He walked one day with the devil So certain of his soul and prowess His letters sciences plans and maps Unaware all their inherent traps
He’ll never take me down that devil Grounded in faith love worship skill he claimed Duty piety ribbons stars even a crown And with my peoples all so well fed Still fomenting the devil’s daily bread
Love and longing for the limitless who wouldn’t Right over the rainbow and into the void Join me fellow journeyman he said Or just walk with me a little ways To my magic craft just beyond these walls Pay no mind to that line in the sand That has shifted again like a mirage in the clouds Or just like one captured with a grin but Nary a nod or a wink
Image mirage subtle stage art A trick of the mind Beyond space and time A holiday in magenta A simple desire mangled by fire Crafted from dust doused in fine musk
A one world fantasy of sin Where the devils will always win All chutes and ladders and merry-go-rounds Initiates marching mindlessly into Pinky Palace Masters of Grift with Goals of Great Goatness
Goading herds in space Where sheep jumping moons dance like Jiving junipers to illuminous tunes Your tired your weak your drunk Give to me so We may deliver him to Gnosis At the Golden Gate of Surrender and Sever To the We Synch One Man In Full Beyond mundane fear in the Ultimate Refined Hive Mind
Now We One-eyed Jacks Globe-trotting Gaia-worshiping Goethe grooming Immortal enchanters of men bewitched Griottes of games eternal
Violet is the new Scarlet Science the new Fiction Old the new Now Fake the new Real All you never thought it would be Welcome, Friends to 2023
Sometimes it’s the simplest things that invite in the nostalgia for days long gone. Just this morning I was recalling the times of my youth—until just about a decade ago—when during all that time I used to practice the seasonal closet.
I thought this was normal! So silly of me, so childish. I see that now. But, in my defense, it was such a common thing. Everyone in my family did this, and most of my friends, too. Little did I know those were the good ole days, never to be appreciated again. If only I’d known. I definitely would’ve savored those times more, not treating them as just normal life. It is with significant chagrin that I now understand the ephemeral flight of fancy that seasonal world really was.
There was such a pleasant and proper order to it, you know? You’ve got your summer clothes—the shorts and tank tops and swimming suits and sandals—and there’s only so much room in a closet or in a chest of drawers. It made perfect sense that we would pack up our summer things once autumn came to make way for our sweaters and boots and woolens. Those were some good times!
How we used to love to rummage through those boxes again, having been lost for months out of sight, and then just like an impromptu Christmas, you’d find sweaters in there you totally forgot about and it was like having a whole new wardrobe again! Even moving south did not change this quaint habit—summer closet, winter closet—just a smaller shift of degrees and heavier on the summer selections.
Now my summer crocks sit next to winter boots sit next to slippers sit next to flip flops. Oh, the visual chaos! The sweaters are folded awkwardly next to tank tops. Linen being felt up by Fleece. It’s just, wrong. So wrong. The wool socks are in a false embrace with the anklets. Who can even make sense of the accessories?! The scarves, poor things, silk on wool, just imagine their mutual discomfort.
Last week, this week. Yo-Yo Season, the New Normal
As if the wardrobe malfunctionings are not enough, there’s the critters, domesticated and wild. And the plants. The dogs and goats shed only to shiver the next week. The buds open only to get killed by frost. All season long.
But, progress has it costs, I get it. The future children will adjust to weather whiplash, and be all the stronger for it. That’s so reassuring. The great minds of Bill Gates and David Keith will come together and all will be scientifically managed in perfect harmony. Nature was so terribly cumbersome for the Great Ones. They deserve better. All the children will be so happy when we are watched over eternally by machines of love and grace.
This post is not for most vegetarians or vegans, or anyone easily shaken by reality. Graphic images and musings on the cycle of life will be presented with impunity.
This post is for those who: ~Love bacon; ~May ponder the ethics of eating meat, perhaps even to the point of reading such books as The Omnivore’s Dilemma; ~Think we’re crazy for doing such monumental tasks ourselves, instead of going to the grocer or butcher like normal folk.
Before getting into the boring stuff, let me start with a virtual standing ovation and huge ego-stroke to MY MAN!
That’s one giant hog for one middle-aged mere mortal!
And, just a bit of backstory for nostalgia’s sake. Mama Chop and Papa Chop were our first pigs. They are Red Wattles, a heritage breed that we bought from friends as a breeding pair about 7 years ago. We would’ve kept Mama Chop as a breeder indefinitely, except for one major problem—as sweet as she was, she kept squishing her piglets, no matter what we did to try to prevent it. And, try Hubby did, repeatedly, for several years, to no avail.
Something else peculiar about Mama Chop, which I have not noticed with any of our other pigs: She smelled fantastic. I’m talking about her natural aroma, not her cooked flesh full of seasonings, which is also proving to be delicious. I mean her living self—just being in the vicinity near her—she smelled like maple syrup. That may sound crazy, but it’s absolutely true.
Fortuitously, Mother Earth News has a feature story about this breed in their current issue. “Grandma and Grandpa’s Red Wattle Hogs” by Amanda Sorell. “Red Wattle hogs are immense, reddish pigs with fleshy appendages that dangle from each side of their necks. Their up-turned noses and upright ears with drooping tips give them a friendly demeanor that matches reports of the breed’s charm.”
“According to The Livestock Conservancy (TLC), this pig’s gentility lends itself well to small-scale, independent producers, and its foraging skills make it suitable for pasture production. Further, this hardy breed is adaptable to a wide range of climates, and it grows rapidly—usually reaching maturity between 600-800 pounds, but individual hogs can weigh as much as 1,200 pounds.”
We don’t know how much she weighed in at slaughter time, but here’s Hubby’s approximation of her results: 150 – 200 pounds of meat for our consumption, that is approximately: 25 # chops 40 # sausage 36 # ham 20# bacon 15 # hocks 20# stew meat 10# in pressure canned 2 gallons bone broth 3 gallons rendered lard Plus dogs get ~40#s of scraps…..skin, lungs, ears, liver.
Wow, right?!
But, it’s SO MUCH WORK! He is one man in one small kitchen with one unskilled helper. That’s me. I’m the equivalent of his Girl-Friday (aka Galley Slave) — on call, doing what I can in wrapping and cleaning and cooking. The bulk of the work falls on him and he does it like a true stoic.
But what about the bang for the buck? Most folks who raise their own pigs don’t do their own slaughtering, for myriad reasons. It is a highly-skilled process that requires significant strength and time and at least some basic equipment.
It’s now 10 days since she was slaughtered, that makes: 2 days to hang, initial butchering one day, hams and bacon curing for 5 days, a day for making and packaging sausages, a day for smoking, a day for roasting bones, making broth, canning meat and broth.
However, it’s not only costly to go to a professional processor, it’s also a lot more stress on the pigs, as you’ve got to load them into a trailer and drive them quite a distance, sometimes as far as 2 hours away, plus reserve your slot months in advance (whether or not your pigs are ready), all which can affect the final flavor of the meat. We’ve heard many complaints from friends about this process.
Another significant drawback to this expensive convenience is typically, depending on the processor, you will forfeit many valuable parts, including the organ meats, the leaf and regular lard, the bones, including all the trimmings that go to the dogs, not to mention to the vultures, coyotes, and the bugs and soil as the entire animal never leaves our land.
Such is the cycle of life and this makes so much more sense than concentrating carcasses and waste in one place. We, and our neighbors and friends and pets and land are the direct beneficiaries of our labor, and that degree of skill and self-reliance makes me super proud. And when I’m proud, Hubby’s pleased, and so it goes the bitter-sweet circle of life!
You have to get pretty far out in the boonies to get the most tolerant neighbors. I think that’s a good thing. Usually.
Life has gotten even quieter here in the boonies in the last few years. The popular hype would have it that city folk are moving to the countryside in droves. While that may be so, the evidence is still wanting, at least around here.
It would seem the weekenders have less time, or energy, to practice their Sunday “Guns for God” rituals that used to attract them to these parts at regular intervals, in search of target practice.
In this, and other tolerance-mandatory moments, I have not always been as tolerant as the situation has required, I admit.
One time I recall a pick-up truck of ill-mannered miscreants, rifles in hand, showing up at our gate while Hubby was at work and announcing they would be hunting wild hog at the creek which is our property line, and I should let them come in through our gate for that purpose.
I put on my best ‘down home girl’ accent, which most likely fooled precisely no one, and said, “Ain’t no hogs down there darlin’s, creek’s nearly dry, can’t ya see!”
I so wanted to take that opportune moment to educate my derelict audience in the practice of deliberate drought by weather modification, but in reading the room, I decided against it.
“Best y’all get ya’s further down the Trinity valley,” I offered instead.
I know it wasn’t the fake drawl, and I had no gun on me, so I’m figurin’ it was my no-nonsense demeanor that got to ‘em. Not only did they not get through our gate, but they must’ve moved their shindig to other parts, ‘cause they moseyed on, I expect to more cooperative (aka, tolerant) locales.
Ain’t seen ‘em back since.
And then there’s the dogs, always the dogs. Owners are always losing their hunting dogs, even with them fancy tracking devices on ‘em. One time one frightened cutey found his way here and I trapped him, gave him a nice lavender bath ‘cause the poor dear stunk to high heaven, and waited for the owner to come a callin’, which he did, commenting on the dog’s unwelcome new fragrance.
Some assholes actually drop off the dogs they don’t want on our country roads. Can you believe that?!
And as if that’s not bad enough, sometimes your own neighbors are the problem.
When you lose half your flock of chickens to a sneaky dog your neighbor adores, and you caught him red-handed on candid camera, but the neighbor still insists it’s ‘your problem’, tension tends to develop.
Especially if you are me.
I’m like an angry, barking squirrel when I lose my patience, I get that. I’d try to correct that clear character flaw if it weren’t something I was proud of and have worked at developing so consistently.
But still, I can’t stand by and witness hypocrisy, even, or maybe especially, if it’s my own.
And now, it comes around, as our neighbors, few and quiet as they mostly are, have our livestock guard dogs, who think the entire county is their personal protection zone, annoying them with border barking patrols, all night long.
Let sleeping dogs lie? Hardly! The whole county gets a taste of their actions after midnight!
I want to send them an exasperated message—I’m so sorry—they are not respecting their boundaries! We don’t want to be ‘that’ neighbor, really!
But in our defense, not even the electric fence stops them! We are at our wit’s end trying to solve this issue!
Thank you for your patience!
Thankfully for us, our neighbors are so tolerant they don’t even have the decency to complain.
And as if that wasn’t enough. All my best laid plans of goats and cheeses are dwindling.
Summer, herd queen, always taking the high ground, with Phoebe and Chestnut cowering nearby. A definite love-hate relationship.
The goats have declared mutiny. We already had a misfit crew: Summer the Eldest, herd queen, a belligerent, bossy bitch who terrorizes the rest of the herd with her monster horns, yet who they follow everywhere; Chestnut the Crazy, who is super-skittish and a first-freshener and more moody than a teenage girl; and Phoebe the Squatter, another first-freshener, who is the most stubborn goat on earth, I’m certain.
These horns were meant for knockin’, and that’s just what they’ll do . . .“But, but, but . . . can’t you see how cute and innocent we are?”
I’ve been watching YouTubes and reading up for months now and I can say that not one goat I’ve seen can match Phoebe in out-right belligerence and deceptive tactics. She’ll jump right up on that stand, give you a singular taste of cooperation, only to . . .BAM . . .lay right down on the job as soon as I get my bucket in position.
And go figure, that is not among the prize characteristics showcased at the 4-H or any other of the breeding clubs.
My goat guru offered the most obvious of advice, “You must be more stubborn than the goat!”
Honestly, I thought my stubbornness to be among my most obvious and enviable characteristics, inherited from my mother. I then deliberately married a very stubborn man, who also inherited his stubbornness from his mother. We’re like five generations of stubborn in one.
And yet, we are like the impetuous novices in comparison to truly goat-level stubborness. I must humbly admit, I’ve been defeated. My cheese-making days are on the wane, maybe for many more months, just when I was really getting into the swing of things.
This is just for fun! It’s a game I used to play on occasion with advanced students and at small gatherings. (Yes, I’m usually ‘that girl’ at parties!) 😜
I love it because the players were often surprised with the interpretation and I find it meaningful in getting to know someone. If you’d like to play, just write your answers in the comments and if there are a few players here I will then tell you the interpretation. (If you already know this game, please don’t spoil it by sharing the meaning!). It’s not exactly conducive to an online space, but let’s give it a try anyway, whoever would like.
This may take a few days, if anyone even plays along. If so, I’ll share my answers as well, which haven’t changed and applies now more than ever, three decades after first playing!
Here’s the setup:
So, you’ve been in a terrible accident, and are unfortunately dead. It’s all the more unfortunate because it was a big mistake and God feels terrible about it. As you meet him at the pearly gates he shakes his head awkwardly and apologizes profusely.
“Dude, forgive me, you’re here too early!”
He wants to send you back to Earth, and you want to go back, but he patiently explains the problem with this. He is all out of human bodies to incarnate back into, so you’ve got to choose an animal.
And because this is going to look really bad on his record, and he needs to save face, he asks if you could also please give at least two reasons why you choose this particular animal. You are of course annoyed by this, but you agree, since it’s God and all, and you have no other choice.
So, you can choose any animal you want, but you must also include at least 2 reasons why. Do that now, and then return with your request.
When you come back with your request, God looks very disappointed. He shakes his head grimly and says, “I was hoping you wouldn’t choose that one! Damn, my bad once again! That’s the only one we don’t have available.”
He seems honestly upset, so you agree to choose another one. Of course, it sucks not to get your first choice, and you put a lot of thought into that, but, what can you do.
Please choose another animal, along with at least 2 reasons why, now.
Here’s an optional song to listen to while you think, if you like. Randomly chosen by me just because I love it.
I have no idea what the lyrics mean! I’m afraid to translate them that I might love the song less.
So, you give it considerable thought and you go back to God with your 2nd choice. And, guess what. He looks grim, again. He says, “I just can’t believe this. This is really not our day. We just ran out of those!”
And you know what he wants. Yup, a 3rd choice. And this is really going to take a minute, because, well, the 2nd one was hard enough, wasn’t it?! After all, you can’t just pick any one off the top of your head, because he insists on knowing why.
So, for the 3rd time you put your mind to it, and think of another animal you’ll go back as, with at least 2 reasons why.
Here’s some music to keep you company, if you like.
Finally, you hand your 3rd request to God, and he smiles. “That’s the one for you alright, excellent choice!”
And so it is . . .
I’d love to hear what your choices are and why, if you care to share them in the comments! Then check back for what this is all supposed to mean. 🤗
Fair weather friends Meet my friends of equal virtue Unmoved by your trends They are better than you You could learn a thing or two
She who pressures me into pyramid schemes And colludes with murderous cults Chides me when I share my dreams Laughs when pain her lash results The friend in summer a whim that winter quickly halts
She who claims it rude to talk politics Candy Crushes rather than looks up Invests in lies to get her fix Plays along to fill her cup Righteous Queen of don’t give a fuck
Minimizing, rationalizing, all her lame excuses Kicking me when I’m down No concern if I might drown Festering wounds her barrage of abuses Ceremoniously masked by pleasantries Wickedly driven to craft perpetual miseries
You, fair weather friends Meet my friends of equal virtue Not martyrs or losers or your means to an end Servants faithful only to what’s true Whose every means are spinning gold Whose every truth will soon be told And moral courage never sold Those who truly know . . .
The eternal blade of grass is a righteous pillar A single touch can be the greatest filler A look divine is beyond all space and time A longing for the soul’s art the most sublime And a friend of equal virtue is the heaven’s greatest sign
Some happy snaps and random updates this post. There’s the alien eggs that come to find out, are not alien eggs after all. Some cute critter pics. Some ill-placed political memes. Some exciting for me, but boring for you, cheese news.
Basically an unorganized hodgepodge of a post that you should probably just skip unless you’re bored.
Totally unrelated to this post, I just like it and haven’t found a better place for it.
The New Normal weather whiplash continues. It seems even the leaves aren’t quite sure what to make of it.
Pretty, but an oddly spring green seems to me.
Two maple trees we planted about 5 years ago. Of 25 total there are 7 still alive. We’ve had similar results with the pecans and all the orchard trees.
We are getting some yummy mushrooms—the upside of so many dead trees. Mushroom pizza tonight! I’ve also been wanting to try making pickled mushrooms and it looks like there’ll be plenty for that, too.
And Kath in the UK then followed-up with her friend who is a mushroom expert. He is probably right on the type, phallus hadriani, but we’re not getting full development on them in order to tell for sure.
(Thanks y’all, I so appreciate your help! Isn’t the internet so awesome for such connections?!)
We’re still checking our phallus circle daily and they keep trying! One egg will ‘hatch’ but then it falls over.
Could it be a kind of ‘phallus shrinkage’ due to weather whiplash?? 😂
The goats are gorging on acorns and scarfing down the fresh greens Hubby planted for them in a former garden space. The kids are happy because I put them all back together again. They went right back to nursing even though they are nearly as big as their mamas already. And, I’m still getting a half-gallon of milk a day, so it’s a win-win.
The goat cheeses are coming out great.
Aged chèvre wrapped in maple leaves and one in plastic cheese wrap for taste comparison
The pigs are getting fat and happy again foraging for plenty of acorns.
And ending with another meaningful but ill-placed commentary just because I like it and don’t have another place to put it.
My first deep dive down the conspiracy theory trail was not Geoengineering/Weather Modification, though that’s where I find myself most often these days. Rather, it was food, and health.
I was already well down that particular trail for years before attending a very large conference in Washington, DC where one of the hot topics was GMOs.
One of the speakers was an African woman who had some official title in some African country. All the details about her escape me now, except for one thing she said. She was speaking to us ‘anti-GMO’ types in the audience, and there were a lot of us. She was referring to our privilege to be able to take such a stance as Americans when there were people starving all around the globe.
Of course, that wasn’t the first time I’d heard such a claim. But something about her—a very large, dark-skinned woman donned in her traditional dress with quite a commanding presence—made me waffle, for just a moment. In that moment I looked around the room and realized her statement was having a similar effect on others. As she went on in that line of lecturing, they began to nod and look a bit sheepish after having just feverishly applauded the opposing stance.
It was, after all, a mostly Progressive crowd of over-40s who were clearly well-to-do, judging by the cost of the conference and the topics discussed. She was shaming us, and it was working.
Later on, when I was considering her words while not among the approving crowd, I thought, I wonder how many anti-GMO activists she just converted. She was effective, no doubt. But she wasn’t saying anything new, it was the same diplomatic version of—if you don’t feed Africa with GMO crops we will starve, so save your do-goody, anti-science rhetoric for those who can afford to hear it.
What I hear her saying is actually this: We want a quick fix, a short-term solution for a long-term problem. Then when that solution fails, come in with another one. And then another. If you keep selling those solutions, we’ll keep buying them.
“On the Corruption of GM Science,” John stated, “There is no balance in the GM research field or in the peer-review process or in the publication process. For this we have to thank corporate ownership of science, or at least this brand of it . . . Scientific integrity is one loser, and the public interest is another.” Dr. Brian John to GM Science Review, 2003
2003! It’s almost 20 years and it’s only gotten worse. (I’ve been writing about it since 2009 if you’d like to see some of those old posts with some very telling comments still attached: Starting From Scratch – Kensho Homestead)
Why do we continue to allow our own Food Gratitude to poison the world with Food Idiocracy?
I’m very grateful my better half contributes whole-heartedly in our efforts to maintain food wisdom on the wee homestead and in cyber-discussions on the topic. Here’s a bit of recent data he’s compiled.
Have you heard the latest? Well, line up folks, the Food Pyramid is back, new and improved!
Welcome to the ‘Food Compass’!*
What will you find in this 200+ page document crafted by top university scientists?
Egg substitutes scored high than real eggs! Over seventy processed breakfast cereals scored higher than a boiled egg. Even one called “Malt-O-Meal Marshmallow Mateys”, cause if its got marshmallows its gotta be good for you. 🤮
Some interesting rankings (the higher the score the ‘better’): Almond milk, unsweetened, chocolate 91 Soy milk, light 75 Chocolate milk, made from no sugar added dry mix with non‐dairy milk (Nesquik) 73 Hot chocolate / Cocoa, made with no sugar added dry mix and non‐dairy milk 70 Whole milk 46
Frosted Mini-wheats is ranked as healthier than ground beef, Lucky Charms as healthier than chicken…
TVP (Textured Vegetable Protein)** gets a perfect score of 100 Higher than any red meat, poultry, or seafood except Halibut or Tuna The best poultry: Braised Chicken Liver 71 Boiled goat head and Cooked beaver 43 The best red meat: Raw Ground Beef 38 Braised Beef steak 23
They also list IMITATION cheese as healthier than 40+ of the “real” cheeses listed. (For example cheddar, Monteray, colby, gouda, feta, etc…..).
*”Food Compass is a nutrient profiling system which ranks foods based on their healthfulness using characteristics that impact health in positive or negative ways. It was developed by the Friedman School of Nutrition Science and Policy at Tufts University.”
** “For TVP, first you extract oil from the soybeans using hexane (which leaves about 20 ppm hexane behind in TVP), followed by a sequence of other similarly appetizing processes to degum, bleach, deodorize, and neutralize the taste of the oil. The solids left over are defatted soy flour. That is cooked and extruded through a nozzle into various shapes and sizes, exiting the nozzle while still hot and expanding as it does so. Sometimes some higher-protein concentrate or isolate is also used. The defatted thermoplastic proteins are heated to 300–390 °F, which denatures them into a fibrous, insoluble, porous network that can soak up as much as three times its weight in liquids. As the pressurized molten protein mixture exits the extruder, the sudden drop in pressure causes rapid expansion into a puffy solid that is then dried (it’s basically “shot from guns” like Cocoa Puffs). As much as 50% protein when dry, it is approximately 16%, similar to meat, when rehydrated, and various artificial colors and synthetic flavors can be added during the process to make it imitate different kinds of meat.”
For further reading:
Seeds of Destruction: The Hidden Agenda of Genetic Manipulation by F. William Engdahl 2007
Altered Genes, Twisted Truth: How the Venture to Genetically Engineer Our Food Has Subverted Science, Corrupted Government, and Systematically Deceived the Public by Steven M. Druker 2015
Foodopoly: The Battle Over The Future Of Food And Farming in America by Wenonah Hauter 2012
Here’s a brief explanation on how it’s done using the recent Hurricane Nicole as an example.
In it Dane explains how the atmospheric spraying through several states, including Texas, in the days leading up to landfall help to direct it. As chance would have it, I photographed the proof in our own skies on Friday, though you can see it plainly on radar as well.
As you can see from the progression of photos, it started off as a lovely blue sky which was fully “cloud” covered within a few hours. In the top row right you can also see where a visible plane is crossing the manufactured trails with no lingering trail behind it.
