up about six inches, and the weeds and grass are starting to catch up to the corn, and we all know what THAT means.
Corn doesn’t like competition. Better get rid of the weeks, fast.
Milton was out there with hoe in hand. He is a big fan of Tai Chi, so he was taking some liberties with the swinging of the hoe. And then he got to philosophizing:
“You know, a hoe is a lot like a canoe paddle. It takes two hands to use it. It is best if one sweeps it through its intended media (he means dirt). The key to success with either of them thar tools is fi-nesse.”
Of course, as Milton said fie ness- he was tippy-toeing on his left foot, and duckwalking clumsily to avoid stepping on a delicate corn stalk, nearly falling over in the meanwhile.
“Ayup, says he, by sweeping the hoe, and making these most subtle of wrist movements, the clearing of all non-corn plants from the rows, accurately, can be accomplished, while also creating loose mounds of top soil”, which he neatly hilled against the now lonely corn plants. Milton can be a bit of a show-off, if anyone will hang around him long enough to give him a chance.
“Ya gotta be careful to hill up these corn rows, Milton continued. The wind round here (near Bippus, Indiana) can get powerful strong. It’ll lay these rows flat, if’n they ain’t hilled properly.” We had noticed one stalk of his sweet corn, the taller first planting over North of his house, had been blown over, just as he described.
“Ya know, swingin a hoe is kinda therra-pewtic for me,” Milton continued. “When I ain’t jaw jackin, and I’m out here alone just a hoeing along, I kinda forget about everything else that is going on in the world. Kinda like when we were up there on the Pere Marquette River, that’s in Michigan, you know, and there are hunnerts of curves and bends and low hanging branches. A fella just ain’t got no time to be thinkin bout nuthin else.”
And there I left him to his therapy, alone with his thoughts; treading lightly, swinging gently, removing the weeds, amongst his corn.
Can one fool Mother Nature?
So we went away for a weekend, and had some adventures in southwest Michigan. On returning, Old Milton went out to check on the outdoor poultries, and Oh, What a Surprise!
We have some waterfowl.
In order of age, oldest to youngest are …a male African Goose, a female White Pekin duck, and a pair of White Chinese Geese. So when the girls started laying eggs, we separated the two “pairs”. We ate the duck eggs as they appeared, carefully replacing the duck eggs with goose eggs. She continued to set on the nest. And set. And set.
The unofficial count was 23 days.
And then, the white duck hatched out a baby. A BABY GOOSE. We had fooled Mother Nature!
The white goose is not a good setter, but the white duck was. Now she is the proud mama, leading her adopted baby all around. And the gray goose is a jealous foster parent. He does not like anyone getting near to the new baby.
It is interesting that the duck’s instinct to set on the nest even though she had not been bred was so strong. And the goose has fertilized eggs, but is only a nominal setter.
Yesterday Milton planted seed potatoes.
In a raised bed that had been prepped by burning off the last years growth, and then picked over, and forked, rather than rototilled. Forked a second time in the perpendicular, and then picked over again by Milton and his Little Princess. This particular raised bed, being the third one from the east, had a preponderance of wild carrots. Yes, those wild carrots- they look like white carrots, they smell like orange carrots, and they taste…
Well, we ain’t too sure what they exactly taste like. But Milton found it interesting that NATURE took time to grow Queen Anne’s Lace, i.e. wild carrots, EXACTLY in the raised bed that needed its heavier clay content broken up. You see, dear reader, the other two raised beds, the two to the east, that have peas planted in them, have a much loftier, loam soil content. The other two raised beds to the east, had almost no wild carrots. NATURE decided they didn’t need deep root crops.
Regardless, the third raised bed got its seed potatoes planted in it. After the burning, and weeding, and forking this way and that, and the second weeding, and the raking to bust clods and level out the bed. And they were loosely laid in the ground, just in time. In the night, the rains started. And the rains have continued. Those neatly forked beds have settled about an inch from where they were yesterday, and the fields beyond have small lakes formed on them, where the water has puddled waiting to be drained off. That batch of potatoes is settling in, and Milton will be watching to see them poke up out of the ground.
So we had a bit of a reprieve from the super-deep freeze known as winter(the Polar Vortexes) in the Greater Bippus Area. Three days (in a row!) where the mercury rose above the freezing point of water. Rain, thunderstorms and high wind combined with the frozen soil to cause surface flooding. Field flooding- where the wind pushes water out of a field and over and across the roads that cross the rural areas.
So naturally, Uncle Milton was out back walking and looking, wondering why some parts of some fields are snow free while others are drifted to depths higher than the top of his rubber boots. Why some snow would support his weight, and other snow, usually the really deep stuff, let him sink right in. And the wildlife. And in one snow cleared area were some larger songbirds, who traveled – HOP,HOP, HOP,PAUSE across the exposed soil, HOP,HOP,HOP,PAUSE then a peck at the ground. As he moved in closer, faintly, as he had left his glasses in the house, faintly he spied the orange-ish breast of the robin. Actually a flock of robins. Seven that he could count in the clear although he suspects there may have been more.
What a treat THAT was clearly a month before the official arrival of spring to see robins out back, doing their thing.
On the walk back in the outdoor poultry, geese and a duck, signaled that they would appreciate some snack time attention, and having some shell corn in his pocket, Milton went to them and opened the gate. The geese were so happy that they rushed him! HONK, HONK, HONKETY HONK! Milton doled out the shell corn, a few pieces at a time; leading the geese out of the pen and onto the snow free area where winter grass showed through.
Now it is important to know that the geese and duck have had a had time of it this winter. They have not had a swim for a long, long time, and the snow drifts in their world have been tremendous. But they did seem to enjoy getting a little bit of green after such a long time with only store-bought food. So they took advantage of their freedom and the break in the weather, and grazed a little.
About this time, Ole Milton heard a familiar, yet unusual call (like above) from the sky to the west. Hearing it, but not really believing it, he looked up to see a small flock of Sandhill Cranes flying north. They announced themselves properly- signalling as they proceeded- and Milton ran to get Wifey, so she could share in the unusual early spotting. Of course by the time Wifey got to the scene, she could neither see nor hear the cranes, although Milton did his best to point out the movement of the flock, a mile or more to the north.
Milton and Missus Milton both wished them well, knowing that they may have a hard time of getting food. And a couple hours later the snow began to fall again. Being that both robins and sandhills feed on critters that live under the surface, we hope that they know what they’re doing. Or maybe their weather forecasting is better than ours.
Turning Over a New Leaf
Well, here it is that very last day of the Year of Our Lord 2013. Looking back, your humble writer has been doing a lot of complaining. Public complaining. And that shit has to stop So, Uncle Milton is turning over a new leaf.
He hereby swears (or affirms) that the new year will be spent investigating ways to bring out the positive. Right now the sun is shining. The ground is lightly dusted with fresh snow, and it looks so pretty. It is warm inside the house, and he just finished a delicious breakfast of sausage and home-made eggs. All positives.
And Looking Forward
Even if Nibiru and Comet Ison are hurtling towards us, threatening to make Earth into a gadzillion little space rocks, you won’t be hearing Old Uncle Milton bitching about it. It is almost time to start planting those cold weather garden plants, and purchasing the trees and bushes that (ideally) wil go into the ground around the Spring Equinox. And perhaps he will share some ideas that you, Dear Reader, will actually put into play as you pursue a more self-reliant life.
There is much to be thankful for. And Milton is thankful to you, Dear Reader, for dropping in, and sharing your time. Your comments and suggestions will be appreciated as well.
A little musical interlude…
It Is What It Is, til It Ain’t, Anymore
Latest news reports notwithstanding, things still look pretty bad. The idjits that run our grubmint, have furloughed about 17% of the grubmint, but agreed to pay them, the *non-essential* part, for staying home. Meanwhile, they have been *ordered* to make things as ugly as possible- shutting down fishing sites, and open ocean, keeping old veterans out of memorials built in their honor.
Uncle Milton says, “So What?”. He was part of a downsizing of the private sector, where a similar percentage of the workforce was “laid off”, a euphemism for getting fired, which was permanent, and sent packing. So what.
It is what it is.
Then the arseholes voted to PAY the non-essential grub-mint workers for not doing anything. WHAT! You could have saved a few bucks. You should have just fired the non-essentials, but that is not the way people in charge of YOUR money operate.
No way. It would be unfair. Even though they have already spent us into financial Armageddon, piss away a little more.
It is what it is.
Not worth getting yourself worked up about.
Unless you have kids and grandkids and care about their future.
Til it ain’t, Anymore
And that is what Milton thinks we are headed for. Ain’t. Anymore. The idjits that we have allowed to run our grubmint are spending us into nothingness.
AIN’T BEEN CARING MUCH
Old Uncle Milton has had an attitude problem as of late. Just plain didn’t care. Had the perception that others didn’t care, so why should Old Uncle Milton care? Developed the idea that words, words, and more words were just not going to fix anything.
And they won’t.
It is going to take ACTION if anything is going to get fixed.
WHAT CAN I DO, I’M ONLY ONE PERSON?
if you are still reading, then presumably, you, dear reader, consider yourself a person of action. You want to DO SOMETHING to help heal our insane world. Read on…
Consider the following link to an article written by Karl Denninger at The Market Ticker: If You Care, This Is The Start
As a Real American, the only power you have left is the power of the purse (or wallet, for you manly-men). You have FRN’s, others want them. (Note- for newer readers at the View from Bippus, FRN’s are those federal reserve notes that substitute for real, lawful honest money). And what Denninger advocates is ONLY transferring your hard earned FRN’s to people that are of a like mind, Real Americans; people that believe in what America was founded on.
That’s what you can do. That is what Old Uncle Milton can do. That is what self-governed Real Americans SHALL DO.
Do it for the children.