Let’s Talk ‘Quality of Life’

I understand it’s different for everyone. Not only that, but it’s different for any one individual in different times and at different stages in life.

What’s considered a high quality of life at age 19, differs greatly from one of 49. Or at least, we can hold out hope.

As one example, in the past I said I wouldn’t ever want livestock beyond chickens, for a couple reasons that seemed very significant to me at the time—I was scared of the responsibility of life and death for these precious creatures, and I didn’t want to feel ‘a prisoner’ here.

Now I am fully on board with the responsibility, and I can rarely whip up a desire to leave our wee compound. My notion of who is the actual prisoner has shifted significantly.

When I hear criticisms—and there are plenty—aimed at the growing number of homesteaders, survivalists, preppers, back-to-the-landers, I’m not bothered. They can slur us with their derogatory terms like Luddites, subsistence farmers, backwards, selfish, hoarder, bitter clinger, extremist, even, violent extremist.

They don’t know. How could they? I can forgive them their ignorance. For as long as I believe it to be genuine ignorance. Those who are genuinely ignorant are thankful when presented with an opportunity to learn.

There is a cult of ignorance in the United States [that] has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that “my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.” – ~Isaac Asimov

My definition of a high quality of life changed significantly over time, and I can hold out hope for them as well.

That is, until their powerless slurs become serious impediments. My choice of a quality lifestyle does not harm them in any way. However, their definition of one severely hampers mine which, over time, makes mine quite impossible.

And that really pisses me off.

Their quenchless thirst for cheap thrills and consumable crap and loot, plunder and pillage of all that’s precious to me is intolerable. More specifically, the tolerance of the majority for abuse of themselves, their environment, the future generations, is outrageous and inexcusable.

“The fecundity and flourishing diversity of the North American continent led the earliest European explorers to speak of this terrain as a primeval and unsettled wilderness—yet this continent had been continuously inhabited by human cultures for at least ten thousand years. That indigenous peoples can have gathered, hunted, fished, and settled these lands for such a tremendous span of time without severely degrading the continent’s wild integrity readily confounds the notion that humans are innately bound to ravage their earthly surroundings. In a few centuries of European settlement, however, much of the native abundance of this continet has been lost—its broad animal population decimated, its many-voiced forests over cut and its prairies overgrazed, its rich soils depleted, its tumbling clear waters now undrinkable.” (The Spell of the Sensuous by David Abram, p. 94)

Unforgettably Unforgivable

While our personal definitions concerning quality of life is unique to the individual and may shift, even quite considerably, over a lifetime, there remain constants.

For example, I doubt there’s a significant number of folks whose idea of a high quality of life includes having their health, wealth or well-being routinely stolen from them.

Yet, we are living in a society where that is exactly what happens and few will lift even a pinkie finger to change it. Few can be bothered even to wag their tongue for one-half minute at the proper authorities for leading them to exactly that wretched level of life: A life fully resigned to blindly accepting the experts and authorities who routinely betray them.

Invariably at some point these folks become so numerous and so delusional and so negatively impactful, that one simply must turn their back on them, for one’s own sanity and the well-being of an entire culture.

I hear far too often how ‘good’ people are just trying to get by and they are powerless against the system and they mean well and on and on and on. Here’s what I sincerely think when I hear these constant excuses: “You don’t know what ‘good’ means!

If the majority of folks were good, we would not be in this mess!

To not be evil, to not be actively committing evil acts, does not make someone good. It makes one not evil, that is all. There’s a big, long, wide gap between not evil, and good.

Contrary to popular opinion, harmless does not equal good!

This becomes even more apparent in a society where a tiny class of untouchable elites consider themselves to be beyond good and evil.

To be good in such a system requires something of you. It’s not your automatic birthright.

You cannot be serving such a system— one that maintains itself by destroying the health, wealth, well-being and environment of the vast majority in order to serve your own self-interest or that of your corrupted masters—- and still call yourself good.

As the interpretation of reality by the power structure, ideology is always subordinated ultimately to the interests of the structure. Therefore, it has a natural tendency to disengage itself from reality, to create a world of appearances, to become ritual.

Vaclav Havel — The Power of the Powerless

And you can’t call your friends, family, government, society ‘good’ if serving the corrupt system is still what they are doing.

Homestead Happenings

A bunch of happy snaps, a bit of gardening news, a wild-like encounter and some homestead TV for today.

Everything’s blooming and we’re scheduled for frost/freeze at the end of the week! I was afraid that might happen, so have not put out the frost-sensitive plants, though they are definitely ready to be moved.

Not the most elegant set-up, but it works! Thriving under the lights and ready to transplant: tomatoes, marigold, calendula, Moringa, geranium, thyme, Mexican mint marigold, kumquat, anis hyssop

We’ve also kept the row cover handy in the garden for a quick save. A light frost won’t bother much in there now, but a freeze or prolonged low temps would do a lot of damage.

Lettuces, radishes, carrots, a few rows of garlic, then onions all the way back to the cucumber trellis, soon to be planted.
First time trying potatoes in containers and they’re looking good!
The wild cherries are my favorite wild fruit tree out here, they are super tiny, but the cherry flavor is super intense. Unfortunately, they bloom very early, so we rarely get a crop of them because of late frosts.
I’m particularly proud of this pretty plant, Coral Honeysuckle, because like with the cherry, I’m growing them from wild cuttings.

The goats do an excellent job of keeping the fence line cleared, so helpful! We have a boarder joining our wee herd for a while, Broderick, a sweet, young Billy whose owner was sick of listening to his constant mewing. He’s not made more than a peep since coming here, so he must be happy, despite his rivalry with our herd queen, Summer. They’ve butted heads many times, and poor Broderick doesn’t have horns. He’s had a bloody head, been chased around, and he keeps going back for more! So cute but so tough!

That’s Summer, the white one on the left. On the right, that’s Broderick facing the camera in front, and behind him also facing the camera is our whether, Hercules.

Of course, there’s always the dumbbell of the group, and that would be Bluebonnet, Summer’s offspring.

Bluebonnet, the only one to get her head stuck in this fence at all, and to show off, apparently, she does it 4 times! Each time having to be rescued by Hubby, thankfully working nearby.

There’s a steady supply of captivating entertainment around here. Just yesterday, around cocktail hour, I went out on the back porch to snip some cilantro from the herb boxes for our guacamole snack, and I stepped out onto this surprising tableaux.

I couldn’t believe my eyes, the gorgeous ribbon snake was positioned there as still as a statue. For long enough I went back inside to get my tablet for photos. And then, our barn cat, Skittles, sauntered over, neither the cat nor the dog remotely aware of the snake’s presence!

This went on for quite some time!

Finally I yelled to Hubby inside, “You’ve got to see this!”

He comes out, and of course, boys will be boys. He was not as satisfied with the simple moving tableau and banal observation of the odd occurrence, oh no, he had to throw some action into it.

So he chucks a little plastic planter into the middle of the scene, which startles the snake and snaps Skittles instantly into predator mode.

She spots the snake and takes a pose.

“Oh, no!” I gasp. Hubby says, “Huh?”

“Don’t let her get him!” I exclaim.

“Wait, who don’t you want to get who?” He replies.

“Save the snake!” I gasp.

So, in a snap he picks up the water bowl and throws its full contents onto the cat.

Happy ending, it worked, the pretty little wild thing slid swiftly beneath the deck. 🤗

Moving on to chick and piglet news, my how they’ve grown!

On the left are Hubby’s incubator-hatched chicks, and on the right are hen-hatched. Just 6 each, which is not a good success rate. Hubby’s got another batch going, pilot error on the previous one, he says, so fingers crossed!

If at first you don’t succeed . . .

The piglets are doing great. A very large litter, 12, all still alive and kicking. I was hoping to get a short clip of them wrestling, it’s so funny, but it’s not easy to capture, since they are mostly eating all the time.

But, watching them eat is pretty cute, too!

Thanks for stopping by!

Do come again, say Bubba and Buttercup!

Spring Inspiration

Some happy snaps and an announcement on this beautiful Sunday!

I’m sure there are a lot of gifted gardeners out there cringing when I say that, but it’s true!

I don’t always love weeds (like the pernicious summer grasses, poison ivy, and Texas goat weed, for starters) but a great many of them are delicious, nutritious, ubiquitous and deserve their place in the garden.

I don’t know every weed, yet, but I’m learning more every year.

Can you name 3 of the 6 edible weeds pictured above? (Hint below the video.)

And that leads me to my announcement, which is probably more of an intention still, but I figure if I post it, I’m one step closer to doing it.

Reaching new heights on the wee homestead!

Soon, very soon, I’ll be adding a new section to our wee blog:“Herbal Explorations”. I’m very excited about it, but it’s quite a bit of work as well, which isn’t easy to squeeze in to an already full palate (bad pun intended!)!

Of course, I’m not an herbalist myself, but I plan to research the ‘Starring Weeds’ as best I can online and in books, provide lots of references, and get further info tidbits from trained herbalists.

Including, of course, the ‘science fraud’ angle I’m so fond of that casts so many of our precious herbs in a bad light!

Behold the divine diversity by the compost pile! Pictured just in this small space: wild carrot, henbit, chickweed, Carolina geranium, hairy vetch, and . . .?
And . . . Who might you be there, Thin & Lovely, hiding in the henbit?

My hope is that it will become an on-going reference section that will be a welcome resource for all us new-bees in herbalism, foraging, and down-to-earth living.

If you think this is a good idea, please do nudge me along, to make sure I git-er-done!

And do enjoy 2 minutes of Homestead TV, if you please!

Hint from above: Start small and easy, with the middle photo, the first plant our “Sow”(there’s your hint) eats in the vid, what is it?

Homestead Happenings

Spring is in the air! Sort of.

More like, New Normal Yo-Yo Season doesn’t totally fool Mother Nature. Yay! I’m taking that as good news.

So let’s focus on more good news with plenty of happy snaps, and just a few ugly reality snaps, from the wee homestead.

We’ve been busy, Handy Hubby most especially, in long-overdue deconstruction. The only other structure on the property when we bought it about 15 years ago, besides the seasonal-cottage-turned-permanent home where we now live, was this already run-down, trash-filled tractor barn.

Hauling trash out of the cottage before move-in (circa 20o9). Then scrubbing, painting, re-doing the floors, kitchen, siding, roof, insulation, building a deck, etc., etc.
Thank heavens for Handy Hubby!

Then the tornado tore off a chunk of it. And Hubby discovered the posts had rotted in the ground and it was in even worse shape than expected. Little left to be salvaged.

You can see it here in its best shape, in the background of this darling vid of our dear, now deceased, oh so lovable dogs, Tori, and Papi who makes a brief appearance too! The structure on the left is the former duck coop, built by Hubby. The structure finally coming down is the 2-story on the right. While the previous owners were building their future cottage, our current home, they built this and lived on the top loft. It was already a mess when we bought the place, and we’ve been procrastinating the clean-up ever since.

I vowed year after year I’d help Hubby in the deconstruction and clean-up when he found time to prioritize it, yet here it’s now nearly done and I haven’t helped a lick!

Such a gentleman! Thank heavens, because it’s a disgusting, nest and poop infested horror of a project, which is why he was procrastinating so long in the first place!

In more elegant news, I am still getting 1 liter of milk a day from our belligerent herd queen, Summer. While it’s not enough for making big and delicious hard cheeses, like this Pepper Jack I just cut, it is enough for a weekly batch of feta, or mozzarella, or my imitation of Boursin, or kefir, buttermilk, yogurt . . .! YUM!

Pepper Jack, aged 3 months. Quite good, hot, but not over-the-top. Still, needs improvement. Noted, still trying.

Despite the best laid plans of weather terrorists, we still have our first blossoms, our first chicks, our first piglets of the season!

And first chicks!

The daffodils and narcissists are out, and just enough blooms that the bees are again pleased!

I do believe, as chance would have it, I just happened to capture the queen in this quick shot. If you look at the center you see a longer abdomen pressed against the observation window, right next to a worker bee, so it stands out just enough to discern. I can’t be 100% sure, but I think so!

And back to discernment, we have the magic phallus of several posts appearing again! It’s in the same general area as the others, pictured previously, but looks a bit different. Now I’m starting to hope we’ve discovered a morel patch?! Or, maybe not.

What’s new in your neck of the woods?

Ohio Oddities

Steganography and synchromysticism researcher, Stephers, shared a few odd points about the E. Palestine, Ohio train accident and chemical spill that I want to pass along to whoever might be interested.

Stephers: “In this interview, they mention “HAZMAT suits”…and Nathan Izotic mentions “in his industry.” Yet it is NEVER mentioned that he, himself, is a specialist in chemicals (and his wife, Kelly, trained specifically in chemicals and toxicology)…and OSHA HAZMAT certified…Why are they not assisting, given their expertise?”

Me: They also had only moved to the vicinity the previous year, so I’d say they are not exactly ‘locals’ as in they would know the area and people well enough to be the best candidates to interview.

Stephers: “Kelly Izotic (acting as worried local resident) works for Microbac Laboratories. She does not mention that she is an environmental chemical field technician, nor what her company does. If honest, she should be educating the public on air quality and remediation, and supporting on-the-ground hazardous waste analysis.”

https://www.microbac.com/waste-management

Me: Why not interview them as experts in the field, which they clearly are, instead of ‘concerned locals’? And why does she have that insouciant grin the whole time, and he looks like he has to bite his lip to not follow suit and then points to an invisible rash on his face?

They don’t look too concerned to me. Nerves? Bad acting? Or perhaps beaming on the inside with the bank they are about to make on this deal?

Just asking, inquiring minds want to know!

+++++++++

And, even more odd, also received from Stephers:

From the article linked below:

“Ohio resident Ben Ratner was excited when he landed a gig as an extra in a Netflix movie about a toxic disaster in October 2021.

But now the 37-year-old father of four — who lives in East Palestine, Ohio, less than a mile from the site of a train derailment that led to a massive toxic chemical spill and forced residents to evacuate — is living out a real-life version of the movie’s plot that’s continuing to unfold.

“Talk about art imitating life,” Ratner — who plays an evacuee in the film adaptation of Don DeLillo’s novel White Noise about a freight train explosion that releases deadly toxins into the air — tells PEOPLE.

https://people.com/human-interest/ohio-train-derailment-evacuee-living-real-life-version-of-movie-white-noise/

And if that were enough, add another little gem . . .

Ratner’s Star is a 1976 novel by Don DeLillo. It relates the story of a child prodigy mathematician who arrives at a secret installation to work on the problem of deciphering a mysterious message that appears to come from outer space. The novel has been described as “famously impenetrable”.[1]
Stephers:
I still find it super synchy that Ben Ratner’s mom is named Beth…and *another* Beth Ratner (NOT his mom) just happens to have worked in environmental toxin/hazardous spills clean-up:

Financial Controller

ARROWHEAD ENVIRONMENTAL SERVICES

Sep 2020 – Jun 2022 1 year 10 months

Established financial and human resources policies and procedures for a start-up waste management company.

Well, what do you think about them odd apples?!

Institutional Capture & Socio-Cultural Re-Programming

Just another few pieces of evidence to add to the already vast mountain range of nonsense we are expected to swallow on a daily basis.

3 short-bits follow, plus a bonus. Each is ignoring, or side-stepping the most contentious and necessary topics while exploiting the low-hanging fruit, that of course being the most fruitful recipe of our times.

  1. The Geoengineering question, bypassed in the typical trifecta fashion: Avoid, Smear, Redirect. If that doesn’t work, pretend it’s new and revolutionary. Or, pretend it’s old and therefor safe and reasonable. If all else fails, feign ignorance. Not necessarily in that order.

    Here our host lets him get away with it, so typical! (For shame, he instantly dropped in my initial estimation by multiple degrees.) So, in their non-summation Geoengineering is all about Bill Gates covering up the sun, and certainly not about a century of global military industrial complex scheming.

    Furthermore, it’s right up there in the Crazy Zone with the Virus-Deniers and Flat Earth theory!

    This ‘rabbit hole’ is so old to me now, all that’s left of deep inquiry here is the pondering: Do they really buy their own bullshit? (34:33 minute mark for the Geoengineering ‘question’). This is what’s posing as ‘alternative journalism’ these days. Effective ‘ambush journalism’ has been inverted into staged theater, then morphed into public relations. Not a single toe-to-toe to be expected. It’s like listening to a well-choreographed two-step. I’d prefer watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, at least they occasionally ventured into new territory, still choreographed of course, but for the sake of their well-seasoned audience, a welcome escape from the repetition. Professor Steven Starr on Geopolitics and Empire: We Are Already in WWIII

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/geopolitics-empire/id1003465597?i=1000598968822

2. Next we have a Geoengineering documentary, supposedly out in 2008 (that I somehow never heard of? Seems unlikely.) Full of goose-stepping oddness and fear-mongering, narrated by a digital voice, then the famous Alan Watt, and various other voice-overs.

Here is the oddest sentence of the entire 4-hour All-Over-The-Place Everything-Soup Concoction: 03:40:53 “HG Wells talked about the new freemasonry of the air. Policing the skies.” Wait, Whaa?!

And seriously, a 4-hour documentary, who watches those?
Exactly.

Don’t Talk About the Weather (2008)

3. And, never fear, the institutions will continue doing their institutionalizing!

Science™ brought to you by . . .

The modern day worshipping of the imperialist, industrialist and technocrat alike. It’s the current New World Religion.

And, yippie, Arizona State University, my Alma Mater, continues to lead the way, now color me proud! (Don’t miss the sarcasm dripping in computer-augmented Magenta at this point!)

According to their provost and Executive Vice President, Nancy Gonzales of Miami, Arizona, rural folk should not be scorned or pitied, because they can still blossom from their abject poverty working in the mines in order to serve the Corporate State at ever higher levels. So won’t their kinfolk be proud!

“Although many people focus on the disadvantages of a rural upbringing, we didn’t see it that way. Miami was a place where parents sacrificed and families supported one another to lift up the next generation.”

According to their propaganda that well-educated, well-meaning next generation is going to solve all the global desert metropolises’ water worries with more awesome tech solutions.

Confoolery at its finest! Keep climbing that ladder kids!

For our bonus, here’s a rare journalist to whom I still give the benefit of the doubt. Beginning the interview they discuss the new rain water technology that’s just hit the NY stock exchange. I think she honestly doesn’t know (yet) just how deep and long this rabbit hole goes. I look forward to more from her on the topic as she tries to dig though it. And more power to her!

Better get your umbrellas, drought prep and insurance updates, folks!

Corey’s Digs

https://www.businesswire.com/news/home/20221222005128/en/Rainwater-Tech-

And last, but not forgotten, Happy Valentine’s Day!

And one for the fellas, too!

Random Notes: Understanding False Hierarchies

Digging through my files for content. Make of them what you will. Or won’t. Comments most welcome!

False hierarchies, that is all hierarchies not based in nature, are crippling our civilization. And maybe, that’s just natural.

They are invariably:

~Based on fluffing not rivaling, so that the leader is replaced by a Yes-man rather than an honorable man.

~Confusing true power with temporary status

~Leading a horse to water, noticing he does not drink, and blaming him for being stupid. Rather than questioning if the horse is intuiting more about the contents of the water than you are.

~I’m in charge, you’re responsible. That is not meant to mean you are to act as my scapegoat. It is meant to represent the bond between the care-givers.

~Helping people adjust to their servitude is not actually helping. It’s akin to helping addicts find their next fix, you are opting to make yourself feel better in the moment by helping someone else feel better in the moment, at the expense of long-term solutions. The proverbial thumb in the dike.

~Hardest lesson for an empath (or a yes-man) to learn—stop cleaning up other people’s messes—you are only making it worse for the next generation.

~America has roughly 35 million acres of lawn and 36 million acres housing and feeding recreational horses. 

https://www.ratical.org/ratville/CAH/warisaracket.htm

~The tragic hero is brought down by his virtues, not his vices!

World War I: The Great War Was also the Great Enabler of Progressive Governance

“It was decided to make [the soldiers] help pay for the war, too. So, we gave them the large salary of $30 a month. All they had to do for this munificent sum was to leave their dear ones behind, give up their jobs, lie in swampy trenches, eat canned willy (when they could get it) and kill and kill and kill …and be killed. But wait!

Half of that wage (just a little more than a riveter in a shipyard or a laborer in a munitions factory safe at home made in a day) was promptly taken from him to support his dependents, so that they would not become a charge upon his community. Then we made him pay what amounted to accident insurance—something the employer pays for in an enlightened state—and that cost him $6 a month. He had less than $9 a month left.

Then, the most crowning insolence of all—he was virtually blackjacked into paying for his own ammunition, clothing, and food by being made to buy Liberty Bonds. Most soldiers got no money at all on pay days.
We made them buy Liberty Bonds at $100 and then we bought them back—when they came back from the war and couldn’t find work—at $84 and $86. And the soldiers bought about $2,000,000,000 worth of these bonds!”

~As Carroll Quigley writes, its success was partly due to “its ability to present itself to the world as the defender of the freedoms and rights of small nations and of diverse social and religious groups”. (2)

Empire of hypocrisy | winter oak

The Illusion of Abundance

I grew up on fast food, TV dinners, mac & cheese, like most middle class Americans. And I liked it, like most middle class Americans. Because, I didn’t know any better. Like most middle class Americans.

We had a constant supply of chips, cookies, candy, coke, and all things convenience. Our cupboards and fridge were never empty. I never worried I would go hungry.

And yet, I know now, decades later, I was malnourished. I know this in retrospect, like I know now I was also vaccine injured. It is not until you know what real nourishment feels like, what real health feels like, that you can recognize its opposite.

I feel like I was one of the lucky ones. I saw it in time. I traveled, so I saw how different my normal actually was, in the wider context. No other culture ate like we did. Every other culture was healthier than we were. It has since changed in the last decades, as more cultures adapt to Western, particularly the modern American, faux-food diet.

But this realization is far from new or unique. As James Corbett so well documents, and I’m elaborating on now with personal anecdote, food as a weapon is not new or unique.

https://mises.org/library/what-caused-irish-potato-famine

When was food weaponized? Well, let’s just say, it’s been a minute.

My food upbringing was normalized and enhanced— baby formula replacing breast feeding, a dozen vaccines added per decade, cooking from scratch becoming obsolete, supplements becoming de rigeur, pharmaceuticals coming to rule the world of health where food once reigned.

And the conquering continues.

Corbett:
“The answer is simple. We are witnessing a controlled demolition of the food supply chain, one that is intended to result in the destruction of the current industrial farming system as we know it. But this changeover is not intended to return us to truly sustainable farming practices, with local, organic farmers producing crops in accordance with age-old agricultural wisdom. Far from it.
As it turns out, the “solution” to this food crisis being proffered by the billionaires of the corporate-pharmaceutical-medical-industrial-philanthrocapital-military complex is being engineered in laboratories and sold to the public via a bought-and-paid-for mainstream media.
One thing is for certain: the future of food will look very different from anything that we have seen in human history.

Scientists are bioengineering spores that can be inserted into crops and livestock, allowing companies to identify and track food products all the way through the food system, from farm to factory to fork.
DARPA is doling out multi-million-dollar contracts for researchers to find ways “to turn military plastic waste into protein powder” for human consumption.
A company called Amai Proteins is using genetically engineered microbes to create peptides that taste like sugar but are digested like proteins. And the best (read: worst) part is that, “[a]lthough these microbes are technically genetically engineered, the desired products can be purified and legally sold as non-GMO”!”

Just as my home cupboards were full, todays grocery stores are full. As we suffer mass malnutrition.

Yes, some claim shortages because they can no longer find cheap cat food. Whatever.

A food supply abundant with non-nourishing food is worse than empty store shelves. Exponentially worse. We are a population lulled into the illusion of abundance for the last six decades plus.

If you think that’s not a deliberate and highly effective conquering strategy, you are a fool.

Those Were The Days

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.

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.

Homestead Happenings: To Be, or Not to Be, That Neighbor

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.

Alas, the simple life is really not that simple.

Good bye fair cheeses, may we meet again!