Hip Hip Hooray!

Most of our cyber-only friends don’t know this, because we’ve been keeping it secret for security’s sake, but for the last nearly decade we’ve been establishing our wee homestead, I’ve been doing it alone for half the month.

I’ve wanted many times to talk about how hard this has been on this blog where I’ve shared so very many of our ups and downs, bad moods, worse ideas, unpopular philosophies and big defeats sporadically dotted with a few triumphs.

It’s been not only lonely and isolating, but also on more than a few occasions, terrifying, like when the tornado came through in the middle of the night, or the many times I’ve had to manage alone tasks like lambing—including their challenging life and death complications—all of which I have absolutely no previous experience with—having been raised in the burbs. We started with nothing, now we’ve got garden, orchard, dogs—started with chickens and now have poultry, sheep, goats, pigs. When I injured my shoulder about two years ago I was really at my wit’s end.

Of course, it was no picnic for Hubby either. He was offshore in the Gulf of Mexico, on platforms with all dudes, working long days far from home for weeks at a time for all those years. Then he’d come home and scarcely rest before diving in to the book-long homesteading to-do list and climbing learning curve after learning curve. He spent his vacations building coops and corrals and many acres worth of fencing.

Of course as well, he worried about me here alone, especially in the beginning. My learning to shoot gave him a bit of a respite, but considering I suck at it as well as abhor doing it leveled that relief mostly.

We stopped taking vacations, have almost no social life, rarely buy new anything. We both equally dreaded the inevitable moment one of our 4 big dogs died of old age or had a fatal accident while I was here alone. We lucked out there.

The physical challenges were hard enough, but the emotional ones have been exceptionally challenging for me.

Sundays off became a forced ritual after the first few years, a much needed one we’ve become reliant upon now in order to remind ourselves weekly that ultimately we came here for a better quality of life, not to recreate city-like schedules in the country and killing ourselves for some potentially unattainable goal.

So, after all that backstory, I’m beyond thrilled to announce a new chapter for us, one of those blessings in disguise that I hinted about a few posts ago . . .
Hubby’s been laid off!

We’ve rebranded it as early retirement and have already celebrated with champagne and verses of “For he’s a jolly good fellow!”

For he truly is—jolly good and my Great Hero—we’ve no idea what’s in store for us yet and that’s a fun place for us to be again.

Had we not been preparing for this potential outcome our disposition would be very different. And with this post I don’t want in any way to diminish the hardships of the very many families who’ve lost their income in this Plandemic, or those who surely still will.

We’ve been living low on the hog, as the saying goes. It’s been a lot of little sacrifices that are now paying off in peace of mind and time to reflect, rejoice and redesign.

We are not self-sustaining still, maybe we will never be, but we still hold out hopes and intentions toward that goal.

Thanks to the readers out there who’ve stuck with me during my foul tempers, moody rants—now you know mostly their underlying triggers and you can expect more positivity in future.

Or at least that’s the plan so far. 😉

Cheers

Mask Nonsense

I was lucky enough to be invited yesterday on a foray, a mushroom hunt, about two hours south of us. My first question was, “Are masks required?” That’s because I had to cancel my participation in a much anticipated wilderness walk last month as soon as I learned masks were required.

There is a point where mask-wearing logic among folks must fly right out the window, no? Or at least, I keep hoping to stumble upon this point. Instead, I find at a mushroom foray where masks are not required, everyone is wearing a mask, children included, except for our party of 3.

That folks think these masks are actually doing anything is now a completely mute point to me. I know now, it doesn’t matter. If the masks are effective does not even cross the radar of most of them, I’m willing to bet.

At one point a mushroom was passed around the circle, so we could all touch and smell it, in order to better understand its properties and therefor how to identify it. The mask-wearers pulled their masks down in order to smell this mushroom that’s been passed under everyone’s noses in the circle.

Ok, seriously?

At what point might we question whether these folks use any brand of reasoning faculties before making a decision of any variety? These weren’t even orders, they were nonsensical, unreasonable, unenforceable ’suggestions’ from Government tyrants they’ve never met, Not required by the event organizers (bless their hearts) yet they allow these control freaks dominion over their very breathing with NO basis whatsoever.

Logic, indeed real science, is banned and blocked and algorithmed to Fahrenheit 451, and corrupt professionals the world over take advantage of this.

Welcome to your asylum.

Here’s a few voices of reason left should you need to take a breath of fresh air, hurry, while supplies last.

God’s Will: Rage Moms

I can’t think of another proverb that has more betrayed human civilization over the centuries than: “It’s God’s will.”

First of all, if God has a will at all, I’m certain no man alive today or ever has any clue whatsoever what it is. Secondly, anyone who claims to know what is the will of God should be treated with deep suspicion, not elevated to sainthood.

Thirdly, since so many others are doing it, it makes me want to do it too.

So, during these times of Our Great Global Scamdemic, I claim God’s will is . . .

Rage Moms! (Please send my Sainthood Certificate care of: Kensho’s Club of Common Saints.)

Along with their tribes of non-compliant, pissed off women, rage moms give me gobs of hope. I just heard about a few of them yesterday and my pride in humanity did indeed runneth over in that moment.

In case any readers need some serious rays of hope in our forthcoming ‘dark winter’ (according to the tyrants), click below, and may your faith in humanity be restored, if only for an hour or a season.

Alison McDowell, deep bow Queen, thank you.

Vanessa Valentine, I invite you to join the ranks of Kensho’s Common Saints!
Carol, your channel is the truest truth on YT, thanks for being YOU!

Authoritarian Defiance Syndrome

This is really the last straw and it’s clear I must find a way to demonstrate the resolute firmness of my stance. I will not comply, cooperate, collaborate, conform, or negotiate.

To that end, I’m going to coin a new mental disorder for myself and all the other poor dear souls seriously suffering for the idiocy of this current madness sweeping global civilization.

All those with Authoritarian Defiance Syndrome please step forward. Let’s join together in our victimhood, in that, at least, we can feel a part of the in-crowd again.

The scenario that did me in was serious indeed. In hindsight, with my 2020 goggles on, breathing freely without a suffocating face diaper, I’ve rewritten this conversation in a more sincere way, closer to the way I really feel. Authenticity is so important these days, or so they keep saying. How that fits in with covering the most expressive part of the face and the fine nuances of the voice, I’ve not a clue, but that doesn’t really matter now.

I gifted myself a birthday present and I was really excited about it. I’m not a big shopper at all, but I do love learning and adventure. So I invited Hubby and a friend to join me for a plant walk at the Caddo Mounds with a well-known naturalist in our region.

I was very excited, because I already tried to go on this plant walk last year, right before a manufactured tornado in the middle of the day during one of their spiritual ceremonies leveled the place, along with miles of the surrounding forest. Needless to say, the event was canceled.

Having already paid the $50 each for the afternoon walk, I received a courtesy call for the current event: Masks required.

Of course, I cancelled, despite my intense desire to learn from this expert on the flora and fauna in fall in our region and waiting patiently already a year and a half.

Why do I refuse? ADS. That’s right: Authoritarian Defiance Syndrome. I find it absolutely impossible to bow to tyranny. It’s not just that it’s even more ridiculous to walk around the forest in a mask than it is in the city. It’s the principle. Many will have no idea what that word means and even less what it looks like in action.

Another friend suggested I write to this expert and ask for special permission to remain free of required face diaper. I considered this option, and thought, what appeal might I make for such an undeserved privilege? Why should I be able to breath and speak freely while everyone else in the group is muzzled? How selfish. After all, I know folks who’ve got infections and rashes from wearing these awful things, yet still they comply. Is my suffering on par with theirs before making such a bold gesture as expecting special privileges from the expert?

What makes me so special? I haven’t worn one yet and it’s my goal to keep it that way. But, how? My concern is accelerating. It looks like this charade is not going to let up and in fact, the tyrants look to me like they are doubling down, with great pleasure.

ADS. The harder they push, the worse my condition becomes, it’s extraordinary. The more illogical they get, the more stubborn I get. Clearly this is an adverse condition that should make it into the DSM15, or whatever number the expert psychologist collaborators of tyranny are on now.

If my condition were severe claustrophobia (in fact my case is fairly mild, relatively speaking) would I be required by the social rulers to ride in a crowded elevator everyday? Would that not seem to be a cruel punishment of a mentally handicapped individual?

Obviously it’s ridiculous on its face that masks should be required in an outdoor setting. And to pour a little salt on the wound of my ruined birthday plans, my friend is going anyway. Nice.

In the meantime, I’m practicing my routine, for the next time I have to sacrifice to the many tyrants and the hordes of worshippers who love them.

Clerk: Ma’am, you’ll need to wear a mask.
Ma’am (me): You mean a face diaper? I’m so sorry, I can’t wear one of those. I suffer from ADS.
Clerk: It’s required, ma’am.
Me: No, you see, I have an exemption from my therapist, it’s right here, Dr. Freeman, psychological condition, you see it marked right there, ADS.
Clerk: It’s not a face diaper, it’s a mask. Doctors wear them all the time, they never have any problems.
Me: Oh, but you see, that’s exactly why I didn’t become a brain surgeon. The first time I had to wear one in medical school I had an attack, that’s when I was diagnosed with claustrophobia. They didn’t know about ADS back then.
Clerk: What’s ADS? I’ve never heard of it before.
Me: Don’t worry, you will, they are popularizing new syndromes all the time. This one’s going to be really huge, my astrologer told me.
Clerk: Well I find it offensive when you call a surgical mask a face diaper.
Me: That’s because you’re not performing surgery.
Clerk: But diapers are for babies.
Me: Potato-PoTAto. Where you see a mask, I see a diaper. Can’t you see now what a serious mental condition this is?

The Window

The saying goes that where God closes the door, he opens the window.  I used to think that expression was dumb.  But then, I used to think God was just a dumb word invented by dumb folk.

Now I understand God a bit better and that expression seems apropos.  Surely in these months of our Scamdemic we’ve seen a lot of closed doors.  We could point at them all day, and I get the appeal of that, really.

Or, we could search for the windows.  They are there, no doubt, dumb expression or not.

There are ones out there opening the windows, trying to make them easier for others to find them.  I really believe that.  Even if you told me with 100% scientific evidence that no one is out there trying to open any windows, maybe even because there aren’t any windows to open, I’d insist your science was wrong. 

That means my belief is more powerful to me than anyone else’s science.  Funniest thing about that is, it also means, if you can’t reason me out of it, you can’t shame me out of it either.

And that’s a window right there.  Here’s another one:

Plandemic