Sunday, March 11, 2007


When I was a child and asked, as all children who live with the change of the clock in the spring and fall, why this happened, the answer always had to do with the farmers. That somehow the change of time would give the farmers an extra hour of daylight.

And like most children, I accepted this rationale for a time. It's a great one for parents since it will be many, many years before the child reaches the ability to figure out that the clock and the number of daylight hours aren't actually connected in any sort of real way. So it stops any sort of annoying "But why?" followups.

I've never had much of a problem with the changing of the clock. Back when I worked, I just went to bed earlier to make up for that lost hour in the spring. No biggie. But then I moved to my current agrarian life. And I realized what an incredible bullocks it was to blame it on the ag folks.

The animals don't tell time or use clocks. Unless you are this guy in Canada's chickens.

Canadian poultry producer Marty Notenbomer notes, "The chickens do not adapt to the changed clock until several weeks have gone by, so the first week of April and the last week of October are very frustrating for us."
I've always suspected the superior intellect of Canadian poultry, but this sort of creeps me out. Why are their chickens so much smarter than ours? Should we not be...well...concerned?

My chickens don't tell time, nor do my goats, geese or dogs. Time is a purely human invention in so many ways. Additionally, my own life has nothing to do with clocks. I rise with the sun and work until it sets. Then I sit around and watch cartoons till the wee hours of the morning. Most farmers live much the same way with the exception of the cartoon thing. That's just my particular kink.

It was that sexy beast of the 1700's...that colonial Austin Powers , Ben Franklin, who came up with the idea while in Paris. He japed about the Parisians never rising before noon and came up with his essay on Daylight Savings.

So, I found all this info on Web Exhibits. Let's revise what we tell the kids. It's not our fault. We've been against it from the get-go. We could suggest that it was so the French could get out of bed sooner. It's the popular thing to do. Yeah...blame the French since it obviously wasn't 9-11.

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I have some excellent happy Sunday photos awaiting battery recharge to upload. I'm considering festooning all of my household electric sockets with Nihm battery chargers. In the meantime, I'll just post some reruns from buzznet.

PS...another reason to get this damn camera situation solved. I just went up to the shelters to freshen everyone's water. Took Vi-Vi with me on a leash and her mom, Blinkin', unbeknownst to me, evidently signed a termination of parental rights over to me for Vi-Vi with Goat Protective Services...so the little Bat Goat with her incessant wailing is evidently my responsibility now. Can't really blame the Blinks. Just a few days of that noise has driven me quite mad.

Anyway...while I'm up there, the geese attack Beacon, Vi-Vi's daddy. One grabs him by his floppy ear and the other grabs him...I kid you not...by the ball sack. Beacon bellows and takes off at a gallop with one 25 pound pound goose hanging by his ear and another hanging on for dear life by his balls. They are such badasses those geese. Took Beacon a good 25 feet to shake them.

2 Comments:

  1. Jbeeky said...
    I was always told by my Scottish Uncle that banks in Scotland were protected by geese, since they are the meanest damn thing on the earth. Rosie, I am dying to know about your time as a psychic, please, please, pretty please with cabernet chocolate wine sauce on top blog about it. You can then ask me to blog about anything! Think about it...
    erin ambrose said...
    Just even seeing that photo of that goose triggers my ptsd....i'm kind of joking....kind of not.....The stables where we kept our horse, my mom and i, when i was a wee one had a resident scarey ass goose named waddles....which was misleading since that ting could reach high speeds while in pursuit of my 5 year old behind. i remember running full speed to find my mom....aaaahhhhhhhhh! screaming in terror.
    so defenseless...that goose was bigger than me.
    thanks for the memories rosie!
    grabbing his ball sack is pretty mean...yeesh.

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