It’s dry and scalding hot here and no, it’s not natural or normal, it’s geoengineering.
We’re trying to stay cool, but the heavy metal nanoparticulates in the air magnify the intensity of the sun’s heat and I’m sure the ionospheric heaters don’t help either. But apparently a small percentage of mankind will not be happy until they control every aspect of our world and the weather is right up there at the top of their long list of micromanagement agendas.
Like pets, the rest of us are left to accept and adjust to their incessant meddling.
Problems breathing? Chronic allergies? Memory loss? Lack of energy? Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll make a pill for that, if they haven’t already. Pay no attention to that crazy, hazy sky.
When the apathy and ignorance of the populace weigh too heavily and the sociopathic power brokers have crossed yet another line in my sandbox, I marvel at the strength, determination, ingenuity and resilience of nature and I reignite my High Hopes.
Here’s one such example I wanted to share, with my sincere apologizes that it was not filmed in a cleaner space!
Just another loungey Sunday on the wee homestead and sharing some of the love with y’all!
The dogs are off for a swim in the pond, their favorite time of day, right after breakfast and dinner. The pastured pigs come up to greet the group, hoping we brought treats, no doubt. They are looking much more slender now that they are only foraging.
Papi’s back on track, thank heavens! After a big scare, where we were planning for his death, a great resurrection now follows. We took him back to the vet, they replenished him with fluids by IV, and coaxed out a football-sized hardened stool. I know this issue was caused by the prescribed meds, so this time when he got home with a new set of pills, we threw them all in the trash.
He’s again his old sassy self and it really does seem like a miracle after how despondent he was—wouldn’t eat or drink, was vomiting and not pooping, would hardly move, wouldn’t even whine or bark, though he’s normally very expressive—we really thought he was checking out for good. He’s back and still trying to lead the pack.
The garden is growing great, the green beans and melons are looking particularly impressive this year (so far that is, never count your melons before they hatch). I’ve just harvested our first cucumbers, with tomatoes soon to follow. The bees sound as pleased as me!
Speaking of bees, I can now confirm with a fair degree of confidence that my high-risk hive split last month was successful. What made it high-risk, in conventional beekeeping protocol, was that there was no queen, I didn’t re-queen at all, rather I intended that the small split-off colony should raise their own queen themselves. There was not even queen cells present in the brood I transferred, only capped brood and larvae.
My beekeeping goal is replicating genetics that suit our needs and desires here on the wee homestead: semi-feral colonies whose first purpose is pollination, second purpose is sustainability and study, third purpose those glorious products—honey, wax, propolis, pollen, etc.
For this goal I choose to split from our “ninja” hive, but don’t let their nickname fool you. They are not ‘mean’ like the nickname might suggest, and two other hives here are FAR meaner.
Rather, they are natural warriors. Maybe this is because during the ‘tornado’ last spring their home was turned upside down. Or maybe because I experimented on them with a screen bottom board, which meant they had to fend off attackers constantly from multiple fronts all summer, the warm winter and early spring. Or maybe because they are right next to our house, where there is constant traffic from critters, mowers and us.
All I know is, this team is tight, because they’re so busy with all their other tasks, they leave me in relative peace in order to meddle in their ranks.
And speaking of queen bees, at least in the canine kingdom, Buttercup is exercising her own maternal instincts, on our new chicks. It seems she doesn’t trust her brother, Bubba.
Whereas once upon a time Buttercup crawled in submission from 20 paces, then rolled over immediately once within sniff-range of current Queen Tori, I expect there will soon be an active rivalry.
I wonder when someone will finally come to rival this old queen? Someone once asked me when we first moved rural, “Why do you need so much land?”
Natural is the cycle of life and death. Normal is civilized man believing he can control all aspects of nature. There is little natural about normal.
This big turtle might have met my tires, if I wasn’t such granny driver. I haven’t seen one quite like him before around here, so I turned around to try to catch him with my phone camera. I tried a dozen shots, he was so stealth and so well camouflaged, this was the best I could get. I have a great new respect for wildlife photographers!
Spot the butterfly enjoying the vetch I planted. The bumblebees and honeybees like it too. The hummingbirds visit the salvia all the time, but I can never get even a remotely decent shot.
This baby cardinal flew the coop where he was nesting in the veggie garden. His parents keep close watch on his effort, which I assume was successful after this first fall, because they were all gone by the next day.
The making of our fruits and vegetables requires the repeated exile, territory confiscation and/or downright murder of rabbits, voles, squirrels, deer, feral hog, wandering cows, untold number of stink bugs, aphids, cabbage worms, hornworms, ticks, fire ants, snakes, scorpions (and occasionally spiders, by accident).
The reason the gardens look so awesome right now is because they’re getting loads of poop. Well-managed grazing livestock work in far better symbiosis with nature than vegetable gardens do, but don’t tell the vegetarians that, they might pout.
Speaking of poop, our dear Papi, who I recently rushed to the vet because half his tongue was paralyzed, made a turn for the worse once he got back home. Seems the pharmaceuticals I agreed to give him hardened his stool to such a degree he would hardly eat or drink, for nearly a week. Why would I allow such a cocktail of drugs be ingested by our dear pooch when I’d refuse them myself for sure?
Out of fear, ignorance, and the misplaced trust stemming from those apertures. I’m quite ashamed of myself. I love him so much, I made his life worse. Sounds like I have something significant in common with our current political tyrants, except that I really do care about him. But, I have little confidence in my pet healing capacities, and that must change. Another gift of Ba’al—that giver just keeps on giving. Our old buddy’s back at the vet, fingers crossed even tighter.
Our prized borrowed ram has already lost interest in his harem and is apparently pursuing a bromance with the car. He spends hours leaning against it each day while his girls are nowhere in sight. I suspect he’s not missed too much by them anyway, as his primary deed’s surely been accomplished by now.
In the land of milk and honey co-exists more death, disease, disaster and drama than any man could ever wish for, so why, oh why, I wonder, would he ever need to recreate it all through so much media?
Just another loungey Sunday on the wee homestead. And just wanted to share a bit of it with y’all.
Peek-a-boo, I see you, hiding in the geranium!
Handy Hubby crushes again crafting a chute for loading livestock.
I’ve just tried my first hive split of the season, fingers crossed! And I came across this excellent document, for any beekeepers, or wannabes, transferring a typical nuc/ hive into a TopBar. I’ve not tried it yet, but it looks very do-able on paper. I really like topbar, even if it’s for all the wrong reasons, like esthetics, lack of upper body strength and general laziness.
As much as I can appreciate spiders, this one had to be evicted from a bait hive, sorry little fellow, but I know the bees don’t love you like I do.
The garden is looking fabulous, fingers crossed again. With just a bit of good fortune, this will be our most fruitful year yet. After last summer, with almost no garden due to a shoulder injury and gaping miserably at large downed trees all over our property, it’s hard to even express how wonderful that feels.
Two antique roses I planted about 7 years ago and have no time to bother with, yet they still do their thing. On the left is Apothecary, a rambler great for rose hips. Behind Buttercup, our most agreeable model, is Chestnut, needing some serious pruning. Ain’t got no time for that!
Moving to the veggie garden, a friend gave me seeds of cardoon, a great heat-loving alternative to artichokes (which I’ve tried to grow every year we’ve been here, with no success). I’m hoping the cilantro will bolt more slowly tucked tight under the eggplant. I’m trying a new supposed cilantro substitute this year called papalo. We will see if it’s even remotely as delicious as the real thing.
One of my favorite herbs, chervil, aka gourmet parsley, with a hint of anise flavor, already bolting because it’s a cool season crop. And one of my favorite wild plants, mullein, because it’s really cool looking, but survives the heat just fine, not to mention it’s many medicinal benefits.
I’m enjoying a YT permaculture channel new to me, a bit high on the marketing for my taste, but loads of good info for the beginners or the old hats, nonetheless.
This is so hard, because it is so good.Kinda like when Elon Musk says, “It must be real, because it looks so fake.”OK, never mind, hopefully the opposite of that.
It’s just, well, here on the wee homestead things are really good.But, it’s hard to talk about that when I know so many are really suffering.I don’t want to boast, or say I told you so, or wag a shaming finger, because it’s not like that.It’s really not.I don’t want, like, intend, wish, prefer, or otherwise conspire to see others suffer.
Well, maybe once that happened.But he totally deserved it.
But, it’s not hard at all to talk about how good things are with many of those in our local community, because they get it.
(Or with the crew on James True’s livestream, whoever and wherever they are.) Lord, or God, that is the question.
We still greet with hugs and hand shakes.We’re not wearing, or home-making, masks, for the most part.Few noticed the restaurant closings or curb-side only service, because most of us can cook.Folks miss their churches, sure.Some miss the libraries.Some get annoyed at the grocery stores.
But otherwise, those I know mostly think this is all much ado about nothing.
And just as I refuse to pretend it’s good when it’s bad, I also can’t abide saying it’s bad when it’s good.That would be like pathological empathy.Been there, don’t intend to go back.It’s a road to nowhere.
Hubby’s employer has delivered their second round of layoffs, so he’s probably next to lose his job. (Note to self: Be careful what you wish for.)
Our nearest neighbors finally started a garden of their own, and even got St. Croix sheep, like ours.And livestock guard dogs.On our one little dirt road there’s now about 12 dogs, that’s about four per household.How fun is that?!
One local friend just gifted me three high-quality top-bar hives, since she’s decided to go full Langstroph after an overload of frustration. Lucky me!She has the cutest kids I’ve ever had the honor of knowing, homeschooled, unvaxxed, growing their own gardens and whipping through the fields on 4-wheelers at 5 years old. Beat that, Gates of techno-hell!
She also lent us her prize, papered, top-notch breeding ram, for free.He’s just been introduced to his latest harem, ours, and he was ON like Donkey Kong.We’ll have a meadow full of little lambs in no time.
Another nearby friend sold us her little old stock trailer for a good price and gave me seeds of a squash she loves that I’ve never tried before, Trombetta.Can’t wait to taste them.
I gave a SCOBY to another nearby friend, and now she’s as totally into Kombucha as I am, and along with the ram-lending friend, we are trading tips and recipes as excited as girls of the old Matrix trading Charlie’s Angels cards.
Sunday here is same as it ever was.
A walk in the woods. A gander into what’s coming out good this year (berries are abounding!) A dip in the creek. A tour through the gardens.
A lounge in the hammocks.A full scale effort to exhaust the dogs.
What an exciting day, indeed!I can hardly contain myself. Not only did I catch my first swarm, but it was in my own garden!Soo, another miracle?
Like I said in my first Wheel of Fortune posts, I think miracles are mostly amazing synchronicities that turn out in one’s favor.The distance between it becoming a tragedy or a miracle is 33 degrees, give or take. Or so I’m guessing.
What had to come together for the easiest, beginner’s luck swarm experience, perhaps ever, in the history of East Texas?!
First, Handy Hubby had to be not only home, which happens only half the year, but also helping me in the garden, which happened this morning for the first time in months.He’s been very busy finishing the fencing for the expanded pasture, which he did just finish, and it’s a beautiful accomplishment for which I’m also excited and sending him big applause.Then, he outdid himself, once again, in his usual non-chalant manner.
He said something incomprehensible to me from the back of the garden, I said what, he said, again, something incomprehensible, followed by ‘swarm’, which I did hear, but that was still confusing because the likelihood of a bee swarm at the back of the garden didn’t register at all, so I assumed he meant more ants, that is fire ants, that are so bad this spring we’ve succumbed to poisoning them, with manufactured chemicals. No, I’m not proud.
“Just come here,” he urged, which made me think it must really be an exceptionally impressive ant hill, not that surprising.
But no!A decent sized swarm, right there, ripe for the picking. And, Handy Hubby right there to help, and their discoverer.
We maneuvered them from the fence to the hive without a hitch.
Might it have been from one of our own hives?Possibly, but that doesn’t diminish the joy even slightly.They are now happily re-nesting in a top-bar hive which had mysteriously died a month ago, very much to my disappointment.I never found the time to post about that, though I’d planned to.
This is a revisit from over a year ago, because, I still really love these guys. I was nervous as all hell, I can hear it clearly in my voice, they were the smooth professionals at every level, trying to help me along.
What a humbling pleasure it is and was to have had the opportunity to be honest and awkward before two real gentlemen doing their best to make me look good!
The present crisis is no mystery to them, or to us here on the wee homestead. This is what we’ve been preparing for and maybe now a few more understand how crucial is self-reliance and local sovereignty. I repost it because I suspect more will be understanding now how much we need to get back to basics.
I think much of the time what we are apt to call a miracle is actually uncanny synchronicity in one’s favor.One of the many misfortunes of 2019 for us on the wee homestead was our young ram got fatally wounded just two days after introducing him to his harem.
From a financial standpoint this is unfortunate, because not only did we purchase him, but we’d also been feeding him for several months by then.More than the money though, it was a sad and at the time mysterious accident, which I wrote about here.
After some time and reflection we figured what must’ve happened to the poor guy was that he got between our boar and his food and got himself gored, right in the gut.That’s how we found him, still walking around, with his guts coming out. He hadn’t even noticed yet.
For anyone out there who’s considering getting pigs someday, take note, never get between a boar and his food or his harem, no matter how docile and even friendly that boar might seem normally.
In fact, the same friend who sold us our Red Wattles sold another friendly boar to a woman who made that awful mistake.This was a terrifying situation for her, I can imagine, when she, alone at home, got gored by the boar in the thigh.She had to crawl back from the corral to her car and drive herself to the ER. She lost so much blood she nearly died, had serious surgery followed by six months of rehab.A word to the wise.
But here’s the miraculous part of the story.In just two days of freedom, that young ram got some real action going!We thought we’d have a lamb-less spring, and we are tickled pink that’s not the case.
The chances of this happening are slimmer than most might imagine.He was working against great odds, in fact.He hadn’t mingled with the girls previously, and they showed no interest in him at all when he joined their posse.The older ones were downright rude to him, the younger ones very apprehensive.
He showed immense interest, of course, but still, he must’ve been very persistent in a very short time.And, the chances they would happen to be cycling right then, well we figured there wasn’t any hope.
I was called a troll yesterday on one of my favorite shows because I’m staunchly anti-vegetarian, unlike the hosts, who are vegetarians.It wasn’t the hosts themselves who called me a troll, because they are not adult-children, and they can stand some backlash from the peanut gallery.
No, it was fellow peanuts in the gallery who called me a troll, and an ugly troll at that!My sin?Stating unequivocally that vegetarianism does not bring one closer to nature.
I could’ve gone on.Vegetarianism is not sustainable.It’s not more compassionate.It’s not more healthy.It’s not how our ancestors ate.And more.
But none of those are even the most serious of the issue.
The vegetarian lifestyle feeds directly into an agenda of Globalism.This is because the vegetarian lifestyle requires massive centralization and vast supply chains.
It’s a question of economics.If folks were closer to nature, and grew their own food, they’d know it’s impossible in most places to grow enough vegetables and grains on a small farm all year long to sustain even a large family without livestock.Certainly there are exceptions in small heavily-populated regions like California and Hawaii.
I understand that vegetarians think they are being more compassionate toward animals and nature, but what about the farmers?How much compassion do you have for them?Vegetarians are making matters much worse for the small farmers, and they are the solution to Globalism.
Of course the industrialized meat system is cruel and disgusting!Yes, please, avoid it if you can!
But the answer is not keep the industrialist food system alive and thriving with veggie burgers and soy shakes.
Without a local market to sell their products, farmers can’t make it without these vast supply chains.The solution really is to buy local and eat seasonal, this is what’s good for the soil, and therefor the soul.
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